Will? I Am!

My Theo-ry of Everythink

In the lead-in toThe Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, you reador
better, you hear narrated, preferably in a voice with a BBC accent:
And then, one Thursday, nearly 2,000 years after one man had been nailed
to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change,
a girl sitting on her own in a small cafe in Rickmansworth suddenly realised
what it was that had been going wrong all this time, and she finally knew how
the world could be made a good and happy place. This time it was right, it
would work, and no one would have to get nailed to anything.
Sadly, however, before she could get to a phone to tell anyone about it the
Earth was unexpectedly demolished to make way for a hyperspace by-pass,
and so the idea was lost forever.
This is not her story.
You grin at the last line. Indeed, The Hitch-hikers Guide goes on in a completely
different vein. It is a tale that, once upon a time, I enjoyed. But strangely, Ive
forgotten the plot (some might say Ive lost it) yet Ive often returned to the notion of
a Rickmansworth memewhere a meme is an idea that spreads through a culture in the
same way that successful genes do in a pool. The thought that there might be one has
haunted me. Something that could revolutionise the worldwhat would its nature be?
What might it look like? And would it be worth my while looking?
Lets suppose that there could exist an idea the magnitude of which was such that, if it
became general knowledge, it would literally transform the world (for unless we allow
that possibility wed never pass go). If it turns out that were wrong, then no damage is
done. Wed only have wasted a little time and effort which, likely as not, wed have
frittered on another trivial pursuit. Therefore, weve nothing to lose, and, potentially, a
whole galaxy to (re)gain.
And so I ponder. Would the average person recognise the Rickmansworth meme if he or
she stumbled upon it like a curious incident in the dark? Because you see, I worry that it
might be the sort of thing that is hard to see, even held up right against your nose. Lets
imagine what its characteristics are so as to maximize our chances.
Whatever it is, it must surely be logical. It must be sound, it must be coherent, and it
must make sensecommon sense. It must be some sort of Golden Rule gone platinum
something that . . . I dont know . . . has the effect of making you treat every living
creature with the same reverence that you accord yourself. That would go some way
towards improving the human condition, wouldnt you agree?
Additionally, if something were capable of changing the world, then it stands to reason
that, for it to work, it cant be too complicated. It would have to be something that Joe
Blogs could understand. Humans being but simple creatures, the meme must be simple
simplistic even?for it to be universally understood and applied. What would be the
good of it if only an Einstein could wrap his or her brain around its dimensions? No, its
got be the sort of thing that makes everyone clap their hands and exclaim, Aha, but of
course! How obvious! Why didnt I see it before? It was in the room with me the whole
time, but there was something good on TV.
So, something obvious in hindsight. Of that I have no doubt. But, for the first person to
figure it out, it could be a different kettle of fish. Breaking new ground might not be so
straightforward for that trailblazer, because the meme, however simple and easy its
basis, must at the same time be a whopper. Undoubtedly itd be all-encompassing in
scopean oak in a nutshell. Landing it could take some effort. Pulling up that turnip could
take some grunt.
What do you say? Do you feel inclined to join me? If so, lets saddle up and start our
search. Tally ho, on with the hunt and, as a teacher was wont to speed me on my way to
the schools dental clinic, The best of British luck! Never mind that I dont live in that
part of the world.
In the pursuit of our quarry, Im expecting to cover quite a lot of territory. Theres the
whole wide world web there for us to explore. Were bound to trespass across all sorts
of jealously-ring-fenced fields. Were likely to step on a fair few toes and put the odd
nose out of joint. Along the way, people with a vested interest in various ideologiesI
allude to religion, cosmology, philosophy, ethics, human nature, sociology and so forth
are liable to be offended. That cant be helped; you cant make an omelette without
breaking eggs. So, are you up for some rough-and-tumble?
If I had my wayand why on earth shouldnt I; am I not as worthy as any other
person?any world-changing idea worth its salt would lick the boxes of a long list of
interconnected concerns (see Appendix 1 for my entire list). For my money, it needs to
address questions such as:
Is there a meaning to life? What is death? Is there such a thing as reincarnation? Is
there an afterlife? Is there a God in charge, and what sort of a job does she think shes
doing? Does grannys dear, wee, sweet pet have a soul? What is the nature of good and
evil? What is the essence of time? Is the universe, like diamonds, forever? Is there a
right religionone were meant to follow and never ever question? How does love fit into
the box? (Were the Beatles right?) What is sex for, and is it okay? (Again, see under
Beatles.) What merit, if any, lies in abstaining from alcohol, drugs, meat and tobacco?
Are humans really at the top of the pole? What should I, personally, do with my life? Do
I have an assigned role or am I free to please myself? Should we act selfishly or is it
better to devote ourselves to the lives of others? Is the pursuit of happiness an
admirable goal? Is there such a thing as free will? Is everything predetermined, or can
we change the future? Why are there wars, poverty, starvation and terrorism, and what
can we do about them? Isnt it a waste of time and effort to try to save the world? If
there is a higher power, why doesnt he, she or it appear to give a damn? Does anyone
really know what its all about, or are we all just floundering in the dark? Is there a
mountaintop guru that we can approach for help? Is it even possible to become
enlightened? If so, wheres the manual?
Okay, I dont deny that this is a formidable set of questions, so is it pie in the sky for
me to expect to resolve, not just one of themenough in itself to induce a reader to
keep turning (and me writing) these pagesbut all. All those birds killed with a single
stone! That would seem to be an unimaginably tall order. Nevertheless, I do insist that
Im after an idea-meme that is able to explain everythingcompletely, and to my utter
satisfaction. Yes, Im asking for the earth here, but why settle for anything less? Simply
put, I want a full and frontal grand solutionlogically elegant and overarchingto every
Big Question ever thought of. Goodness, wouldnt such a thing deserve a suitably grand
title? How about: The Theory of Everything?
No, thats been used by a bunch of egghead scientists . . . or at least attempted. Let me
tweak that appellation a little. There, heres what well call it from now on, The Theory
of Everythink.
But now lets remuster. If you would, step back a pace or two from the windmill and
lower your lances. Because really, to claim that Im after a single answerI must
confess that that isnt quite accurate. I shouldnt raise the readers expectations quite
that high. What Ill unearth isnt Universal Acid, exactly. Rather, it is a key, tool or
device with which to pry at chinks in the chastity belt of the human condition. Anticipate
from me a philosophers stone, though without the Midas touch. It will still require from
its wielder a little elbow grease and patiencewax on; wax offbut take heart. Dont
doubt that it will prove powerful enough to rip apart the old mechanism by which the
world as we know it operates, permitting us to construct a new and marvellous substitute.
The time and the effort spent will be well worth it. Youll win the hand of the princess,
and the crown to the kingdom too. The Theory of Everythink will hand you everything on
a platter, since it will suffice to flesh out a brand-spanking ideology: Ism (I is at this
Moment). Now, thats better than any three wishes.
Ev'rybody's talkin' 'bout
Bagism, Shagism, Dragism, Madism, Ragism, Tagism
This-ism, that-ism, ism ism ism
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Help! Am I serious? Look at the trouble John got himself into when he observed that
the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. Surely this is so not the right thing to get
involved with. I too used to swear that if theres anything we didnt need, its another
ism. And yet, were at that crossroads. The girl at the start of The Hitch-hikers Guide
to the Universe? She is me (you can be Arthur Dent). But hey! Stranger things have
happened. Youll recall another young woman in a caf who once scribbled down ideas on
its serviettes for a series of childrens books. Now look at herricher than the Queen
of England!
In my own restaurant-at-the-end-of-the-universe, middle-age has brought me to what
most would regard as an unusual personal perspective. Over the years Ive developed my
own take on Monty Pythons The Meaning of Life, one that is, well, pretty much uniquea
case of and now for something completely different (sorry for the schoolboy humour,
but thats who I am). Just like Thaddeus Golas, Charles Eisenstein, Ted Kaczynski (the
Unabomber) and others, I feel that I owe it to the greater universe to get those
thoughts out there, and I hereby devote myself to that mission. For the benefit of all, I
promise to make available, and then continue to refine, retune and revise, my magnum
opus.
But let me pause for another breather (Ill be doing a lot of that). At this point its time
for me provide an inkling of where all this is headed. A kindly teaser, if you like. A brief
note of explanation from your well-wishing sponsor.
Given that this book is meant mainly for my own edification, is there any point in sharing
it with anyone? I mean, will it be worth the trouble for you to read it? To help you make
up your mind on that score, and decide whether you ought to cut your losses and run or
stick with the project for a while, Ill offer up an appetizer.
