::This is a theory written in the winter of 2015, edited and revised in the late summer of 2016::
The big bang never happened, but rather, a single particle in the vast emptiness of space simply took an inward look at itself, and discovered the universe. No explosions, no expanding mosaic of burning debris, no eventual reversion into the void.
Lets take a step back here and clear up a few things that make this seem too far-fetched.
This theory is posed with the understanding - or belief if you choose to see it that way - that there is a collective conscious, an absolute awareness that resides within all things, animate or inanimate, with sensation or without, with sentience or without. This consciousness cannot be destroyed, nor created. It cannot die, nor can it be born. It has no form, and at the same time, it is all forms.
The smallest perceivable particle has within it the same infinitesimal magnitude of what we consider to be the universe, including the absolute awareness that is within all things.
This absolute awareness, for the sake of measure, is all knowing and all powerful.
With all of this in mind, allow me to paint a picture; an impractically practical moving picture at that:
Take a particle of dust, give it the ability to see, and place it billions of light years out beyond our perceivable universe. If you were looking, through the eyes of this particle, towards the center of our universe, about all you would see is a solitary beautifully vibrant star. You wouldn't know of the goings on until you got up close. So there would be a great magnification, almost a penetration, as opposed to an exploding expansion of the universe.
In contrast to common understanding, this one curious little particle has no bounds, and no limitations. It has none because it knows nothing more than to be itself. Unbounded, in what would seem like instantaneous, this particle has found himself among an immeasurable amount of particles just like it, all taking shapes and putting on acts together.
I would imagine that this particle had no inclination to think of how far away that star was, or how long it would take to get there. Despite being billions of light years out from the edges of the known universe, its voyage lasted no more than a hundredth of a second. Is velocity is so grand that it would seem as if an explosion had occurred, and countless galaxies were spread all around it. Its speed is so grand that the sound of taking such an action could very well be considered an explosion, or an enormous clap of thunder.
Got all that?
Now, consider yourself this particle, caught in a complex array of patterned movements among hundreds of billions of other particles, suddenly realizing its individuality. Realize you are not alone in this space, although you have an experience different from the others, specifically in your origin; to which you are not entirely sure of, but nonetheless, overwhelmingly curious.
You ask another what they're doing, why they're doing it, where they came from, and you've stumped them. They haven't an answer that satisfies you, but they say "I don't know, but I know what to do, so I'm doing it."
You ask, "Well, what is it that you know, then?"
They reply, "I know I'm here, and that I just have to be here."
"So you have no recollection of where you began?" You might ask.
"No need for it," it may reply.
"...And no understanding of why you are here?" You might ask.
"No need for it." it may reply.
To your fascination, mixed with frustration, you begin to laugh. Everything around you seems to intricate and organized yet underneath it is all quite vague and aimless.
"Fair enough," you might conclude, and with curiosity still yearning to be quenched, you continue on into the pattern, and let it take you, in hopes of gaining some understanding of it through your experience.
Centuries, millenniums, eons pass and you still haven't the slightest idea why it is you do what you do, but still you find yourself doing it, and masterfully from day one. You've had conversations with many others about what it all meant, what the end game was, and everyone seemed to have vague understandings with subtle differences, but you could tell they were just as unsure of it themselves; some of them got upset with you too, and it disrupted the pattern they followed, but they eventually got back on track once left alone.
Then you come to a point where the pattern makes a drastic change. You get caught up into a whole different pattern, moving faster, taking sharper turns, and it took some getting used to, but you got the hang of it.
Then it changes again, and again, and again, and you begin to become weary, and distant, and long for what was. You wish again to experience that vastness of which you could glance over at that shimmering star that you've found animosity towards, and just admire it.
