Looking back and
down on myself, I was both terrified and amazed. The digital-atomizer had
worked!
I was still alive in the hospital bed below me, in my
apartment where I had spent most of the last five years, looking up towards the
camera. I had blinked, and suddenly there was a new perspective. There was no consciousness
in that body below me, but there was flesh and blood, muscles and bones, organs
and skin—everything pulsing along as I had left it. A base primal awareness was
all that was left, just enough to stave off death, to keep the body functioning.
The consciousness, my sense of being, was now floating
above it all. This was not a near-death experience. There had been no accident.
There had been no trauma. There was only a gradual realization that knowledge
and technology had advanced far enough to make this separation between the
physical and the mental a possibility. Humankinds' march towards enlightenment
had taken an unexpected turn, it no longer it took years of meditation and a
monk-like existence to elevate the mind beyond the body. The click of a camera
was all that was necessary. Then, presto, here I am separated from the physical
world but connected to the entire universe.
The question is, what do I do now?
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