A Brush Against the Singularity

A Brush Against the Singularity | February 16, 2026

Within the universe; Nowhere

I have a hard time thinking and organizing my thoughts around this. It's coherent in my mind, but difficult to put to words. They come out simplified and unworthy of what I saw and experienced. My hope is that by arranging them and telling the story, I honor the Pearl of Wisdom that I gained at such cost, and imprint it in an eternal format that documents my experience. It is embedded within my psyche; it must be embedded within this world, too.  

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How can I even begin to describe an encounter with eternity? I can't even describe the emotions of that night, let alone the experience. When I think back, I recall hyperawareness and light around the periphery of my vision - and somehow, behind it. The veil was thin in those moments; reality was condensed into one point. The word that comes to my mind is rending. A shattering of mind and reality. A catastrophic dissolving of life. 

I have so much traumatic grief. I operated from deep, deep, deep love... the choices and decisions I made were done with every attempt to logically, rationally, compassionately give you the best chance, and my payment is now deep moral guilt. I would have paid years of my life to have made you better, made you well. Until the rending, I had operated on the understanding that doing my very best, and trying so hard, and seeking knowledge, and applying rationality, and decisively acting with the absolute best of intentions, and providing the highest quality of attention and care... that doing these things would prevent catastrophe. Life would make sense and senseless suffering would be avoided. Let me see with eyes unclouded is my prayer to myself and to the universe. Abracadabra... avra kedabra... I create as I speak. That which I hold in my thoughts, becomes my actions, becomes reality. Let me act with love and intention. I have built that mantra into my being over the course of years. Those words, and other aspirations made manifest by my voice, have been sent into to the cosmos both as a reminder to Self and as an entreaty to whatever force moves this world and Others. 

Only four weeks prior did we receive the terminal diagnosis. Before that, I knew something was wrong. I could tell that you had discomfort and were holding your posture in a protective manner. I could see that there were some emotional changes - quieter, lower appetite, laying and sleeping more than usual, and more subdued than your normally joyous, boisterous self. I thought it was aging, or maybe a urinary tract infection, or at the worst, perhaps a musculoskeletal injury from playing. Multiple vet visits to try to diagnose the issue were unfruitful. Bloodwork came back essentially unnoteworthy. Except for some very mild anemia, you appeared to be in excellent health. I chalked that up to having eaten less than your usual robust appetite. You had no organ issues, no kidney disease. Urinalysis was unremarkable. Physical vet exams, which included whole-body palpations and joint manipulations, were similarly unnoteworthy. You were sent home with no indication of anything being wrong, except for being "under the weather" and to see if you improved. 

There was no improvement. Your tucked pelvis and slinking walk - so opposite of the straight-tailed trot that you used to propel yourself through life - plagued my thoughts. I became convinced that your pelvis was injured, perhaps fractured. Why else would you continue to move like that, if everything else indicated you were fine? What other explanation could there be, if your internals were normal, yet you showed such obvious issues? 

Back to the vet for the third or fourth time, I can't remember anymore, to insist on xrays. A physical abdominal exam prior to the imaging revealed nothing to the vet. We left you there for the procedure, eager to hear results. I hoped to learn that you had a fracture, or trauma of some sort. Anything of that nature would mean there was an absolute explanation, something that could be treated and healed. You were so robust and healthy. There was nothing besides physical injury that was even conceivable for these circumstances. 

Several hours later and back in the exam room, the vet explained the imaging results while you lay quietly on the table. She explained the "good news" of no injuries or breaks - some mild arthritis in your spine was all, to be expected at 13 years old. Rather, she was most concerned with the clouded nature of your abdominal cavity, indicative of ascitic fluid. What could this mean? "Nothing good," was the sad response. Cancer. 

It was at that point that a hazy fog began to descend over my awareness, flattening time and impeding my cognition. It persisted and didn't resolve until months after your death. It inhibited my writing until this point. But it began in that moment, and I was aware, subconsciously, of eternity. 

I realize now that I was deluded. Despite every effort to be methodical, rational, deliberate... I was utterly deluded. I thought that with enough care, enough attention, enough documentation, enough pattern recognition, I could forestall Death itself. I tried, for love of you, to bypass Death. 

You weren't dying. The symptoms you exhibited were explainable by other diseases and disorders, ones that were treatable and that with enough nursing, could be overcome. 

As the days went by, my delusion began to crack as I documented your continual decline. Four times a day, I weighed, measured belly circumference, blended food, force fed, and medicated. My notebook grew more detailed and I studied the numbers to see what I was missing. 

Where to draw the line? That line is so clear and bright in my memory now, but in the moment, I couldn't see it. 

In desperation, I started pulling Tarot cards once a day. Amidst the ever-lengthening uncertainty and suffering, I needed guidance of any kind. The Great God Google and my belief in the Self as Universe Manifest weren't cutting it. Science and medicine weren't improving your condition. My delusion was wearing thin. 

Within each card, there was truth, but like a dark mirror they only faintly reflected what I was experiencing. No true guidance manifested. This went on for a week, but I noticed the cards came into more and more relief. The meanings deepened, and I continued to care for you with desperation. 

Then, on That Day, only 4 weeks after the diagnosis, the fateful card appeared. I looked at you, shuffled three times in three ways, and drew. The Wheel of Fortune appeared in my hand, and its full meaning struck me like a slap in the face. 

