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Stan I.S Law (aka Stanislaw Kapuscinski)

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Nine Months
By Stan I.S Law (aka Stanislaw Kapuscinski)
Posted: Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Last edited: Tuesday, October 09, 2007
This short story is rated "G" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Stan I.S Law (aka Stanislaw Kapuscinski)
· Around the World
· Stuffed Panda
· Hello?
· Our Park
· Two of a Kind
· What if?
· The Mirror
           >> View all 10
We often have no idea what's coming to us...

It took nine months.

Nine months, one-hundred-eighty days or 4320 hours. Or even 259,200 minutes or 15,552,000 seconds. It was all the same to me. When you compress infinity into any time frame, the fractions remain meaningless. In terms of infinity, that is. And until this very moment, to all intents and purposes I was – I had been, in a strange inexplicable way still am – infinite. Only it doesn't feel like it anymore.

I was also omnipresent, virtually all knowing, all encompassing. In a mere nine months I had to encapsulate enough freedom, enough beauty, vigor and energy to last me a lifetime. From being omnipresent, in a mere nine months I had to compress my ubiquity into a micro universe that is little more than a speck of dust. I know that even after the Big Bang, the universe will continue to recede from me, leaving me a detached, individualized fragment of the timeless, unlimited, ineffable Whole.

I did it all in just nine months...


I recall the beginning.

"Yes... YES! Oh darling... OH YESSS!"

And it was over. What a farce....


Down here, in the worlds of duality, some think that life begins at the moment of conception. A tiny sperm channels its way towards an unsuspecting ovum, a tiny puncture and bingo, we have life. They should think again. If it hadn't been for me, for my benevolence, none of it would ever happen. Nature, set on automatic, rejects the vast majority of attempts at self-replication. It will improve over eons of time, but for now...? Nature is programmed to discard all imperfection. Some mutants get through, but basically I need genes to supply me with a robot to aid me in my becoming. So, at least for now, I'm the architect, the designer, the true and only harbinger of life. I am life. There were aspects of me, even then that guided the process of gestation. But only some insignificant aspects of me, of my attention. My consciousness, my true awareness, still roamed infinity in delectable freedom...

A mere nine months ago...

I glanced back once more.

It was as though the egg imploded and allowed a foreign invader to enter its domain. Then, all hell broke loose. Divide and conquer. Within a few hours, like a swarm of bacteria, the cells divided themselves countless times. Within a mere eight hours they were one-billion. Then trillion, quadrillion, quintillion... like the stars in my universe. All in a day's work. Talk of life! Animal life is like that. Divide and conquer. Never mind at whose expense, at whose immolation. Divide and conquer, conquer, conquer...

They were hard on me, those first moments.

I withdrew quickly. The primitiveness of the process constricted my sense of freedom. The freedom of real life. For now, for another nine months less a day, the universe was mine. I could embrace it with my presence. I could see it all. Later, my eyes would see but a tiny fraction of it. A fraction as insignificant as the instruments through which I would regard it. Through eyes, human eyes. The miracle of the human eye, they call it down there. Down here...

I recalled from my last time down there that the human eye can see photons in the range of but a few billionth of a centimeter between the red and the violet spectrum of light. To see more, their brain would have to be larger than the house they lived in, and, even then, it would boil over and explode from heat generated by the shear complexity of their neural connections. Their heads would go off in small novae. How beautiful are the novae! The gaseous giants contracting until the atoms can no longer tolerate the pressure generated by heat. In the here and now, just a few short months ago, in the eternal present, I could see the universal patterns etched by trillions upon trillions of photons, by x-rays, trillions upon trillions of radio waves, by the whole spectral patterns from the inexplicably short ultraviolet wavelets, insignificant ripples, to the regal tsunami monsters at the immeasurable end of the red spectrum. I would be wrong to say that I could see them all. To see, you need eyes, and eyes have limitations. But I perceived them by... well, by direct perception. The only means I needed to sense the universe around me.

And all that was mine just nine months ago, nine months less a day....


"Darling, take it easy. I'll do that for you...." I was beginning to recognize human voice. What an incredibly limited method of communication – soon to be mine….

He was good for her. Still is, I suppose. I can no longer discern reality with equal facility. There is a veil between their consciousness and mine. We seem to have drifted apart. But then, just those fragments of eternity ago, whenever I directed my attention at my future micro-universe, he was there, looking after her welfare. She seemed grateful if a trifle amused. Men always think of the gestation process as some kind of illness. They become all macho, noble and even sacrificial. It doesn't last. Still, soon I'll be one of them....

Ahhh, those were the days.


Being is not at all like becoming. In being you just are. The universe is still there, the countless galaxies ever expanding, black-holes exploding in pure energy, quasars pulsating with new effervescence.... The gaseous monsters, each home to trillions of new stars awaiting their turn within the matrix of becoming. And I? Little more than an observer. A nudge here and there, a gentle push or pull on dust clouds to form new constellations, new configurations, the proto-forms of new worlds which would, in the fullness of time, give rise to new complex structures to aid me in my experiments of my eternal becoming. In the experience of change. Of witnessing the unknown.

Yes, unknown even for me.

To experience All, simultaneously, outside the confines of time, I could not taste the totality of my universe's real savor. I would have to sacrifice some delectable morsels of my images, of my reflections in the matrix of time. That is why I decided to individualize myself. To become one in the many. To imbue all fauna, all flora, throughout the universes with my presence. My singularity in Being metamorphosing into the countless units in the eternal process of contiguous Becoming. There are times when I breathe my presence into biological structure in a matter of seconds – into those forms in still earlier stages of their evolution. This time, even as so many times before, it took me nine months to get ready.

And here I am. At last.

I gave my temporary host the final once over. All seemed in order. No parts were missing. It was time. My time. The momentary darkness exploded with an array of lights. The Big Bang – and the whole universe receded away from me. Faster and faster.

Again, I was alone.

"Whaaaaaaaa....."









Web Site: Stan I.S. Law  

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Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 10/9/2007
Excellent, Stan, compelling reading. Master of his domain, at least for nine months. :) Well done! But then again, the present world revolves around him, too...

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Reviewed by Charlie 10/9/2007
Good job. I read recently that a scientist looked at a brain cell under a microscope and saw (incredibly enough) that it looked very similar to our galaxy.--Charlie
Reviewed by Charles O'Connor III 10/9/2007
Interesting write. The language was used and expressed intelligently and the idea was extreamly creative. Good Job.

Charles D. O'Connor III "Check out my new story "An Occurrence One Evening". I welcome good and bad comments. Take Care.


Books by
Stan I.S Law (aka Stanislaw Kapuscinski)



NOW - Being & Becoming, a novel

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Dictionary of Biblical Symbolism - eBook

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THE GATE - Things my Mother told me.

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Sacha—The Way Back (Alexander Trilogy Book III)

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Alexander [Alexander Trilogy Book II]

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DELUSIONS — Pragmatic Realism

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YESHUA, A Personal Memoir of the Missing years of Jesus

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