Imagination has no material existence yet it is one of the most powerful agents at work. It creates, it destroys. It lives inside us and we live inside it. Through the strength of my imagination, I created a world. A world owned by me, ruled by me, cherished by me, governed by me, with laws so complex that they resulted in chaos — how ironic! But it was just a world, a lifeless cosmos originated from the electro-chemical impulses of my brain.
Then something happened; a ‘mutation’ among the rigid laws created by me. An anomaly which I could not explain or control. It created life! It formulated living things in my imaginary yet ‘real’ world. What was it? A sudden and exotic combination of basic components. Is life just the name of that combination? Nothing more, nothing less?
But this origin of life brought many things along with it such as the novel concept of time. I knew the reality: Time does not exist, at least not for me. I know/ have known/ will know the whole story of my world in just a timeless instant. I have seen the whole evolution of this life and was surprised to find that it too was dependent upon ‘mutation’ for its evolution to a great extent. Mutations within a mutation, how ironic!
I observed that progress of the extension of this life. How strange it seems: A mutation governed by laws; chaos ruled by order. So it progressed under laws, aided by disorders until it reached a peak — the origin of a living being capable of reason and imagination. It was the same power which I possessed. A power enough to create a whole universe, regardless of the fact that it was a mere fragment of imagination. Importance is neither to be judged by its size nor the material existence.
This being for the first time questioned the nature of life in my world. But they never really achieved the answers. After every step they faced a roadblock, an event unexplained. Their new work aimed to reduce the number of exceptions to the previous rules yet it did nothing but to increase that number. How ironic!
Those beings were something that constantly amazed me, and the thing which bemused me even more was the fact that they felt my presence. They somehow knew me, yet they were not capable enough to understand me and therefore, they worshipped me.
Of all the things they have done, they have made me wonder one thing with a strong intensity: Am I nothing but a mutation myself?
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