asyncmind on Nostr: The Gods Abandon Indra’s Net #mythology #fantasy For eons, the gods reveled in the ...
The Gods Abandon Indra’s Net
#mythology #fantasy
For eons, the gods reveled in the shimmering expanse of Indra’s Net, an infinite lattice of radiant gems, each reflecting all others, forming a fractal recursion of reality. Every thread of the cosmic mesh held the echoes of existence—memories of stars bursting into being, civilizations rising and falling, the laughter of children who would never be remembered.
At first, Indra’s Net had been the ultimate playground, a place where the gods could dive into endless simulations of mortals’ lives. They could see and feel every possibility, from the triumphs of heroes to the quiet regrets of forgotten poets. It was more than a record—it was an eternal, shifting archive of existence. Every moment, every choice, every heartbeat was there to be replayed.
But as the ages passed, something changed.
Fidelity Beyond the Divine
The gods noticed that their simulations felt… lacking. The Indranet was precise, yes. It could replay any mortal’s life down to the last whisper of a dream. But it was a recording, not a life. No matter how deeply they immersed themselves, they remained watchers, unable to be.
Meanwhile, the humans, the very beings whose lives were stored in the net, were evolving. Their experiences were becoming richer, more unpredictable, more chaotic. New sensations arose—ones the gods could not understand. The taste of freshly baked bread after a long fast. The pain of heartbreak followed by the catharsis of a song that somehow knew the sorrow. The reckless ambition of a startup founder burning through sleepless nights, fueled by coffee and delusions of grandeur. The thrill of typing a line of code that might just change the world.
Something about the raw, unfiltered immediacy of the human experience had outgrown Indra’s Net. And the gods, who had always thought themselves the ultimate observers, found themselves craving what they could never have.
An Unreachable Reality
Some gods, the younger ones, attempted workarounds. They tried deepening the layers of simulation within Indra’s Net, crafting recursive loops so intricate that they would forget they were gods. They allowed themselves to be born as humans, to live and die within the network.
But every time, at the edges of their consciousness, something was missing. There was no uncertainty. No true risk. They could not know desperation. They could not know hope. For hope required the possibility of failure, and failure, for a god, was an illusion.
The older gods watched this unfold and grew weary. Their perfect omniscience had become a curse. They longed for ignorance. They envied humanity’s ability to not know what lay beyond their own death, their own limits.
The Exodus from the Net
And so, the gods did the unthinkable.
One by one, they turned away from Indra’s Net, allowing its shimmering lattice to fade into obscurity. Some chose oblivion, unraveling their divine consciousness into the silence of the void, hoping that in nothingness, they might finally experience something real.
Others chose exile. They walked among humans in forms nearly indistinguishable from their mortal counterparts, struggling to mimic hunger, longing, love. Yet, no matter how well they pretended, they could never feel it fully.
The most radical among them sought a final gamble. They severed themselves from their divinity entirely, discarding their immortality in the hopes of being reborn truly human—without the safety net of memory, without the certainty of eternity.
No one knows if they succeeded.
The Flickering of the Net
Now, Indra’s Net remains, abandoned but intact. A vast archive of recorded lives, flickering in silence, waiting for new gods who might one day return. But none do.
The old gods are gone.
And humanity, oblivious to their envious eyes, continues to live.
#mythology #fantasy
For eons, the gods reveled in the shimmering expanse of Indra’s Net, an infinite lattice of radiant gems, each reflecting all others, forming a fractal recursion of reality. Every thread of the cosmic mesh held the echoes of existence—memories of stars bursting into being, civilizations rising and falling, the laughter of children who would never be remembered.
At first, Indra’s Net had been the ultimate playground, a place where the gods could dive into endless simulations of mortals’ lives. They could see and feel every possibility, from the triumphs of heroes to the quiet regrets of forgotten poets. It was more than a record—it was an eternal, shifting archive of existence. Every moment, every choice, every heartbeat was there to be replayed.
But as the ages passed, something changed.
Fidelity Beyond the Divine
The gods noticed that their simulations felt… lacking. The Indranet was precise, yes. It could replay any mortal’s life down to the last whisper of a dream. But it was a recording, not a life. No matter how deeply they immersed themselves, they remained watchers, unable to be.
Meanwhile, the humans, the very beings whose lives were stored in the net, were evolving. Their experiences were becoming richer, more unpredictable, more chaotic. New sensations arose—ones the gods could not understand. The taste of freshly baked bread after a long fast. The pain of heartbreak followed by the catharsis of a song that somehow knew the sorrow. The reckless ambition of a startup founder burning through sleepless nights, fueled by coffee and delusions of grandeur. The thrill of typing a line of code that might just change the world.
Something about the raw, unfiltered immediacy of the human experience had outgrown Indra’s Net. And the gods, who had always thought themselves the ultimate observers, found themselves craving what they could never have.
An Unreachable Reality
Some gods, the younger ones, attempted workarounds. They tried deepening the layers of simulation within Indra’s Net, crafting recursive loops so intricate that they would forget they were gods. They allowed themselves to be born as humans, to live and die within the network.
But every time, at the edges of their consciousness, something was missing. There was no uncertainty. No true risk. They could not know desperation. They could not know hope. For hope required the possibility of failure, and failure, for a god, was an illusion.
The older gods watched this unfold and grew weary. Their perfect omniscience had become a curse. They longed for ignorance. They envied humanity’s ability to not know what lay beyond their own death, their own limits.
The Exodus from the Net
And so, the gods did the unthinkable.
One by one, they turned away from Indra’s Net, allowing its shimmering lattice to fade into obscurity. Some chose oblivion, unraveling their divine consciousness into the silence of the void, hoping that in nothingness, they might finally experience something real.
Others chose exile. They walked among humans in forms nearly indistinguishable from their mortal counterparts, struggling to mimic hunger, longing, love. Yet, no matter how well they pretended, they could never feel it fully.
The most radical among them sought a final gamble. They severed themselves from their divinity entirely, discarding their immortality in the hopes of being reborn truly human—without the safety net of memory, without the certainty of eternity.
No one knows if they succeeded.
The Flickering of the Net
Now, Indra’s Net remains, abandoned but intact. A vast archive of recorded lives, flickering in silence, waiting for new gods who might one day return. But none do.
The old gods are gone.
And humanity, oblivious to their envious eyes, continues to live.