NEONOO, or PARADISE IN THE NOOSPHERE

NEONOO, or PARADISE IN THE NOOSPHERE
ALEXANDER CHERENOV

After death the hero arrives not in heaven, not in hell: in the Noosphere. What is his disappointment when he perceives himself as «incomplete»: no image, no likeness – only the totality of knowledge, only consciousness in the thinking shell, which is the surrounding space.But the hero is not disappointed alone. Here he meets many other «comrades»: Jesus, Apostle Paul, Caesar, Charlemagne, Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Mohammed, Buddha, Napoleon, Stalin. Life «in a new dimension» begins…

NEONOO, or PARADISE IN THE NOOSPHERE

ALEXANDER CHERENOV

© ALEXANDER CHERENOV, 2019

ISBN 978-5-0050-8770-6

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Chapter one

…Where I am? And what am I doing here? I do not remember anything… No, I lie: I remember something. That’s about «what am I doing here?» Something happened… precisely with me. Oh, so what? What exactly? I must remember… Oh, yes: it seems, the other day I died… No, it does not seem: I just died! That’s why there are Ilf with Petrov in a head: «So much work has been loaded – I’m afraid, as if not to die!» It’s funny, but I was afraid too. And here is the result: I died. Someone took my life from me – and I died.

So say after this, that they do not die of fear! You need evidence?! Here it is – me! I am absent there and present… I feel a cold sweat break through me. I don’t feel the sweat itself, but I feel like I am getting through. And then: if I can argue on the subject of personal death – and not hypothetical, but held – that means, I… That’s classic: «cogito ergo sum!» «I think – it means I exist!» And this is no longer a philosophical abstraction: a fact! The fact of personal example and direct participation!

So, calm down. Although, what here, to hell, calm? I want to believe, but I cannot believe! And what should be done in order to believe? What do they do in the first place? Probably, they bring thoughts in order – and, so to say: «forward – on milestones, with a cheerful laugh!» Well, «remember them by name». Glory… I do not know to whom, there – god or hell – but my memory, it seems, did not go away… on the way to «another world». So, «I remember here, but I don’t remember there» – this is not about me.

So: I do not remember exactly how, but I certainly died. We will remember. So: it seems, I watched TV – and, it seems, hockey. «Russia» in the semifinals, «courageously» surrendered to Canadians with superior fees. Courage plucked on three – seven. We got a chance to «win the bronze» (previously only the first place was considered a win). I will not argue what exactly happened to me, not to mention what happened to them. Although, what could have happened to them?! Nothing: the guys calmly managed without snot – and immediately went to their «Canada» to receive the next «labor» millions.

And, here, I… It seems, that my head was spinning – and not from success. I remember that it «arrived». Not added – thoughts, there, or other property – namely, «arrived»! The blood, perhaps, surged, or the brains shuffled, but it took me down with my head. I remember, that I even managed to be surprised: «That turns out to be how it happens!»

And then I remember only one failure – not a memory failure: it’s too original even for me: remember… failure in memory! I mean failure as an action and «end station». Impenetrable darkness worked out for such – and in passing, and for the road. I remember, that at this moment my head was not mine, but something, tightly wrapped… dense. The most curious thing: I did not feel pain. In none of the moments: neither at the start nor at the finish. So, he just took it and died… Well, I already said: someone took it, but I died.

I don’t speak for «later»: I don’t remember. Surely, there was a classic: «the old mother will cry in the corner, the father will brush away the tear the…» So, I will not lie about the «wires to the last journey». I also do not want to fill in the spirit of the heroes of Raymond Moody’s books «Life after death» and «Life after life». In other words: I do not remember being separated from myself, and, having soared under the ceiling in the form of a spirit, he looked around at his «soulless» body. I do not remember any «light at the end of the tunnel», where I was, according to the scenario, must be waited for by extremely happy relatives and «representatives of the administration of the other world».

I will not say anything for the details of the civil memorial service, which, of course, was, albeit in Russian simply utterly. Or, maybe, there was even a speaker in the spirit of Chekhov’s Zapoikin, who crushed a tear from the participants of the event with the words of the classic: «Can you believe your eyes and ears? Is it not a terrible dream, this coffin, these tearful faces, groans and cries?» Although, does it really matter, how I was «escorted»? Yes, and the «last» whether this «path», if I now have the opportunity to argue on its theme?

