Matteo Franchin's corner

Random thoughts

Living in the mind of god

Imagine you were small. Imagine you were small enough to go for a walk inside the brain of a human being. How would it be? Maybe it would be like walking on the roots and branches of a centenary tree, surrounded by a million of similar trees, even filling the sky around you. What would you understand about this neverending forest? You could see that some fluid flows inside the roots and branches. You could even understand where the fluid comes from, where it goes. But would you understand what is really going on in all this? Do you think you could really understand what is going on inside the brain of a human being by just walking over some of its nerve cells? You may understand how neurons work. You may understand where the electricity signals come from and where they go and maybe why. But you would never be able to understand what is really going on. You could never understand that these signals are the roots for a soul. Nobody, being able to walk on your nerve cells, would really understand that you exist. You are not visible to such small eyes! But maybe one of those walking people, could try to imagine how it would be having a walk inside their own brain. They would eventually be able to imagine that something is going on in the world they see and realize that - even if their small eyes cannot really see anything beyond what appears to be simple mechanics - a real soul with self consciousness exists!


Let’s call super-human a self-conscious mind which is not visible to human eyes. The set of super-humans could be an empty set or maybe a set containing many and many elements. Considered the complexity of the creatures it created, “Nature” may well belong to this set! And is a language, such as the one I’m using, a super-human? Sometimes I have the feeling that the language I’m internally using (Italian) is the real living thing... What is really thinking? Me or the language I’m using? Both? Other question: am I a neuron of a super-human?

The Garden of Eden

I was once, at the beginning of times, in the Garden of Eden, cradled by the warm and soft breath of god. I was light and protected, far from pain and loneliness. My hands filled, my needs satisfied. The good hand of my God was upon me. Maybe I took too much, I broke my God’s law. Suddenly he abandoned me, he throw me violently in a world of cold air and blinding light. I went through hurracanes and thunderstoms. My world trembling under furious anger. God punished me, I fell in a world where I’m slave of my needs, alone with empty hands, heavy with naked feet. It was a day far in the past, when I fell from the Garden of Eden, my mother’s womb.

La presunzione di essere uno

I observe a glass of water just before drinking. I observe the crystalline trasparence of what gives me more than half of my weight. I wonder when this water will end up being me and understand that - after all - I do not exist. There is no way to decide what belongs to me and what not. There is no way to determine when something becomes me. I have no boundaries in time and space. There is no precise time when I started to be and there will be no time when I will cease to exist. Quite clearly, I have been constructed little by little, piece by piece, day by day. Quite clearly, I have been dying for all these years.

I observe the glass of water in front of me. I listen to the silence and realise that the one who listen is not the one who sees. The one who thinks is not the one who feels. Well, there are many me all thinking and feeling different things. Many robots enclosed inside a bone box. All little brothers. Many voices to make up the chorus, and directed by a foreigner conductor. And among all these robots I am still tempted to pick (make up) one, say it is the one who feels and say that one is me.