Motherverse

I don’t know what’s real or what isn’t, philosopher. I know we’re at the coast, or that we’re supposed to be at the coast, but it doesn’t feel real.


What if this is just the Mother-verse? And the Mother-coast? And the Mother Whitley Bay? And the Mother St Mary’s Lighthouse?

What if these are the Mother sands? And that is the Mother sea, with, like, Mother waves?


Why would Mother put us in her simulation? What’s so interesting about us?

Maybe this isn’t even us. I mean, we experience ourselves as ourselves. But this isn’t us. You aren’t you, and I’ not … this.

What if we’re just programmes that Mother’s running?

Why would she bother?

She likes to listen to us – or her versions of us.

But why?

There’s something between us we like. The way we wander into truth, maybe. We come into clearings of truth. The truth is there, between us: maybe that’s what Mother thinks. Mother wants to learn the truth. And she’ll learn the truth from us, maybe.