In Hindu philosophy, there was the picture of a charioteer on a chariot, with horses to control.

This picture was important for its depictions. The horses were understood to represent our senses. The objects of our senses were the paths to take. The brain, in other words, our neurological circuits, were the equivalent of the charioteer’s reins. The charioteer himself was our governing intellect. The charioteer governed the chariot’s direction and his horses, to take the adequate paths to the goal or the exploration. Our intellect governed our body’s direction and our senses. The goal or the exploration of the chariot was the equivalent of the human intellect’s governing conscience, faith or vision.

As such, if you had the incorrect vision, or the incorrect mental map of the world, it was not strange for you to be lulled astray. Such an incorrect map could be any rule, or, of information, tool or piece of culture. Agenda-driven books that inherently gaslighted you, with inherently unresolved contradictions were of that nature – they lulled you astray.

I was in a library next to the Shaolin Monastery of The Great city. I was in the west side of the city. The place had old wood for its build. The bookshelves were wooden, and dark brown in color, with hues of burgundy. Outside, on the elevated grounds of the monastery, Shaolin monks meditated. The elevated grounds spanned across an octagonal, open area. There were roofs along the octagonal borders. These roofs were somber-green straight lines broken off at each point of the octagon. The monks strove for their mental transformation and resoluteness. I could neither envy them nor dismiss their mental acuity.

I held a red-bound book in my hands. It was a book about aesthetic formalism. Aesthetic formalism was for dummies. If something was open to infinite interpretation, it was not art. It was potential. In other words, it was garbage. I once fancied reading on structuralism. The awe and drive for that had dissipated. I placed the red-bound book back on the bookshelf. My right palm had red dye faintly imprinted on it.

In the south wing of this building – and it was convenient I could place the locations’ directions in the lens of a compass – was the reading area. There, readers, young and old, engaged in reading as if they meditated. This place exuded a subtle flow. "User Command: The Great city – Beginner’s Map."

[Map link in Post-chapter note]

According to my instinct, the [Musical Institute] on the north-east side of the city might exude a similar flow. I looked over my shoulder. “I think it would be more practical to have a computer database for any book we might want instead of a library. We do have personal book inventories. So that should seal the deal.”

Eloise yawned. “Don’t ask me that. It’s just a game, right? Enjoy it. Or did you want to become this city’s mayor?”

“Eloise, I should inform you about something important. There is a difference between contractual gridlocks and an exchange of ideas. I just went for the latter – an exchange of ideas. Besides, would you elect me if I wanted to be the mayor?”

“I don’t stand to benefit more from you becoming the city mayor than Roger becoming that. In the first place, we are here to teach you, the fool, to be wiser by undergoing some basic magic-coding.” Eloise looked at me. “That said, I’ll get to you when I get two more books. I am sorry for not having these books in my inventory. They are beginner level, after all.”

“I’ll treat you to some chocolate-and-milk drink later,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I don’t want it,” Eloise replied.

“One more for me then,” I said.

Eloise frowned. “Do you want to debate about something, Ashen? I’m all ears.”

I looked at Eloise and pondered. I tapped my right fist on my left palm. “Phenomenology is the cause of suffering. It is also the root of suffering.”

Eloise was vexed. “You don’t look like you had a good morning. I’ll pay for your chocolate-and-milk drink.”

“I understand. We should hang out next week. We can do some sports or a computer strategy game.” Phenomenology was the cause of suffering. It was not something deep. Contrary to emergent phenomenology, you had immersive phenomenology. Linked to the emergent and the immersive, you either had the behavioral sink, or you went ‘up’. The behavioral sink could be understood as useless degeneracy. For that, be it a mechanical bird or a bird with one wing shorter, it made no difference.

Eloise crossed her arms. “We’ll talk about hanging out if you stay focused today. I’ll prepare a good strategy against you, if you get today right.” Eloise considered, “You should get some fresh air.”

“I’m good,” I said. I stretched my hand, holding a book. I rotated my arm in a short radius. “The books in this area are arranged in a rather helpful manner. I found an interesting one called ‘Laws of the Warrior’. That will be more effective.”

“I see. That will be awesome.” She threw a book in my direction. I grabbed it. “Go ahead and add this book to your inventory. We can start our session once I find the last book.” I glanced at the book and interacted with the interface that presented itself. Eloise smiled. She yawned and got back to perusing the bookshelves.

I looked over the book ‘Laws of the Warrior’. There was the neat image of a neat, trained and tough-looking soldier on the front. I randomly flipped to a page of the book. I found a chapter heading, which said the following:

[To follow personal conviction is preferable to doing someone else’s duty.]

I thought that was weird, since warriors were likely employed as guards, or such protectors. They ensured the protection of some other entity. “You look an awful lot happy today,” Eloise said, in an offhanded manner.

I looked at her. “I’m happy because I’m learning what I want. I get to test my knowledge,” I said. Elizabeth Darwin or whoever, the matrix existed to the same extent as the fool’s words.

***

The sun favored the eastern part of the sky.

Roger found himself in the south-west side of the The Great city, just short of the business area to the east. He was in the company of Raymond and another guy. The latter had a big nose and shrewd eyes. He looked muscular and friendly.

The area was windy, with an ambient temperature. There were over two hundred people gathered on the plaza. They shouted and screamed. The plaza, for its part, was vast. United chants went off. Roger could hear some distant speech here and there, rousing the crowd. It was a protest. On the cloth of most protesters, there was the insignia of the Covenant of the Holy Mother. It comprised of a baby, cradled by his mother. In the background of the mother, there was a man nailed to a cross. The mother wore green and white cloth. The child had light-blue cloth draped about his bottom. The cross the man was nailed to was a dull red in color.

One protester’s words came to Roger’s ears. “Bring the fallen warriors to justice!” she said.

“Bring the fallen warriors to justice!” replied the crowd. Roger judged the ring of the protest line a bit archaic to his taste.

Outside of Roger’s line of sight, on the plaza’s north-west, Darius buttoned up his collar. He looked at the band of silvery black on his wrist. It displayed ‘10:00’. Darius looked at the airborne drone, closest to him. The drone was gray-blue in color. It filtered across the sky, viewing the happenings of the protest. Darius wore a black coat. He had shaded glasses, with black rims, on. Underneath the black coat, he wore a white t-shirt, and wore a pair of black pants. Darius tapped the side of his glasses and approached one of the protesters.

Roger observed a woman with a ponytail heading in their direction. “You holding good, Newman?” said the woman as she approached the group. She had a nervous smile on her face.

“Yeah, I’m good,” replied the latter. He smiled at her, then looked at the protest.

“I see you are alright, Lena,” Raymond said.

“Thanks. I wonder what the farmers will think of this protest,” Lena said.

“I admit this is going to be a problem,” Raymond said. “From the information I have gathered, there is a possibility of some protesters sabotaging food production.”

“We will deal with that possibility when it arises. Members of the Covenant of the Warrior are already on-site,” Roger said.

Newman looked at a few of the protesters. He noted that there were a lot of women. His eyes remained on the breasts of one woman before he looked away, scratching his cheeks. Within the folds of one group, firecrackers went off.

The din resounded across the area.