The Metaphysician
The knowledge to which we are so addicted, is not the same as wisdom.
“There has to be a way!” Emily had just returned from yet another healing session. The healer in question had, for perhaps the bazillion and third time, activated the dissolution of a particular pattern. The. Same. Pattern.
“What is this persnickety slog through each and every instance?” Emily wondered, out loud. In her work engineering databases, she was well aware of what it was to initiate a “where-used” algorithm, that, if well-written, would identify each and every instance of a particular function within the system. Once identified, a second process could be run that would “cascade delete, or upgrade replace” each and every one of these functions, one after the other, with one pass. The process was precise. It was efficient. It worked.
As she flopped into her office chair, she wrestled with memory.
“Why can’t this be done in consciousness?” she wondered, allowing herself to become more and more agitated by the minute. This level of frustration was not new to her. More to release. Yippy. As she breathed through it, she remembered.
Atlantis. Codified crystals. Storing structures within physically materialized planes of light so the knowledge would not be lost. Well, it had been, so what had…
