Friday, March 28, 2014

To Everything Turn Turn Turn



ACT I
You are seated alone in a dark room. The chair is simple wood. In front of you are two screens, behind you two projectors. You have died.
The projectors sound to life, a sound from old movies, of movies being shown as a wheel turn. The movie is of your life. The same picture shows on both screens. Identical.

God’s voice (or is it Leibnitz’s voice?) says:
On the left screen is your life movie where you made all the choices, where you have free will. On the right screen is your life movie from the moment I created everything. Though I saw everything you would do before you ever existed, you were free to choose.


ACT II
You watch your life movie. Your chair swivels to the right and a light pervades a previous darkness. Two new  screens appear. On one screen is your life movie from your eyes out. On the other screen is your life movie eyes on you.

God’s voice (or is it Leibnitz’s voice?) says:
On the left side is your monad, prefect in actuality, without passivity. On the right are the monads of those that knew you, their monads prefect in actuality, without passivity. The two never interact. To interact requires passivity. I cannot create a perfect thing that is passive; you contained the interactions with other monads from the moment I created everything and they contained your monad from the moment of creation.


ACT III
Your chair swivels further again to the right and a light pervades another darkness. In front of you is only one screen. You watch your life movie. You are murdered.

God’s voice (or is it Leibnitz’s voice?) says:
Your murder was the best of all possible worlds. I cannot create a non-perfect world. From the moment I created everything you would be murdered and it would be the best of all possible worlds. Though you winced at your murder, this too was the best of all possible worlds. Your perspective, perfect from the moment of creation, because of not in spite of its ignorance and desire, perfect from the moment of creation, cannot see perfection, though this is perfection. Your murder is for the best.

ACT IV
You are sad and it is perfect. Your chair swivels to the right again, back to where it began, and a darkness pervades a light. And it is perfect.

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