The Internet Was for Porn

Kellen Evan Person

2018/05/23

Categories: Culture

Oh, the Internet. Its borderless edges, never-ending stories, unrelenting novelty, and limitless supply of companions has won my heart and captivated my imagination. The Internet is heralded as the greatest collaborative engineering effort in human history. But it is much more than that. It is the mirror within which we see our reality. It is the final platform for our conflicts and outrage. And it is rocketing us towards spiritual evolution.

Today the Internet is tidy. Monolithic structures sit like beacons of order. Your friends live in Social Networks, your games are on this platform and your videos are curated for on that platform. All of your content is collected in aggregate and filtered to you based on your interests. We can love, misbehave and roil amongst each other within beautiful systems of lightning-coated bits.

As often as you can find light, so too can you find darkness. If you are searching for games, you can find out how to cheat. If you are looking for friends, you can find combatants. If you are looking for horror, sexuality, gore and depravity, you can find it. If you are not looking for horror, sexuality, gore and depravity, you can find it, too!

In days, more emotions, more feelings and more experiences than are fit for a lifetime. What happens to a soul when it is exposed to the oddest shades of human truth? How can it reconcile what it has seen?

It cannot! It splits in twain. A piece of it goes to school and has conversations at the dinner table. A piece of it hardens and keeps exploring. An innocent young thing, clad in fleece jammies, eating a bowl of cereal. An explorer of the dire, the black and the wretched.

People are angry. Cause, after cause, we claw at each other and spit vitriol. There is method to madness. The destination is equilibrium. All of our stories, every possible human narrative, each and every one will have its champion. Each one will contend against the next. Every personality will be tried and yet, no winner shall emerge.

We do not need to be educated on the relativity of truth, to remind us that the world is many shades, that there are always more questions. We can now sit back, flick through a glowing screen and witness it all. We can see the dance. The red, the blue, the black, the white, all culminating in an endless flow of brilliant mud. Our thoughts - it seems - are no longer valuable.

We are experiencing the sunset of intellect. With the aid of dazzling machines we will soon master the tangible experience. There is great work to do. But mastery is within our grasp. We can meet the needs of every person on the planet.

The sun can provide us with power. Our ingenuity can continue to produce efficiencies and artworks that celebrate and inspire the imagination. We can return to natural balance with our Earth. We can realize our dream of dancing into the cosmos. But who will we be when we leave here? What will we be?

Ancient and brilliant spiritual philosophies and modern psychologies share a common thread. They define a construct: our thoughts, the mind, the ego, the self; the thing with many names. Beyond the thing is the watcher: the observer, our spirit, the truth; God.

We are not our thoughts. We are what is behind them. We are what is watching the story of self unfold. And together, behind these narratives, in that entity, we are the collective. We are not what we think we are. We are not what other people think we are. We are not thought. We are not this chaos, this noise.

Identifying this ego, this story, the self-construct, was once a challenge. It took a therapist to help one peer into their subconscious and unearth their patterns of thought, their creations. Or it took deep spiritual practice or decades of diligent self-documentation and cultural revolution. But to see it now, to learn its tricks, to see the folly of its desires and passions, one need only look at the profiles we craft for ourselves.

We have uploaded the ego into the magical machine that we clutch in our hands. And when we gaze into our profiles through glowing glass, who is it that is doing the seeing? What is it? It is the watcher, the spirit. The more clear this becomes, the easier the stories are to shed. And so when we leave, we leave together.