Pilot, pushing from the inside, was seeing Out. There was ambivalence at first, then a rising tide of recognition, coming at first in glimpses, looking ahead, and in moments alone, coming in rising tides and moments of intense curiosity, ambition, accomplishment, satisfaction, correction and practice, practice, practice. These things are real:
Pilot, listening from inside, barely able to conceal glee is fond of reminding hisself there is Beauty in listening without need of correction, glamorization or other plural interpreta.
Pilot knew the best way was to push from the inside. Sometimes, however it was not enough, and he knew now you can also pull from outside. Either way, you’re effecting change and change can be good. In reality change was life itself therefore the absence of change or its deleterious effect were all consequences of not affecting it correctly. Pilot felt a way of explaining this was through cars. If you dent a car, by pushing it in, a panel bender can push the dent out, by pushing it out (from inside the panel). In actual practice, panels are smoothed by a combination of pushing and pulling energies from both sides evenly. This is what produces the smooth aluminum or steel body panels of most cars seen today.
As was his practice, therefore, Pilot had his core equipment strapped open to its place, well braced within a specially equipped smooth stainless steel circuit diameter made from chrome polished steel. Its exact diameter was not in Pilot’s circuit memory but was one that was not stocked ordinarily. It’s derivation was, he thought, through Phoenix? He wasn’t sure even of this but the equipment having no moving parts and especially well and heavily made, made him certain he needed no etymology for this item as it was especially unlikely to break.
At that very moment he shifted his elevator’s vantage point to another ‘room’ and proceeded to make adjustments to this very area. As a matter of fact he both pushed from inside and pulled from outside, to effect some construction, recent of late to his area. He also switched out a certain flexible gasket ring with something else applied differently, made from the skin of some natives to this area. Prior to this, of course, he added lubrication liberally and did certain exercises designed to flush waste products out of his system. Enthusiastically thus applied, and equipped, Pilot proceeded to redress his entire apparatus, taking time for light documentation as he went. He liberally applied a recent ointment to his fascia, which was visibly in need of attention, he noted, absently. Now equipped, Pilot left ‘the house’, its local containment area, in his local vehicle.
Pilot had no shame: being artificial he was endowed with no emotion, therefore it did not occur to him to dress in anything that blended in. Eventually his soundings mimicked him, like a reverse chameleon effect so that try as he might, which he did not, he would seldom receive the approbation he was programmed for, no matter where it went. It, of course, was his most inner sanctum official physical elevator El, who transported thus and transmitted every physical thing and sensation that Pilot experienced.
All this was simple information, in fact. Every charismatic being had it’s hesitancy about receiving praise, of this Pilot was certain as it seemed every sentient being in this place has approbation blockages galore in this sweet place… It was all going to become apparent why, soon enough, of this he was certain.
The inchoate state of Pilot’s elevator, despite its age, was due in small part to the length of time Pilot had taken to form its roller-bearings.
Anyone who knows anything about elevators knows that without roller-bearings, they’re not going anywhere. For whatever reason Pilot had to forge Elevator’s roller-bearings himself. Elevator’s roller bearings either were never there, or disappeared.
Now if you were asked to forge some bearings, unless you are a metal worker, you might not know where to start. In fact, Pilot was not a metal worker and he did not know for a very long time the first thing to do was address his own Hinge Axle.
Pilot opens its eyes and looks. There is a deep plum, bluish haze in the reaches of his space, good. Color was returning. He took a deep breath and felt his elevator’s eyelids closing again as he settled into a cocoon of returning consciousness. Calming himself, he recounted his existence to date. He didn’t know how to get back on the right track of the timeline or even how to look for it: his elevator no longer responded to requests to go to any other floor. On the other hand, he had got to know this present reality enough to know he was no longer in imminent mortal danger.
On the other, other hand, while this present reality seemed to present no imminent life hazard, he was reliably informed that every single person here was sentenced to death, whether they belong here or not. This told Pilot that if he did not find a way home, it might be the death of him. Death in itself held no fear to Pilot. In his training, long forgotten in specifics yet still held in principle, he knew that he had faced many mortal situations in his past, and knew he had seen something of death. No, it wasn’t death that frightened Pilot, it was the terror of not reaching home, first. It was being left stranded, unprepared and unknown that moved him now.
