There are many Devajobs, beings from the 4th dimension trapped in three-dimensional space. Their hubris, a long forgotten act of defiance, offended the Mulungu, beings from the 5th order, so they split their essences’ into separate, individual souls. These souls were injected and hidden into Homo erectus as RNA, a virus, an infection of consciousness, a cruel punishment that left the Devajobs scrambling to round up human souls to add to their collected consciousness.
Each soul is part of the essence of the Devajobs. When separate, feelings of dread and despondency pulse through them with each beat of the human heart. The Devajobs can feel their souls’ presence in the world, a vibration, a rhythm, propagating through dimensional barriers. The connection is not physical, chemical, or electrical, but something that can only be “observed”, if there ever was such a thing, in the 4th dimension. Their suffering is one with that of the humans. They can feel your pain. They feel anxiety. The separateness and loneliness that is always there, a feeling there is something missing, walking around with one shoe, an unbearable, pervasive illness with no relief. The souls were cast out to the 3rd dimension, a physical realm where Gravity is G*d, where you move relative to things, nothing more than an object.
The Devajobs experience a release of dimensional energy when the soul is collected and reconnected during the process of Sefusion. It is euphoric for the human as well, realizing the end of the malevolence of forced existence. The coalescing of the soul as one with its respective Devajobs is ego death. Imagine the frustration for the Devajobs, knowing that coming together as one will make them feel whole, and being met with resistance, the irony of humans so afraid of death they will do anything possible to avoid living.
There is a sense of boredom amongst the Devajobs, their purpose fruitless and unnecessary. An existence of perpetual stagnation with no escape from the task at hand, gathering souls to temporarily alleviate misery, to put suffering on hold for just a moment. The process is endless and it is difficult to accept this infinite way of being, trapped in this form for trillions of year on repeat, the record skipping with a dreadful feeling that nothing will change.
You take a substance expecting it to kill you and now you are falling, the chair beneath no longer there. Gravity holds you in place. You, ancestor of Sir Isaac Newton, thank gravity for everything you have, and remark “G*d is gravity”. You want to worship it as if it is the Ultimate Force. You can rely on it. It is constant. It does not judge, treating each object with the same principles and effort. You know it is there through testable hypotheses, like Newton himself sitting at the base of an apple tree. Gravity created the sun and the earth, which predictably spawned life. Gravity was central to the creation of the universe. Is there a force that drives gravity? What was the first force that began all others, the first “creational” force? Are the forces of the three dimensional universe merely integrals from higher order dimensions, correlated and directly tied to an invisible hand?
When you see your Devajobs approach there are only a few moments to live. The Devajobs are mystical spectrophotometers so they can see fluctuations in aura, a certain glow emitted by a dying human. The Devajobs approach you at this time.
Its silhouette is that of a human, but their height is that of a giant with arms that can reach to the sun. However, there is an ominous suspicion that comes with their presence, opaque eyes, pitch black skin, hairless, appearing with a sleek, smooth, rubbery texture. Devajobs seem stoic, weathered, disheveled, unconcerned with appearance. They are blank and lethargic, a model of learned helplessness. While eager to become whole, there are millions of souls collect and it takes an approximately eight hours to absorb each one. With over 350,000 people born each day, there just are not enough Devajobs to absorb every soul, so the ones that are not selected are reabsorbed back into the system. Some souls mutate, split off, further diluted with each division. Created from the Devajobs was a universe of individual characters destined to an existence of estrangement and suffering.
You are alone. Isolated. You come up with metaphors to describe the meaning of loneliness. You are in a room with the lights off. There are no doors or windows. There are no openings. There are no lines on the walls. There is nothing written. You are paralyzed and cannot move. The only sound is your own brainwaves reverberating off the interior of your skull. The temperature remains the same: Cold. You want to quantify how cold it is with some hyperbole about absolute zero, but instead settle to describe it as freezing. In a sense there is nothing, but you have an awareness of your own body and apparent thoughts, what seems to be a thinking mind forming a consciousness and a self. You can feel the ground beneath you. It holds you up. Gravity exists in this room. It brings you some sort of connection to the universe.