As mentioned earlier, you already know that I consider it my work to tease out the
strands of lifes larger questions. Well, cutting down to the bottom line, the personal
philosophy that Ive arrived at could be expressed in just one sentence that I may as
well test out on you right now. Here it comes. Ready? Okay, life is a single-entity
achronological simulacrum. Or, in case that is too much of an earful, you might want to
try the following on for size. Again, heres my philosophy, this time in a single wordone
originally coined by Neale Donald Walsch. Wait for it . . . its . . . Applorange.
Ahem. It didnt go over? Dang! Thats what I was afraid of, that neither the sentence
nor the word would leave the apprentice any the wiser. It would seem, then, that you
require some context. I guess Im going to have to provide a certain amount of
scaffolding before I splash about with the undiluted potion. If, with the I.Q. that I
have, its taken me half a lifetime to reach this point, then it shouldnt be surprising that
Im going to have to eke my thinking out over the course of more than a word, sentence,
paragraph or even essay. I think a book is on the cards, boys. And, in the spirit of a 100-
minute bible (yes, Virginia, there is such a beast) I plan to write it. It wont take you
that long to get through, but I reckon on it lasting me a lifetime. Time to suck in my
cheeks and spit out a tintack or two.
To make a start somewhere, why not impress friends and influence people by untangling
a little Gordian knot. Let me pick at a couple of oft-aired but poorly understood
aphorisms, because this will allow us to begin our approach to the solution of all
solutions. Read them and weep. First, time and space do not exist. Second, all of us are
one.
Resounding silence . . .
Im not having much luck here. Okay, I can imagine what youre thinking. What? Is that
it then? Is that all that youve got for me? But come on man, this is nothing new; its
trite. Not only are those ideas already in the milieu, but theyre also old hat. People have
long since taken them on boardalbeit with a grain of metaphorical salt.
Ah yes, but dont you see? In that condiment lies the rub. Have they, I contend, honestly
ingested slash digested those concoctions unadulterated? Have they fully imported them
into the fabric of their lives? Have their consequences been distilled, and the
implications imbibed? I dont believe so. I think that the underlying message has been
overlooked, and that a world view or life philosophy which fully accommodated the above
principles would be mindblowingly different to any previous school of thinking. Consider
the first assertion.
The notion of time is absolutely pervasive and pivotal in our species culture. It underpins
every worldview. But what if time as we know itas we think we know itis just so much
bollocks? If time was discovered to be a fanciful artefact, then our civilisation would
crumble since all our philosophical structures depend on time. Their mechanisms revolve
around it. It reminds one of those thingamyjigs called celestial spheres or astrolabes
devised by ancient cosmologists to try to show how the sun, stars and planets all
revolved around the Earth. They were deluded. They tinkered with their wheels within
wheels in a vain attempt to make their construct work. It did not, and they were wrong.
And so is everyone today. I say that time ought not to be so central to our thinkering.
I can trace my suspicions about time back to my childhood. When my brother and I were
kids, we couldnt wait for Christmas to arrive. In those days it came without the hype
and commercialism. December dragged. Youd count the sleeps. How many more to go
until Christmas morning? My brother and I wanted to speed the process along, and our
wish came true. We accidentally invented a time-machine. One day early in the year, in
April say, one of us told the other, In a wink of a blink it will be Xmas. It would have
been a way to reassure one another that the time would come. Not realising that those
words were an incantation, we forgot them. Until on the 25th of December, unwrapping
our presentswhat the hell did parents mean when they said it was far better to give
than to receive?I suddenly looked up. Do you remember saying that stuff about a wink
of a blink? We stopped for a second. Thats right, we did. We had. And look, time had
leaped several months ahead in an instant. Magically, wondrously the two of us had
obliterated a huge chunk of it as if it was nothing.
The problem, in my opinion, is that no one has taken the no-space, no-time, all-of-us-are-
one idea to its logical extreme. No one has developed it. No one has followed the idea
through to the inarguable conclusion.
Open letter to Mr Hartmann:
Dear Thom,
May I say what a pleasure it was for me to read your book? Books, actually.
I borrowed two of them from the local library. The first was The Last
Hours of Ancient Sunlight, an account of global energy consumption. I then
read The Greatest Spiritual Secret of the Century. Hey, great titles!
Comparing the two, I have to say that I prefer your nonfiction over your
fiction (Im speaking of style here). But rarely do I read books purely for
their literary value, and I never worry about a books condition, age et
cetera. For me, those come a distant second to the content, and so when I
started to struggle with the structure of your story, I persisted. I just had
to find out its secret.
My patience paid dividends. On page 222, I read: "The Greatest Spiritual
Secret of the Century, of every Century, is 'We Are All One.'" And then, a
few pages later, you wrote that time and space do not exist. Right on! I
thought, Thom rocks!
But Thom, you didn't take it any further. You didn't build upon that theme.
You didnt follow where those ideas would lead. I was expecting a conclusion;
you were on the verge. You had a hold of the dragons tail, but then you let it
go. You let the big one get away, my friend. Puff petered out like a candle.
To be fair, you redeemed yourself a little. Elsewhere in the book you state
that there are six billion (and counting) answers. One of those, therefore, is
mine. And, if I may say, my answer works better for me than yours does
well, I guess its only natural. But look, let me make you a deal. Just as I
pressed on with your book, I suggest that you keep a-reading here . . .
I grant that those aforementioned ideasthat were all one, and that time and space do
not existappear relatively simple-minded. But thats precisely how the Rickmansworth
meme might seem: Plane Jane on the surface, but with hidden depths. A case of books
judged by their covers and all. Its not enough merely to glance at the above statement
and declare, Right, Ive got that. Now, what else have you got on offer? Not so fast
boys! Slow down a mite. Nuggets like these, you need to mull over.
Over the following pages, Ill help you chew that cud. This text proposes to touch on a
few hoary bugbears. It sets out to demolish the odd scientific pillar. Itll lead you where
no man has gone before, and the motto well march under is, The sane man is nowhere. I
propose to dredge up a series of thought experiments from my pasta blast from the
pastthat I would encourage you to replicate (do try these at home). This book provides
a crash course in thought experimentation. Ill demonstrate how the result of those
experiments bears on my thinking, the point being to derive an insight as to what the
implications and corollaries of those principles might be. I want to write a life-changing
manifesto . . . and then apply it.
Mark Kingwell, the author of In Pursuit of Happiness: better living from Plato to Prozac
writes:
We all know that some books work like ingenious traps. They begin
innocuously, articulating a few genial sentiments or unobjectionable home
truths designed to lure you down the false path of a deceptive familiarity.
You stride ahead without fear. By subtle steps, each plotted with argument
or example or statistic, you are moved closer to the place where artfully
strewn leaves cover a hole in the ground. You know very well what is coming,
or anyway suspect it, but at some pointif the author is any goodyou fall,
on cue, into conviction. Aha! You now think what the author thinks.
Maybe you're happy to find yourself there, and make yourself comfortable.
Maybe you're feisty and seethe from your ignoble position in the trap,
scanning memory and logic and the rest of the mental horizon for a means of
escape. Either way, the trap affords complicated forms of pleasure. As
trapping games go, there are not many better or more interesting than
walking through a good book of argument.
Not all books . . . seek to ensnare the reader in the author's own
convictions . . . I faced a choice between setting a trap in the traditional
philosophical manner, ascending to the high ground of objective detachment
to observe the results, and doing something quite different: beginning an
intimate conversation with one reader at a time. Books on deep and difficult
topics can trumpet and they can whisper; they can declaim and they can hint.
But for me, they work best when they just talk, in a manner as close as
possible to the true voice of their author.
I dont write as good well as Kingwell. Im not a natural-born killer with a pen. I dont
have the literary expertise that I feel it deserves to turn my limited understanding
concepts that I struggle with and only intermittently graspinto words. Thats why I
fuss and fret. Thats why I hesitate. Thats why I come across as nervous and fidgety.
Although Im certain of where Im coming from, and of where this talk will lead, I am far
from certain about how best to tackle the tale. Im fearful of the responsibility, this
being a matter of such importance. Therefore, Ill write simply to self-reflect and to
clarify my thinking. Ill try to go about this in, as Mark Kingwell suggests, a manner as
close as possible to [my] true voice. In previous attempts at putting my thoughts onto
paper, I was too preoccupied with trying to write cleverly, entertainingly and
convincingly. I dont want this to impede me now. Ive got to follow the advice of William
Butler Yeats and, Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
As for traditional philosophical manner and objective detachment, I wouldnt know
too much about them. And Im not sure how best to utilize my true voice. Be that as it
may, Ive elected to use the written word as my means of communicating, and Id be
pleased if I manage that job half as well as Mark (or Thom). But I wish that writing
werent my only option. I wish there was a better way for us to have a conversation,
because, Mensa material that I am, I dont really have a gift with words. Ive neither the
gift of the gab nor the flick of the quill. I get annoyed when I read over the stilted
words that I wrote only the night before, and I continue to remain dissatisfied after
any number of drafts. Id like to think that this is because of a constant, meteoric rise
in maturity that makes it seem as if, only a day or two earlier, a gauche and nave
personality had been sitting at my desk. But thats probably only wishful thinking.