Looking again, Pilot could see that space, still darkened, was lightening up. The purplish haze he had seen earlier was gone, replaced by a greay light. Pilot sighed, then taking a deep breath, and calming himself once more, he pulled back his cover and swung his frame 90 degrees on two axes simultaneously, ending up in a sitting position on the edge of the bed with his feet on the carpet. The adroit movement was surprising to him even now, considering the overall condition of his situation, yet it was something he was glad to be present to and even gladder to possess..
Sunlight streams through a two-story wall of glass into the neutral toned environment of modern luxury. It sweeps across a gallery with light colored, commodious modern furnishings including a cool white leather settee, and settles on the deep chocolate brown of the floorboards, made of real wood and cunningly finished to seem hand-finished. The sun warms the floorboards, reflecting off gleaming white cabinets and countertops in the kitchen, and softly warms doorways made of brushed aluminium and frosted glass. All is order and peace in the environment until glancing around, the body was seen.
Sprawled across the gleaming floor in a heap of smooth plastic limbs and body bits lies the Elevator. Helter skelter. Mannequin-like in complexity and design, the Elevator’s beauty is overshadowed by its awkward positioning. Legs and arms akimbo, the mannequin struggles to right itself but it is unable to, or to get its feet underneath it. Pilot struggles to operate the controls but the body remains helplessly immobile, like a tortoise flung onto its back.
Time passes, causing long low shadows from the white plastic hominoid shape to sweep across the glossy floorboards. The sun rises and sets ten times, a hundred times, unknown times more. The figure stirs once more.
Pilot does not recall precisely how long it had taken to right the Elevator. It still pulled to the left, and while still inoperable as far as selecting a different timeline, he had discovered it could transition to other lines within this time frame. Just not by pressing a button, as Pilot has been accustomed. Instead, it took a completely different, manual approach in which Pilot directed the perambulatory circuits to walk upright and outside the steel security doorway. Outside, there were many other doorways, all facing a long, tall and narrow hallway. High above, huge pipes and circuits carried the floodstream of the building in ceilings made of concrete, above an echoing floor of polished cement.
Pilot learned how to negotiate the exit doorways and stairs and was able to move easily about—if still in the same tortuous time-space, there were other lines here as well, like the street, the beach, the forest or the mall. Pilot also discovered there were spaces in this time-space that catered specifically to Elevator’s needs. For instance, just a few minutes “walk” down the “street” in a specific direction, Pilot had found a box where he could take Elevator, and by pronouncing some mantras and sharpening his cards, he would be brought a plate of hot stuff that helped Elevator function better. None of this brought Pilot home, but it sustained him in its search.
Much still to find.
Finger pressing an autopilot button in a self driving car. Composite image between a hand photography and a 3D background.
People discuss their ‘point of view’ as though it were something sacrosanct and singular. It is anything but.
The fact that perspectives can, do and must change over time is seldom considered.
Moving from one room to another changes perspectives a lot does it not? If you are hungry one’s own perspective can be quite different standing in front of a fridge. Having to relieve oneself however, it may be much more satisfying to be alone in a bathroom. Looking out the window is different than looking at a phone screen. And standing on one’s head is entirely different than sitting down. A perspective can change significantly from beginning to end of day in any number of topics, sooooo why are people attached to their perspective as something fixed?
The answer may be complex, it turns out, turning to all kinds of brain chemistry, gene action, neuroplasticity, and socially conditioning. The point Pilot tries to make, however, is that fixing point of view down to a singular perspective is stultifying, redundant and antithetical to knowledge. Refuse knowledge and refute wisdom, for knowledge is a prerequisite to wisdom.
Other, interior perspectives interested Pilot most. For instance, whether one was coming at a topic from the point of view of the Blue Hills of Understanding was considerably different than if one was being either an Emerald City Builder or an Orange Anecdote Instigator was, again, entirely different from a Golden Pyramid Architect. Anyone can do this, if one tries.
Perspective is a vital concept in our ‘enlightened’ world. My first experience of perspective was in learning how to draw the world on paper. Using paper and pencil, we are able to express a three-dimensional view of the world in a two-dimensional realm. At first, when learning to draw using perspective, the rules of logic as we understand them seem to tease us:
How can a line in space that is level (i.e. a floor) rise sharply at an angle in the (flat) world of two-dimensional space?
