From a Voice Recorder – February 3d, 2013
🎬 A surreal metaphor – for a comic or an animated film
John is an ordinary man. He wakes up, drinks his coffee, checks his phone. But something isn’t right. He doesn’t feel well. A pressure in his chest. A strange fatigue. He brushes it off – maybe he needs a check-up.
The screen flickers. The camera zooms in.
Deep inside John’s body, another world exists.
A vast, living civilization – billions of cells – each behaving like tiny people. They eat, work, sleep, dream, create, and argue. They build homes, attend school, clock into jobs, obey laws. Streets are lit, factories hum, news channels report. The entire ecosystem functions like a modern society, complete with its own economy, belief systems, and culture.
But everything within this inner world is controlled – governed by a single, all-powerful ruler: a mysterious figure known as The Governor. A dictator masked as a protector. His influence reaches every organ, every neighbourhood, every cell. From birth to death, kindergarten to retirement – every step of life is engineered, monitored, and enforced.
In this body-world, the inhabitants have no clue about the vast living organism they’re part of. They have never seen the surface, never heard of “John.” They live their entire lives inside him, unaware they are cells in a greater being. Their schools teach nothing about the purpose of the body, or the origin of their world. They don’t even know it is a body.
Instead of learning to communicate clearly and understand one another, they bark short, empty syllables at high volume – more noise than meaning. The louder the cell, the more attention it receives. The soft-spoken and the thoughtful are pushed to the side-lines, while the chaotic and flamboyant rise to power and fame.
As time passes, the internal cities begin to fracture. Systems meant to harmonize start breaking down. Regions like the joints, veins, and vital organs – once rich in culture and energy – are labelled “danger zones” and forgotten. These neglected zones, devoid of maintenance and care, begin to rot from the inside. Crime seeps in, corruption spreads like infection. Darkness breeds in these hidden corners, and no one questions why.
One man, though – a monk – steps out of the system.
While others chase shadows on the walls of the cave, he turns toward the source of light.
He leaves behind the noise of the marketplace, the false gods of fame and fear. He climbs the mountains of thought, scaling the peaks of philosophy, contemplation, and paradox. He sits in stillness, breathes in silence. He enters the caves of the unknown, where no maps guide and no voices echo. There, he listens – not with ears, but with being. And in that vast stillness, he awakens. He sees that he is not separate from what he observes. That the body he once called “mine” is part of a greater body. That the world is not a machine but a living organism. A breathing temple.
He feels the pulse of John as his own. The stars whisper truths through his spine. He realizes – all is vibration. Every form, every frequency, every moment is a ripple in the great ocean of being. All is One. The tree, the stone, the cry of a newborn – all made of the same sacred sound. The monk sees that every thought, every word, every intention sends currents through the body of this great Being we call John.
To hate is to poison the waters.
To love is to heal the organs.
To speak truth is to align the spine of the cosmos.
And so, he returns – not to preach, not to conquer- but to become medicine. A living acupuncture point in the body of John. A reminder that awakening is possible. That wholeness is our birthright. And that even one still soul can begin to heal the whole.
He returns with the truth.
With eyes wide open, heart clear, he descends from the mountains. His voice carries the frequency of remembrance – pure, piercing, alive. But when he speaks, no one understands. The people of the body have long since lost the ability to hear. Their ears are tuned only to noise: to marketing mantras, tribal slogans, political scripts. Not to truth, not to vibration. Their minds recoil from clarity-like eyes from the sun.
The monk is branded dangerous. A conspiracy theorist. A heretic. A disease. White blood cells – once noble guardians of balance – descend upon him like drones, programmed not to protect the body, but to enforce the programming.
In this twisted organism, truth is a virus. But lies, so long as they are profitable, are welcomed like royalty. If a parasite brings profit, it is given a throne. Cancerous corporations are treated like vital organs. And the immune system – those once-righteous defenders – now serve the masters of decay.
The body is sick.
It no longer recognizes itself. Its own eyes attack its own light. Its own hands choke its own breath. And the people inside – the cells, the atoms – live lives of noise, numbness, and narrow bandwidth.
No one is looking for the soul anymore. No one remembers the blueprint. They scroll instead of seeking. They consume instead of commune. They obey instead of awakening.
And then – the camera zooms out. Past the streets of the stomach, past the towers of the cortex, past the broken bones and infected tissues.
We see the truth:
John – lies unconscious in a hospital bed. Monitors beep. Tubes hum. His eyelids twitch, his breath shallow. The body – his body, this world-body – is barely alive.
And yet – in some quiet corner of his brain, perhaps the monk still meditates.
What if we are all living inside a vast, interconnected body – and we simply forgot?
What if our wars, divisions, and ideologies are like an autoimmune disease – the body attacking itself?
And what if silence, connection, and self-awareness could begin to heal it?
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