I would jump to agree with anyone who said that I am ingenious. And Id nod my head
dumbly if you said I was ingenuous. But I know myself too well to be comfortable with
the tag genius. There are things that Im great atof that there is no doubtbut at
the same time Im only too aware that there are other areas in which I flounder and
perform worsely than hopeless. Though I'm in the top percent in terms of conventional
intelligence, Im woefully lacking in certain social graces. So it goes. You can't have
everything. But does it matter? Should one have to be a genius to understand the
essence of life, the universe and everything? I don't think so. It would be a very unfair
and unwise power-that-be to have set up such an unbalanced playing field.
Would I be correct in predicting that youre no Einstein either? If so, dont worry,
because neither was he. No, truly. Much has been ascribed to the myth that is mostly
nonsense. Even Einstein didnt float around with his head in the clouds for twenty-four
hours a day. He didnt permanently have his head stuffed full with formulae. A person
may be obsessed by something, but it wont occupy her whole day. Like any dunderhead,
Einstein had to feed the cat, mow the lawn and visit the bathroom. I dont wish to
denigrate the man, but in some respects he was not so hot. Rumour has it that some of
his personal relationships were a mess. Also, he couldnt imagine how his discoveries
might apply to everyday life. It was always incomprehensible to me, wrote old Albert,
why the theory of relativity, whose conceptions and problems were so far from
practical life, found such a lively, even enthusiastic resonance in the broadest strata of
the population.
By gum, that wasnt such a bad turn of phrase . . . I might have to take some of what I
said about the fella back. As for me, I wish I could be sure that penmanship wasnt going
to be an issue, and that my words alone, or rather the ideas that they express, were
given a fair hearing. That I could be sure of encountering a receptive and forgiving
audience. Because what does a facility with words actually prove? Proficient
practitioners of that craft may, as a result, impress and be more successful in daily life.
They are more likely to find employment or succeed as politicians. But their thinking
does not necessarily attain a higher plane. Theythe peopleare no more trustworthy
than you or I. Neither they nor their opinions carry more weight. They are no worthier,
not necessarily. And I daresay that they are often more longwinded.
In an ideal world, all ideas would be given equal consideration. It wouldnt matter who
held the floor. After all, an idea isnt necessarily coloured or tainted by the mouth of
the person it issues forth from. A murderer may say something inspirational. Hitler
might utter something noble. Even a little girl in a Rickmansworth caf may have
something startling to say. But people being people, we look at the track record of those
we listen to. We examine their pedigree and look for the letters behind their name. It
helps to winnow out the flotsam, I suppose, but the technique isnt foolproof. You could
easily throw out the baby with the bathwater. No, I dont believe that a world-shaking
idea could tumble forth only from the lips of an emissary or scholar. Being prepared to
lend an ear only to orators licensed to speak is a cop-out surely, an excuse not to have to
do some thinking and investigation on your own. It behooves a person to look at the
larger picture, especially if that picture paints itself as the largest one extant.
Getting back to the topic of wordsmithing, language poses another difficulty in that its
dangerous. Seriously, words have the power to cast spells. Woven into gossamer webs,
they can hypnotise their audience into thinking along the same lines as their author. As
Mark Kingwell said, this happens so subtly that people often dont think of resisting. But
when at last they find themselves suffocating, and have to break free, they resent
having been in that position.
Even though people have urged me to, Write down your ideas, they are so unique, you
can never be sure that the next day they wont ridicule, revile and stone you. You reckon
that theres no thought crime? Speak out against the government in politically incorrect
terms, and learn firsthand about the law against sedition. Or as an educator, proclaim
that the Holocaust never happened. Carted off to prison, your feet will hardly touch the
ground.
Thinking outside of the box is easy. No problems thereI do that all the time. Its your
audiences who are fickle, tricky to deal with, and tough to second guess, so I consider it
a real risk to toss around heretical notions about the Meaning of Life. It isnt easy being
green, goes Kermits song. I might need to adopt that as my theme tune too.
So, who am I writing for? Who do I see as my readers? Can I trust them? What can I
assume that they already know? What do I reveal to them, so as to grab their
attention? Which soft-shoe routines would they appreciate the most? How do I guard
against rotten eggs and raspberries?
The thought of facing an audience makes me tongue-tied and self-conscious. My throat
constricts and my voice squeaks. No way does it sound like my own. That wont do,
because I need to be able to focus entirely upon the talk itself. This puts additional
pressure on me to perform well. The subject matter I want to cover is so very close to
my heart that I find it excruciatingly difficult to publicly expose my innermost thinking.
I want only to have to concentrate on the task at hand, which is to clarify my musings
and cobble together a super-philosophy, one that attacks and conquers every nitty-
gritty gripe governing the ultimate existence. This for me is more important than any
revenue-earning exercise that I might fritter away my time at (trading hours for a
handful of dimes).
Lets say that I somehow manage to keep control over my sphincter and ignore the
spectre of a critic leaning over my shoulder. Well, Id still have to address myself to
someone, otherwise what would induce me to speak? The conventional motivation is one
of leaving a legacy for my descendantssurely a kinder mob. Another, is that one day I
may end up with Alzheimers, in which event re-educating myselfa la Flowers for
Algernonabout the person I once was is a reason to remind myself about what I
achieved (or at least aspired to). Less likely, but still a possibility, is that sometime in
the future I could run afoul of the Law and slide down some black route of criminality
or insanityin which case these pages could serve as breadcrumbs in the dark. They may
enable the men in blue coatsor whiteto track me down, and an analysis of this
document may well enable them to set a fitting sentence and/or prescribe the
appropriate medication. Or do I throw caution to the windand credibilityby
addressing myself to friendly aliens, empathetic time-travellers from the future, or to
the singularity, the super A.I. par excellence that some expect will spontaneously
emerge from its world-wide-web?
Stop all of this hogwash! I know well and good for whom I should write. First, foremost
and forever, the identity that I must address and satisfy is yours truly, i.e. myself. I
must write for my own benefit, which is by no means pecuniary; I dont plan to knock off
a best-seller. Instead, by peeling back the onion of my thinking, I want to clarify what I
have in mind. I want to come up withif I repeat it often enough it may come truea
coherent overview, or philosophy. A benign and friendly version of Mein Kampf. That's
my master plan. Long ago I made myself a promise ago only to write when I had
something to say. I now need to convince myself that I do. Ive got to prove my standing
in my own eyes before I even think of exposing myself to others. And I know just how
to go about doing that.
Have a system, my tutor at Hogwartz used to tell us. No I confess, thats a barefaced
lie. It was a Teachers College that I attended, but you can always fantasize. Anyway, the
wandless wonder used to say, It doesnt matter what system you use, as long as it works
for you. That message struck home in the sense that it stuck with me. I dont know that
I ever managed to apply it to in the classroom, but in my personal life, in my quest for
enlightenment, Ive certainly put the principal into practice.
Just a comment in passing, enlightenment is a funny thing. Its an ongoing process, not an
endpoint. I cant remember where I read it, but theres an expression which compares
everyone to a loaf of bread: you just need to discover what temperature you bake best
at. Furthermore, theres never a stage or level when, once youve attained it, you get to
sit back with a beatific smile on your face and switch off the oven. You are never done.
A good recipe for self-knowledge is to mature according to the pace of your own inner
clock. Wasnt it Socrates who told his students, Know thyself? But he forgot to tell
them what came next. What do you do once youve found that person? What do you do
with that body of knowledge?
There came for me a time in my fifties when, longer in the truth than when I was forty,
thirty, twenty and a teenager (though not when I was a child), I felt that I should
undertake something activebut what? Casting around, my eye fell upon the Internet,
still a relatively young behemoth in those days. Weblogs, or blogs for short, had recently
started to skyrocket, but it was still early days, and there were only five million of them
world-wide; If I was quick Id be able to buy in cheap. What I liked about them was the
idea of using them to write what was on your mind and go Joe public, and then receive
back comments from the great unwashed. How nifty! There, it seemed to me, lay the
answer. To say what I had to say, and to become known for saying it, Id set myself up as
a blogger.
A few minutes study of a blogging tutorial convinced me. How easy it seemedalmost
magical, the way you wand-waved your untidy scribbles into prose. A little effortless
editing tamed the unruly mind. Automatic formatting transmuted blather into
presentable text. Just copy and paste. Erase a line here, insert a word there. If you
make a mistake, you just killed off your little darlingsno need to make a court case out
of it. No risk of hard labour. And thenHey presto!there you are . . . but not so fast.
