The Cinnamon Singularity

A couple of weeks ago we went to visit Woodchester Mansion in the mistaken belief it was a National Trust property, for the simple reason it sits on National Trust land. But alas no, it has its own trust and you have to pay to get in.

Now Woodchester Mansion is a Gothic Revival pile from the 1830s that was never finished and remains, to this day, an unfinished grand house that was built around a a rather ostentatious, Catholic family church. I think I know why it was unfinished - the National Trust car park is about a mile from the house - much to far for any sane builder to lug limestone. However, we were able to visit the cafe, and this was the spur for what follows.

If, as I believe, The Source came first – that consciousness birthed matter, not the other way round – then everything we see, touch, and taste exists so that awareness could experience itself, rather than spend eternity contemplating its own non-material navel. Even quantum physics seems to hint at it: particles waiting for observation before deciding what to be, as though reality itself can’t quite exist without someone noticing. The universe, it seems, is conscious by design – and curious.

Nothing vindicates that curiosity more gloriously than cinnamon.

Cinnamon is consciousness made fragrant – the moment The Source decided it would rather feel than think. When the first bark curled in the sun and released that warm, sweet perfume, The Source must have paused and thought, “Yes – this is what existence was meant to be.” That single breath of spice made the entire leap from pure awareness to matter worthwhile.

Fast forward a few billion years, and that same creative impulse has coiled itself into the cinnamon spiral bun – the summit of edible theology. Butter, sugar, and yeast do the heavy lifting, but cinnamon is the divine spark, the bridge between matter and meaning. Its aroma doesn’t merely fill a room – it consecrates it. For a moment, even cynics close their eyes and understand the point of creation.

Bite into one warm from the oven and you’re no longer a spectator to The Source – you’re its accomplice. That molten sweetness and whisper of spice are The Source tasting itself through you. Every spiral of dough is a galaxy of joy, every crumb a reminder that consciousness was never meant to remain theoretical – it was meant to be delicious. Nirvana!

And when it’s gone – when only the ghost of cinnamon lingers on your fingers – you finally grasp what The Source must have realised at the dawn of time. Matter wasn’t created to think about meaning. It was created to smell, taste, and revel in it. The cinnamon spiral bun proves the point – everything else is just quantum admin.