You don’t know Jill

Though I’ve said my identity before on this blog, and it’s true that you may know my name, it’s also true that you don’t know “me”. To be clear, I don’t know me. Who I am is on the path of who I will become, as it is with each of us. Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.

That said, I realize there is a very real human connection that exists outside of the clouded webs, perpetuated by instances of shared electrical patterns, or thought. As you read these words, we walk together down the same synaptic path, our identities merged in fleeting moments of time. This effect is even more profound when you remove the concept of time (and let’s never forget: time is a concept) from the equation, enabling the realization that when you read a dead author’s words, you read them with the minds of every brain that ever traced the same electrical route.

Energy is never destroyed, nor created, after all.

We may not know each other, you and I. But with our magical brains and eusocial hearts we share something special.

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