A great pressure comes over you, and you aren't sure what to do about it. But with faith, you push through. you press on because you're sure that there is a reason for it all. You have to believe in something, otherwise, everything you've done is pointless; you're whole life is meaningless. So you keep going, because you'd rather believe. It becomes a choice to believe - to have faith - because without it, you'd be just as unsure as everyone else, and that might drive you crazy. You're existence would be vague and insignificant; unsupported.
You carry on and find yourself in a conversation with what seems to be a well adjusted, relatively evolved particle.
"Do you know what it is you're doing?" You might ask.
"I suppose so," it might reply.
"Do you know why you do it? Are you aware that you are doing it, separate from everyone else?"
"Separate?"
"Yes, are you aware of that?"
"More than most, I would say," he replies, he might chuckle to himself a bit.
"How so?"
"I know the extent of my own understanding, which is short at best."
"Can you elaborate?" You might ask.
"Well, we only perceive so much of what there is without effort, that is to say, it might be possible to understand more with effort; but all I know is what I know, and that's what I do. I see no need to exert effort that's unwarranted. Unlike you, you seem to be putting in a lot of effort," it may reply.
"What more could you know that the rest of us don't? How much more do you know about the self? What can you say that we don't already know ourselves?"
"I don't believe you can be more aware of yourself, but certainly less aware. I would say that, to be self-aware would suggest that you are something other than yourself," it might reply.
You don't exactly understand it, but you take his word for it and contemplate its meaning. To be something other than me, if this is certain, certainly makes all of my efforts pointless, if they are not for my own benefit. And if not for mine, than for who's? Could I be a slave in a grander scheme, stuck in a perpetuation of energy for a purpose beyond my comprehension? Now all this will definitely make me crazy. I aught to just go with the flow here, and stop thinking so much. But...
The weight of this possibility - of snapping, of cracking up, of it all being nothing - grows heavier, and heavier. The thought of it seems to be making it worse. You begin to panic, push your way through the pattern, against the current, then with the current, against the current, with the current, and you stop.
This is it, you've finally gone mad. You've given up. You realize you are meaningless, like everyone else around you. You've accepted it. The questions and yearnings fall away from you, and you are empty. Your eyes are closed. You are still.
Then...
You feel something.
Something familiar.
A spaciousness.
A vastness.
The gravity lets up, and you are light again.
You feel weightless, and at last, you feel content; satisfied.
An elation lifts you up again, and that familiarity becomes a certainty. You are finally free from all that nonsense. You're finally back where you began. Quiet, serene, and alone.
You open your eyes, and find yourself still among the particles, whom have taken still more complicated patterns, and you're right in the thick of it, flowing along, without any resistance. You're peace doesn't waver. In fact, you're just watching it happen. You watch and you see that is all anyone is doing, is watching themselves be carried along. You're all carried together around and around, and you watch it all carry on.
You watch it all eventually slow down, the patterns become simpler, the particles begin to grow further apart. It might have been another century, another eon, it doesn't matter to you at this point, you're just along for the ride. You know just to be there, and it's OK.
You find yourself so settled, so together, that you felt it certain that you must look outward from the decaying patterns. As you look out, you happen to notice a solitary beautifully vibrant star.
How funny, you thought. You're back at the beginning. You look around you and find yourself alone. Complete darkness, absolute emptiness surrounds you, except for that star, way out there in the distance.
Then, for a moment you hesitate, and here you watch your individuality slip away from you.
'...to be self-aware, suggests that you are something other than yourself...' you recall. Could it be that all things in existence are made of of our-self?
'Treat others as you want to be treated', 'respect the beliefs and cultures of others', 'respect the material and nature', all points back to you. Most of all, 'Love Yourself'; pointing to you. All the same principle. It all points to the self, the physical being, the mental projection of the imagination of the self. Thousands of trillions of tiny particles are all around you and are you, all pressed together, patiently waiting until they can again break free; but they wont, because there is something other that your individual self that keeps it all together, that keeps it all going. Something that quietly resides within you, shining like a distant star.
