the pronouns are onto something, kinda
Updated: Jun 21, 2020
I(T)'s a simulation. In nervous systems, seemingly. My I(T) in mine, yours in yours, theirs in theirs. We assume that for each other, so an I can talk to a you and a they as an us.
There may be no nervous systems and no being or nothingness beyond I(T). You may be entirely in I. Vice versa. Or maybe there’s a turtle’s shell or a Greek dude’s shadowy cave or a cosmic bubble bath of bubble baths of bubble baths in a black hole in a bubble/bath in an adolescent’s VR video game, etc. Doesn't seem to stop this conversation from happening.
There may be more beyond I(T). But you/I/they never know. We only know the nervous system’s rendering, which we typically experience so fluidly as an internal reality (sensations, thoughts), an external reality (stuff existing beyond a meatbag), and interplay (self affecting the beyond, vice versa) that we naturally assume we're directly experiencing an it-it, a universal objective happening, and we feel cheated being told that all you/I/they know is I(T), this seemingly seamless simulation, and that any notions of an it-it are features of I(T), as are any attempts at assessing notions about: I(T), it-it, i(T)/I(t)/i(t), whatever else may or may not be, all-encompassing nothingness, Matrix-like simulations, the role of gooey lightning storm brains in all this, etc.
Let's say this for now. You have your I(T), I have mine, they have theirs. Our I(T)s seem to correspond at least somewhat faithfully to a mutually experienced it-it that we call our universe, our world. We aspire to escape I(T) and be there, directly in the it-it. We can't. For us there's no getting around-over-through I(T). Our seeing I(T) for what I(T) is occurs in I(T). Beyond I(T)s horizons lies more I(T), and way, waaaay beyond that lies wild fairy-and-dragon-infested I(T) so uncanny you'll be sure you've escaped I(T), and then you'll realize you haven't, and that hurts, and there's more I(T) after that, and that, and forgetting, for however long a you/I/they exist(s), and all of that occurs in an I(T) the inescapable immersiveness of which is utterly unaffected by exploring or doubting.
Assume all that. Here we are. Here's this frisbee, spinning between hands. You may be an octopus enrainbowed, a whale dangling up side down in twilight depths. Me too. Don’t we sometimes feel like - aren't we, honestly, sure - there's medium conveying vibrations between us? That there are strings connecting these cans into which we chatter, howl, & sing?