Why is it that what in physical space might occupy the largest portion of space, (for instance the sky) occupies only a small fraction of the space on the paper?
Pilot felt certain we were here on a path. This path were certain that it mattered, a lot a lot. While Pilot’s vocabulary and grammar were, to say the least, ‘different’ to a degree that even Pilot sometimes was concerned about [his own] coherence, to others.
He could not allow his own reticence towards connection or communications to and with others to dissuade him, however, of this path. Whether or not he allowed discussions to form was not up to him, as it turns out. What of and whether or not people think just could not be controlled by Pilot. Therefore, into the darkness, it plunged. No more or less aware than before but certain, certain under its wheels was his own path.
Meandering through time possibly squandered, he was unsure how his real path was, relative to appearance. At each stage, he had made a decision, albeit often without confidence and with little or no support, to move ahead. Its steps or stages were invisible and even to Pilot most of the feedback was of the ‘feel as you go’ variety; due to the incomplete state of Elevator’s installation, several of its gauges were not wired in fully and gave only intermittent and often erroneous feedback on Pilot’s dashboard.
This need to understand the path was part of his own path, he felt increasingly certain, although how or when was yet murky to him, at least for the moment.
1510Objective Result : To Navigate Vicissitudes, Moral or Otherwise. —The Elevator Pilot Training Manual
THE ELEVATOR PILOT
Daily breakthroughs
Social media, theater, art, blogs, books, websites
Pilot saw the first sign and was at once antagonized. The imposition of “Here” on the sign was at once bothersomely burdensome as well as somehow confronting, like an admission of guilt that could not possibly be contained.
Tick tick tick. Suddenly he heard his own ticking, the clockwork of his own mechanism he once more knew destiny’s dismal countdown.
Why dismal, Pilot adversity had long been its lonesome companion, then: studying as long and closely as he has Pilot had missed (entirely!) The point until now, pilot’s personality for dragging and cumbersome epic from his past expects as much adversity of this examples that it said now I see what ‘that’ item is, which holds is back.
It is an affectation based on our past, which, when you’re traumatized means that it is (probably) a fear-based physical, atavistic aversion reaction. Malevolently, that aversion certain circumstances plus opportunities given that life beholds for us, in a word, had stymied Pilot, until now.
He could still hear that loud ticking, resounding in his auditory canals. tick tick tick
Elevator really was an exceptional device, even if sensitive, thought Pilot gratuitously, if complacently grateful. This took a few parsecs processing power then was passed over for more serious considerations, namely, tick tick, work devices.
Pilot was so seriously, and easily antagonized even as he appeared to swim in silence.
Not having an ‘I’ meant not having a ‘here’ as well, couldn’t they all see that?
“Being able to talk passionately about something without needing to talk about yourself is crucially important.” —The Elevator Pilot Training Manual
THE ELEVATOR PILOT
Daily breakthroughs
Pulls together art, theater, poetry, graphs, agence,
Pilot felt a sense of relief, of finality; in a way, even though it really was just a beginning. Hiding BB’s face behind a mask, however, passersby might not realize a huge smile was being generated, unseen, unless they could see into its eyes.
The final piece had chinked into place just like the proverbial lid of the Sampo. It was the same, Pilot could sense. All the elements were there, multicolored, ineffably indescribable (until now! suddenly), productive; and there was more too, Pilot knew. Everything about his existence now felt now as though it really is; it makes sense she said. That smile also, still at wonder in able make grammar thus.
While Pilot had been having his Elevator run a number of characters some some time, maybe since the great schism, he never dreamed of a way to integrate all with a purpose, until now. Pennies felt like dollars dropping out of sky erupting joyous lee.
Suddenly, BB it did not know; had a much stronger future.
Ironic, then it was the consideration of Carlo [the Beast], who so long occupied video alone as a potential aspect of whole, soon however as Pilot saw thus, s/he realized ALL the characters could / must be asked to consider position within. THUSLY integration.
Armed thus Pilot knew his day is different, thenceforth.
Absolution
The Elevator Pilot, A discussion manual / playbook for elevated thinkers, planners, connectors, doers and the rest! Includes all MONDEX8 fundamentals + more.
