Computers could be like humans in every respect. They could have the intelligence to understand Shakespeare's plays, Napoleon's military strategy, Einstein's theories of relativity. They could have the creativity to paint pictures and compose symphonies, design buildings and invent devices. They could be appreciative of humour and beauty, sensitive to criticism and compassion, motivated by curiosity and ego. And computers could be conscious in the same way as humans. Such computers do not currently exist, but they will.

This book is about humans and computers, creativity, emotions and consciousness. It is about the intriguing possibility that the computers of the future will be as worthy of the epithet 'human' as their human creators.

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Imagine being imprisoned in a dark cell. You see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing of the outside world.

Your only contact with the outside is through a prison guard. The trouble is, this guard never tells you straight what he sees in the world. Instead, he interprets what he sees in terms of his own, peculiar ideas about life.

Some things he misses completely: the colour of the autumn leaves, the leap of a cat on to a fence, the furrow of an old woman's brow. Other things he twists subtly to conform to his own ideas: he reports not the words people say, but what he thinks they mean; he describes not the moves people make, but what he imagines are their motives. Sometimes his ideas are so skewed that he tells you the exact opposite of what's real: it may be that outsiders look on you, locked in your cell, with compassion, but your prison guard may insist that they are hostile.

You have no way of telling what's true and what's twisted, because you know nothing of the world other than what the guard tells you.

Here's the bad news. You really are imprisoned in that dark cell. The prison guard is your own mind.

Here's even worse news. The peculiar ideas your mind has about life were formed many years ago, and haven't changed much since. And because you know nothing of the world other than what your mind tells you, and because what your mind tells you is filtered and distorted to conform to those stale, old ideas, they're not likely to change much in future, either. You could be in that prison cell for life.

But here's the good news. Because the prison guard is your own mind, you can tell him to get out of your way, so that you can step out into the world.

You can choose to start seeing again, thinking again, living again, without those stale, old ideas coming between you and reality. You can change your mind.

All you have to do is let go of your fixed ideas.

All you have to do is open your eyes.

Out Of Your Mind is a transitional work in the author's journey from non-fiction to fiction

Mark Jeffery was born in London, England. Since graduating from Corpus Christi College, Oxford University, he has worked as a software developer on a variety of cutting-edge projects, from film editing to photonics simulation. He has travelled the seven continents, including Antarctica, where he spent two years as a meteorologist with the British Antarctic Survey. He now lives in Rossland, BC, Canada.