The Virtual Incentive

Chapter 1: Is Love Love?

What are the two things that we all have in common? We all live and die. That's it, that's all there is to it. Well, that's not entirely true. It's easy argue that during the interim between life and death, there is something that is subjectively different and all-the-more difficult to discern than just 'life and death'. Therein, exists the experience of life, and thereafter exists the experience of death. Yet, as we all share these two coupled fates, our experiences differ in infinitely many ways. And so, to simply say that we live and die is nothing short of saying that we live without experiencing the two. In order to know either, we would first have to experience them. Now, ask yourself, have you experienced Love? I'm sure the answer is yes, in whatever form. And, have you experienced death? Probably not.

What you're about to read at the beginning of this chapter is an excerpt from the poet Crissy Williams' writings on love and order. It is meant to be taken as imagery to portray the definition of love and how it coexists as a metaphysical entity within the human realm. Consider it a short narrative expressed metaphorically to convey a feeling rather than an actual scene or picture. Try to take it at face value and not overthink it. Let the words make you feel something.

"So, how long have you waited? How long has this festering been inside that you now face the demons that followed you since your birth. In the night, you heard them cry, and in the skies, you've seen the fighting, the wars, the pain, the tears that paint your vision with colors from the tired raindrops endlessly begging to be wiped away. Tears that have tears themselves. They've put you, they put us - we put ourselves in this box, and battles rage in the space above us.

They've always raged, and they've always been here. It shouldn't be a secret, but it's been kept from us. We kept it from ourselves. How long has it been that we've lived under a sky filled with this verbally physical oppression? The Word of words with which we use to berate ourselves. Each word like a bombshell dropped on our hearts. Each sentence echoing endlessly in the halls of presence, where presence is held and echoes resonate until they take shape.

You and I have walked these halls a thousand - no an infinite - number of times, and together we've held presence here many times before. Still you seem lost, and I can't say I don't feel the same way. A place so familiar, yet unrecognized, and each pass takes the skins away from our bones. We are, after all, just bags of bones sculpted by vibratory sensations, taken aback by the things we do. Lest we forget our names, we might find peace in presence without these definitions. So many forms are found in these halls, and each form has felt those tears sting and bounce from the shields of their existence. We have forgotten time and time again these halls, and yet, one day we'll be back again.

How long has it been, dear friend, that you have tasted the slight bitterness from these waters? That bitterness from the piss leaking from our bodilies again to be found in the cups we drink from. The taste is always there, but again, we've forgotten it. The stench of decay and slight fecal is there - your nose is just not as sensitive, and in time, it rises to the surface in subtle ways - yet, you're still to question its origin. For so long, you've hidden these truths from yourself, and for so long, we've sought for sound philosophies to shelter us or provide homage from these realities.

Your home in that box, where the pipes still clog, and the air runs dry - even though your heart is moist and gurgles as it floods your veins with essence. They want your blood and they want your heart contained in this box. For, without it, they are nothing. And, who are they or them if not but us, we, and you and I? So, your higher self beckons for you to face these realities, and I see that you - my higher self - beckons to free us from them. We cannot be free, as it is that we are. That's what they want, so give them your heart. Face these truths, face yourself, and face me, the better half. I've done it - faced them, and I might continue to do it so long as you're willing. Bleed onto my surface like teardrops on the pages that inscribe your pain and mine. Be free and bleed unto me.

I know what it is you want. I know it is what you don't want to admit. It's not freedom, though one may consider that it could take your freedom just as much as it could give it to you, even though freedom you do not have because of it. You're sick, and it's simply because your planet is sick. Her pain is undefined and pure, and everyday, she speaks through you and I. You want the love of your planet, she gives it to you, day in and day out, and she asks nothing in return. She weeps because you reject her. I reject her too, and it's in my heart that I wish I could hold her close and soothe her pain. She houses our lowly bodies and sits with our spirits while observing our thoughts and actions, hoping to one day resonate in your presence. She's beautiful, our planet.

Love, she said to me, it's more than love. She said she feels every soul of every person as a unity, and it's something more than love. Then, what is it? I'm not quite sure, although I've heard some echoes that it might just be resonance, in whatever form, a type of oscillation that makes us fleshy, squishy, gelatinous, plasmonic beings. It's a fragment of history at this point - something that 'makes' sense. It 'makes' sense to call it love but not.