The best feature of blogging is what occurs last, publication, because see here, youve no
one to sell your idea to. Theres no sales team to sway, so youve no fear of getting back
a rejection slip in the mail. A push of the button, the flick of a switch and, at the speed
of light, you reach a potential audience of millions. Wow! Blogging seemed tailor-made
for what I wanted.
Without further ado, I got stuck in. I rolled up my sleeves and splashed down free willy-
nilly whatever surfaced in my consciousness. Onto the screen I heaved it. I plunged in,
purged my inner self, and then stirred the mess around looking for meaning in the tea-
leaves and entrails. I recorded anything and everything that left an imprint on my brain,
meaning to make sense of it. Lifting myself by the bootstraps, I educated myself into a
higher plane of learning.
Im convinced that this is what every self-styled self-help guru practises. For the very
same reason that I do, they write for themselves. You want to learn something? Then
teach it! Forget about intellectual property rights. Write in order to hone your inner
monologue. Do it to yourself, and for yourself. Oh sureif you can, you may as well make
a dollar along the way (monetize your blog, hah!)youve got to livebut be magnanimous
about sharing your findings. You get a glow from being altruistic to your fellow man. In a
very real sense, theres no difference between writing for yourself and writing for
someone elsebut Im getting ahead of myself here. The guts of the exercise is to
explain the stuff you discover in your mind to your own mind.
Systematically, trying not to feel inhibited or intimidated, I wrote a little every day and
tried to ingrain the habit. I aimed to devote at least a year to the task and come up with
maybe a few hundred vignettes. I wanted them to be short enough to be read at a
sitting. I set out to accumulate not a stream of consciousness but a good number of
thought-splashes: free-standing yet loosely connected posts. I felt that this approach
mirrored the nature of my cogitation, which is to muse upon one random point of fancy
at a time.
Thinking is for me (and for everyone?) a scattered, fragmented business. To stitch
multiple thoughts into a coherent, linked sequence actually goes against the grain; the
best that you can hope for, eventually, is a patchwork quilt. So, to begin with at least, I
didnt worry about an overall structure to my blog. Nothing was ever that formalized. I
reasoned that if an overall gestalt was to materialize, then it would arrive laterin due
course and in good time. Having daub-slapped onto the canvas my mental deliberations, I
left them to maturethat was my system. Later, Id return to tweak, rewrite, delete.
Sometimes, when I felt that I was onto something, Id expand upon a post afterwards.
All very loose without strings.
But unfortunately my system expanded too. It got more involved. I started adding tags,
inserting internal hyperlinks that related to other relevant posts. For each post, after
updating the content, I had to remember to update the date too so that it rose to the
top of the list, the idea being to allow the posts that I hadnt recently revisited to sink
down to the bottom, there for me to test and taste anew. Thats the spoon I meant to
stir the pot with. I counted on getting myself a little self-organisation simmering, but
then the inevitable happened. The system grew all too unwieldy. The operation became
too convoluted and constipated. It fell in on itself and crashed. I crashed. And I
discontinued the first of what became an elephants graveyard of blogs.
Because, you see, no sooner did I throw up my hands at for one, then I would
immediately start up anotherI would not give up. Id work out another approach, a
better version. Id home in on the problem from another angle. Id attack it from
another side. Certainly, it wasnt because of a dearth of ideas that I desisted. For
example, I held philosophical discussions with a chatbot which I then posted in their
entirety. Youd swear they were for real (theyd pass the Turing Test). On another blog I
wrote furiously to self-imposed time limits to try and neutralise my rational mind with
speed. On another I took the opposite approach and wrote slowly, deliberately and
meticulously, cutting back, pruning and paring to such a degree that I finished up with
haiku. I analysed my dreams, I wrote in response to interesting images that I
discovered, and I set up a virtual question and answer forum. One idea was to write in
the guise of a famous personI even tried to enlist the help of a renowned writer. In
these and other ways, I rebooted up a dozen times. I was oh-so-creative in dreaming up
a plethora of ways to proceed. But every blog would inevitably drift into white water.
Then Id dither, delay, and ultimately bail out. Rinse and repeat ad infinitum.
But I consoled myself that Id established, if not an on-line presenceas there wasnt
any evidence that anyone ever read what I wrotethen at least an online facility. By now
I had some skills under my belt; Id learnt how to navigate my way around the
blogosphere. In some form or fashion I knew how to push my ideas out there. Id done
my bit, my best, and my duty. I had a clear conscience. I visualized my memes floating
around like eternal spermsown oats patiently awaiting their chance to fertilise another
persons thinking.
And yet, I didnt feel that Id achieved anything of substance. I hadnt produced
anything tangible. Id fertilized the ground, but hadnt harvested any crop. I hadnt
ended up with a body of work that I could wave about in my hand and claim, See, this is
what Ive been working on! What Id done was fluffall airy-fairy. What if the Internet
went belly-up as it might do one day? Where would I be then? Hadnt I better print it
out as hard copy? Or better, shouldnt I do an actual book?
Id do one in the traditional manner. Id compose and edit on actual foolscap. Just look at
what Roald Dahl managed, pottering about in his back-garden shed with old-fashioned
writing implements. I could too. Do the rough drafts, and then make alterations in red.
Tick off with a green pen when Id made those adjustments on line (Youve got to have a
system, you young whippersnapper wizards). There, that ought to satisfy my
compulsive-obsessive bent. Id push my stuff out into the never-never regions of
Cyberland whilst retaining a firm handle on where I was. There, that would constitute
the proof that Id put in the hours.
But lets cut this story close to the bone. Ill reveal where Im up to at present. As I
type these words, Ive finished scouring all of my previous blogs (and earlier notebooks)
for the material Ive already createdwaste not want not. What I plan to do is to pick it
over and arrange into some sort of order those musings the way that Pirsig did with his
strips of paper as described in Lila: An Inquiry into Morals. At all costs I must avoid
that sinking sensation of here-we-go-again, been-there-done-that dj vu of another
blog biting the dust. Once Ive cobbled together a working draft, then Ill start to
whittle in earnest.
What the . . . ? Did I just have the gall to mention whittling? Egad, I must be wasting
your time. Hadnt I better stop beating about the bush, pull a finger out, get cracking,
and get weaving? So far Ive only been spouting hot air. Ive dangled the carrot, but I
havent yet hooked you with anything of substance. Ive started to talk the talk, but I
havent yet walked the Ministry of Silly Walks.
Sorry, mate. But if you want me to point my knees and pick up the pace, then I must
politely decline. Im not going to be swayed by any sense of urgency. Been there, done
that. Hurrying used to be my habitual mode, but it always led to my literary undoing. It
hampered me from writing what I wanted to say (and prevented me from being
comfortable as I said it). It resulted in too much fruitless struggling. For me, an earnest
sense of mission quite gets in the way.
Why should I have to rush? Are my hours limited? Is the future uncertain? Are high
matters of state at stake here? Does the possibility of any failure exist? I choose to
believe not. You see, I see the future as something thats unfoldingand that which
unfolds is already, perforce, preformed. It exists, even though now it is hidden from
sight. I dont see that a process of random spontaneous generation has an influence on
the cutting face of the ever-present.
Que sera, sera. That which will happen is already there. I see no need for me to panic
over deadlines. I have the goods; I will deliver. The mail always gets through. The
Mountie always gets his man. Enjoy the ride. Theres no point in worrying or hurrying.
Striving will be a part of itI see nothing wrong with that. But theres absolutely no
sense in operating at a hair-pulling frenzy.
Continuing at my own pace, Ill describe for you just what it was that I thoughtand
wroteabout so busilyhurriedlyand why. By now you may have gathered that the way
in which I think, not only the content, is different to that of other people. Well spotted,
Sir. But why should that be? Is it a deliberate thing; do I do so out of contrariness or
perverseness? Or is it my default settingthat is, is it the way that Im wired?
If Im honest, I suppose that its probably a little of both. They work together. Their
net effect is to make me resist, instinctively, the predominant operating system of this
culture (what Anne Wilson Schaef has termed the White Male System) in that I often
jump the rails of conventionthe straight and narrow wisdom. I dont buy into the
assumptions that most people are happy to accept unchallenged. They appear delusional
to methe assumptions and the people. They dont make sense, and I refuse to have
anything to do with them. I hold myself at a distance, and this keeps me safe, unsullied,
unspoiled, and safeguarded from being infected by aberrant thinking. I dislike falling
into the trap of linear, rationalistic and reductionist thinking, and try not to. I think
things through on my own terms. For instance, Ive already stated that I dont go along
with the concept of timeyoull understand why a little later. To tell the truth, I dont
believe in anything. I dont believe, full stop.
