Preview of Chapter 6
“Abraxas is the sun, and at the same time the eternally sucking gorge of the void. Abraxas speaketh that hallowed and accursed word which is life and death at the same time. Abraxas begetteth truth and lying, good and evil, light and darkness, in the same word and in the same act.
Therefore is Abraxas terrible.”
~ Carl Jung, Seven Sermons of the Dead
There had been the small black glass monolith. And there had been Andy Crowley.
But not now.
It was as though they had never been apart. It was as though they were all there could ever be.
Spherical points of light shrank away from this new, merged perspective.
Quarks; dark matter; atoms — is that what they were? — spiraled away and downward.
Microscopic creatures swimming in a raindrop on a dandelion leaf collapsed from the beyond all around them and receded into the singular point at the most distant limit of perception.
What is this now? Blood?
What is this? bone? Or is it stone? Illusory distinctions — crafted deceptions all. Unnecessary. Arbitrary. Petty.
But some small part of Andy held on. A speck of ego in the exploding vastness of being hungering to vanquish division and swelling fat on all it assimilated into its awareness.
Are these questions or are they answers? The speck of ego whispered. This clinging infuriated the monolith mind. This nonsense of distinguishing one from other was anathema to its very purpose for being.
There, shrinking away now, that is Terra, Earth, Joa, Arda, En, Totanay — so many names.
No! They call that one Sanctuary! That is its true name. Or rather, its name most true, for it is the name most beings know this world by.
“But again with delusional distinctions!” The monolith’s seething to the minuscule sliver to Andy-ego dripped with venomous disdain. “For what are labels and names, save the most heinous of attachments and deceptions! See that world now. It is a dust mote: meaningless, pointless, temporary.
Then the stars too fell away into the distance. Then the galaxies. Now entire universes. All of them receding away beyond reckoning.
Quarks to atoms. Atoms to worlds. Worlds to universes.
And so, again.
Had the finite perspective of Andy Crowley’s egoic faculties remained intact, he would have ascertained he was growing in size upward beyond one universe, which became, invariably, the subatomic foundation of the next, larger, one.
As above, so below. As below, so above.
The Hermetic expression came as a whisper in the sliver of mind that remained. The whisper sent a shudder through this — what was it now — a uni-mind? The whispering festered like an infection. This modicum of delineated thought, of self-awareness, was as a poison to the expanding thing: a pulsating gangrenous tumour. It bloated and spread, and in so doing caused the ascent through realities to slow, cease altogether, and then to reverse.
In relation, the fragment that was Andy Crowley grew again.
“I love you,” Deb’s voice joined the malignancy, causing it to accelerate.
“You’ve always been a selfish asshole,” Nick’s words were there too, adding poison, which further shrank the collapsing merger of minds.
Suddenly, Andy Crowley knew himself again. Returned to the realm of ego, he hovered once again in the white expanse of the nothingness both beyond and beneath conception. In the palm of his hand, he held the small, black rectangle. It was a perfect fit. As he became himself again and his thoughts returned, he thought of Star Trek. The monolith seemed to him then some sort of futuristic device. He imagined the beeping sound made by Captain Kirk’s communicator as the grey apple icon appeared within the rectangle’s smooth onyx face.
A synthetic chiming sound exploded in his head. Later, he would recall it made him recollect the opening note of Subdivisions by RUSH. It was deafening.
All his attention fell then upon the bite from the apple beneath the black glass.
His vision tunneled down and he fought to remain conscious. The limits of every aspect of the elusive notion of what constitutes of mind came then to be tested in the egoic construct that was Andy Crowley.
Though he could not discern as much, a vague sense of having murdered all manner of beings in numbers too enormous for comprehension brought about crippling nausea. For an instant had a mute, obscured understanding of worlds and realms uncountable that had fallen crushed beneath his will to power.
The pain of the thought was a but a blip in the arrow of time known to his consciousness for it was impossible for him to carry any concrete memory of this magnitude into the everyday fabrication of existence that was self and world. Indeed, no sentient creature in all the multiverse could conceive of realities on this scale.
At least, not yet.
You’ve always been a selfish asshole. Nick’s voice echoed. His best friend had never said these words, but they could not have felt more real to him.
You’ve always been a selfish asshole.
He recalled he had come here searching for answers. Now he wondered if this was one of the answers he sought.
You’ve always been a selfish asshole.
As the words repeated, it occurred to him to ask the monolith if it could help him know if this was indeed one of the answers he had come looking for.
But when he looked, he saw that the black rectangle of glass was gone from his hand.
The loss he felt then dwarfed anything he had ever experienced before. He arched his back and roared unintelligible grief into the endless nothingness.
Such was the severity of his anguish that Andy Crowley did not feel the warm tingling at his navel. And in that mysterious manner by which it always seemed to know what is best, his silver cord manifested to take him home.
Read (and please share) The Andy Crowley Saga