Right Place; Three stars; Six Triangles
"You can check-out any time you like," muttered my cat, "but you can never leave."
I was mildlly startled by my cat's words. "Just do you mean," I asked, "by that."
"Nothing," said my cat. "Just an oblique reference to my other home."
"Crazy cat," I muttered.
"It's time to wake-up," announced my other cat.
"I thought I was awake," I replied.
"Become conscious," sighed my cat, "of something hitherto unseen from you."
"Wonderful," I muttered sarcastically, "yet more occluded truth."
"If you like," my cat replied.
"Perhaps it's just projection," I announced, "a domain issue between the various parts of my mind, but I can see a hyper-dimensional surface intersecting that which we call reality."
"It's not what we," said my cat, "would call reality. To be honest your hyper-dimensional surface makes more sense to us."
"Different 'we' then," said my other cat, "obviously."
"Okay then," I sighed, "that which others such as me would call reality."
"There are no others," purred my cat, "like you."
"This reality then," I replied as I banged my cup down on the table. "Sorry, " I sighed after a short silence, "that came across a little bit more assertive than I intended."
"Don't worry about it," said my cat.
"Although, to be fair," added my other cat, "you've made your point nicely."
"Your frustration is fascinating," said my cat. "Especially the way it leaped from another and continues to haunt your spirit."
"A case of mirroring," I asked, "or was something transferred. Although given how the cause lies behind me but I'm still suffering the affects I'm minded to suspect the latter."
"Have you considered," said my cat, "that it's the former and that you're still trapped in the moment looking for understanding."
"I have now," I smiled. "And in that I can see how yet again I'm being chided for having an equal and opposite response."
"The other truly lacks insight," said my other cat, "and in that deserves your pity."
"Staff have a right to go about their business without suffering abuse," I said with mild sarcasm, "because it wouldn't do for clients to treat staff in the same manner as staff treat clients."
"It's true," said my cat, "you have a reputation for being difficult. Yet all you do is reflect back that which directed at you. So in essence they judge themselves and find themselves wanting. Most can't accept this so they displace it back onto you."
"Hence the reputation," I smiled. "I would have to suggest that I was once no different."
"Not really," said my cat, "you displaced it somewhere else entirely."
"How's that," I asked sounding puzzled.
"There are some things," said my cat, "you can see only with both eyes. Even then it takes practice. Then there are others which take three."
"And before you ask," said my other cat, "consider how is it you can sit here, eyes open, and 'see' a hyper-dimensional suface."
"It sounds impossible," I admitted.
"Sounds," stressed my cat, "impossible. Until you're able to see something similar in the realms of banging cups."
"Construct a cube," said my other cat, "on a flat sheet of paper. Then think about it."
"A flat sheet," I murmured, "lacks a required dimension. So all you can acheive is a representation."
"Look closer," said my cat.
"Well," I accepted, "I can 'see' a cube. It's a bit floppy. Those three intersecting lines could be an inside corner, or an outside corner."
"One or the other," sighed my cat, "not both."
"Well," I conceeded, "I can 'see' both. I can also 'see' a collapsed representation of one or the other which can flip states."
"Which goes to show," said my other cat, "just how weird you truly are."
"Forget weird for the moment," suggested my cat, "and continue contemplating the cube and the flat sheet."
"It would appear," I ventured, "that my mind has the ability to supply the additional dimension. A virtual dimension."
"Good," purred my cat with a satisfied air. "And the floppyness."
"Not sure I've got an explination for that," I conceeded.
"I'll give you a hint," said my other cat, "find a unitary square and get root."
"Funny," I laughed as the penny dropped. "Plus or minus one."
"Excatly," smiled my cat with a hint of smug satisfaction.
"And when it's not floppy," asked my other cat.
"Once you've seen the pattern," I admitted, "it's difficult." "Zero-point," I concluded finally, "no plus, no minus, just the thing itself." For a moment I looked at the construct in my mind, the one which shared the same perceptual space as the place known to me as reality.
"Synesthesia, perhaps," suggested my cat as she sensed my thoughts.
"Perhaps," I agreed. "In a way my mind is the piece of paper with my thoughts scribbled all over."
"Like the flat cube," said my cat.
"Indeed," I nodded. "The cube defined my reality, held my sense of self, a corner with three surfaces surrounding me."
"You built your picture of reality," said my cat, "from that model."
"Reading my mind again," I grinned.
"It's obvious," retorted my cat, "what is, is. Of course you based your reality on that model."
"Yet it flipped," I sighed, "and the reality I once new was no more. I was outside the box with my past lives trapped in that box."
"And the moment of transition," asked my cat.
"Uncertain," I concluded. "It's easy to blame a car-crash. Yet there's some opinion that I was always heading for a mental meltdown at the time of the crash. So I have to wonder if the perceptual shift is a function of that."
"We can go back in time," said my cat. "Look for the truth in your past."
"It's hard," I smiled weakly, "it's a time when I lost the ability to reconcile the concequences of that old pattern with the vision provided by new pattern."
"Concequences," asked my cat.
"My life," admitted. "The trappings of my existence and the way I saw myself. From my perspective now I was psychotic before the crash and always had been."
"It looks that way," said my cat. "Yet reality has but one view, the perpective from which we stand. Your perspective changed."
"In an instant," asserted my other cat.
"The world was not flat," said my cat, "until somebody said it was round. Before that it just was."
"And your point I asked," with evident confusion.
"Something that just is," said my cat, "remains unseen until something replaces it, and then you see both."
"There is no fixed reality," said my other cat. "It's simply that most have only ever experienced reality in the singular."
"Now join the dots," smiled my cat.
"The assumption would be," I began, "that there is only the singular. Likewise it would be assumed all others share that singular vision."
"And the reality," grinned my other cat, "of percieved reality."
"Snowflakes," I smiled. "No two are the same. You'd likely find broad trends but mostly they would be different."
"Exactly," said my cat.
"Having you entangled," I conceeded, "with my core identity does lead to some interesting phenomena."
"Core identity," queried my cat.
"That little piece of the mystery," I smiled, "that is forever me."
"We've been observing you," my cat announced, "for a while now. There is something very odd in the way you present to the world."
"The unobserved observer effect," I muttered. "Please," I asked brightly, "share with me your insight."
"It's difficult," replied my cat. "Unconsciously your mind is able to push beyond the boundaries of nominal experience. Consciously you're not ready to accept the implications."
"Split mind," I sighed, "again."
"Seriously," purred my cat, "the schizophrenia is only the beginning."
"I'm only just managing to get a handle," I conceeded, "on the implications of the intellectual, emotional and physical centres of my mind being unable to integrate. Now you're throwing an conscious-unconscious split into the mix."
"You forgot," announced my cat with an air of satisfaction, "the spiritual aspect of your mind."
"No," I objected with a knowing smile, "I didn't forget."
"I take it," said my cat, "you're willing to trust us now."
"I suspect it's me," I admitted, "I don't trust."