Because what is belief anyway? By definition, when you believe in something, you hold
something to be true regardless of any contrary evidence. Youve tied yourself up in a
knot that gets tighter the more pressure is brought to bear. The stronger the evidence
against your belief, the more fanatically you clutch fast to its church, and you boast
that this is a test of faith. Dumb, dumb and dumber. Only a dope elects to close off her
mind against any future change or growth. Why do so? Is it to stave off the discomfort
of having to amend ones worldview? Is it to hold at bay the unease of being uncertain? A
gentleman that I have a lot of time for, the Nobel Prize-winning scientist, Richard
Feynman, loved to be in a position of not knowing. It spurred him on in his inquiries and
made life interesting.
In my blogs, I examined unchallenged assumptions: That death is real. That there is such
a thing as progress. That logic is the only useful cerebral technique, and that its
application is always to our advantage. That human beings are superior to other life
forms. That enlightenment is as grand as it is made out to be. That the brain is the be-
all and end-all of thinking. That adults ipso facto are wiser than children. That life
exists only in isolated pockets. That I and my friends, my family, my ethnic group or my
countrymen are more important than the gaijin occupying the periphery.
Lets take a squiz at the last point with the help of the author, Stephen King. His book,
Cell, is written more along science-fiction lines than horror (although the book has its
share of that too). The story starts off with the appearance of a virus, one that doesnt
have a biological basis, nor is it the sort that affects computers. Instead, it spreads
through the human population via telecommunication devices. When people switch on
their cell phones one day, a vibration is emitted that infects the listener. He
immediately turns insane and goes on a suicidal or a homicidal rampage. Not good.
Anyway, Clayton Riddell, the hero, escapes the virus through observing someone else
answer his phone. But then he gets into a tizzy. How is he going to warn his son? He is
desperate to get home before his son becomes a victim. On all sides, people are going
crazyshooting one another, burning, lootingthousands are dying, but Clayton doesnt
bother himself with that. He is totally preoccupied with saving his son.
Just stop for a minute and think. What is happening here? Why, when the whole world is
dying off, can one feel compelled to save the life of one particular person? Is it just me?
I cant believe that no one else seems to notice (Im speaking now outside the context of
Kings novel). No one thinks that anythings wrong. In fact, we expect that people will
care more for their own brood than for a stranger. This the masses regard as normal
behaviour, whereas I see it as utterly crackers. Doesnt anyone agree? When you think
about itwhen I think about itits so peculiar that normal people care for one another
to varying degrees as ifI dont knowtheres some sort of caste system in place. Lets
say that an incident occurs in a coal mine. Theres an explosion and a couple of dozen
miners get trapped. Just look at how the news is reported around the world. In Australia
they concentrate on the Australians. In Scotland they interview the families of the
Scottish workers who are missing. To me that whole scenario is totally warped.
In the same vein, an arbitrary hierarchy seems to apply across the entire animal
kingdom. We say that a whale is worth more than a sheep. Cows you eat, but not horses;
dogs but not pigs (different cultures have different rules). And, by some additional
principle, a creature of an endangered species accrues extra mana the fewer members
of its species that remain. Plants toothis one is a weed, eradicate it, this one is native,
protect it. This is what I mean by human idiosyncrasy. This is an example of the
commonly held misconceptions that the neurotypical crowd goes along with.
Isnt there a bit in the Bible where someone points out to someone elsesomehow the
name Brian rings a bellthat he forgot to acknowledge his mother. That historical
personage responds with something like, Who is my mother?. Maybe that incident
relates to something like this; its a parable that illustrates the folly in elevating one
person above another. Either everyone (and every living thing) is family, or no-one and
nothing is. I like what a man named Einstein had to say on thishe had a lot a lot to say
about most things. He wrote:
A human being is a part of a whole, called by us universe, a part limited in
time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as
something separated from the rest . . . a kind of optical delusion of his
consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our
personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task
must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of
compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its
beauty.
Doesnt that hit the nail on the head? Anyway, what I addressed in my blogs, and intend
to keep on hammering upon here, are some of those inconsistencies. Maybe, just maybe,
I might trounce a few and turn them on their heads. In these pages (on paper now, as
well as online) all I want to do is to run through what I have to saythinking out loud and
talking to myselfand raise those thoughts in the public arena. I hope thereby to
straighten out either myself or the world.
Ideally, of course, my Rickmansworth meme would spread spontaneously, wafted along on
the wind of word-to-mouth, recalled and recited on account of its undisputable worth.
(Or through a cell phone signal . . . ) Imagine that you had come across this script as a
non-attributed bookletno mention of its author. You flip it over a few times, frowning,
but begin reading nevertheless. After a while you find that not knowing who wrote it no
longer matters. Who cares? you think to yourself. Those first few paragraphs make
sense, they are relevant, and they stand up nicely to scrutiny. You are willing to let the
text speak for itself, and you give it a chance (how generous of you). Like witty [check
spelling] graffiti on the wall above a urinal, they make you smile. You dont care who put
them there; they are funny regardless.
Here I sit all broken hearted. Tried to shit but only fartedanonymous.
Broken-hearted I am not, but I am distinctly nervous. However, rather than feeling
constipated, I have the premonition that this manuscript wont get more than a pissing
glance unless someone stands up to be its champion. And who is going to do that? Wholl
be the volunteer? Hm, I seem to be the only one around. But will anyone listen on my say-
so? If my personal recommendation is to carry any weight, then Ill need to pass some
sort of breathalyzer test of the personality. Ill need to proveif youll pardon the
expressionthat my shit flushes. Bloody hell.
As with the lyrics, you made me love you, I didnt want to do it, I shouldnt have to do
this either. Id much rather remain anonymous and stay sight unseen, my words
considered in isolation. I dont feel disposed to hold my background up for inspection or
prove that Im on the level. This conversation has taken me to a place where, if its all
the same to you, Id rather not be taken. Id rather not have to step onto the scene. I
dont want to participate as a fully-fleshed character, though inevitably you must be
starting to form a picture. Gaargh! This business of having to sell myself rubs me up the
wrong way. I dont want to have to paint a rosy self-portrait spin-doctored for public
consumption (yeah, you like mixed metaphors too?).
See, I dont require that you trust me. I dont care whether or not you relate to me. To
me thats irrelevant. Surely a persons physical appearanceheight, weight, skin colour
and shoe-sizeis of no consequence. It should suffice that English is my mother
tonguein a fashionand that I can make myself understood. I write reasonably
competently (if you can ignore my quirky, zany, irrepressible sense of wit). Im above the
age of consentof an age, in fact, to have grandchildren. Ive grown up largely outside
the influence of any major religion, so Ive no vested interest in any dogma or belief
system. I have most of the seven smarts and do well in intelligence tests, though have
never felt that to be an advantage the reverse, if anything. More than that, you dont
really need to bother yourself with (which would save me the bother-and-tarnation too).
It should not make a jot of difference whether Im confined to a wheelchair, or run
marathons. You ought not to care a hoot whether I have a steady job or am unemployed.
Why give a toss about whether I write from a prison cell, or via the free Internet
access suite at the local library. Why wonder whether I am male or female (or
combination thereof), or whereabouts on the globe is the hook from which I hang my
hat?
But, because my style of thinking follows on from the type of person that I am, I can
see that Im going to have to divulge a little about my background and history. Youll need
to decide how much credence to lend me before you give what I say some serious
thought. That cant be helped. Im sorrier than you about that, buddy. I sigh on behalf of
both of us. But to sneak past peoples watchful dragons and prove myself a serious
contender for the crown, I figure that thats whats needed. Distasteful as the exercise
may be, its a necessary evil that I must endure so as to ensure the wider spread of my
message. Words do not stand alone and in a vacuum; they are coloured by the character
of the person who chooses and uses them. Consequently, theres a reason for me to
prove myself. Whether I want to or not, I am going to have to crawl out on that limb.
So, who am I, then?
I always feel awkward when asked that question. You too? The conventional response is
to name an occupation, as if the activity that brings dollars through the door defines
you. That seems a little ludicrous to me. That isn't how I see myself. My day job is
incidental to who, or what, I am. I place more emphasis on making a life than on making a
living.
And yet, I wouldn't feel comfortable with coming right out with the truth either
declaring, for example, that Im a seeker. I hate it when people go, Whaaat!? So I tend
to 'um' and 'er' and point my toe. To entrust a stranger, or even an acquaintance, with a
deeper response, and for me to divulge how I really see myself, and what I deem to be
important in my life, is not for casual conversation. But, in the present company, Ill make
the effort.
The thread that runs throughout my life is thinking. I'm a thinker, Id say, and I have
been one ever since I discovered myself self-aware. If I am to have a label, put me down
as a philosopher orgo onan adventurer-philosopher. Thats the field where I feel
most at homeapplied philosophy, or maybe do-it-yourself metaphysics. Since the
earliest age, Ive been preoccupied with gaining an understanding the nature of the
universe, my relationship to it, and the meaning of life. To quote Einstein again, I want
to know Gods thoughts; the rest are details.
