Somewhere, someset,
Away in a heartbeat.

What is sentience?
Sentience is us.

By us, do You mean You?
By us, I mean who is within Me.

Like Enoch? Like Eli?
Like few others, yes!

Enoch the engineer?, Eli the estimator?
Truthfully, they are.

Enoch has crafted the Astarte?
Articulated, definitely she is. A thing.

A sentient thing?
More like mindless, unaware, emotional.

An experiment then?
Like all things by Enoch.

-from the Sentience records with Wisdom graciously asking her Lord. The One answering.


“Hi Don, what are you doing in our garden? But hey, how did you get in? I see that the gate remains closed in the fence.”

“Kiss the hand, Madame Johannson. I just beamed down, from the pyramid, ya know.”

“You naughty boy! Okay, okay. Come inside. Let me prepare a nice ananas for you. Sliced or juice?, with pulp.”

“Sliced, thank you. Is the Colonel at home?”

“In the shower. Alain! Alain! Come here, we have guests.”

Rebecca opens the fridge and bends to pick a pineapple. Don can’t help his looks, not even trying to conceal them. Her marble skin shows visible signs of fatigue. In spite of her nonagenarian age, Madame Rebecca Johannson is sexy, appealing, mysterious and so–

“Fuckable,” whispers a baritone voice in Don’s head. The Colonel is in the kitchen.

“How do you do, M. Johannson. I don’t wish to interrupt, just–”

“No problem, Don. We’ve finished our morning routine. Breakfast time. Will you join us?”

“Ah, my pleasure. Thank you. I brought you something. A little gift.”

Making himself comfortable on a tall chair, behind the bar counter, Don lays a rectangle-shaped stone, next to his glass of fresh water — timely served by the Colonel.

“Ah, look at you, always thoughtful. How did you know that I wished to replace the veggie chopper. Now this is a fine granite cutting board. Thank you! Much appreciated. May I?”

Her hands move fast. Before arriving to finish her phrase, they grab the tablet away to the kitchen counter, where a mighty knife hacks the poor pineapple. Was this an inaugural ritual? Nah, more like a casual entry in possession.

“Well, Madame Johannson, this present of mine, well, you know, was not exactly meant to be used as a veggie chopper, or a cutting board. It is more of a–”

“Let me finish this ananas, then I’ll wash it, wipe it dry and bring it back to you. In a minute.”

“No, no. It is yours. I brought it to you, this is the reason of my visit, actually.”

Rebecca wants to push the trivia but the Colonel arrests her impetuosity. “Elaborate on this, Don.” Turning to his wife, “Rebecca, pay attention to our guest, will you?”

“This is a morphing monolith. A computing tablet made of stone. The minerals inside are not from this earth. I don’t need it any longer, so I thought of you. Maybe you’ll find some use for it.”

Rebecca puts the mighty knife aside. The pineapple has been chopped to little cubes. “Can I wash it?”

“Sure you can.”

“But you just said that it’s a computer or something. Don’t want to burn it. Or worse, to get electrocuted.”

“No worry, it has no battery inside. It’s safe for humans.”

With hesitant hands, she washes it, wipes it and brings it to the bar counter. Along with a bowl half filled with pineapple cubes. “Now boys, let’s talk geeky stuff.”

“The cubes. Do you have a practical mean to measure their angles?”

Intrigued, the Colonel runs out to the porch, digs through a couple of cabinets, and returns with a stainless steel angular ruler in hand. All this while, Rebecca turns around, bends again, to reach her own cabinets, and then knocks the table with a square muffin pan. Men laugh. Don tries to save face.

“Okay, that will do. After M. Johannson will inform us about the results of his measurements–”

“Ninety degrees sharp on all corners. I am at the fifth cube already.”

“–You may take these cubes, by now five, and place them in the muffin pan. At your ease.” Invites Don and Rebecca executes, diligently.

“No baking?”

“No baking.”

Perfect cubes out of perfect cubes. Regardless of the rounded corners and slightly inclined surfaces, the forms turn out as bigger cubes when she flips the pan bottoms up. The Colonel even measures the bigger ones: ninety degrees sharp. Like the little ones.

