A Network Of Worlds Within A Network Of Worlds

Right below this introduction, you will find a story.

A story that is less a story, and more a collection of various images.

Just beyond the cracks, gashes, and contours etched within these images, there are ideas.

My hope is that you enjoy these images and these ideas.

And, in turn, my hope is that you enjoy this story.

On The Nature Of Reality

Our reality exists.

And, in existing, our reality exists within a context.

A context comprised of choices, paths, frameworks, silhouettes, shapes, geometries, patterns.

And so on and so forth, endlessly and infinitely; ad infinitum.

Our concern is not with what comprises this context. But, rather, what this context allows for.

A neverending sea of worlds.

Our world exists within one world.

And, yet, in existing within one world, an infinite number of other worlds exist within ours, just as the world we exist within is but one of an infinite number.

You can go in an infinite number of directions, moving endlessly and endlessly, never reaching the end.

And so on and so forth, endlessly and infinitely; ad infinitum.

Our concern is not solely with this state of affairs.

No, our concern is with a single world.

A single world brought to fruition through a tool.

Our concern is not with this tool, though, it is with this particular world and the one who unveiled it.

Our Sun Has Risen

Many years ago, the Suns Of Athirah were founded.

Grown, one might say, within the moist warmth of Cambodia and Her very being.

All across the bodies of time the Suns Of Athirah inhabit, there is a pursuit.

No, not merely a pursuit or an aim or a goal or any of that: a yearning.

A yearning that can be described in one word: abundance.

Or, perhaps, two words: infinite abundance.

To satisfy this yearning, the Suns Of Athirah have invented a great many technologies.

Our concern is not with all of these technologies or even some of them.

No, our concern is with one of these technologies: a device that allows you, my friend, to enter other worlds.

Other worlds embedded within the infinite fabric that we live in and are a part of.

Just imagine, then, a single wall.

A wall with all manner of cracks, gashes, and contours.

Right within the very cracks, gashes, and contours of this wall, there are worlds.

A neverending abundance of worlds.

You can dive into these worlds, for an unending set of eternities, never running out of new things to experience.

And, yet, our concern is not solely with these walls.

Rather, our concern is with the idea that this infinitude serves to engender and, in turn, the experiences it creates.

A Collection Of Journeys

You can envision a skyscraper.

Sculpted from steel and glass, this skyscraper is thin, yet wide.

A rich assemblage of spaces and levels; facets and bodies.

You can gaze up and up, towards the very top of this skyscraper.

And, if you do so, do you know what you will find?

You will find that there is no end.

No end to the skyscraper and its unending verticality.

Many years ago, a woman named “Mahina” went into a skyscraper not unlike this one.

A skyscraper housed within a single grain of sand, rooted upon an infinite city in the desert.

Right within the years that Mahina spent within this skyscraper, there was fine dining, the production of a great many books, experimentation within notions of “conceptual structures,” as well as a constant sense of exploration.

A constant sense of exploration that led to prolonged dives into elaborate arcologies and networks of underground cities, long-abandoned by those who once constructed them.

And, when Mahina’s time within this skyscraper came to an end — when her work with conceptual structures was concluded — her reappearance occured in a manner that suggested mere minutes had passed.

To Mahina, though, no less than a single decade had passed, within the skyscraper.

A number of days later, Amara, a close friend of mine, wandered into a droplet of water.

Right within this droplet of water, Amara spent nearly nine-months developing an elaborate laboratory.

A laboratory rich with computers, test chambers, elevators; and so on and so forth.

Every facet of this laboratory was buried within the infinite ocean.

All manner of long, sleek windows existed along the walls of this laboratory; each one revealing the clear, blue water of the infinite ocean.

Soon after these nine-months passed, and Amara’s laboratory was capable of studying the infinity of past lives that constituted an old, forgotten information being named “Dinara,” Amara vanished.

Vanished and, then, fell back into our world.

And, then, with the use of a peculiar device, Amara set the world to run for a period no less than 1001 years.

Soon after a few minutes had passed, Amara wandered back into the world.

A vast assortment of past lives were available, each one ready for Amara to excavate.

The fruits of this experiment were rich: all manner of new tools and visions, each one having assisted us in reaching the stars and creating a far more abundant future for every single one of God’s creations.

All of this brings me to a third journey.

A third journey that was, it must be said, my journey.

You see, several years ago, the love of my life faded away.

Our love was strong, but it wasn’t strong enough.

Eventually, as all things must, she passed on.

And, within this sadness and this yearning and this anger, there was a creation.

A creation that my love gave me right before she passed.

The creation, in question, was no less than an infinite library.

A library with an infinite abundance of books, comic books, films, games; and so on and so forth, endlessly and infinitely; ad infinitum.

Every single one of these rich, beautiful mediums, and their many works, was housed within one of the library’s infinite spaces within spaces.

And, within the time that followed my love’s passage into the next world, there was a wandering.

A wandering within the unending library that my love created just for me.

All manner of books and comic books were enjoyed; games were played; strange, yet elaborate, spaces were explored and excavated.

To this day, my grief and yearning remain.

And, yet, there is the sense — no, the knowing; the certainty — that we will meet again, in good time.

Our Time Together

On a day that was quite some time ago, we took a trip to the beach.

My love and I, that is.

On the day that we speak of, Mahina grabbed my arm and took me into a world.

A world rooted within a single leaf, splashed upon a grain of sand.

I remember getting on the back of Mahina’s motorbike, her and I racing across roads that stretched across the ocean.

On this day, we visited her home, went atop Solara Mountain, dived into the ocean, spelunked within a vast cave.

And so on and so forth.

I remember that, while in Mahina’s home, she showed me a collection of projects.

Some of these projects have been forgotten. But, others have been remembered.

A project centered on “memory water.” a project centered on “conceptual structures.”

And, a project centered on a home that her and I were to share.

Right within the schematics of this project, there was another project.

On that evening, within the luminous embrace of the sunset, Mahina proposed.

I said “Yes,” of course and, within the weeks that followed, we married.

Just a year later — a brief, fleeting, all too short year — Mahina passed away.

And, yet, this world — the world that Mahina gave birth to — remains.

I visit this world every now and then.

I even ride Mahina’s motorbike, when I can.

Everything is as it once was — the sunset is just as beautiful, Mahina’s projects are where they must be, the ocean is still as rich with color as it was thought to be — and, yet, something is missing.

I miss her. I miss Mahina.

I miss everything about her.

I miss being with her.

And, within this sense of missing her — missing Mahina, my love — there is another feeling.

A sense of anger, one might say.

And, right underneath this anger and sadness and yearning, there is a root.

I will never experience another day with Mahina ever again.

I am here, and she is gone.

Conclusion

No, the story above isn’t particularly grand. But, it serves its purpose.

Or, at least, that’s my perspective.

Regardless of your thoughts on this story, though, thank you so much!

And, as always, if you wish to reach me, you can do so at “maxwellcakin@gmail.com.”