I wandered down the rabbit hole a few days ago. I am astonished by how far I had gone after just a few hours and no more than a 5 mile radius. What I did is a kind of fate hacking. The tool I used is called Fatum.

The Fatum Project was born as an attempt to research unknown spaces outside predetermined probability-tunnels of the holistic world and has become a fully functional reality-tunnel creating machine that digs rabbit holes to wonderland. we are utilizing the fatum project’s quantum random location generator telegram bot to generate random coordinates to travel the multiverse. https://github.com/JamalYusuf/Fatum

Fatum is a communication technology that facilitates the intentional manipulation of chance. Intention here is key. Without intention, the quantum calculation technology is rendered useless and you may as well be using a random number generator or throwing darts at a map (not to disparage these activities). The user communicates intention and location, fatum communicates a corresponding location; an attractor.

My intention was “light”, specifically, light through a crystal. I tried my best to visualize this intention but it mostly came through as words. Words, words, words.

The place where I began my journey is an anachronism, a place celebrating the version of history that declares itself as-good-as-always. I had only heard of the place but never set foot on its grounds. I found what I was looking for by chance. Before me stood A pair of giant, red doors leading to nowhere. Above them was my intention announced in neon. I asked Fatum for direction.

Crystal

The first destination was innocuous enough, a place where cars drive past by the thousands each hour, a place to leave as quickly as possible. Yet there is a space between the toward and away that I was to visit. A sacrifice must be made, a rule broken, a road crossed to a place with no cross walk. This was the first of my transgressions.

I claimed the space simply by entering it. My zone of awareness extended and bumped up against the place where I was and where I should be. Looking around, I found nothing of interest outside of me though I felt a shifting inside. I sat on the guard rail for a moment and tried not to imagine the minds that blew past me on the road. I called the next attractor.

I was given a map point in what I judged to be a giant suburban back yard. As I entered the enclave, I sensed I was not welcome. Suspicious eyes peered out at me from passing cars, questioning my status as outsider. Signs along driveways and on fences advertised the use of closed circuit cameras, adding to my certainty that I was being watched.

I paused as long as I dared in front of the mammoth property with my attractor. I drove past, preparing to find a less conspicuous place where I might channel my intentions for a more suitable destination when I caught sight of something in my peripheral vision. Perhaps the attractor location is only as important as its relationship to everything else along the journey. Ahead of me was a street sign with a name that drew out the inverse of my intention, the vessel to my light.

Shadow

I turned down the road, however, I found nothing but the shadows of oppressively large homes and their proportionally large fences. As I rounded the corner on my way back to the attractor, I found myself face to face with a parked police car that seemed to declare “no, your fences and cameras are not enough, you will submit fully to our protection”. I avoided eye contact as I drove past.

There was nowhere for me to go that was not owned or watched. I thought that a nearby place of worship would be my refuge but these places are public only in name. No sooner had I parked in the driveway when I noticed the police standing around up ahead as a reminder of more things we must fear. Overcome by a sudden urge to counter the forces of fear, I left my vehicle to make my presence known as peaceful but this only served to raise suspicion. I returned to my car and quickly called the next point. I watched as one of them recorded my license plate when I left.

The next attractor was in a comparably humble yet equally restricted back yard. The presence of street parking was a muted welcome. I began to stroll the block with the hope of at least setting eyes on the physical space I had only seen flattened in representation. I became distracted by a cacophony of crow voices above. As I counted -one, two, three, more- I saw that I was not alone as an interloper. A cooper’s hawk was flushed from the trees and swooped back out of sight, taking refuge somewhere behind the house guarding my attractor. I never got a look behind it.

As I drove toward the next attractor, I found myself meandering down roads, zig-zagging my way across the map when it dawned on me that I was on the road my father told me he liked to take despite it being out of the way. “I like to drive by your god-mother’s house,” he would say. The seed was planted.

I started looking at the houses, searching for a spark of familiarity. How long had it been, twenty years? Longer, I’m sure. I remembered steep front steps, a yellow dog, and a fountain fashioned like a little boy peeing. I remembered a bust next to the staircase with the lines of phrenology she said once could reveal a person’s mind if the fingers were delicate and trained.

My heart was pounding, my cheeks wet. I pulled over. It has been over three years since his funeral. I saw her then but before that it was at least ten and she hardly even recognized me. Was this part of the test?

I took out my phone. There was her name and with it a number. I took a breath and pressed the name.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

A man.

A young man.

His voicemail.

No relation.

I hung up and went on my way.

More private property, more reminders of man’s dominion over space. This time it was not a house but the entire interior of a block, fenced off with nothing but green grass and trees and nothing but an empty school to justify the signage. I could see my destination and this time the fence did not stop me.

There was a stillness in the air as I attempted to align my body with the points on the map. I found myself spiraling in on a small copse of trees that formed a triangle along the ground with several broken limbs and a fallen tree. The attractor was at the middle.

I stood in the center and raised my arms, washing myself in the leaf-scattered sunlight. I took several deep breaths searching for a sense of satisfaction I could not find. My journey was not at its end. I walked the perimeter and began to sense the weight of the giant tree that was there, rotting away next to me. It was then that I saw the first feather.

My reactive mind told me to stay away, that birds are filthy and have diseases. Where do I keep these rules? Perhaps it was not light but lightness that I was being lead to. I picked up the feather and felt its soft edge. Then I saw the others. One, two, three, more. A clump of feathers, ripped from one animal by another. One now lives off the energy of the other. I took the feathers with me.

Fatum sent me into the woods. The location I was given was on a sliver of public land following a creek, bordered on both sides by more fences and the familiar signage. But this would work to my advantage. The trail head was all but hidden to the casual jogger who would have parked up the road to get on the main trail. I was entering seclusion.

I stepped from rock to rock and recounted the places (inside and outside) I had been earlier that day. I felt flow. I met no one as I walked the trail. As my body’s point and the attractor point drew near on my map, I used one of the many fallen trees to bridge the gap from the trail back down to the creek bed. I thought about how foolish it would be for me to break my arm falling off a log like some child. My palms began to sweat. I pressed onward around the bend.

When I saw it, I knew the attractor would be in its middle. The fallen tree limbs jutted out from the bank like broken fingers, beckoning me to look closer. I approached along the largest trunk, examining the different forms of life springing up from its death. Fungus grew off at sharp angles and moss made a soft coat to cover the bark. Spider webs hung taut in places carving thin slices of space with abstract geometry. I made my way down the fallen tree and stopped when I came upon what was left of an animal: nothing but tiny tufts of fur scattered across the top of a limb. I fingered some with little regard for hygiene. As my gaze made its way down, I saw that I had been mistaken. The fur was not all that remained.

Below the branch lay a perfectly eviscerated stomach no larger than my thumb nail with a thin strand of entrails still attached. Others noticed as well. Yellow jackets and flies had descended to make use of the waste. The cycle continues.

I descended beneath the gory branch and found my place in the dirt. A large rock sat at the center of the branching configuration. It was a piece of quartz the size of a small seat. I had found my crystal. It was time to wait.

I sat and listened for the silence. I listened to the soft bubbling of the creek. I heard distant birds and the shrill cry of countless insects. The sounds blurred in my mind, smearing my thoughts but never banishing them. Where was the silence? Where was the peace? Where was the satisfaction? I asked the silence how I would know when my task was complete, when I had reached my destination. The silence said nothing. I took out my phone to make sure this was true.