The talking heads whip from one crisis to the next – no pause for reflection allowed; the soundtrack crackles with small arms fire, confused shouting, smouldering ruins in this backwater, that shanty town. The emaciated populate my screen, unable to smile for the camera, framed by the ruins of their lives strewn behind them.
The sorry tale of third world woe switches to the twisted corpse of a promising young bank executive, crumpled on the mezzanine floor of an upscale restaurant, federal snipers surrounding a ranch, black-clad SWAT teams at a G20 summit. My hands grasp my face, pulling at scraps of beard as reality sinks in. They did … what, in my country? Scanning through the alphabet soup of news channels produces further confirmation: a mysterious aircraft disappearance, missing trillions of government funds, missing children, missing weapons of mass destruction, missing gold bullion.
Missing reality. Behind it all, the dark matter of international affairs, the shadow matrix shapes the seen world. Only the smallest particles of truth escape from the enveloping mass of hidden dimensions, harbingers of revelation, outriders of the waiting disclosure. The Dark Net is disguised by the world wide web, the pervasive unreality of reality dogs the very strokes of my keyboard, the slight lag being the only clue of the shadow world that defeats the feeble attempts of words to give it form. Still, at least one layer of truth must emerge from the periphery, like the shades that lurk just outside my field of vision, those teasing, mocking wraiths waving their choppy fingers under our noses. This is, after all what it means to be finite: peering at the shapes hiding under rock and in crevices, we roil the waters with our halting exploration, obscuring the depths. Few do not yield to frustration and turn away, fewer still sacrifice so-called sanity for the thrill of discovery. It is no coincidence that epiphany is experienced in solitude. No coincidence that seers are often regarded as insane.
Dissidents can be medicated, truth-seekers imprisoned but the riddle of dark matter lurks in the unending search for meaning that resists all of the orthodox explanations, or pseudo explanations. Only the hungry, the desperate continue to scratch at the membrane, foolishly, obsessively craving the destruction of their safe world.