Conspiracy to burgle.

On the way home last night, I was chatting to Mavis about various things, and one of them was how much of a sensory prison we are in as a race. The visual spectrum of light is only a fraction of the true spectrum, and the audible frequency range also. This got me to thinking about the nature of the universe, and how little we truly know. As humans, in the grand scheme of things, we are only small, buzzing electrons, zipping around at speeds that could be really slow in comparison to say, a hummingbird's wings, or the speed of light, or really fast compared to the rate at which cliffs erode, mountains grow, and continents form. All of this is only from the range of states we know to exist, that we can measure, and all the science in the world is not going to measure EVERYTHING. It's as much a measure of control as law. Laws, laws, laws. It doesn't mean being a cowboy and a fugitive, or an androgynous socialist wearing a feathered cap to be an outlaw, it just means refusing to be limited to the spectrum of awareness, of all that you see, and hear, and feel. And that this world is not the full extent of existence. It just means being aware that there is more awareness to be aware of.

BEWARE!

Anyway, I got to thinking of all the systems within systems within systems, and how I can't type within without automatically adding a 'g' to the end, and I thought about how it all came about. The image I came up with was that of a model railway fanatic as God, making and making and making, and only rarely stopping to adjust something, and sit and watch his little trains go past the miniature towns and trees that he's painstakingly created.

Sometimes my brain takes me to interesting places. However, of all the weird reveries I have, it has NEVER taken me to the train room of a model railway fan, which was, unless you're a Hornby obsessive, kinda sad and boring.