You come to understand that it is not that you are an individual among others, but that you are indivisible from all others. It's not that there were others at all; there weren't any other particles in the way, hindering you, frustrating you, angering you, depressing you. There was a means to better understand yourself. There was an infinite amount of uncertainties that you needed to play out so you could be sure of who you are.
You finally come to realize that you had not found a universe out there, far far away from you, but immeasurable patterns and infinite possibilities deep deep within you. You had found yourself. There was only ever you, and you were only ever there. You understand that it is not as though you are alone, but that you are all one. You are absolute.
You always have been.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
In contrast to common understanding, this one curious little particle has no bounds, and no limitations. It has none because it knows nothing more than to be itself. Unbounded, in what would seem like instantaneous, this particle has found himself among an immeasurable amount of particles just like it, all taking shapes and putting on acts together.
I would imagine that this particle had no inclination to think of how far away that star was, or how long it would take to get there. Despite being billions of light years out from the edges of the known universe, its voyage lasted no more than a hundredth of a second. Is velocity is so grand that it would seem as if an explosion had occurred, and countless galaxies were spread all around it. Its speed is so grand that the sound of taking such an action could very well be considered an explosion, or an enormous clap of thunder.
Got all that?
Now, consider yourself this particle, caught in a complex array of patterned movements among hundreds of billions of other particles, suddenly realizing its individuality. Realize you are not alone in this space, although you have an experience different from the others, specifically in your origin; to which you are not entirely sure of, but nonetheless, overwhelmingly curious.
You ask another what they're doing, why they're doing it, where they came from, and you've stumped them. They haven't an answer that satisfies you, but they say "I don't know, but I know what to do, so I'm doing it."
You ask, "Well, what is it that you know, then?"
They reply, "I know I'm here, and that I just have to be here."
"So you have no recollection of where you began?" You might ask.
"No need for it," it may reply.
"...And no understanding of why you are here?" You might ask.
"No need for it." it may reply.
To your fascination, mixed with frustration, you begin to laugh. Everything around you seems to intricate and organized yet underneath it is all quite vague and aimless.
"Fair enough," you might conclude, and with curiosity still yearning to be quenched, you continue on into the pattern, and let it take you, in hopes of gaining some understanding of it through your experience.
Centuries, millenniums, eons pass and you still haven't the slightest idea why it is you do what you do, but still you find yourself doing it, and masterfully from day one. You've had conversations with many others about what it all meant, what the end game was, and everyone seemed to have vague understandings with subtle differences, but you could tell they were just as unsure of it themselves; some of them got upset with you too, and it disrupted the pattern they followed, but they eventually got back on track once left alone.
Then you come to a point where the pattern makes a drastic change. You get caught up into a whole different pattern, moving faster, taking sharper turns, and it took some getting used to, but you got the hang of it.
Then it changes again, and again, and again, and you begin to become weary, and distant, and long for what was. You wish again to experience that vastness of which you could glance over at that shimmering star that you've found animosity towards, and just admire it.
A great pressure comes over you, and you aren't sure what to do about it. But with faith, you push through. you press on because you're sure that there is a reason for it all. You have to believe in something, otherwise, everything you've done is pointless; you're whole life is meaningless. So you keep going, because you'd rather believe. It becomes a choice to believe - to have faith - because without it, you'd be just as unsure as everyone else, and that might drive you crazy. You're existence would be vague and insignificant; unsupported.
You carry on and find yourself in a conversation with what seems to be a well adjusted, relatively evolved particle.
"Do you know what it is you're doing?" You might ask.
"I suppose so," it might reply.
"Do you know why you do it? Are you aware that you are doing it, separate from everyone else?"
"Separate?"
"Yes, are you aware of that?"
"More than most, I would say," he replies, he might chuckle to himself a bit.
"How so?"
"I know the extent of my own understanding, which is short at best."
"Can you elaborate?" You might ask.
