BEING (being qua being) would not "have" a mind or brain, but would be The Mind, in the sense of containing & processing all of the information necessary to create a space-time world from scratch (i.e. physical world from meta-physical design -- an idea & a plan). — Gnomon
Still can't have 'The Mind' as First and Fundamental even as a Potential that thinks as much as an Actual; complexity can't be just sitting around already complete.
Besides, the universe is full of intelligent design, and forms and proceeds just like the natural would: Deuterium bottleneck, 98% hydrogen gas tuned, long Cosmic evolution time, long biological evolution time, species going extinct, humans nearly too, a big asteroid opening up space for mammals to evolve into humans…
Biological evolution doesn't swing the necessity toward 'God'; it is a design without a designer, for the platforms from which change can lead a way forward are always already stable as a fallback as it roughs, tumbles, and stumbles through slow accumulation onto millions of creature species.
There is no effective supernatural, hyperphysical, distinct nonphysical realm that can't speak the physical talk; no magic, just the usual pipe dreams of a largest making for the smaller—we note the opposite as the actual progression.
The temporary universe decays and ends as the failure that its beginning ultimately meant: zip. It probably fades because there can be no infinite precision, no lasting ultimate information put in, and no way to foresee the n-body problem to create something lasting. All its mutable complex glories and triumphs die, but the Simple remains.
Hail to the transient, those grand complexities to which the Simple pales in comparison!
The Permanent and Its Temporaries
&
Unity in Multiplicity
&
The One and the Many
&
Change and the Changeless
&
Especially
The Constant Demise of the Mutables
(Inspired by Shelley and his style, and altering a few verses)
Weep for the temporaries; they all fade,
Those transient bubbles blown and burst
Through their brief lives, of the Permanent made.
Oh, weep for the ephemeral dispersed,
Sad hours all, throughout the months and years,
To mourn their steady loss with flowing tears;
Teach them o’er the morrows thine own sorrow
For the yesterdays they could only borrow
From the One’s everlasting simplicity.
Oh, weep for the unsteady, born to flee!
For now, their light echoes and lights the path
Continued that they added to, onto more
Evanescences walking Time’s footpath,
Til Past has been forgotten by Future.
Oh, limited Mother, their tales best
Thine by far e’en in their impermanence,
But Thou can’t save them from their final rest,
For they are chained to time’s changing tense.
Thou cannot rekindle their faded breath,
Those melodies that hid coming death.
Like the flowers that mock the corpse beneath,
The Enduring cloaks their extinguished wreath.
With veiled eyes, newer moments weep despair,
While spreading forth their own emergences;
Dream not that the Eternal Deep can their air
Restore, for the makeshift must progress, spent.
The universe has to continue its race,
Unwinding, like a spring, at time’s fixed pace,
In which star-generations are born and perish,
Giving their lives for all we can cherish.
Energy’s Hunger stalks all creatures made,
Lying ever just ‘round the corner in the shade.
Death takes both humans and the beetle as one,
After their lives are spent from rolling some dung.
Living clouds wane, having outwept their rain;
The pale inconstants must e’er pass their reign.
Like mist’s pageantry on an autumnal night,
As a slowing pomp, all events made light
Decay: Desires, Adorations, Destinies,
Glooms, Splendours, Sighs, Hopes, Fears, and Phantasies.
Pleasure hails, blinded by tears and sorrow:
“You took from Death all that Life could borrow.”
Like our shades dance the walls of Plato’s cave,
We’re 3D shadows of 4D’s enclave…
It’s like a lamp lights up a paper shade—
We are as figures thereupon portrayed.
We are magic lanterns shining here;
Our spirits are the lights in there.
We’re the One’s Candled Magic Shadow-Show,
In which we Phantom Figures come and go.
Come, light your lantern and mine with good cheer;
We’re magic lamps; our spirits dance in here.
We are phenomena’s projected face,
Well-painted from noumena’s unseen base.
From what bright star came the gleam in your eyes?
From what distant sun came your smile, light-wise?
Our minds and senses interpret and dispense
The base reality into the colors and sensations
Of the phenomenal world from the noumenal;
We may become either rainbows or ugly stains!
Our beginnings and ends are of nowhere,
So, let’s radiate, since for now we’re here!
Ending by Shelley himself:
The One remains, the many change and pass;
Heaven’s light forever shines, Earth’s shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-colour’d glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!
Follow where all is fled!—Rome’s azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.