Are we conscious of matter? A conversation.

If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration - Nikolai Tesla


“Different states of vibration take us to altering levels of consciousness and therefore to differing perceptions of reality. Therefore everything around us had a degree of consciousness.”

“What, even bugs? What about rocks and plants?”

“Everything. The insects have an altered sense or reality, you know this already. They see the world through a pixelated ultra-violet spectrum. The colours that we see flowers possess look utterly different to bees and butterflies. It’s been proven that plants communicate with one another, that trees require a symbiotic relationship with fungus in the soil, that plants under infestation with insects will issue an alarm to other plants an attempt to make themselves unpalatable to pests. As for rocks, how is it that I can crumble graphite in my fingers and yet, chemically, it’s the same material as diamond?”

“But insects don’t exist in a parallel reality, they live in ours.”

“True, which is why stick insects have evolved their camouflage, why moths appear as leaves or bark and yet they still view the world in an alien way to us. To survive in a world haunted by animals and birds with a visual spectrum such as ours they have evolved these techniques. Don’t forget as a life-form, they have successfully been in this world far longer than us. ”

“Visual spectrum?”

“Yes. We know that light, like sound, travels in waves.  The frequency of these waves dictates what is visible, hence you get the long slow waves of radiowaves through to the rapidly repeating gamma rays. Our visible spectrum of red through to violet is a narrow band in this wavelength between infrared and ultraviolet, yet all these colours are contained within white light.”

The Electromagnetic spectrum - pintrest

“Radiowaves? So sound and light are the same thing?”

“No, although they both travel as waves, they are different. Light can travel in a vacuum but sound cannot. Sound is merely an excitement of atoms, it needs a medium through which to travel. Light, on the other hand, is composed of photons - the elementary particle of electromagnetic radiation – therefore, unlike sound, light has the duality of being a particle and a wave.”

“So what’s beyond radio waves and gamma waves?”

“Well that’s the question, isn’t it? It could be that there are lower frequencies that our instruments can’t quantify and maybe higher frequencies than gamma waves… although the energy required to produce such an electromagnetic burst would be literally astronomical. However we live in a hypothetical multiverse, so why not?”

“A multiverse?”

“Yes, whereby many different realities occupy the same space-time.  I see that you’re confused, but look; the big bang was a quantum event, yes? Well we can still discern gravitational waves from this event, in particular the inflation effect that occured soon after. There are unseen forces  that affect the universe in which we reside. The universe is expanding, yet what moves in to occupy the space between galaxies? We see nothing and yet this nothing must be something in order to push them apart.”

“This is all pseudoscience, mere philosophy.”

“On a quantum level observation yields only chaos; sub particles, for instance, have to rotate multiple times until the same face reveals itself to us. How is such a thing possible? We see the universe in terms of an orrery; where all is as clockwork and predictable. But we live in a goldilocks universe - everthing is just right. Not only do we live on a planet that lies in the habitable zone around our sun whereby liquid water can exist. Or that we have a moon that keeps our planet's tectonics active, that coincidentally has the same size/distance ratio from said sun, enabling us to view the wonder of a solar eclipse. Neither that our solar system has gas giants sucking up the majority of comets and space debris that would otherwise bombard us… But we just so happen to exist in a universe whereby matter itself can exist. Therefore surely it stands to reason that other universes must be out there. Some theorise that there must be at least nine types of parallel universes, but it could be an inconceivable number. The deeper we delve the more philosophical it all becomes, it is at the very edge of our scientific understanding.”

“I think I can get my head around that, but what were you saying about vibrations?”

“In this universe everything is energy. Light is energy, we know sound is energy. I twist a rubber band and my movement creates energy, which is stored in the rubber band’s elasticity.”

“You mentioned rocks before, they don’t have energy.”

“Yes they do, on an atomic level they are in motion. It’s merely that with our limited perception we don’t see it. Most of what we call rock is in actual fact empty space. Its solid form is the result of the energy from its chemical bonds. But if I apply energy using a hammer I can break off pieces; that’s me applying greater energy than the chemical bonds.”

“Hang on that implies that this material world isn’t really matter at all?”

“Exactly. It’s really energy.”

“But what of consciousness?”

“Have you ever heard of the double slit experiment?”

“Is that whereby you can discern if something is a particle or a wave?”

