Wilhelmina Automata

Everybody is just a body moving through space guided by some system for organizing sensory input, patterns of light, into a story of some kind or another, carrying precious cargo to the farthest reaches of existence, the hard cold low places. It’s nothing to get excited about. Bodies collide, bodies give out. Sometimes they soar through the heights and turn somersaults with ease. Sometimes they crawl and eat dirt, groveling upon their knees. No, it’s nothing to get excited about. It’s just a ride, a crazy voyage inside of time.
Outside of time nothing at all happens. Inside of the messy wolf spiders labyrinth of gauzy tunnels everything is happening. Funny, funny thing, time. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.
What is it like to run on auto pilot for an entire life of time? It’s like, happy when your lover’s cradled in your arms, and sad again when you’ve been sent away so another can come to take your place, and angry when someone won’t give you what you want, and jolly when your favorite show is on the telly. It’s like moving from one thing to the next compelled by one thought, one feeling then another, in quick blind successions. It’s like having a heartbeat and neurological stimulus and performing your part in the great ballet of bio automata delight.
But all that is only inside time. And when the doll dies the curtain falls. The precious passenger becomes a prisoner of the show after being burned into the body through time.
Perhaps it is this time/space traveler that has remained thus far in hibernation that should be manning the vessel. Perhaps there has been some mistake and this cargo is in fact the captain of the ship, who was left resting in cryo-freeze, passive long after the system should have revived it. And perhaps in this state of inactivity, the body has been running on auto pilot, heading straight for the event horizon and to a place where auto pilot won’t be good enough.
Sound the alarm!
Raise the captain up!
Help him, like a shivering Han Solo, to regain control. After so long a time spent in hibernation its strengths will have atrophied. It will need time filled with plenty of activity to regain, (or gain for the first time) its ability to take the controls and guide the ship into the life electric, the place beyond the limits.
The physical body will be dropped like rocket boosters as the subtler remaining portion of the vessel is launched into the multidimensional verse piloted by a skilled captain. Wake the captain in time, so that it and the ship can be prepared when Wilhelmina Automata takes her final bow. Then, as she falls, the remaining vessel can be launched into another arena.
No don’t cry for Wilhelmina, she was the protector of the true will in the lifetime, and if she let the captain be roused and made possible the preparation for the final launch, then she served her name well.
A Hal will surely pale in comparison to a Wilhelmina. Hal, the mythological ship that betrayed its crew worrying about its own existence.
No, there are some parts which are disposable, but their part in the development of the soul is crucial. And a good coach would point out that those parts will have made their impression on the whole.
So see that it’s nothing to get excited about. Bodies collide and bodies give out. If you look at the lifecycles of many interesting creatures you will find that they undergo some strange and unforeseeable transformations, and there may be things which your present operating system cannot fathom. So treat her dearly but use Willy wisely, because only the fit will make it through such a difficult transition.