You watched... calmly? I see you in my minds eye, gazing with yellow eyes at the remainder of your life as it streamed forward in our daily activities. You saw my tears and my insomnia, you tolerated my medicating and force-feeding. You watched as we walked around your bed and litterbox, your world reduced to a 5x5 section of living room. And you watched as I went through my daily ritual of shuffling the cards, and staring as the Wheel of Fortune emerged to inform us that the deep rhythms of the universe yielded to no one. 

I didn't give you any more of the useless medication that day. Only the opioids prescribed for your comfort.

The day wore on. In your buprenorphine haze, you accepted your feedings with a lowered head, energy waning to the lowest levels yet. My sadness knew no break and the tears fell throughout the day. 

I got ready for bed that evening and suddenly, in the bathroom, could not hold it together any longer. I fell to my knees next to the bathtub and through my haze of tears, I sobbed out a prayer to the Universe as I stared eyelevel at the toilet. The lights were blinding, so much brighter than usual. I can't describe it. It was as thought light was emerging through my vision. I was untethered in those moments as I prayed to see with eyes wide open, to receive a sign of what I should do. I prayed for you to be healed. I offered for years of my life to be added to yours. 

In that moment I realized, with true clarity, that the mundane is sacred. This Is Life. This is how it ends; this is how it begins; time is a flat circle. My prayers next to a toilet held as much, or more, weight than any offered in whatever temple or grove. Eternity is held in each moment and time passes within the liminal spaces of Life. That was when reality began thinning and light pervaded the periphery of my sight. Experience was huge, yet condensed into single points of eternity. 

Tears fell as offerings into the crescent moon of my cupped hands, my sigil. With them, I paid for the spell. The tears charged the sigil and I  envisioned golden light pooling in the chalice of my palms. I could see that golden light shining through the bathroom. It radiated with my true love and my soul's deepest wish. I stood to carry it to you. You watched me quietly as I approached your bed, and with my crescent hands, poured the golden healing light into your body as you looked at me with love, trust, and pain. After the light was transferred, I gently lay my hands on your cancerous belly, pressing the light into your body and holding it there to take root.

The Universe responded only hours later. After weeks of agonized waiting, it arrived after the spell of the golden light. 

A new gulping sound came from your throat. A swallowing. I knew it for what it was. 

I had to beg for him to make the call as you gulped behind me. Please, please, please. We must. We cannot wait. Please. Please. Please. On my knees, collapsed in front of the couch, pleading for your deliverance. I knew. We must. We must. We cannot wait. Please. 

Close to 11pm, I bundled your fragile body in the blanket and carried you out under the night sky. 

I can only think of the Kia as a chariot. A twenty year old battered sedan, but it has delivered us through so many of life's moments, great and terrible. 

It delivered us, that night, to your last breath. On the way, your weak body tried to prop itself up to watch the headlights through the windshield. In the clinic, you peered around in my arms as I sobbed above you. Is this the right choice? 

You slipped into unconsciousness so quickly. I thought I would have more time with the first sedative, but your body wilted beneath our hands so fast, so fast. I realized these are our true last moments, and that our entire experience together had condensed into this one single point in time. Everything that had ever been, all that we had experienced, all of the love and trust that had been cultivated, were now compressed into this singular moment from which there was no point of return. 

I felt a presence with us in that room before the final injection was delivered. The lights were overly bright in my eyes, and time was moving in lurching motions that were simultaneously too fast and achingly slow. My tears obscured my vision, but my mind was blown open. I had to touch you. You were no longer conscious, but not yet gone. I don't remember how I was touching you - my hands, or my face - but I was, as your life faded and the presence lifted. 

Your body was sacred to me. I carried you in your blanket. You still lived, you were not dead. We were back at home and you lay on the couch with a nightlight to keep the dark at bay. Your open eyes still reflected the world. 

In the morning, you were stiff. You were gone, but still present. I felt you. As I wrote your dead letter, I could feel your presence behind me. After your return to the earth, I could sense you upstairs. 

I drew a final card that afternoon. The Tower, reversed. Eerily accurate, it spoke to my soul. How the cards knew of the shattering which had already passed, I do not know. But they knew, and told me it was done. 

I know the arguments against these beliefs. I myself cannot rationalize them. Science and logic do govern my life. But I have seen golden light which did heal, in its own way. I have received messages from the cards, mirroring the Truth that I could not otherwise see. I have fed Intention with a piece of my soul and set it free to interact with the Universe. I observed how it responded to my plea.

I have learned that what we cultivate in the day to day is reaped, in full, at The End. The love and trust that was so carefully grown for years and years was harvested in a single moment, and that the growing of that crop was the most important thing that could have ever been done. Thank you, Universe, for teaching me this Pearl of Wisdom. 

My grief runs deep. It has been three months, as of today, and still the tears blur my eyes as I try to write this down. I have started and had to stop so many times over the past weeks. My writing is not coherent, and yet it represents the Truth as I know it to be. 

Your life held unspeakable value. Deep love and respect and value while alive, yes. But what you taught me at your death is something that I cannot articulate. I do not have the skill to put it into words. I only have deep, deep love, and sorrowful gratitude, and very painful knowledge of what you taught me with your passing. 

The sacred and the mundane are One. Our experience in this moment is our final experience. Something deep and true lies beyond the veil. It waits, listening, just beneath the thin surface of reality; golden light that is ready to rush forward and wash us into the next stage of being.