NO! It was not an apple!
It was the bird’s poop right in the middle of my bald spot.
I looked up and saw the small wrapper, adorned with feathers and fluff, blue with crop and yellow chest, turning the little head back and forth, continuing the harmonious trill that I heard before I was shot.
I tried a half-trill whistle; he didn’t pay attention to me and continued on his.
I did saw it, with his movements and sways, the beak that opened and closed, but this was not IT! It couldn’t even be the wrapper, let alone what it apparently contained. Where was IT?
I thought it saw me too, rather, saw my exterior, my head movement, heard my clumsy whistle, and it also wouldn’t know where I was.
I didn’t even formulate another theory of the movement of the stars, but the poop coconut shook my fundamentals until then.
I began to examine my enclosure, apparently delimited by a skin, discontinuous, porous, indefinite, variable and at constant and unpredictable mutation in atomic scales, full of special holes with specific functions, which definitively connect me to everything and everyone. It is my continent, as it is wanton and at wanton, subject to many things, including bird poop. Not! This is not me. I cannot be the self that as that observes myself.
So, let’s try the content.
Under the skin, tissues, underneath, some muscles, bones, nerves, threads and pipes of various types. Eyes looking, kind of floating in the holes in the skull, inside, the so-called grey matter, neurons, synapses and such, great tail descending from the brain through the spine and branching, sending impulses and orders to a lot of organs, my continent and content sucking air polluted and returning even more polluted air, receiving water and food, using what they get from them and returning everything much worse.
NOT! This is not all ME!
Then, where am I, who use my continent to see, smell, feel, embrace, kiss, love other beloved continents; decide that others do not deserve special attention; others must be avoided … I also use it to marvel at the world, with the universe, with a verse or poem, the poem of an attractive and beautiful continent, a melody, and a work of art?
And why can other continents and contents, all essentially the same, hate, hate themselves, kill, for whatever reason, for religion or prejudice, for the most diverse ideologies?
That’s why the little poopnut shook my foundations.
More than an atheist, I was and am a “Doubter” one that doubts of everything, even on my certainties, and yet there was always the certainty that everything ends in death, one dies and “puff” is over …
And now what? I am neither in my continent nor in my content. Maybe in my content just an antenna or whatever communicates it with ME.
Am I a hologram of the ME that exists in another brane?
Since no one knows what “our soul” is and those who say they know do not know how to explain except travelling through fantastic theologies and fables, I will use the word as being the ME, which I have no idea where it is.
Supported by physicists, scientists and philosophers, in their theories, and also by my own, I have already written about the phenomenon of memory, highlighting what I could understand about Pitkanen, travelling with the help of Penrose, Feynman, Kaku, Gleiser, and especially Robert Paster. Anyone curious can see my ideas and conclusions on my blog, here in here in “Does memory fit in the brain?[1]”.
This was certainly a preparation to understand the bird’s poop.
I believe now, with the caveats of “Doubtditism”, that there is something about us that does not belong to the dimension of time, certainly not just to four dimensions; a soul that may not be exactly what it is while living, but that remains, belonging to a much larger envelope, also of indefinite and inconstant “skin”, which we call the Universe or Multiverses.
Now, why am I (the ME) dependent and prisoner on this continent and content so incongruous? This is another story; for now, let it go.
One of the things that always bothered me in physics and cosmology was the refusal of people of Hawking’s category to say that the anthropic theories of the Universe were bullshit. Without a solid foundation in physics and philosophy, my intuition has long been that the Universe exists because WE “see” or “observe” it.
Well, on May 27, 2013, I read an article by Marcelo Gleiser “Is the Universe Conscious?[2]” in which, following the demonstrations of Eugene Wigler and John Wheeler, one wonders: “This vision poses the dilemma: does the Universe only make sense because we exist?”.
I went to see what I could understand about Wigler and Wheeler. Well … Little I could, unless that their theory, which has been proven experimentally, says in a summary that “… a quantum measurement requires a conscious observer, without which nothing ever happens in the Universe”.
That’s it, “Universes only exist as long as there are observers”, so, there were, there are and there will be as many universes as they have been, are and will be their observers. Saying that it makes sense because “we” are watching it does not make sense to me. “We” who, pale face?
Hence another complication that will certainly be easily uncomplicated by Gleiser, Paster, and other researchers in physics, classical, quantum or string theories, by cosmologists, philosophers et alia some time ahead:
If there sure are as many Universes as there are observers, how do we synchronize our particular universes so that we communicate about what we observe with such confidence that they are the same thing, that we comunicate with other that apparently are as we are, what we think we see as living?
Look at what a simple bird poopnut did in me!
Restlessness and inquiries aside, it seems that, free from our tribulations and quarrels here, we are immortal somewhre.
[1] https://blogflaviomusa.medium.com/can-memory-be-contained-in-the-brain-98f2f9e06656
[2] https://marcelogleiser.com/blog/is-the-universe-conscious