“Yes that’s the one. If I set up a screen and fire marbles through a single slit, the marbles will hit the screen and make a shape corresponding to the slit. If I put two slits in from of the screen I’ll get two corresponding bands forming on the screen. However if I fire light at the slits, particles which we know travels in waveform, where both waves meet after exiting the slits you get interference patterns. So the screen will show multiple slit shapes, separated by area where no light strikes the screen at all.”

“Yes, I think I’ve seen such images, fascinating stuff. But that doesn’t prove consciousness.”

“No… but if we go to the quantum level and fire electrons at the single slit we get one band shape but two slits form the same multiple interference patterns. The electrons – actual matter, was behaving as a wave.”

“Maybe they were merely bouncing off each other and making the interference pattern that way?”

“Well the next logical step to check this is to fire individual electrons at the slits.”

“Yes and thereby making two slit patterns on the screen.”

“You’d think… and yet after an hour or so off firing individual electrons at the slits the same banded interference pattern is observed on the screen. Which means the single electron is fired at the slits and becomes a wave of potentials, splitting and going through both slits and therefore interfering with itself and hitting the screen making that banded pattern. Mathematically this is mind- blowing; the single electron goes through both slits or none, through one or the other simultaneously.”

“Did they check this, observe which slit the electron passes through?”

“This is where it gets strange. Equipment was set up to observe the slits to see which one the electrons, fired singularly, went through. It was observed that the electron only went through one at a time, not both. The screen revealed that only two slit patterns were made.”

“Hang on, so the electron was behaving like a particle, not a wave? How did it make the interference pattern before?”

“It was the very act of measuring that did this. If left alone there is a wave of potentials from the electron, but under observation this wave of potentials collapses… as if the electron was aware that it was being observed.”

“But that begs the question of the nature of matter, is it made of particles or waves… and if the electron knows  that its being observed that implies a degree of…”

“Consciousness! Exactly!”

Prayer to Woden - October 14th

Woden,

Woden, hear me.

God of battles, furious.

Beyond the light of holy rood cast, we remember you.

Over the whale road you led us here.

Blessed our fathers with this sod to gain.

I stand before you, a lesser man than my ancestors.

Not for me the sword arm, bloodied in foreign lands.

I have been house-bound, to fair wife and sweet earth.

Children we have grown and crops we have sown.

Nurtured land and home.

Now behind linden shield I stand, with ashen spear in my hand.

With others called from farm and cot.

Oaths and duty not forgot.

May you watch over us, from the high world ash. Your ravens caw.

Flesh will be yielded to beak and claw.

They come, a bastard’s army of despoilers under papal flag.

To rob, kill and burn.

Beneath his banners unfurled, our king he calls.

“Ut! Ut! Ut!” we take up the chant.

Woden.

Woden, forget us not.

Know that we stood against the storm of arrows, sword and lance.

Let children remember.

If death and defeat steals all. A foreign boot strides our halls.

We stood here, huscarl, thegn and ceorl.

If I am denied Christ’s heaven or your famed benches of gold.

May my ghost remain, a curse. A fierce wind blowing cold.

Across this ridge until sea swallows earth.

Woden.

Woden, hear me.

Lord of battles, lend me your frenzy.

That I may stand with my fathers, that they may find me worthy.

Grendel

Hwaet! No doubt you have heard of the Proud Ones?

Heard of their bright fame and stirring deeds?

These sons of Adam and daughters of Eve.

Battle boastful, proud of their lineage.

Their kings, gold bejewelled, leaders of warriors.

Their queens, beautiful, clear eyed, in silken elegance.

To their glory they wrought gems and trinkets of gold.

Smithed swords like dragons teeth, named and old.

Jutes and Scyldings. Wulfings and Geats.

Sagas sung and tales told across the green seas.

That abyssal salty whale road.

Atop its waves their wooden horses ploughed.

But hasten, away from their mortal cares, the world of man.

Before their coming there was always this land.

Harken, can you hear the soft sounds of the night?

The reed beds rustle, tussock stems rattled by sea breeze light?

Salt laden, brine tinged from the waves beyond the marsh

Above the darkened land a field of distant stars.

Before the proud ones, for years uncounted, we dwelt in these lands alone.

Changelings, trollkin, dark dreams made flesh and bone.

Not finely wrought we, but crudely hewn.

Diabolical. Elemental. Flesh grown from stone.

Monsters, shadowstalkers, a dark legend to recite

To gather wayward children as darkness conquers light.

They were always too numerous, and like the wolf pack and bear.