"Well, we only perceive so much of what there is without effort, that is to say, it might be possible to understand more with effort; but all I know is what I know, and that's what I do. I see no need to exert effort that's unwarranted. Unlike you, you seem to be putting in a lot of effort," it may reply.
"What more could you know that the rest of us don't? How much more do you know about the self? What can you say that we don't already know ourselves?"
"I don't believe you can be more aware of yourself, but certainly less aware. I would say that, to be self-aware would suggest that you are something other than yourself," it might reply.
You don't exactly understand it, but you take his word for it and contemplate its meaning. To be something other than me, if this is certain, certainly makes all of my efforts pointless, if they are not for my own benefit. And if not for mine, than for who's? Could I be a slave in a grander scheme, stuck in a perpetuation of energy for a purpose beyond my comprehension? Now all this will definitely make me crazy. I aught to just go with the flow here, and stop thinking so much. But...
The weight of this possibility - of snapping, of cracking up, of it all being nothing - grows heavier, and heavier. The thought of it seems to be making it worse. You begin to panic, push your way through the pattern, against the current, then with the current, against the current, with the current, and you stop.
This is it, you've finally gone mad. You've given up. You realize you are meaningless, like everyone else around you. You've accepted it. The questions and yearnings fall away from you, and you are empty. Your eyes are closed. You are still.
Then...
You feel something.
Something familiar.
A spaciousness.
A vastness.
The gravity lets up, and you are light again.
You feel weightless, and at last, you feel content; satisfied.
An elation lifts you up again, and that familiarity becomes a certainty. You are finally free from all that nonsense. You're finally back where you began. Quiet, serene, and alone.
You open your eyes, and find yourself still among the particles, whom have taken still more complicated patterns, and you're right in the thick of it, flowing along, without any resistance. You're peace doesn't waver. In fact, you're just watching it happen. You watch and you see that is all anyone is doing, is watching themselves be carried along. You're all carried together around and around, and you watch it all carry on.
You watch it all eventually slow down, the patterns become simpler, the particles begin to grow further apart. It might have been another century, another eon, it doesn't matter to you at this point, you're just along for the ride. You know just to be there, and it's OK.
You find yourself so settled, so together, that you felt it certain that you must look outward from the decaying patterns. As you look out, you happen to notice a solitary beautifully vibrant star.
How funny, you thought. You're back at the beginning. You look around you and find yourself alone. Complete darkness, absolute emptiness surrounds you, except for that star, way out there in the distance.
Then, for a moment you hesitate, and here you watch your individuality slip away from you.
'...to be self-aware, suggests that you are something other than yourself...' you recall. Could it be that all things in existence are made of of our-self?
'Treat others as you want to be treated', 'respect the beliefs and cultures of others', 'respect the material and nature', all points back to you. Most of all, 'Love Yourself'; pointing to you. All the same principle. It all points to the self, the physical being, the mental projection of the imagination of the self. Thousands of trillions of tiny particles are all around you and are you, all pressed together, patiently waiting until they can again break free; but they wont, because there is something other that your individual self that keeps it all together, that keeps it all going. Something that quietly resides within you, shining like a distant star.
You come to understand that it is not that you are an individual among others, but that you are indivisible from all others. It's not that there were others at all; there weren't any other particles in the way, hindering you, frustrating you, angering you, depressing you. There was a means to better understand yourself. There was an infinite amount of uncertainties that you needed to play out so you could be sure of who you are.
You finally come to realize that you had not found a universe out there, far far away from you, but immeasurable patterns and infinite possibilities deep deep within you. You had found yourself. There was only ever you, and you were only ever there. You understand that it is not as though you are alone, but that you are all one. You are absolute.
You always have been.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
How you found the words I can not fathom. You can feel what you mean it's like understanding isn't even what's achieved but rather perspective. You gave the truth expression. So masterfully you mobilized an idea beyond itself, to itself, to everything.
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