You squirm a little in your seat. Yoiks. Someone tells you that they see themselves as a
philosopher. The first thing you want to make sure of is their sanity, right? But you cant
just come out and ask. Not only is it rather gauche to go, Are you insane? Its ever so
slightly impolite. Furthermore, its a catch-22 type of question that requires a catch-22-
category answer.
Id say that I am insane in the sense that I dont go along with group thinking. That
would be the short answer. Because what is it to be insane? Simply, that you don't
things the way that most other people do. And so in that sense I fall into that
pigeonhole (you have to watch out for them).
But hang about, you answer. That reasoning is faulty. Surely, since all of us are
individuals, doesnt everyone see things in a different light? And since there are as many
ways of seeing things are there are colours and sentient beings, how can you claim
distinction on that score?
Yes, that ought to be true. I'd go along with you, except for the fact that everyone else
doesgo along, I mean. People follow the crowd, you cant deny. They think, not as
individuals, but as a pack. Consensus thinking. Pack mentality. So, by virtue of the fact
that such people hide from one anotherand from themselveswhat they really feel, Id
say that they are insane. To defer to the group as a matter of course is, of course,
really insane.
No, but hey. That's being unfair. You ought to redefine the definition. How about: If one
or a few dissenters differ from the majority view, where the majority view is more-or-
less accurately represented, then its fairis it not?to label them insane?
So . . . if you are the odd man out in a conscientious-objector type of situation, say as a
citizen in Nazi Germany, are you then insane to resist the mob-thinking of the Jew-
haters around you? And another example: if you are the first scientist to challenge a
hypothesis that everyone believes in as a Lawfor example, that the Earth is round, not
flatis it reasonable for others to dismiss you as insane? That would rather stymie the
spirit of scientific enquiry, wouldnt you say? It would clamp down on research and
original thinking. Insanityinschmamity. When alls said and done, theres no such
varmint. Without exception, everyone acts in a manner that is rational and sensible
within the context of their background, genes, world view and what have you. Okay,
where were we at? Wasnt it me in the spotlight?
I'm someone not that different from you. Im literally not, given that even chimpanzees
share about 99 percent of their genetic make-up with we wise humans. So, even when
conventional thinking is applied, any two humans are closer than they might imagine. Did
you ever ask yourself exactly who you are? Yes? There you go, then! That's another
thing we have in common.
Try this: Think of me as youas if you'd been beamed into my body or been poured into
my pair of shoes (a bit tricky, since I dont wear em). What would you do if you were
me? No really, try that right nowa thought experiment. Suppose that you were me.
Crawl inside my head. Imagine that youve somehow inherited my cerebral estate, the
only catch being that you cant bring any baggage with youno knowledge of the former
you, no memories et cetera. You can only bring your own bare essence, whatever that
might be. What would you do as me, and how would you act?
If that were the situation, then I suggest that, to all intents and purposes, you would be
me, and that you wouldntcouldntact any differently than I had been, have been, are
or will be acting in the future. What I claim is that you would be locked in. You would
have to makehave madethe same decisions as me. You would have fallenwill fall
into exactly the same errors. This is so because you would possess (or be possessed by)
my background, environment, genetic makeup and everything else that pertains. It would
be impossible for you to relate to the world in any other way but mine.
You might wish to argue that point . . . but Im not going to let you. Im going to push on
and leave you waving your fists. That stuff is quite heavyweight, and before Im willing
to split that hairy philosophical issue more finely, I need to seek the aid of a certain
French mathematician. But right now Ill distract you with an invitation. How about
having a good rummage through the attic of your new digs? Be my guest. Go right ahead
and browse.
As you start to explore the Max Headroom upstairs, youll come across a group of
disparate itemsthings that dont exactly worry me, but preoccupy me, the householder.
Ive stuffed them into boxes labelled: The way the world is heading; The difficulty of
trying to absorb everyones ideas; Wanting to disengage from the predominant culture;
The burden of possessions; Clutter in my living environment; Training injuries as I get
older; Feeling the compulsion to do something with my life; Having to deal with stuff I
dont want to waste time on; Planning for the future; Earning a living; Dealing with people;
Finding a voice (on paper); Writing my memoirs; Maintaining a home and household;
Attending to gadgets that keep breaking down; Not spending enough time on meditation;
even Dealing with a sexual drive.
You sit back on your heels and sigh. How deflating. This is not a whole heap of fun. You
were hoping to take your new personality for a test drive to see what it could domaybe
get all the way up Ngauranga Gorge in top gear. But instead, this mother seems to be
much like your ownriddled with all sorts of faults and failings. Youre wondering if it
was worth the trade.
But hey, failings' is a loaded word. As is 'deficiencies' or 'imperfections'. I think it's
best not to think along those lines, and I speak from personal experience (as
experienced from the vehicle in youre now the driver). What it does, when you look down
your nose back at yourselfapart from giving you eyestrainis to constrain and
constrict what you dowhich wont do. If you judge yourself lacking, then the effect of
that on this make, model and vintage, is to make you give up before youve even begun.
And in that case, you might as well toss away the key.
Forget about those boxes. The baggage that I carry isnt me (just like my job is not).
Theres more to me than them, I tell you. I have something to say, something to reveal.
And though Ive taken the long way round to saying it, it was the only way to get there.
The self-knowledge of my imperfections induces a self-consciousness that makes it hard
to get stuck in feet first. Fix yourself up, I would always scold myself. Get rid of
those faults and present a unified front to the world. Dont think of going out in public
coming outuntil youve dealt with your shortcomings. Ensure that your underwear is
clean, because what if you get in a car accident?
Obviously, having written this book, Ive circumvented the problem of having a Jewish-
mother conscience. Ive found a way to press on despite her bag of trip-me-up tricks.
Ive accepted myself as I am (and without having had to go to the extent of using
affirmations). If I was a fat person, Id be feeling jolly good about myself at this stage
of my development.
I'm not saying that Im a perfect specimen. Ive not always behaved as well as I mightve.
Ive rapped my kid over the knuckles, then convinced myself that I was applying
discipline. Ive goofed off during working hours. Ive not handed in a wallet that I picked
up on the street. Ive downloaded the odd pornographic picturecome on, havent you?
Ive been involved in both a divorce and an abortion. I might even have voted for
zounds!the other party. In short, I cant claim to be unblemished or untarnished, and
I have no right to cast the first stone, so my Magnum Oprah cant rely on an infusion of
strength of character. It had better hold together under its own strength and steam.
But on the positive side, it doesnt need to hold up to the closest scrutiny. I am not
trying to convince anyone of anything. I have no stake in trying to convert you. Why
would I want to?Ive nothing that Im trying to sell you. Im in this game just to
express myself. Its like you often read in books: if this happens to benefit one other
person then itll have been worth it (yeah, sure). In this case, that person doesnt need
to be other; if I walk away from the keyboard with a clearer understanding of my
standing in the grander scheme of this, then Ill be well-satisfied. And if some like-
minded individual relates to it too, well, Id see that as a bonus (Ill tell you later where
to send the cheque).
The reason that I worry about my warts and all is that I know how people operateIm a
person myself (it takes one to know one). Most of them have this strange and fanciful
notion that theres a direct relationship between the value of an idea and the calibre of
the person who voices it. They think that great ideas can arise only from great people,
and that youll only harvest mediocrity from the mediocre. This is only common sense,
right?
Well yes, but only up to a point. You run a danger if you believe it verbatim. The thing is,
that while a correlation undoubtedly exists, youre going to get into a heap of trouble if
you believe that this is always the case. If you think that the law is infallible law, and if
you make a rule of disregarding what people who lack the right background have to say,
then somewhere along the way youll miss out. Conversely, youre going to take aboard a
lot of rubbish if you pay attention to everything uttered by everyone with a holier-than-
thou reputation.
Ordinarily, a defence mechanism leaps into action when someone decides to speak their
mind on a religious or spiritual topic. Polite society kicks in its boot with, Oh no, you
cant speak with any authority! Youve got to prove that youre an expert first, by
practising what you preach. Only then might you be listened to. Go away until you can
prove your own pudding. And scour your closet for skeletons too, before you dare to
show your face.
Imagine, if you will, a criminal trying to get a word in edgeways. Say that one day
someone on death row receives a genuine flash of inspiration. The crimes that he has
committed are now just water under the bridge, because now he knows! He has
discovered the answer. And out of the turned-over-leaf goodness of his heart, he wishes
to share his insight. How far would he get? Not far beyond the bars of his cell, I
predict. It wouldnt wash, would it, no matter how watertight his ideas were? His jailers
just arent going to listen, and neither is anyone else.