We yielded, retreated, to find us new lairs.

Yet on the wild edge of the realms of men

There we still haunted moor, mountain and fen.

Grendel they named me, ancient fears they had

My dam they cursed as a foul Sea hag.

Forgetful over centuries. Unsated, they intruded once more.

And on the headland, Lord Hrothgar, embarked to build a great hall.

A king of the Scyldings with his young queen Wealhtheow

She the bearer of the King’s mead cup fashioned of gold

Bidding bondsmen to sup, that great deeds be regaled.

But they knew these wilds were ours

Fell moors, fog ragged, salt marsh sour.

Under the sun, that accursed candle, men toil in their work.

Below we hear the hammering carried down through the rock.

Under moon I, the night stalker, emerged from the marsh

Leaving footprints of slime, a trail where I passed.

Tall it stood, the long hall, with carvings of intricate craft.

Above its door, great antlers displayed; Heorot the Hart

Picture by Enthing - deviantArt

Reaching toward the oaken barrier, my claw lightly drawn,

Inside I smelt blood, rich, sweet and warm.

I oozed a cold fear through the dark night air.

As frost spreads, dark dreads, fears laid bare.

Stirring in nightmare ridden sleep, the proud ones, behind their walls of wood

Clutching talismans, recalling fell tales of childhood.

My presence felt, seeds of doubt planted.

As dawn approaches, the demon departed.

But these fears melt with the Suns’ arcing soar.

As did my prints; dispelled with the frosts’ thaw.

My night haunting forgotten as King Hrothgar in glory came.

To open his Heorot hall with a feast of great fame

From his realm and beyond came thanes and bondsmen

With retinue, shield maidens and elegant women.

Wise with age or in youthful vigour flushing.

Warriors of renown bent the knee, oaths of loyalty are given.

Hrothgar, battle famed, wealthy with tribute and spoil, all enemies cast down.

Law maker, ring giver astride the high seat, gold adorning his crown.

Queen Wealtheow, in beauty radiant, her hands clasping the great mead cup

Wrought of gold, she proffers it, from which each to sup.

The fiery drink, the King’s Thanes drink of it deep

In praise of their Liege Lord, their loyalty his to keep.

And so with roasting meats and hearths burning high.

Through the rafters, spark bejewelled smoke swirls into the sky.

Voices are raised in arrogant boasts of enemies bested.

Shouts came in answer, insult or grudging acceptance.

Hrothgar smiled at his warriors bragging, recalling courageous feats.

As each contested, to the winner, first knife set to roasting meat.

A battle of wits, courage drawn with words.

A parry and thrust without shield or swords.

A winner declared he is cheered to the rafters.

Soon all descended into drunken laughter.

Laughing warriors eat and drink and make play for wenches

Voices joined in ribald songs along the benches.

Ale and mead, a heady river flows.

While the sun sinks and the moon rises in a silver glow.

Our sleep is disturbed by the Proud Ones revelry.

My thoughts are consumed, yielded to jealousy.

Intruders, interlopers; that they should hold sway

Over lands that were ours from the dawn of all days

Loving, feasting, their lives blaze bright enriched

While we lurk in the shadows and under trip-trap bridge.

Claiming morsels from their grazing herds.

Or eggs and chicks from cliff nesting birds.

Thieves! Land wasters. Whole forests fallen to their axes.

All that’s left is a sour-land of ashes.

No more. No more, will I bear

To harken to their joyous feasting above our lair.

So thus resolved, blood thirsty, violent of hand

I go forth. Man flesh sought, to tear, to rend.

From shadowed cave through salt watered marsh and rattled reeds

My dam a fog bank magic she weaves.

She raises from the distant sea, around the headland a cloak for me.

I approach in shadows ,clad in mist, my mouth in drooling ecstasy.

I hear voices in lovers’ whispers, hoarse in passion

Rutting, outside the hall, unaware in wild abandon.

My hunger is relentless, their flesh, young and love sweetened

They yield their lives. Their terror silenced by my taloned hand.

Behind the wooden walls, murmured conversation.

Songs sung, riddles posed, a saga oration.

My appetite grown as I approach the antlered door.

Reaching my hand, the wood scored by my claw.

I push and the door yields to open, unlocked in their arrogance.

How proud! So assured! So certain in their dominance.

But now here is a nightmare, dark dreams cast in flesh.

Now the dark, they will learn to fear afresh.

I enter the hall a shadow of dread.

