Should we think of prediction as top down, see it as the past making assumptions about the present. Or should we think Saint Teresa of Avila's Inner Castle and explore prediction as the outside dominating the inside.
There's a good chance none of this makes sense to anyone.
Prediction is what happens next. You wake up in the morning and the top part of you, the most recent, the youngest bits of your brain, sigh before accessing your more mechanical, more ancient capacities like hearing, sight and smell.
Your Top, a relative juvenile, 3 to 4 hundred thousand years old, knows how to get from it's bed, to the kettle in the kitchen, and on the way there, as an upright and decent male you'd pop outside to point Percy at the Banana Tree - boy pea is very good for the general wellbeing of Banana Plants.
Your older self - which goes back to those happy years we all spent as air-breathing fish experimenting with furriness, a less imaginative time perhaps dominated by matter of fact mechanical senses, such as hearing, sight and smell - has information for you. It's quite obvious to them that not only has the Banana Tree disappeared, no sign of it ever having existed, but in the kitchen the kettle along with a packet of strong breakfast tea are nowhere to be found.
Go ahead call this First Monday in September an example of systemic dissonance, the first step into a dystopia of confusion, sadness and possibly some sort of retardation. Or venture into the Inner Castle, re-write the narrative as a message from God.