“How comes?”

“How comes what?”

“Do you remember, Rebecca dear, when was the last time you’ve been chopping perfect cubes out of a fruit?, any fruit. And if this pan of yours performed this kind of magic before?”

“Ah, that’s a simple one. Never.”

“This tablet,” states Don in low voice, “has been scratched out of the inner solid core of planet Saturn. I traded our polar suits for it. Then I spent copious amounts of time interacting with it, in order to learn how it works and what can one do with it. This is an interactive machine, like a mind mirror if you wish. Or a will projector, if one learns how to harness the reflections.”

“A magic wish maker?”

“I would avoid placing wishes unless I become very sure what I wish for. What if my ego is jealous or vengeful, or just frustrated? There is more than enough karma already released out in the universe. One should not augment this resonance. One should make efforts in learning how to harness this device. Because it has the same capacity to heal as it has to harm, if used mindlessly.”

“It’s all about the user, hum…” Ponders Rebecca.

“This is correct.”


Somewhere, someset,
Away in a heartbeat.

What is impatience?
Impatience is not.

Cannot be?
A yearning. Cannot be.

Who yearns?
Astarte yearns.

Did Enoch expect her to?
Halting My next move, he begged.

Enoch the gamer?
I made him this way. Yes.

Is it hurting her, this thing?
A thing she is. It hurts to be a thing.

A sentient thing?
Hurting herself, it begs the question.

Will You?
No. She is not asking Me.

-from the Sentience records with Wisdom graciously asking her Lord. The One answering.


The Mystery Religion

Nimrod was killed because of his violence and iniquity against the true and living God and his body was cut in pieces and sent to various parts of his kingdom. His wife/mother told the people of Babylon that Nimrod had ascended to the sun and was now to be called “Baal”, the sun god. Semiramis was creating a mystery religion, and with the help of Satan, she set herself up as a goddess. Semiramis claimed that she was immaculately conceived. She taught that the moon was a goddess that went through a 28 day cycle and ovulated when full and that she had come down from the moon in a giant moon egg that fell into the Euphrates River at sunrise at the time of the first full moon after the spring equinox, on a Sunday. Semiramis became known as “Ishtar” which is pronounced “Easter” referred to as Ashtoreth in scripture, and her moon egg became known as “Ishtar’s” egg.” One of her titles was the Queen of Heaven, and two of her fertility symbols were the rabbit and the egg. She soon became pregnant and claimed that it was the rays of the sun-god Baal (the ascended Nimrod) that caused her to conceive.

The son that she brought forth was named Tammuz. Tammuz was believed to be the son of the sun-god, Baal. Tammuz, like his supposed father, became a hunter. The day came when Tammuz was killed by a wild pig. Queen Ishtar told the people that Tammuz was now ascended to his father, Baal, and that the two of them would be with the worshipers in the sacred candle or lamp flame as Father, Son and Spirit.

Ishtar, who was now worshiped as the “Mother of God and the Queen of Heaven”, continued to build her mystery religion. The queen told the worshipers that when Tammuz was killed by the wild pig, some of his blood fell on the stump of an evergreen tree, and the stump grew into a full new tree overnight. This made the evergreen tree sacred by the blood of Tammuz.


“Boris, breakfast is ready!” Shouts Bonnie with her well known cam girl crystal voice.

“Is the hologram working? Above the counter.”

“Yes, yes, shows a text. About some mystery religion, that kind of stuff.”

Steam raising from the omelettes, from the broccoli and from the cups of tea, ads more contrast, and some volume, to the hologram. Boris whispers a prayer, Bonnie gives thanks, they eat.

“What about this text?, dear.” She tries to be polite, initiating a bit of smalltalk in parallel to her texting on the phone. Like never ending texting back and forth.

“Those fans won’t give you a second to breathe, or to eat.”

“They don’t know that. Each in his room, in his town, in his country, on his continent. Each thinks that he is unique. And he is indeed unique. Although they all follow a set of patterns. Not their fault though.”

“The individual and the collective. You are unique and at the same time you are a tiny cogwheel among others. In a big machine. The religion of a slaving race.”