Unfortunately and fortunately, there was someone who was sure when that something had been started many, many, many years ago. Who knows what and how many years? No one really knows. I say fortunately now, because it is very much a good thing that no one knows because they never could know. It is incredibly difficult to explain these truths to people, because they just wouldn't get it. They're not supposed to. There is always someone asking, "Well, how does this work, and how does that one...?" The answer is truly, no one knows and your dissemination makes it even more unknown... But thankfully, you have someone like me who 'kind of' does know. And really, all I know is that there is something or someone that most assuredly does know.

Does that make sense? Surely not, but it does. Life is paradoxes built on [paradoxes]. A pair of boxes built from a pair of boxes.

And I was told again that it could be love, but even that doesn't seem to describe it. Like a nation, it has no face and no body. Perhaps, an old word we forgot, or maybe a new one we have yet to remember? There is a word, they say - 'The Word' - that paints a thousand pictures. You and I, the images in all colors found upon these spritely canvasses all summed up by One Word. Love? Then I ask, Love for what? Or is it just Love? Is it either that you don't have it or you do, or can it be given and taken in quantities? Words, they may not do enough here, for I might find variations of love in Greek mythology which could as well be represented by different Gods and Goddesses of love, or you could use a mathematical or scientific expression to explain the chemical occurrences found therein.

Earth our planet, the motherly image of God and Nature, and the sun, our planet's and solar system's fatherly image as God. But, are these two so different without our keen eye to observe them? We might find that they are the same in retrospect, yet fulfill a different ultimatum. One houses our mortal essence, and one draws us with its light emitting presence. Both give us life. Still we could not survive without the sun, but the sun would sit unafflicted without Earth.

So, one day, we might find ourselves without the sun, and then what of the earth? If the light were not there to draw us, we'd have nothing to observe. Only darkness would color the region of space we reside. And so, we'd be creatures of the dark whom interact by the shades of their acoustics. You and I at this point should be a sound, fully resonant and present, but with no definition to our vibratory presence. There would be nothing to paint us but sound itself. We would feel each other, but what would we see; do you truly need eyes to believe?

Could we sit and have a conversation to define the spritely images of our families in a booth that hides the other to where you can only hear and feel these images? Of course, these images are classified to the interpreter, and you would most likely depict different images in a group. Still, do the feelings of the words remain the same for each individual? Of course not, but maybe they have the same affect based off the intent of the individual. It's like 1000's of people all achieving the same spark of inspiration from a motivational speaker, but each person feeling and perceiving something different. And here, the intent which was to inspire was felt a thousand different ways from the same set of words this speaker has used to inspire before.

So, imagine this world without light, where darkness surrounds you and your box. This box is your home, simulated by the recesses of your mind - a projection, nonetheless, of what you 'feel'. And, if there should be light, it is white - so white that you can't see in this light either. Rather, you are the painter of this white light canvas using only the breadth of the emotions stirred into existence with sounds or words. Love... is this sound. Moreover, it is a sound that has taken shape to become a living breathing resonant physicality. In the very same way, this sound can be mutated into what we call fear by using the same range of emotions.

It's my wish to use this imagery to awaken any of the slumbering processes inside your mind that have so naturally blended with your reality. These processes, which some groups might consider internal or sub-conscious, are that which depict and interpret different aspects of reality to you."

OK. So, let me break this down a bit for you, the reader. The whole of the message here is spilled out over the poems of Crissy's writings with what seems to have no particular structure. Probing further in Crissy's work, we'll find that the content is not relational and is meant to be interpreted regardless of its organization in text. With this in mind, we can actually put together some kind of underlying structure in the writings like in this one.

At the start, the writer mentions a verbally physical oppression, and throughout the text, we see that sound and resonance are used as primary components to create the idea of love. We also find imagery of how sound is used to construct the foundation of what most of us might consider the fabric of our realities. On the other hand, it is used in the very same way to instill fear within us. What was Crissy trying to say here?

