The Internet and the Infinite

Picture infinity. You can't do it. Our brains break down when we wrestle with endless time or infinite space.

We usually don't think about infinity –– we're more focused on calling an Uber or scarfing a salad. But infinity is always there, patiently waiting beneath the surface of typical Thursdays and Tuesdays. When I dip below for a peek, here's what I see:

Everything we see is a frame on an underlying infinite. An infinite what? We don't know. My best mental image is the black-and-white static of old box TVs. Remember? When your cables weren't plugged in, your 4:3 JVC television would scream at you, an offensive, noisy, chaotic, chrhhrchrhcrhkchrhchhchrhhhhkchrhhhhh. That's infinity.

We receive the world in clear, crisp images. People, parking lots, lime green parakeets. Each a frame on top of messy infinity. Your shoes are foot-long frames on the infinite –– three octillion atoms of rubber and nylon lassoed from utter totality into fresh new Nikes that ferry your feet around Trader Joe's.

You're losing me. Hang on –– infinity is a proxy for the mystery of existence. None of us had to exist! The world didn't have to exist. We all forget this, almost always, but something existing, rather than nothing, is pretty rad. If existence is a glorious mystery, so is every thing within it –– cups, Gmail, salsa packets, sticks of butter. Infinity shimmers inside supermarkets and SaaS apps if you really look.

It's hard to see the radiant whole in a shopping cart. But we all have conduits to the infinite –– access points that allow us to glimpse this mirace more easily. Mine is language, great books and quotes that shiver my spine. For others, it's music, mathematics, kite surfing, indie films, or sweeping natural vistas. Whatever melts your mind and smacks you with wonder will do.

Most of our time isn't spent reading great books or hiking in Banff. We spend way more time joining Zoom calls, clearing Slack threads and diving down YouTube holes. Miraculous existence is crowded out by mundane digital schlep. But what if –– just maybe –– our digital devices are hidden portals to the glorious all?

Picture the Internet. You can't do it. Our brains break down when we try to wrangle the web. This vast sum of electric connection is effectively infinite, especially from our point-of-view. We bury our faces in phones and laptops a dozen hours each day. But maybe, just maybe, when seen properly, the Internet is the ultimate conduit to the infinite. A purple-white beam of Internet burst into the sky three decades ago just south of Palo Alto. And now ten billion devices all link back to this same infinite core.

As we live on the Internet, we interface with the infinite. Next time you're scrolling, glance up and notice the purple-white thread that tethers you (and everyone) back to the same infinite beam of Internet. You just might glimpse the magnificent all.