What is it that turns out: they took away my life, but I stayed?! Or did my «I» remain? But in any case: there is something left – and this is already something. The first… no, the second thing – I look around. No, I’m lying: this is the third thing. And the second thing is… The second thing… I grope myself. I grope – and I grope for nothing. Well, nothing at all. Because there is nothing to feel: under my hands there is nothing. Although I’m lying again: I don’t have a hand the same way as nothing else. But one thing I can say for sure. No, and again I lie: two I can say for sure. First: I looked at myself. And second: I did not see myself. I have not seen – and still do not see.

But I clearly remember both processes, if only because both have caused in my soul… the same discomfort in me… Discomfort… What unbecoming elegance this is! What, there, to hell, discomfort: a sense of horror! And not some, there, provincial: inexpressible! Not conveyed by words… and all the rest!

But this, it seems, is the very beginning only. Further, as it should be – more. The process, as they say, «went» – and I see… that I am not the only one, who is just as «noticeable»! That’s because I do not notice anyone, although I notice how much diligent! Around me… exactly like this: at three hundred and sixty degrees… «within sight»… how could I put it more softly… there is not a soul or something! The lack of shower «colorfully» is complemented by the lack of everything the rest. Around – as well as in any other geometry – there is not only no one, but nothing! And yet the big question is, is there even this «around»… along with the rest of the geometry?!

And indeed: the eye – or whatever I have – does not notice anything in front of itself… and in all other directions. Not even a classic white veil or the same classic impenetrable darkness. There is only – and also the classic – «the presence of absence». Here, really: «I go out alone on the road…"! Well, about the road – it’s me too… so: what, there, to hell, the road!

I will not lie: I feel uncomfortable… or not for «something», that personifies my essence now. For the stealth hat, I don’t think: it’s unlikely, that I was supplied with a fabulous inventory. What is the point?! What then? Am I alone really, and this is my personal hell, the one that is taught to man by modern fiction? But why then I still am «not involved in the work» – as an application to the boilers and pans? Why do they allow me to spend my unproductive potential and working time?!

I get scared by these thoughts. All my life I have dreamed about loneliness, about peace, about philosophical silence, but now I am not happy without any «for some reason»! Probably, it was not about such loneliness, that «there was a speech» on my thoughts… «On my thoughts»… I am then processed again: maybe, I now consist only of thoughts? Maybe, I am just a memory of myself? No: I’m distracted by the theme of «myself, the present». The bearer of that memory is not given. Then who am I? And, most importantly – where am I? And more importantly: what I am? And finally – the most important thing: why am I here? If as a «consumable» – that’s unpleasant, but understandable. But if… Ah, here it is everything else that is… it is not clear. Totally incomprehensible!

So, calmly, mate: «cogito ergo sum». If I think, it means that all is not lost, even despite the fact, that nothing has been found. But we will look! I have time, as I understand it… although I do not understand anything… a lot of… because not a single second: time, after all, is a property of matter. But «Nothing» is «thing» intangible. So, there is no time as such, and therefore I have a lot of it. Such is the «unity and struggle of opposites».

I finish with the philosophy and begin the «repeated round of possessions». This time I «look around» more calmly and thoroughly. I have nowhere to hurry: there are no people to be seen, the guides – with horns and tails – too. It means that we will still live… well, in the sense of: we will exist… we will be… In general: we will count… somewhere and someone… Now the main thing is to determine the concepts: «where?» And «who?» And this is not a «naked» philosophy, but the harsh reality of being. It would be more correct to say: not «being, but fact of being somewhere or in something. But «being» somehow gives hope: this is not hopelessness!

So: I think – it means I exist. Philosophical abstraction is proved by practice. It is already possible to «dance» further on the topic «who?» and «where?» The fact, that I am not a spirit or a soul, can be seen at first glance… even if you can’t see anything. Me, in any case – for sure: we will deal with others later.