The takeaway here is that everything is a sound inside what Williams describes as a box with no light. In this static space, we might say our 3 Dimensional existence is perceived by light, but the recesses of our mind perceive that light through the communicative messages of neurochemical impulses within us. Even light must be translated in some way as a message to you to understand and transceive the scene in front of you, and every motion (including the neurochemical ones) that you make creates some type of sound [or wave] in space as well that further communicates the scene within.

Essentially, the neural impulses in your brain, if observed, can be interpreted by the means of sound; not that electrical signals are classified as a sound in modern science, but we can only come to understand the science behind the signals through the means of sound. For, we can only further apply practical advancements in science if we can first relay to ourselves what reaction just occurred in the experiment and why. Basically, sound is more than just what we hear. It is a message.

Chapter 2: Is Sound Sound?

We will start this journey to just what 'love' is by drawing from Crissy's writing and logically breaking down just what they meant in this excerpt when it comes sound and how it impacts us. For starters, we must understand that sound is a 3 Dimensional vibrational wave in space that extends outwards infinitely from the source in every direction. Then, we should describe that mathematically, in such a way that most readers will understand it without mathematical knowledge. Following this, we'll take a look into the recesses of our mind to determine the flow of information within us and what our mind does to programmatically relay this information through the means of sound.

Chapter 3: The Digi-Box

We will call it, "The Digi-Box!" Boldly proclaimed by none other than the great quantum physicist, Niels Bohr. He glistened in the whites of his eyes while staring through the crystalline particles sub atomically glittering the air about him. His voice rose in resonance from the feeling permeating his being. He was in a vibrational state beyond comprehension as he spoke the words of legend into existence. Those words were remembered and taken through the generations to now a century later. Using the wisdom found in the synapses of his nervous system, the communique of this man transcended time. Now on the bulletin board of the minds of philosophers and physicists alike, we see "Quantum Era" posted in bold letters. A message from a not-so-distant past.

So, what is the Digi-box? Short for Digital Box, it's a box that digitally draws the scene inside of it using Digi(digital)-Bits! Whereas, the Digital Bit is a 3 dimensional pixel within the Digital Box, the Digi-Box is in and of itself a Digital Bit and carries a signature within the Digital Filter! Also, the Digi-Box can as well be considered a Digital Filter for the Digital bits it uses to define and draw the scene contained within it. Taken even further, we can say the Digital Filter is a Digital Bit or a Digital Box to an even larger scoped Digital Filter or Digital Box. Speaking In terms of size and relativity, it can be stated that these 3 are 'Digital' measurements, and from the smallest of measurements to the largest would be Digital Bit, Digital Box, and Digital Filter respectively.

Even a Digital Box (b) can contain a Digital Filter (f), and that Digital Filter could subsequently contain multiple Digital Filters, Digital Boxes, or Digital Bits. However, we would still say that this Digital Filter (f) has it contents defined in relation to one another with Digital Bits being the smallest, and Digital Filters being the largest. Although, if the Digital Filter (f) is without content, can we even consider that to be a Digital Filter within a Digi-Box (b)? The answer is no. If this Digital Filter (f) is without content and contained within the Digital Box (b), it cannot be considered a Digital Filter, as it would possess no definitions to interpret or filter through. So, the question here would be, 'What is a Digital Filter?'

Let's say a Digital Filter can be seen as the observer of the Digital Scene within it, and through the lens of the filter is the scene interpreted with relative placement. The filter then defines the arrangements within scenes by the means of Digi-Boxes, and those Digi-Boxes contain Digi-Bits that possess some kind of spatial data that provides information to the observer. That information is what depicts for the filter the contents within and the spatial mapping needed to create and methodize the scene.

If a Digital Filter cannot arrange a scene because there are no context elements within it, then that Digital Filter Would be a Digital Box with any number of Digital Bits inside of it. In the eyes of a larger Filter with a broader scope of filtering, we can see the universe of Digital Boxes within as Digital Bits themselves. This is of course relative to other Digital Boxes in the filter. The scope that a Digital Box defines within the scope of a filter can be relatively expressed based on the en masse of Digital Bits inside of it. Those Digital Bits could then contain informational units of measurement that provide weighted data to the Digital Filter. The Filter then uses that Data to systemize the Digital Boxes within it.

TBC