Gravity feels weak. You feel like you are falling apart, like a puzzle being shaken in the frame, no one glued the pieces together, so you dismember, limb, by limb, your heart is a piece of cardboard in a frame, trapped, desperate, and alone. You are stuck in this feeling. Time infinitely slows, a second is thousands of years for you, trapped, your body frozen in position, your thoughts unwavering, exhausted, on your last breath.
You feel like a zombie. It takes so much effort just to spread your fingers, to separate your eyelashes, to move your tongue. Your eyes are dry and sting, all sound is washed out; you can no longer see color and what little you do see, varying shades, is difficult to discern. Your life has no meaning. You want to end this awful feeling, even praying, the nihilist you are reverting to archaic portrayal of a male G*d flashing before your eyes.
He is a Devajobs. He reveals the mystery of your existence, disclosing the news that you will be taken. You beg, plead not to have it end, but this is no longer a choice. He is addicted to consuming human souls. He will remove you from your body, separating consciousness, energizing a significant amount of fear and anxiety due to your attachment to life. He is put in an awful position, to inflict such suffering in the process of Sefusion. Even with the understanding that Sefusion is inherently sensible and kind, your ignorant cries weigh heavy on his essence, and he sometimes doubts his certainty.
It’s incredible, how it is just creeps up on you like that, backs you into a corner, tells you to count your breath, to recollect and remember that you are still alive, but impermanent, and you notice the light is about to extinguish, as you try and define what that means, to “extinguish” a light, wondering if that is the natural state of things: darkness
Because they always tell you, right now are screaming directly into your ear, so loud, so fucking loud, into your fucking ear, then you forget what you were thinking anyway, you lost focus on that moment, it’s gone, but you can accept that, until you contemplate why they tell you to go toward the light, when you truly believe this is merely self-preservation, cowardice, trying to savor the last source of energy, every bit of that sweet “life”, or whatever it is your metacognitions are saying, but you are closing in, counting each moment, trying to savor those fleeting flavors of whatever passions are spilling out of your fading soul, scraping with claws at a cold iron casket, begging not to close the lid, to stop throwing on shovels of dirt, covering you up, down there, choking on depleting oxygen reserves…
… You’re talking, rapid speech patterns, tangential thinking, confabulations, no one can understand a word of it, you have so much to say, you plead with him, but you appears blank, unmoved, like death … you are completely irrational, nonsensical drivel spewing from your throat box. You feel detached from everything, probably a bit lonely, but you can usually avoid that …. usually … but not tonight. No, it came to you. It was dark, the lights are closing all around, candles burning down to end of the wicks, broken filaments, your last match, no difference between eyes open or closed.
… you assume your emptiness is more than Devajobs. How could they possibly understand what you feel? But how could anyone understand the complex intersections that make up your unique experience of feeling your emotions? You could imagine that as a human being, the feelings of “sad” or happy” are chemically similar for all people … but not the same, emotional threads are merely frays from the Devasjobs cloth.
You are crying. You want to sleep, but your eyes visualize patterns, math equations, nonsensical ones, just random expressions, nothing signaled, just there … listless thought wanderer, you smile ear to ear, stitched up Glasgow. There is too much foliage, so you grab your metaphorical machete and with a slow, mechanical, dullard, lethargic, pathetic, swing of the arm, cut blindly into the void for what relatively feels like eternity.
Time is no longer one directional. Your perception shifts and Newtonian mechanics become nonsensical. Your theory for life responds to a new force: not gravity, electromagnetic, or nuclear. The senses no longer respond to three-dimensional stimuli. You cannot hear, taste, or feel. Traditional emotional experiences of “happy” and “sad” are non-existent. You are freed from the body. The bones beneath flesh will remain for years, but you are no longer there.