TMA3 - Recursion

Lost, deep inside an infinite timestretched black desert, dotted with billions of fluorescent white pinholes. Drifting on impulse power through the spaces between space. Soundlessly ebbing through an endless fall toward structures so large they are no longer measured in distance, but time. Light years. As time itself crumbles and you are reduced to mere molecules and poured down into the cosmos like a waterfall, things slowly begin to take shape again. Recognizable congruence emerges from the Rorschach puddle of dimensionless matter everything has melted into. Eventual consciousness of temperature returns. Sensitivity to light, sound, although there is no sound. Only the vague anticipation of what your new form blindly awaits. As if by intuition, lines connect, tendons lock, muscles move. You dictate your surroundings into growths of desire, projected by thought. Reflections of you. Like a fog clearing over hundreds of years, you begin to move forward out of the blankness. Speed builds, momentum increases and then the faint, growing hum of an engine. You are in a ship, again. Did you simply never leave? No, that can't be right. You feel different, you feel new. You seem to know this, and out there on the horizon line, through the window of your vessel, you see something else you know: the pale blue dot you were born on. Welcome back home.

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