Think every idea for an internet startup is taken? Think all the “good stuff” on mobile platforms has been squeezed out of the Web, so that all we’ll be left with are lolcats and iFart?
There are still hundreds of ways to provide solid value to people– and more all the time. To prove the point, I decided to spend an hour and think up some new ideas– none of which are (at this point) taken. Feel free to develop them as you wish
This is the second excerpt from The Anatomy of Awareness, my 260-page book illustrating a groundbreaking, mindbending new theory of human consciousness known as Wave/Containment (recently completed, and currently seeking publication). Be sure to read Part One, entitled “Notes on Dying”. For more information, look here.
An old master was once asked, ‘What is the Way?’
‘The Way is right before your eyes,” he replied.
“Because you are thinking of yourself.”
Flustered, the student continued. “What about you: do you see it?”
To which the master responded: “So long as you are double, saying I don’t and you do, your eyes are clouded.”
The student nodded and departed, apparently satisfied with the answer. Yet after several days, he came back to the masters home and asked: “When there is neither I nor You, can one see it?”
The master smiled and shook his head in amusement.
“When there is neither I nor You, who is the one that wants to see it?”
This is the first excerpt from The Anatomy of Awareness, my 260-page book illustrating a groundbreaking, mindbending new theory of human consciousness (recently completed and currently seeking publication). Each excerpt will be linked here as it is posted. For more information, look here.
My first memory is of dying.
More specifically, the first memory I have is of losing consciousness; of bright light and a sudden, slow-moving darkness; of sensations and their sudden dissolution, of knowing that whatever this was, it was evaporating.
I stopped breathing six times within the first day I was alive, and I am not sure which one of these serves as that first, earliest memory. All I remember is the strangeness of that brevity, like a flash of light in pitch darkness.
Imagine a movie screen, completely dark, completely silent, erupting suddenly into a single kinetic flare of sound and light. Then back to darkness. The darkness is slow in coming, but the light is so quick you wonder if it just was a synaptic mis-fire, just a mistake.
Being scarcely born, I had no linguistic methods with which to approximate that confusion, except perhaps “where’d it go?” (much as a dog might “think”). But whether it can be conveyed in words or not, I remember it. It can be conjured up in any moment, crystalline, buried unchanging and unchanged in the very core of my mind.
I began to wonder, then, which other memories I would end up storing as cleanly, whose edges might not be dulled by time and age. This led me to wonder exactly what memories are, and what they are not. It led me to wonder at the ways memory—both our own and our cultures must shape our identities, our thoughts, and our beliefs. It led me to examine the ways our memory is a trap, a false record, a case of mistaken identity.
And then it led me to write this.