Ah, where am I? What kind of sterility is this, compared with which sterility of the operating room, I beg your pardon, is public toilet?! Why is everything «sterile» so much that there is nothing… not even what should be sterile?! As the saying goes: «where is everyone»?! Where did it go, but if it was not, then why? If this is the «solitary prison cell of personal hell», then I am against… although no one asks for my opinion. But, all the same: I, all my life, did not tolerate society, posthumously are with both hands for the «labor collective», because «without friends I’m a little bit, and with friends I’m a lot!»

Interestingly, is my stay here stationary, with reference to one point, something like a statue on a pedestal – or?.. I strain the thought – and it seems, to be making a move! Well, as I «commit»: I feel… at the level of consciousness, that I am starting to move. It would be nice to understand: what? A strange feeling: this «movement» does not meet the slightest resistance. Here it is – the ideal of the strength of materials, compared with which the phenomenon of superfluidity is the Neanderthal ax in comparison with the present-day combat laser!

«I go on milestones», but, alas: I do not come across. Everything is like in a poem: «I go out alone on the road – and, at least, hell was walking along it!». This is unpleasant feeling, true, it seems, the only one of its kind. I don’t feel other unpleasant sensations, such as: hunger, cold, thirst, heat. The presence of the «administration of the corrective-labor institution», as well as the red-hot frying pan under the butt is not felt either. So, this is not hell… it seems. Well, that doesn’t seem like hell, even if it doesn’t seem like anything else.

It’s strange… If this is not hell, then why are there no signs of its opposite? Where is paradise, or, at least, its «waiting room»? Where is the classic? Or, maybe, I’m going to the «wrong path of the wrong» – that is, an atheist of the «Christian bottling»? But after all, Muslims have a paradise, which looks like «the country of Limonia, where there are forty calls – and all for lunch!» Why then do not I see cool gardens and hot in love virgins? And if this is a «Buddhist-Hindu type paradise», where, at least, a sense of peace and tranquility? Rest, unfortunately, «we only dream»!

Hence the conclusion: this is not paradise. But, if this is something like a «transfer», then it was possible to equip it with at least a minimum of amenities! The same is true for the quarantine case. Or in this quarantine place applicant experiencing more and thoughts… «lice»? Well, if this is so, then that’s swinishness. Not only were people frightened on Earth: now «for your deeds…», «according to your faith…» – so also thought went to the credit as evidence!

«I go» further, but there is nothing more here, nothing and no one. «Not heard there is even rustling in the garden…» But, hush! It seems that there is something or someone. In any case, I feel a stirring of thought. And not his own: somewhere next door. I strain my ears… or what I have now – and for sure: «hello?» meet me! Not literally, of course, but the oncoming movement is obvious!.. That is, I wanted to say that… well, signs of life… being… well, or staying were found. And that’s not classic turbulence, but something like a «mental movement».

I feel: vis-à-vis is also happy to society, although it does not hurry to me «with an outstretched hand». I take the initiative.

«Who are you?»

The appeal «to you» is not due to lack of culture: it is customary to talk with the dead and «spirits». Separate misunderstandings are problems of «separately misunderstanding» people. But I just «correspond». And I «conform» to the commonly understood «language of thoughts», as if talking to a fellow tribesman – in the sense, that translation services are not required.

«And you?»

But this is impolite. In our twenty-first century, it is somehow not accepted to answer a question with a question. Maybe, comrade «arrived from afar»?

«I am from the twenty-first century. And what are you from?»

«Twenty first century after the birth of Christ?!»

I do not see, but I feel like a guy… it seems like a guy – «the jaw falls off» and «the eyes roll out». Due to the proper reaction, I nobly release him a relapse of lack of culture.

«Yes, it is. Judging by the question, you are unlikely an ancient Greek or ancient Roman. So, where are you from?»

«The fifteenth century after the birth of Christ.

Now it is my turn to «weigh the jaw» and «bulge the eyes», albeit let it be conditional and the one and the other.

«And you have been here since the fifteenth century?!»

In response, I feel something with a sorrowful sigh and a no less sorrowful nod with an absent head.

«Alone?!» I continue to «weigh the jaw», combining this event with the earthly profession of an investigator.

«No, there are some people.»

It’s easier already!

«Where is everyone? Where is the population… or, like, there, its: society?»

The guy sighs again.

«There is no society: there is only a population. And society is not only in a scientific sense, but also each other’s societies.»