But neither this mobility nor this choice nor
consequently this consciousness involves as a necessary
condition the presence of a nervous system — Pantagruel
My will has decided that it has to look into Henri Bergson due to his being a legend.
For now, we do have a good nervous system that is really a useful extension of the will/brain. For example, the brain can 'actionize' without having to commit to an action.
Subconscious trains of thought vie for attention,
Dueling choirs competing for first place
As actions in the will’s ’I’—to produce
Future, for this is the task of a thought.
The will/brain mediates thoughts versus outcomes,
And is distributed all over the body,
From the nerve spindles to the spine to the brain—
A way to actionize without moving.
As for a 'vital impulse' or a guidance principle, that could be so, and this idea is coming close to the meaning of a 'Poetic Universe'.
Our two brain hemispheres seem to reflect
The nature of the universe itself,
As the grouping order versus and with
The whole of the symmetry order.
(That is, a holistic, parallel view, as well as a detailed, sequential view.)
Note that the sun is not the same sun as it was a trillionth of a second ago, although to us a semblance of the ‘sun’ remains and the sun seems to be a continuous object. There are, strictly speaking, no objects that are identical with themselves over time, and so the temporal sequence probably remains open.
Nature is then no longer seen as clockwork, but only as a ‘possibility gestalt’, the whole world occurring anew each moment; however, the deeper reality from which the world arises, in each case, acts as a unity in the sense of an indivisible ‘potentiality’, which can perhaps realize itself in many possible ways, it not being a strict sum of the partial states.
It appears to us, though, that the world consists of parts that have continued on from “a moment ago”, and thus still retain their identity in time; yet, matter likely only appears secondarily as a congealed potentiality, a congealed gestalt, as it were.
So…
We are both essence and form, like poems versed,
Ever unveiling this life’s deeper thirsts,
As new riches, from strokes, letters, phonemes,
Words, phrases, and sentences—uni-versed!
There is rhythm, reason, rhyme, meter, sense,
Metric, melody, and beauty’s true pense,
Revealed through life’s participation,
From the latent whence into us hence.
Informationally derived meanings
Unify in non-reductive gleanings,
In a relational reality,
Through the semantical life happenings.
Syntactical information exchange,
Without breaking of the holistic range,
Reveals the epic whole of nature’s poetics,
Due to the requisite of ongoing change.
(no stillness, but ever a continuous transitioning,
with nothing particular ever lasting,
the same as we's expect from an eternal,
for as thus it has point for any design,
much less any specific one, leaving it to
have to be a kind of everything, either all at once,
in a superposition of eternalism,
or the little by little of presentism,
but never lasting as anything particular)
So there’s form before gloried substance,
Relationality before the chance
Of material impressions rising,
Traced in our world from the gestalt’s dance.
All lives in the multi–dimensional spaces
Of basic superpositional traces
Of Possibility, as like the whirl’s
Probable clouds of distributed paces.
(such as of an electron cloud)
What remains unchanged over time are All’s
Properties that find expression, as laws,
Of the conservation of energy,
Momentum, and electric charge—unpaused.
The weave of the discrete bits as strokes writes
The letters of the elemental bytes—
The alphabet of the standard model,
Forming the words as the atoms whose mights
Merge to form molecules, as phrases,
Onto proteins and cells, as sentences,
Up to paragraphs of organisms,
And unto the stories of the species.
Via this concordance of literature,
We’ve become Cosmos’ conscious adventure,
As a uni-verse of sentient poems,
Being both the contained and the container.
Our poem is both the thought and the presence,
An object born from the profoundest sense,
An image of diction, feeling, and rhythm;
We’re both the existence and the essence.
(A poem is a truth fleshed in living words,
Which by showing unapprehended proof
Lifts the veil to reveal hidden beauty:
It’s life’s image drawn in eternal truth.)
(Poems are renderings of the soul’s spirit,
The highest power of language and wit.
The reader then translates back to spirit;
If the soul responds, then a poem you’ve writ!)
Welcome to the Poetic Universe!