Page 25 (or thereabouts)

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted up to the already acute olfactory senses of the her talking cat.

"Susie," said the cat, "this has to be the best coffee I have ever encountered.  But do we know where it came from?  How do we know it doesn't have the mold?  Is it from a single source?  Are the beans grown in the shade and transported by the burro?  I'm developing a social consciousness in case you haven't noticed.   I want all my hard earned money to benefit only the most environmentally friendly operations."

"Ha," she smirked, "we'll to begin with, Taylor,  it is my hard earned money my feline friend.  The last time I checked you had nine lives, but not discernible source of income."

"A minor detail to be sure.  Have I ever told you best thing about you is your waist?  Wait until you see the statues in Taylor's bathroom."

"Now you are talking like a soft boy my feline friend.  I have something for that.  Why don't you chew on this flowery like substance for awhile.  Its called Trillium.  I obtained it from a medicine man.  It will expand your (cough) consciousness."

(Taylor the cat chews the white flower that looks something like a lotus blossom)

"Oh my God," hissed the Cat.  "We all so interconnected.   The coffee, you, me, Sergio, the guy who makes the coffee, the burro (whose name is Pedro), the details of transaction are automatically coded into blocks of data that are cryptographically linked together with other transactions and secured over a network.   The linked chain of data blocks have formed an incorruptible record of all the transactions that can be replicated on every computer that use the network.   On this blockchain that I see before me, you can see not only debits and credits of the transaction, but other information such as history of ownership and location, title, contracts, real world objects, each individual coffee bean—and even personal information.   I now need to explore all of this."  

"Be careful Taylor, you might not like what you find," she replied with a warning that sounded amazingly like what Dr. Zaius said at the end of that old movie about Apes.

"Here is what this chain says:  Start the weekend off right with tasty treats out in the Cortex food truck meetup from 11am--1pm.  Due to the rain today, DJ's Gul-licious Backyard BBQ treats will not be with us this week.  But you can still find them at your favorite grocery store.  This chain over here says that our cellmate has irritable bowel syndrome.   While he is away, I suggest we break into his cell steal his hard drive and hide it in a place he'll never find.  What if social media is just something that drives human societies insane?  What if the negative externalities outweigh the total use value?"

"Taylor, I told you not to go into the forbidden zone."

"If fake news actually influences reality, it takes all the fun away from satire, and especially from Jean Paul Satre.  By the way, I think I'm having an existential crisis over here, what was in that flower?"

"I'm going to take you back to my bed and give you the Languedoc wine."

"Did it come from a single source?  Here, give it to me now and I will check its Blockchain distribution." 

Page 24

The Pando continued to whisper in her ear as it had throughout the eons: "We aren't really anything.  We are the ocean.  We are vast and rhythmic.  When we have thoughts, we become more solid.  The disturbing thoughts will even bring calcification and pain to our body," and so forth, and so on.

But she paid little attention.  She was already interested her other characters who were lost in some subterranean maze.  They were trying to escape from something. Or trying to solve a puzzle.  Or both.  They were circumnavigating levels.  One of the characters seemed to have success.   She focused on that character.  In fact, she may have become that character as the adventure continued.   Now she seemed to have the required answer to progress to the next level. 

The whispering continued in a gentle rhythm:  "In this way, each thought we have/become brings its own little separation.  And its separation from the whole in a way is a little trauma.   But each thought also becomes its own little act of creation.  This is the magic of reality.  Trauma creates thoughts and thoughts are what makes us Choate.  Thoughts are what bring something out of nothing.  And like a snake eating its own tail, as with my companion the Ouroboros, our act of creation is a way of working with our trauma, perhaps building a structure around the trauma, perhaps dancing with the trauma," and so forth, and so on.

Eventually, she found herself in a room with several other people.   One of them was a man who had been in her group before, on previous levels.  One of them was me, the author of this book.   Maybe you were also there as well.  I'm not sure.   If you were there we were sort of only observers at this time.  We weren't really in the room in the way that the others were in the room.  There were also several others.

As events unfolded, she and the man were sorting out some of the documents that lay spread out on the table before them.   There was rhythm to their sorting   Several of the other people in the room were also assisting on moving the documents around.  There seemed almost to be a competition going on between her and the man and the others.  They started emitting a soft humming which grew louder as the sorting increased in intensity in rhythm to the sounds of the sorting.

When this was going on, from deep within me, a little voice started saying like a mantra, "I am here, I am here"  I kept saying this over and over in harmony with their humming and sorting.  It seemed that as I kept saying this, my body started to take form.  I felt like I was the answer to what she and the man were trying to do with their sorting.  I tried to get her attention to let her know that what she was doing was successful because I had been created.   I realized that what she was doing was conjuring me up in a sense.  I was being created.  I tasted bile in my mouth and I was having trouble breathing, like I was being born or something.   I became anxious.   It was almost like I was in a simulation, like that space in ayahuasca I go to where I realize that everything I have known, lived, or thought, was an illusion.  But we won't get to that until page 47.

Then I found I was almost awake, but I didn't want to be.  I had it in my mind I had to go back into the dream, to connect with her again and to find out what information was in the prior levels of her adventure.   I don't remember specifically what she was doing when I started to wake up, but I felt it was important.  Then I eventually woke.  It almost felt like she was an aspect of my consciousness finding its way to the surface, and the reason why she was so successful in navigating it was because she already knew how to create things like me and exist on a variety of levels of reality.  

The Pando continued:  "Some thoughts will repeat, like our bodies attempting to heal ourself by oscillating us back into motion, into the ocean.   And healing oscillations also arise in trance states, drumming, or mantras," and so forth, and so on.