We’d met for coffee at the local coffee shop, just as we do almost every day. We were pondering the big questions, “ Is there an after life?,” What’s the purpose of life?, “Is there a God?”, “ Will Justin Trudeau be re-elected?”, and so on. No doubt you get the picture, two old guys huddled over morning coffee at the local diner, attempting to solve the world’s problems. We were getting nowhere, and were just about ready to call it quits and head back home, when George brought up the subject of life being nothing more than a dream, a digital existence of sorts. I was a bit taken aback as George almost never suggests topices for discussion, preferring to let me take the lead. Anyway, George went on to explain that he had been having some wierd dreams lately, and after reading articles relating to our actually being a part of a digital program he was coming to believe that, if true, many of the questions that we continually ponder really weren’t worth the effort. George went on to point out that even Elon Musk is among those who believe that we may be living in a simulated universe. I thought for a moment, rather hesitant to share my thoughts with George, then had to admit that in the past, when I was a mere boy, I had given some thought to the belief that my eyes were merely a gateway, portals, used by an alien species to explore our world. George thought that I was a bit off base, so I rattled off a poem that I had written some years ago:-
ANOTHER WORLD
I am but an observer.
My physical reality,
Of which I am a prisoner.
Lives elsewhere,
My eyes are portals to another world.
Are we merely part of a grand simulation,
That has run amok,
Or an instrument for some far off observer?
When my physical reality shuts down,
Will my purpose be fulfilled?
Will I dream?
Or, will I simply play another role,
In a never ending elsewhere?
Religions preach never ending life,
And reincarnation.
I will never know,
Will I?
EAS
George was amazed, not so much about the contents of the poem, but that I could rattle off a poem with such ease written years ago. George thought for a moment then said that maybe my poem did relate to the subject at hand, and commended me for having such thoughts so long ago. George went on to say that perhaps there is merit to the idea that we are simply simulations, and that one day our world will simply pixillate, and we will cease to exist. After all, George said, “if Elon Musk believes that we are merely simulations, then it must be true.” George is a big fan of Elon Musk, and has filled in an application to take the one way trip to Mars. As it was getting on we left the conversation as it was, agreeing to continue at a later time, providingof course, that we didn’t pixillate in the meantime.
We parted. George went his way, and I went mine. I walked home, head down, braving the cold made worse by a bitter wind out of the north. A flock of Canada Geese flew overhead honking to each other heralding the fact that spring was (hopefully) on the way.
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Aunts & Uncles Hand-coloured Etching |
