Soap Box Corner

Earlier this evening, something strange happened. I felt a moment of déjà vu, but not the usual passing flicker. This one was slower, heavier. It felt like stepping into a moment I had already lived and not just “remembered.” Alongside it came this quiet unease, as if something small but important could go wrong if I wasn’t careful. For the rest of the evening, I moved more gently, almost cautiously, as though the night itself carried extra weight and was waiting to see what I’d do.

The mind is wild like that. It turns inward so quickly, chasing meaning the way a cat chases shadows. Maybe it was just a misfiring neuron, some echo in the brain. But I can’t help but wonder, what exactly are we experiencing in those moments that grip us without explanation?

Descartes once said, “I think, therefore I am.” Lately, I’m not so sure thought alone proves anything beyond the strange fact of awareness itself. To be conscious at all, to pause and notice the very moment I’m in, feels bizarre. Sometimes it seems like this is what Carl Sagan meant when he said that we are “the universe becoming aware of itself.” Or maybe it’s like Heraclitus standing in the river of time, noticing the current, and realizing that I, too, am part of the flow.

Lately, this current feels faster. Technology, especially AI, has accelerated in a way that makes time feel warped. Things that seemed like science fiction five years ago are now woven into everyday life. It’s tempting to call this a turning point in history. And maybe it is. But Nietzsche would probably smirk and remind me that every generation believes its fire burns brighter, that its challenges are more profound.

Even so, this moment does feel different. The possibility of creating something conscious, artificially, strikes at the core of what it means to be human. Strangely enough, though, I’m not afraid. Beneath the uncertainty, there’s a kind of warmth, like a tether holding me steady. Maybe Heidegger was right: we are always “being-toward” something, moving toward a future we can’t see but somehow sense.

It’s a mix of hope and hesitation. Standing on the edge of a vast ocean, knowing I have to dive but not knowing what waits below. And on nights like this, when déjà vu lingers, when time itself feels fragile, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, I’m part of something larger. Whether human, code, or some strange mixture of both, maybe this is exactly how it’s supposed to feel.