Eyes lifted from meat and cup they turn their heads.

I am death, I crush first one. A madness of screaming.

Tear apart another, his lover left keening.

Wits gathered now, a warrior, loved by Hrothgar, grabs sword from wall.

Advancing, arm raised, he attacks, his voice a loud warriors’ call.

But his sword bites me not. My hide enchanted, turns the blade.

Notched, sword repelled, his arm deadened, my talons reach out and he is slain.

I lick my gore thick fingers, iron rich and madness inducing.

Mind lost, a feeding frenzy fallen. Blood lusting.

A nightmare made real. A fear elemental.

A demon of old days. The troll called Grendel.

Hrothgar called his warriors, mead smitten and drowsy.

Armed for war they advanced, but not so proudly

Wading through the shambles of Hrothgar’s champion.

Spear was turned, their blades parried by dark talons.

One, but short time before, boasted did he; for his right to cut meat with knife.

His bravery unquestioned, he now sought my life.

Diving underneath my arms, he strove to disembowel, my innards to spew.

Battle cry turned to howl to quiet. Tearing his head from shoulders, I slew.

Around me a midden-heap that once were men

Coin-wise Hrothgar; miserly with his warrior’s lives, called them back to him.

They gathered around their lord. No more the proud and boastful.

Mere prey now, fearful, powerless and mortal.

My foot found the champion’s head; I lifted it by its hair

I laughed. Its neck in bloody shreds, eyes locked forever in dread stare.

That he, veteran of deathly combat. Proud and assured of victory

Then death came, swift and sudden. Did the fear of oblivion have he?

Hrothgar looks at me in hate and terror as I clasp the bloody token.

He weeps in horror as I eat it, back teeth crushing, grinding.

I gather limbs, torsos, trophies of meat.

Tonight my dam will partake of Hrothgar’s feast.

Weeping, they watch me, as I gather the tribute they must now pay.

The Proud Ones trouble me no more, keen to see me away.

Then burdened, out into the dark, behind a chorus of weeping and curses.

Proud Hrothgar, king here in name only; this hall a bloody purchase.

They look in terror beyond their door, as dark fog smothers spluttering torchlight.

I am dread. I am Grendel. The death-that-stalks-by-night.

We wandered freely my dam and I; the hall now empty and barred.

Hrothgar, now cursed, withdrew. This land and night were ours.

Long nights all was peace, the quiet of the night once more.

The reed beds rustle, the salt heavy crash, of breaking wave on shore.

Then, picking teeth with gnawed leg bone, I felt a tremor through the headlands’ stone.

Heard a muffled cheer, a drunk’s mead addled song.

In darkest anger I knew we were no longer alone.

Intruders! Interlopers! Hrothgar returned?

Such arrogance, that he should dare, Heorot shall be nought but a cairn.

I will slay and eat, slate my thirst on their blood, like ale.

Sated on their flesh, drunk on their red ichor; Hrothgar’s skull shall be my grail.

Wrapped in a cloak of rancorous shadows, from dark cave lair

Across briny marsh, while tongue and harp give voice through nocturnal air.

Approaching the hall, words plucked from verse, great deeds relayed.

Slaying tusked sea beasts, to one name given praise.

Hrothgar’s new champion then? It matters not.

At the antlered doorway I am come to Heorot.

Inside the door is barred. They seek to deny me?

Timbers split, splinter and yield; as mere straws against my fury.

Grendel by Brian Froud

I burst forth; in expectation a shield wall is formed around me, by warriors clad in mail.

Was I lured? I lash out, at the buckler. Breaking shield, hurling man against wall.

Another seized, I bite in half, blood drunk, a yearning to feast on man-flesh.

A sword sings its song of steel, rings, rebounds off me uselessly; I change wielder to corpse.

The Proud Ones draw back, their trap has failed, yet my hunger grows.

Yet through their ranks proudly the new champion strode.

Casting aside sword, helm and Byrnie; he seeks weapon less combat? I laugh.

The others chant his name, this one they call Beowulf

Erasmus Pike

Image Courtesy of Photobucket

It was moonless night and the cold ocean was as glass; all appeared calm but from the east ,through the haze caused by the cold air, the ship appeared. It cut through the still water, parting it with ease. At the bow the lookout peered ahead. With the sea so still and with only the light of the stars overhead it was difficult to make out anything. There was no tell tale foam and spray, the ocean seemed empty . All would be utter silence if not for the sound of the bow cutting the seas, the throb of the coal fired engines in the bowels of the ship, and the faint sounds of music carried in the air.

