Author: Majoki

The pews were full. Resplendent sunlight coursed through stained glass and lit chiseled stone with undersea warmth. Soaring arches resounded with song, a lifting and longing for connection. One filament. Two. Tendrils, ganglions. Physical connectivity. Hard wired.

Then, the abominations, ever-placed at the back. Ever patient. Never touching but always in touch. Borganics pinged and streamed, a binary cacophony, a sacrilege to all organic. But, one could be broad, one could conceive of such a mind, such an inorganic desire. Sentience pushed them together. Thought was thought (though some disputed that).

Still, the prickly distaste for the abominations, even on this day. The celebration of the first mass, the first gathering. When stone and stem, flesh and metal inexorably arrived at choice.

Parish or perish.

Creation had responsibilities. Native organics relented. Even abominations might possess unalienable, sacred rights. Hand, paw, flipper, tendril unwillingly extended.

Given even slim opportunity, borganics self organized. Uplifted. Transcended. Became forged flesh.

Mutual annihilation avoided. Begrudging acceptance—one step behind.

In the mote-filled sunlight of the cathedral, the gathered masses swam with feeling. A oneness born of separateness. Parallel unity. Dual processing. A single understanding.

Purpose. The divine mystery of sentience. Whether biological or mechanical. Thus they gathered, worshiped and wished, together. Distrustful, resentful, curious, determined, hopeful.

From the pews, their myriad passions muted and amplified by song, they prayed a single belief. Survival and more. Organically and newly defined, they gathered, proximal beings, awaiting grace.