I write;I think;I know.

±1h

"If you hadn't made a conscious effort," announced my cat over lunch, "to remember it you'd have forgotten it by now."

"I had forgotten," I admitted.

"And you made a conscious effort," sighed my cat, "to remember." She finished her piece of smoked salmon and jumped up next to me. "Which is why I'm reminding you," he said as she licked her mouth.

"Remind me of what," I asked hoping she'd say more and save me the job of actually thinking about it.

"Sigh," sighed my cat.

"Listen to me you furry fiend," I growled in mock anger, "tell me what you know." I quickly grabbed her head to avoid her snapping jaws. "What happened," I said with a more serious tone, "is going to take a while to resolve. At first glance it would appear to be more than a little unpleasant. I'm somewhat reticent when it comes into diving into the memory." My cat had wrapped her paws around my wrist, now she flexed her claws just enough to send me a message. "So please forgive me," I sighed, "for trying to make light of the matter."

"Forgiven," muttered my cat as I removed my hand with only minor skin loss. "Perhaps now is not the time," she admitted.

"There's a pattern to this," I muttered, "one that I don't fully grok." Though I didn't care to admit it this was the time to begin thinking about it. Otherwise my cat wouldn't have even begun to discuss it.

"You hit," said my cat, "an event horizon."

"Felt more like it was hitting me," I admitted. "Like a neutrino passing through the Earth the thing itself that can never be witnessed directly, merely inferred from the affect it has on a sensitive substrate."

"I beg to differ," announced my cat. "You were clearly aware of the impending event for several hours before you flipped yourself through it. You'd even begun," stressed my cat, "to mutter about singularity."

"I was somewhat altered," I muttered in admission as my mind went absent, back stepping through the memory. I did my best to pull a description of the moment we were trying to discuss into the now without becoming trapped in the feeling of the moment. "At the time," I began hesitantly, "it felt as if I was remembering the future." I paused again to consider the fragmented images which remained in my mind. "Only it was a future trapped in a past where the lights, and I'm talking inner light here, had been turned off." I sighed, "it's all too confusing for words."

"You see the future through the eyes of your past," my cat informed me with authority. "Without getting trapped in absolute vision you are able to sense the fundamental forces which affect realities. Then you use what you find to plot the course we take."

"Not a skill," I conceded, "which sounds especially common."

"It's not," announced my cat.

"In which case," I queried with minor concern, "what's that make me."

My cat turned her head to look at me for a moment. "Destiny's navigator," she purred. "If you like."

"The synchronicity," I grumbled mockingly, "gets a bit strong, don't you think."

"Such is the nature," my cat concluded, "of a quantum singularity."

"I'm not entirely certain," I added, "I approve of your use of the term: quantum singularity."

"What else should I call it," snapped my cat.

"The problem is one of definition," I replied passively, "it's not exactly a defined term."

"Oh," said my cat apologetically, "I'll do my best to work one out for you." She adjusted her position then rolled onto her side. "Though it's not a definition," she added, "you especially need. Your understanding is innate. It's part of what you are."

"I think," I responded after a considered pause, "I begin to see how it is that I navigate."

"And with that," said my cat, "should come an understanding of what happened the other night."

I sat and searched my feeling for a moment. "Not an understanding I find I can discuss," I admitted eventually. "Yet it's linked to perceptions I feel need to be discussed."

"You've begun too slide," said my cat. "Reality as you know it is very much in a state of flux."

"Wonderful," I muttered sarcastically, as I contemplated the mechanics of the changes to come. "I identify dysfunctional patterns and elect to change them, yet now I begin to see that pattern trying to reassert itself."

"Not everyone," replied my cat, "is comfortable with the changes to come. You need to understand the degree to which your mind is connected to the minds of those around you, and how fear causes those minds to frustrate you."

"That the pattern reasserts itself in the way that it does," I agreed, "highlights that connectedness in a way that's all too clear. And yet," I sighed, "I see how those frustrations merely play into my hand." I sighed again and looked for a way to once more begin to move. "Yet it is the roots of that fear I find I am drawn to uncover."

"When you are trapped in a corner," said my cat, "you apply a different dimension then translate the point through it. In the process discovering more truth than the others are comfortable with."

"That's part of it," I nodded, "I'm sure. Fear of change and fear of discovery, yet there is more to it than that. Translated inwards such fear would induce anxiety, outward it would induce an attack."

"Emotional attack," said my cat. "A physical attack would suggest different operators in play."

"Certainly," I nodded. "The kind of operators which get locked in the mind and lead to the kind of obsessive review which raises the probability of the the circumstances of the attack to leak beyond the immediate environment."

"And what kind of fear," said my cat, "would lead the instigator of an attack to blame the innocent when they pass beyond the immediate environment of the attack."

"Fear of retribution," I replied after due consideration. "And in blaming the innocent," I added, "the causes of the attack could go unchecked."

"Indeed," agreed my cat.

"And yet," I added, "I note how we've not touched fear of the unknown."

"For us," replied my cat, "such a fear is no longer an issue. Nor is it an issue in this circumstance."

"I begin to see more," I admitted as the swirling patterns in my mind began to coalesce, "how systemic reinforcement of unconscious operators build over time and present a picture of something so at odds with the expressed truth of that system. One is left with the inescapable truth that the system itself should no longer be maintained."

"In in the gaps between your words," said my cat, "you have the truth of it."

"Shades of grey," I muttered in conclusion, "and the anthropomorphic personification of Death."

"A church may also die," retorted my cat. "And for some the time of judgement is at hand."

"And just what do you mean by that," I asked my cat.

"That is a question you must find the answers to," purred my cat. "But at the very least you have begun to see the light."

"Found a bigger gun," I smiled wryly. Changing the topic of conversation for reasons of personal protection, "by the way."

"Yes," smiled my cat, "and who do you think took the smaller guns off you."