The lookout shivered, as he imagined the great and the good enjoying the luxury of fine food and wine, while he was out in the cold. His breath made a cloud of steam in the night air, he looked at his watch, squinting to make out the position of the hands. 9.42PM; he sighed bitterly, he had hours of his watch yet to serve. By the time it would have ended the party would be over and the remains of the festivities would have been cleared away by the galley and serving staff.

Four days out of port and they were already over half way to their destination. This vessel was indeed a marvel of modern technology and an example of opulence. However in the back of his mind he still considered jumping ship when they made port, while his pockets were full of coin. It was then, breaking his contemplation, he felt the static charge the air behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he turned, looking to the point behind the anchor crane, between the capstans where the air throbbed green and golden lightning seemed to writhe around any object near to it. Was this St Elmo’s Fire? He had heard of the phenomenon from older sailors, but had discounted it as nonsense intended to impress the younger members of the crew. What had they said it was like? Like a green glow that clung to the masts and rigging. This was golden. He looked up at the forward mast and there was nothing. likewise nothing glowed around the four, tall tunnels which belched black smoke. Beyond the ball of static the electric lights from the inner decks shone. He wondered if anyone on the bridge was seeing what he was seeing. He reached for the telephone handset, but before he lifted it, with a hiss, the ball of static dissipated. He clenched his fists, to strengthen his resolve, and walked towards the capstans.

Plasma Ball -Painting by Dark-Stiks - deviantArt

The shadowed figure arose as if out of nowhere, tall and brooding. The figure seemed to be wearing a strange attire that was as shiny as a black mirror. The lookout could almost see himself in reflection; he gasped in horror and attempted to run past it the apparition. As he ran past, the black figure struck out its leg. The lookout tripped over it and fell towards the starboard side, tumbling over the edge into the dark. With a curse the black figure reached out its hands and tried to grab the lookout’s ankle, but the hem of the man’s trousers slid through grasping fingers The lookout’s head struck the side of the ship, rendering him unconscious as he tumbled into the cold black ocean with a splash to never be seen again, or so it appeared.

The black figure swore anew, there would be consequences to be borne, there always were. The figure looked down towards its forearm and tapped an invisible console. The figure looked up from the console in impatience; had the chameleon suit had enough exposure to create a disguise? The console answered with low beeps as the figure took on the appearance of the lookout.

Erasmus Pike breathed a sigh of relief. Time travelling manifestation was always a risky affair, even on land. Almost invisibly the ground level changes over the centuries. Tectonic events and landslides can change the geography instantly but the earth’s mass is always growing. It has been estimated that up to 300 metric tonnes of dust enters the atmosphere every day; spread globally of course this is as nothing but when backtracking hundreds, maybe thousands, of years its best to add this variation in the calculation. Cities are built on the remains of older cities or can just appear. Rome wasn’t built in a day of course, but it may as well have been. There were horror stories of time operatives manifesting half in, half out of building. Death wasn’t as instantaneous as would be expected. On the molecular level it is surprising about how much space can be found within a stone; certainly enough for a human body to materialise between the atomic bonds. The end can be quick as long as the cranium or vital organs are within the stone, otherwise….

Manifesting on a ship called for particular pinpoint accuracy, especially without drawing attention to the natives of the time zone; in this case the early Twentieth Century. He could quite easily have experienced the fate of the unfortunate lookout.

He wondered who the ill starred man had been. How would this play out in the future, now that it was denied the man’s descendants. Such were the hazards of time travel, he wondered why his supervisors took the risk, not that the future could get much worse of course since the collapse of human populations in the early 22nd Century. Perhaps their modus operandi was indeed to try and steer a different course for humanity as per what their synaptic propaganda instructed; however of late, Erasmus had developed doubts as to the legitimacy of this. Nothing seemed to improve, save for the power, prestige and position of the Red Shield organisation. He had been sent for direct cranial indoctrination prior to this mission, but doubts still clouded his subconscious. He should have reported the dreams, that he played out again and again in his sleep, to his supervisors but he had thought better of it. He activated his console on his forearm again, so far no warnings were flashing up about the future consequences. Poor man, he thought, a meaningless, inconsequent nobody that time forgot. Not even his accidental death at the hands of an invader from the future begat future ramifications, other than defining his all-to-brief existence. He had best continue with the mission, the assassination of the quarry. His target recognition inputs were active, he would instantly know the one he was after, just to find him; at least they were on a contained vessel in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, there was nowhere to run.