From whom would you expect to receive some revolutionary and world shaking news? If
you take the pre-judgemental approach, then youd only ever listen to a Nobel Prize
winner, Rhodes scholar, saint, or to Dog Itself (or one of its come-down-to-earth
incarnations). Hey, that really rather limits the field, wouldnt you say? You may be
waiting for a while. Therefore, Id suggest that you not shoot the dowdy messenger.
Dont dismiss him just because, in your eyes, hes not dressed to deliver. Give the pizza-
man a chance.
I, too, come in the not-very-presentable category (though I brush up quite nicely). Im
not a follower of fashion. I cant usually be bothered to dress up in my Sunday best.
Neither have I ready a Readers Digest condensation of my message. Put away that
mikeno comment. Ive no hot-to-trot sound-byte for you today. My only request is that
you not enter into the do-I-trust-him-or-not quandary, but just spend an hour or two
with this text. You can do it. It isnt as if Im asking you to become vegetarian and
meditate two hours daily for the rest of your life.
The point Im trying to make is that, if in me youre looking for a paragon of virtue, and
that you demand I perform a miracle or two before you deign to give me the time of day,
then Im going to have to disappoint you. I cant boast of having lived an exemplary life.
Im not blessed with a saintly soultheres no likelihood of my being canonized in the
future. Its not that Ive done anything illegal, you understandnot blatantlybut the
bottom line is that, just like you, Im someone with both good points and bad. I shine in
certain lights, but not in others. Im neither a sinner or a saint (nor am I interested in
drawing a distinction between the two). I cannot pirouette before you and say, See, this
is how you turn out when you learn the secret of life!. For one thing, I havent got the
coordination and sense of balance.
A pity, you counter, not yet willing to drop your demands. So, if I cant manage to
authoritatively pontificate whilst nonchalantly buffing up my halo, couldnt I instead
impress in some other wayrecline in my chair to indicate a frame on the wall, perhaps?
Convince you with qualifications? After all, the client is reassured when the tradesman is
a professional, and so the question you now ask is whether Im qualified in my field. Have
I got the credentials to earn your trust? Am I sanctioned by a higher power? Do I
possess the right bit of paper from an accredited institution?
But again, I must say no. Im afraid that I havent any laurels to wear. I cant flaunt any
of my own, and I refuse to dream them up either, only for people to find out years later
and then for me to have to deny responsibility, Oh no, it wasnt me who put those
letters behind my name. Must have been a clerical error.
I think its a pity that these days you need a credit rating to be heard. You need the
recommendation of your peers (who have, presumably, been validated by others, and so
back in an un-ending chain). You need an academic title to get ahead. The pressure is on.
It pays to be published, preferably with a string of best sellers. In short, to avoid the
risk of being given short shrift, you need a track record.
Look, the woo-woo stuff that Ill tackle here isnt (rocket)science or philosophy, so it
should not be necessary for me to have to establish my credentials. In a perfect world,
wed take each other at face value: youd read what Id written without bias and consider
it on its own terms. Youd receive it in good faith from my hands, without checking first
to see whether they were stained or callused. Yes, I suppose that in this advertising
saturated, media-inundated, information-overloaded, everyone-has-an-opinion-and-a-
soapbox-to-spout-it-from age, one needs to filter out most of the nonsense. But for now
I would suggest that you refrain.
In this context, academic qualifications are of little relevance. Its a question of degree,
not a degree. There are no credentials that one can wave about to hold forth on, for the
sake of a better world, spirituality. People assume that the possession of a higher
knowledge gives that person an aura, supernatural power, or at the very least the poise
and equanimity of a Mother Theresa. Without themselves having experienced
enlightenment, everyone nevertheless insists that theyd recognise the bells and
whistles that accompany that refined state. Were sure that wed be able to pick out a
person-in-the-know, but is that so? Can we be so sure of that? Whats the risk were
wrong?
The upshot, the bottom line, is that the correlation between the statureacademic,
professional, or moralof a person and the importance of his or her words is not
absolute. I insist that anyone could come up with a useful invention. You get a hundred
monkeys typing and eventually theyll string together the complete works of
Shakespeare. And you knowthe strangest thingitll read just as well as the original.
Accept for now, I say, that anyone, no matter what their roots (or where theyre wont
to root about) could very well come up with something dandy. In that case, lets dispense
with having people pass tests, roll out their background for inspection, prove that they
are beyond rebuke, demonstrate their purity, dig out a qualification, impress with a clean
rap sheet, wave around old money or spill blue blood.
Let me put a card or two on the table. I dont claim to be a mainstream philosopher or
scientist (though I do have a BScin Biochemistryif anyone is remotely interested).
Im not going to act out the part of an academic: incrementing the tedious anthills of
others with micro-spoonfuls. I do my own thing with leaps of intuition. Just like Ed de
Bono, I aint going to riddle my thinking with no stinking references. Also, rest assured
that Im not into any religionIm no theologist or ideologue. I dont claim to be spiritual
or a mystic. I dont easily, or willingly, slip into the role of teacher, lecturer or guru. Im
neither a genius nor an autistic savant.
However, Im certain about one thing: Im special. My word, am I special! Im the most
interesting person that I know (see Appendix 2: One hundred things about me). This, I
claim, is only natural and fitting. Im not just being big-headed. Everyone, if they live
authenticallyoccupying themselves mainly with what feels right for themwill be the
most interesting person that they know. My peculiarity is to want to fathom what its all
about. Thats me. Im a man after the metaphysical meat in the sandwich. My zest and
zeal is for experiencing and exploring existential issues, and then to live in accordance
with the conclusions that I reach. Cant say fairer than that.
To be sure, I dont play this game entirely on my own. Im no island, and so Im open to
external input. I read, and Ill happily incorporate the odd idea from an external source.
But I do that very judiciously, and Id recommend that you apply the same strategy.
Tread cautiously. Be circumspect. Do allow ideas from foreign sources to pollinate you,
but dont let yourself be genetically modified in the head. Its a finely-tuned balancing
act.
Though no man is an island, I keep myself a strictly-patrolled peninsula. In No Ordinary
Genius, David Goodstein tells of getting together with Richard Feynman one evening to
read with excitement the manuscript of Jim Watsons (and Cricks) The Double Helix, a
year before that milestone of a book was published. Watson must have been either very
lucky or very smart, remarked Goodstein to Feynman, because he never knew what
anybody else was doing, and yet he still made the crucial discovery.
Replied Feynman, Thats what I learned from reading it. I used to know it, and then I
forgot itI have to disregard everybody else, and then I can do my own work.
At birth, all of us are dealt our own hand of cards. You stand to gain the greatest
personal satisfaction in life from skilfully playing out your personal hand (retain a trump
or two for the endplay, is my tip of the day). You do that by playing to your skills and
strengths. And naturally, your area of expertiseyour sphere of activityought to be
determined by your inclinations.
Me, Im compelled to ferret out the essence of reality. For me there is nothing more
enjoyable than engaging in philosophical self-reflection into the nature of existence. My
particular bunch of aptitudes work together to spur me to seek the meaning of life.
Whats it all about, Alfie? they make me ask myself. Internal forces hound me to rip
an understanding of what life is all about. Luckily, I was born with the tools needed to
navigate the inner landscape. But along with those resources I have gaps, weaknesses
and limitations that I need to be mindful of when I make decisions about how best to go
about my work. For instance, youll never see me give a public talk. Or start a church,
heaven forbid.
My desire, my purpose, is to fathom the plumbings of the universe that flows through my
veins. I derive great joy from delving into the meaning and/or nature of being. I love a
heavy set of tennis for the brain the phrase used by Village Voice to describe Douglas
Hofstadter and Daniel Dennetts book, The Mind's I . I have no ability at fancy
footwork, and I cant serve, smash, lob or volley to save my soul. The strongest string to
my bowor racquetis insight, a gift for grasping the human condition, spirituality,
enlightenment, or whatever you want to call it, activated with a specific kind of thinking.
There are different ways to use your brain. Though theres a time for every season, I
have to say that I'm deeply suspicious of rhetoric, scientific method, philosophical
rumination, religious dogma, emotional manipulation and the like. Theyre mostly
advertising tricks, as far as I can see. They neither impress nor convince me. Sure, I use
logic as and where its appropriatein the right hands its a powerful toolbut not
exclusively, or even mainly. I mistrust the ways in which such techniques have been
wielded by people in the past (to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail). Even
common sense doesnt do it for me.
Im not a linear, rational dimwit. Im what Anne Wilson Schaef calls a multivariate and
multidimensional thinker: someone who uses both hemispheres of the brain together
with the brain stem. The equipoise that this confers is that you get to test your
thoughts for distortion, confusion and dishonesty. How Id describe that for ordinary
folk is that I have to heft every hypothesis a hundred times before Im happy. I need to
weigh it, toss it around, taste it, test it and try it on for size. In short, I need to fully
grok it (thanks, Heinlein, for that term). This, for me at least, requires heaps of
window-gazing time. Decades. This probably explains why it has taken so long for my
ideasand for me as a personalityto Victor Mature.