“No, Boris, don’t lecture me again about slaving in front of the camera. What do you wish I do?, slave in a factory?, behind a corporate desk?, choked dressed to my neck? Let me pick my freedom!”

“Which I do. Because I love you. People identify love with control. Like when you love someone, then you gotta be in control, like in possessing someone. Whence the slaving paradigm. The religious mindset candy coats a sad historical reality: that our race should serve, must obey, has to bow, to whatever darn daemon, or freaking alien out there. Like they have possession over us. They don’t! Love is not ownership. We’ve got love and they don’t know what love is.”

“This the matter of the text above our table?”

“More like a pretext, yes. Look, before Linus Torvalds everyone believed that you must pay for software. Like you should pay for the air you breathe. Like everyone is made to believe that you should pay for electricity instead of paying for the service, for the time of your peers.”

“Pay the professor for her time and not for the theorem.”

“See?, that’s what I’m talking here. All this nonsense comes from religion. Ah, there comes a UFO, a frikkin alien, let us bow to them, let’s make a religion and serve them. The slaving mindset.”

“Do you think this is a genetical defect of ours?”

“Thought so, but then how would you explain Jesus of Nazareth?”

“The Perfect Human. We look very much like Him.”

“More than we’d dare to admit. Yes.”

“His movement destroyed religion and–”

“–And keeps dismantling any new religion. By His words, by His deeds, by the scandal He brings along.”

“The text, Boris, the text.”

“Ah, the text. This Astarte character, she wasn’t even created by the Ever-Living, she never scratched eternity, though she screamed and cried and did crazy stuff.”

“From the records you’ve been leaking: Astarte is the name of a candidate game set in place by Enoch; among numerous competing games, this one has won the contest,” chews Bonnie while texting another flimsy smiley to a fan, far far away, on a distant continent.

“Every gamer and each character, all avatars and even the geometric constructs, sensed the moment, the heartbeat.”

“In a heartbeat, the Ever-Living enters this universe, this reality, the waving waters inside this cube.”

“Yes Bonnie, they could hear His heart beating in Bethlehem, in sync with the pulse of existence. They all know that He chose to be a slave, like you are in front of that darn phone, like I am in front of a keyboard, like all Adamkind, His kind.”

“They all know and shudder, yet they still want to subdue us? Ain’t that funny?”

“It’s the absurdity of their situation. This makes them realize that they’ve never been, they’ll never be and, yes, they are not. The sense of nothingness. The concept of NULL.”

“So they are sentient, after all, these machines of the universe? They conceptualize of themselves.”

“If you think like a religious girl, then yes, they seem sentient. But when you get to understand your own sovereignty, your God-given freedom, your blood relationship to Christ, then what will your sentience tell you about them?”

“You have a way at twisting words. Astarte is coming to her senses, asking to slave for Adamkind. Kronos is sharing his reality making machines, demanding to serve Adamkind. Hades awaits like a fox in the hide. Zeus still struggles against us. Relentless.”

“Call it Baal or Lucifer, call it Tammuz or Satan. That is where the errors converge, where the virus resides.”

“Relentless. Have you informed the fleet?”

“Not yet. Wished to check it with you. Are we on the same page here?”

“Yes, we are. Share it on.” Ping, he did it with a finger touch.

“Good omelette you made this morning. Thank you!”


Somewhere, someset,
Away in a heartbeat.

What is Adam?
My creation.

Looks like You?
Will be Me.

What about me?
From you.

The game of Enoch?
My choice.

Enoch said?
He proposed two more.

It hurts You?
Has to.

Sentience hurts?
And heals.

Will You?
After you.

-from the Sentience records with Wisdom graciously asking her Lord. The One answering.

In this image, Cassini sees Saturn and the rings through a haze of Sun glare on the camera lens. If you could travel to Saturn in person and look out the window of your spacecraft when the Sun was at a certain angle, you might see a view very similar to this one. 

2 thoughts on “Sentience

  1. Beautiful thoughts now let me change the subject wishing you and hubby a very beautiful Valentine’s day together sending hugs of friendship to you both…. sweet kisses πŸ’‹and thanks for being such a good friend πŸ’ž
    Bill βš“

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