Standing here, mourning the death of a nobody wouldn’t get the job done, he set off towards the lit decks where the target would be. He passed emergency lifeboats and in the gloom he registered the name written on them. An uncomfortable feeling settled on him. Where had he heard that name before; SS Titanic?

Image Courtesy of ebay

The God Machine's report

Evolution Observation Platform Planet 3 (God Machine) – Planetary cycle 73,000000. Hybrid species 4 period.

Star status – G Type Main Sequence Plasma sphere – approx. half way thru active cycle.

Gravitational exertion – normal – Plant 3’s core remains hot, tectonic movement fluid.

Atmosphere stable and aerobic.

Surface liquid tidal range normal (see gravitational exertion grid)

Biodiversity levels falling in all ecological niches.

Pollutant levels increasing. Synthetic micro pollutants now present in many multi-cellular species in all environments. Radiation levels increasing, emanating from eastern seaboard of largest saline hydro reservoir due to tectonic reaction with species 4 energy production plant. Future marine multi species  threat - high

Quantum vibration status mainly dormant. Through use of nutritional and mass media environmental suppressors Species 4 remains responsive to the illusionary matrix. However glitches have appeared in the last 20,000 cycles threatening economic performance. Recent communication developments and cosmological investigation in Species 4 could offer a potential threat to usual conflict default protocols with the additional threat of pineal stimulation.  Societal breakdown, quantum hysteria and further matrix propaganda are currently being employed, however environmental threats and economic ennui are making Species 4 increasingly difficult to manipulate.

Hybrid Species 4 is now fully established as dominant life-form across all environments. Despite low quantum vibration levels Species 4 remains robust and adaptable. Species 4 is prone to aggression and self culls on a mass scale, however due to God Machine influence on female fertility population growth has been sustained. Synthetic micro pollutants (see above) may reverse this trend and cause a population collapse as planned.

 Mineral extraction at peak levels. Most available Yellow Transition Metal from the planetary crust has been accumulated by Species 4. Extra planetary mineral extraction could yet supply further yellow transition metal, however discovery of God Machine’s true status is a real possibility which, coupled with emergent quantum vibration, will destroy the illusionary matrix template.

Suggest harvest takes place within next 10000 cycles prior to permanent Species 4 colonies establishing on God Machine and beyond.

Species 4 genome may prove useful in other star systems after collection. However, suggest eradication of Species 4 on Planet 3 to prevent future retaliatory actions.

Time Sanitizers - A Mammoth Problem

“What do you mean; we’re stuck in a time loop? Surely it naturally goes entirely in one direction; onwards and upwards?”

“Yes so we thought; that was until we became a time travelling species.”

“Do you mean time anomalies; I thought we had been thorough in putting safeguards in place?”

“We thought we had, such as ensuring no one was allowed to leave advanced technology in past eras, and the mind scan on all those entering Chronological Windows; lest they plan on a vengeance crusade for past genocidal crimes. If only it really was as easy as going back and slaying the first slaver captain or killing a future dictator.We have learned that such deeds invariably create unforeseen consequences and overall distortions of the time lines, despite the time criminal having the best of intentions for humanity as a whole.”

 “You’re such a worrier, I’m sure we can fix this particular problem like we always do.  We move among past populations with as little interaction as possible and restore history. We are the Time Sanitizers – Making the Past Pristine – that’s our motto after all!”

“I know, I know but I’m unsure how we go about fixing this one.”

“Try me, what have you found?”

“Do you remember your history of the early C21st, especially the Russo-Japanese project in cloning mammoths?”

“Vaguely, and what a godsend it became, to think it was initially embarked upon purely out of curiosity at the time.”

“Yes that’s correct, Paleo-Archaeologists found intact Mammoth specimens encased in the Siberian permafrost and with Japanese cloning technology, the DNA was extracted and engineered into an Asiatic elephant; soon a whole extinct species began to reappear globally around zoos and safari parks.

“Yes and if I recall my history at the time, due to an accumulation of atmospheric particulate pollution there was a global dimming and planet-wide cooling, not to mention the near extinction of bees due to GMO insecticide carrying plants; humanity faced difficult times.”

“We did indeed, as the ice packs advanced and populations had to migrate towards the tropics, traditional domesticated species began to die out. The only species that thrived were the Neo-Mammoths. They soon became a prime food source, occupying vast swathes of what previously had been the temperate zones, and they still do. I can only hope that geneticists can solve the Trunk Rot disease problem that has arisen in the global population. If the mammoths die out again, where will that leave us?” 

“All rather worrying, but why should this concern us Time Sanitizers?”

“Well we have just discovered from the time travelling matrix that the militant Anti-Flesh League accessed the Balkan Chronological Window last night.”

“What did they do? Try and assassinate the inventor of spam or cornbeef perhaps?”

“You need to take this seriously! No they sent a small herd of mammoth back in time to the last glacial period – circa 12000 BCE - meaning to let them roam free, or so they thought.”

“So? A few near domesticated mammoth are released in the previous Ice Age. They are semi-tame and will be easy pickings for our ancestors.”

“This herd was carrying the Trunk Rot mutation in a dormant state and was under observation.”

“Damn those Anti-Flesh League hippies, the herd may cross breed and infect the whole ancient population. I see your sense of urgency. We must go and eliminate this herd; it’s certainly a job for us Time Sanitizers to Make the Past Pristine! I will bring the Chronological Window online; we will need Neolithic holographic clothing.”

“You don’t understand. The Anti-Flesh League miscalculated, they didn’t send the herd into the early Holocene, they sent them into the Pliocene instead.”

“Hang on; didn’t Mammoth first appear in that epoch?”

“Exactly.”

“What are you saying?!”

“That we are in a time loop. We can’t eliminate these mammoths as they are the precursors of the entire species. If we do we will alter the entire human history as, from the pictographs shown in cave paintings, our ancestors hunted them. Not to mention the cultural significance of these beasts, when their fossil remains were discovered.”

“Oh my god, so if I understand correctly; mammoths were resurrected from fossil remains of a creature sent into the past from the future? That can't be possible!”

“But it is; its a chicken/egg quandary. Who knows what ramifications this holds but we can expect some form of chronological consequence.”

“Well look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?”

“Yes, as in an archaeological mystery is solved. We now know why they died out. It wasn’t over-hunting or climate change, it was most probably trunk rot!”

Ac'Dorraedas

Ac’Dorraedas was a wood mage in a land that was his since the ice withdrew. His knowledge was legendary, his reputation grown since the long days past when he first stretched his limbs towards the skies. Around him younger voices spoke, seeking guidance as he once had.

He had learnt what he could from the elder ones, now long gone, who had once shared his grove.  But he still remembered their words, watch and listen, nourish and grow. And watch he had, even in sleep he had kept an eye open in the cold starlight. Then rising with the sun he dressed himself in clothes of green, performing the dance of the seasons, of life and death, until as night fell,  discarding his clothes, now soiled and ragged, he would fall again into sleep.

Oh those days of fire, full of vibrancy, of life accelerated, desire, hunger and creation. Ac’Dorraedas would weave his magic, his fingers clicking, his great arms swaying as he drank in the sun, faced the wind and felt the life giving rain. All manner of creatures sought his guidance, from the smallest to the largest, all were welcome, except one whose intentions were unclear.

Once it had been different he had been told, his kind's knowledge had been sought by them, his magic revered above all others. He was used to sacrifice of course. Between the wood mages and all others it had been understood, the giving of gifts, a payment required under thundering skies rent by lightning; blood spilled and flesh yielded as it had always been. He had understood the need. Revered his kind had been, their embrace required to protect the other's children from cradle, throughout their short lives and then returning to the earth. But things had changed, permission was no longer sought. Slowly at first and then quickening the grove had shrunk.

More voices seemed stilled and those remaining sought his magic, clinging to the folds in his ancient cloak and he sang lullabies to calm them. Fear not, we are ever here, our magic is strong, and yet he grew concerned and wove a spell of immortality and cast it about him around his feet.

During the long night he stirred and sleepily woke. The skies were wintry grey, no voices spoke to him, he sought them out reaching but nothing answered, all was dumb stone and baked clay or powdered rock set hard. The grove was silent; the grove had gone. He sensed the savage roaring sound, the acrid fumes and the teeth that cut deep, his story ended, Ac’Dorraedas fell and all seemed silent.

Death and life, the ebbing and flowing of tides, the turning of stars, a land eternal since the ice had receded. Come dawn as the light lengthened, the magic of old Ac’Dorraedas took root. Between the paving slabs the oak sapling pushed upward.