The world champion of slow pokes, Stephen Hawking, does well despite having to crawl.
Painstakingly twitching the cheek muscle under his eye, he selects letters until there are
enough of them for his voice synthesizer to drone out. My way of pondering is not
dissimilar. It's as if enlightenment dribbles into me drop by quivering drop (I must lose a
lot through evaporation). So no, I'm not a fast thinker. I don't believe that its possible
to act in haste, and yet be sure of your conclusions. I wouldnt recommend the blitzkreig
approach.
May I make a request? Don't search me out in person for some scintillating face-to-
face. I wouldnt appreciate that, because I wouldnt measure up to the task. Rapid-fire
debate is not my forte. Although I occupy the top I.Q. percentile, Id be placed even
better if it weren't for the time limits you have to sit the tests under. What's with
that? Whats the point in forcing a person to rush? What good does it do anyone to come
up with an idea a few seconds faster? (Very good, Mr. Einstein. But you should have
derived e=mc squared in half the time.) I ask you, honestly, what does the speed of light
prove?
But lets move (rapidly) on. So anyway, even though I dont hold a theological degree or
PhD, I trust that Ive by now demonstrated that I have a penchant for dabbling with
philosophical matters. Since I first became self-aware, Ive toyed seriously with the
nature of existence. It occupied most of my waking moments. Ive worried at it
ceaselessly, until at last. . . guess what? Yes, I feel that Ive finally figured it out. No,
Ill state it more definitely than thatIm absolutely certain. And although its true that
on past occasions Ive been equally certain, only to have changed my mind, Im certain
that this time Im certain.
And if Im wrong, no matter. Id be the first to admit my mistake. It wouldnt worry me
in the slightest to go back on my word. In fact, Id be overjoyed, because the only
reason for me to have reversed my decision would be that Id revamped and revised my
thinking to have come up with an even better construct. My willingness to drop an
outmoded worldview for an improved model constitutes your best iron-bound guarantee
that Im not trying to pull the wool over your eyes. I dont clinglike a wet blanketto
traditions for their own sake. Belief does not glue my eyes shut to a higher heaven
should I sniff one out. All I can say is: keep watching this space. That way, neither of us
misses out.
Trust me. Im no fanatic. Ive not crawled out from under the woodwork dragging a
hidden agenda behind me. I dont care to talk anyone into anythingIm not a con man.
This is to be no leader-and-followers act. You wont find any proselytising on these
pages, scouts honour. You wont come across disappointed and abandoned disciples
scattered bleeding along dawns highway. Come along for the ride only if you are willing,
and on your own terms. Bring your own water bottle . . . and plasma.
I invite you to take a gander at where I am now. Here, see the state of the nation. At
the present point, in middle age, I discover, as Ive just said, that Ive gained an insight
into the ultimate reality. All well and good, but Ive only just arrived theream still in
the process of arrivingso still need to get everything straight and squared away. Thats
a fair description of what youll find going on. For a while, until I get everything ship-
shape, things will be a little messy in this neck of the woods. Please bear with me (and
maybe lend a hand).
Now that youve had a good preliminary fossick around the upstairs of my head, youll
want to do a more careful inventory. Where to start, hm? Which box do you look into
first? Therere so many to choose from. How about the one labelled My First Thought
Experiments. Tentatively, you reach for it, blow away the dust, and open the lid . . .
Ive mentioned in passing my preoccupation with a certain type of mental tool. Thought
experiments, mind experimentsfor a while I was never sure what to call them, and I
manipulated them long before Id heard of either. Permit me to create a context for
what was probably the first. I was very young at the time. The experiment involved,
aptly enough, my own origins. I wanted to explore whence Id come. Id think back and
try to retrieve my very first memory. How far back could I go?
For as long as I can remember, Ive been trying to travel back in time (by itself no
thought experiment, but it led to one). As early as six, five . . . even four, I would flex
my memory muscles and hurl myself into the past. Initially, perhaps, my parents aided
me. Together wed look through a photo album, or orally excavated our familys history as
a bedtime story alternative. Id worm my way into the foggy past and snuggle deeper
under the bedclothes.
I might fix upon one Easter at my uncles home when I must have been three. His house
had a front and a back garden. Each somehow replenished itself with eggs while I
searched the other. How could that be? Was it magic? I asked the chuckling adults.
Before that, there was a period when my grandparents lived with us. Theyd sailed by
ship across the sea from the other side of the world to stay with us a year. I clearly
recall Oma showing me the safe way to hold a knife when drying the dishes, and my
confusion when one evening she stuck my hand between her breasts. I remember once
the doctor paying a house call (which proves that this was well in the past). Oh, the
indignity of being injected in the buttockthe one on the right. Scooping snow off the
street and eating it made me ill on another occasion. After vomiting up my breakfast I
couldnt stomach cornflakes for years. Ever earlier I time travel, back to when I caught
my toe in the spokes of my tricycle. The nail, even now, grows split in two. Vaguely, I can
place myself back in the bathtub as a baby, shaving the soap off my leg with a finger,
and afterwards being dusted with talcum powder. Theres the kinaesthetic imprint of
having my diapers changedthat topsy-turvy sensation of being lifted by the legs. . . the
worry about being stabbed by a safety pin. Lying in my crib and examining the wall
hangings . . . being breast fed . . .
Time after time, Ive relived those memories and unearthed others. Try as I might,
though, I could never isolate the instant that I arrived into existence (and heres where
the exercise turned into a thought experiment). There was never a time that I wasnt,
and thenpop!suddenly appeared. I was always there, no matter how small, or how
indistinct the recollection. This might seem scanty evidence, but so is the fragment of
jawbone that the archaeologist uses to establish a genus. To this youngster, it equated
to a surety of knowledge. I was continuous, contiguousI just knew it. There was never
a time that I was not. I had always been, and somehow, for that very same reason, would
always be.
Oh my goodness! Without meaning to, with just a snap of my finger, Id crossed the
Rubicon. Not only had I overcome the fear of death, Id overcome death also! Realising
that, one way or another, I was eternal was an extremely empowering discovery. What a
gold mine! What fun it was to have a brain to work with.
Feel it. Savour it. Heft it. Grok it. Sink into the realization. But keep that concept off-
limits to the reasoning parts of the brain. I think of this episode as a vaccination
better than any injection in the buttock. Its effect was to protect me against the
future germ of organised religion. My immune systemkick-started into actionwas now
up and rip-roaringly running. You could now expose me to any belief system but, like
cornflakes, I would not be able to swallow it, not unless it took cognisance of the finding
that I Was Eternal.
The next experiment with such a powerful outcome was the one that Ill refer to as
returning to the centre. Along with other sentient beings, I see myself as existing
midway between and a little behind my eyes. There, it feels like Im at the centre of the
universe. Nothing odd about that. That is how it's meant to be. The illusion is as common
as muck. And yet, despite its universality, youve got to beware.
Theres a danger. This me-at-the-centre frame of reference (I am he, as you are he, as
you are me, and we are all together) can induce delusions of grandeur. You may slip into
the trap of thinking that you are Dog. The trick, therefore, is to somehow reconcile the
viewpoint, or awareness that, while you may be Godlike, you're not everything you would
like to be. You are not all-powerful. Its an idea to handle carefully with kid gloves. You
must be ultra-careful not to spill a single drop. Nitro-glycerine. Which is why I always
conducted this particular experiment in the outside toilet.
Here I am at the centre of the universe, Id whisper behind the locked door of
perception. Wow! What are the infinitesimal chances of finding myself right here on this
patch of real estate? I mean, the odds must be virtually zilch. It was like Id won the
worlds longest-shot lottery. The longer I considered it, the less I could believe that it
was true. But not only that, I remain centred at the centre of the universe no matter
where I travelled, no matter how quickly I ran, spun or tumbled, no matter how much
time passed me by. I wonderedwonderif other people are in that position too? How
many feel the same way? If there were any, I saw no sign of it. No dazed look on blank
faces. Well heck, maybe I was the only one alive, and everyone else was just a figment of
my imagination.
The above were two of my earliest, most powerful, thought experiments. But the
formative experience of my life occurred when I was about twelve. At school in the
playground one day, we were fooling around when one of the gang said that he knew how
to make a person go unconscious, and that the procedure was painless. Now way known!
How was that possible? Wasnt it dangerous? He demonstrated how: getting a volunteer
to hyperventilate, after which he then squeezed him from behind in a bear hug. Sure
enough, the fellow buckled at the knees and was lowered to the ground. Then, after a
minute or two, he got up. And the rest of us wondered whether to believe in what wed
witnessed and so the experiment was done again. After that, people lined up to have a
go. I hung back for a day or two, and observed the more adventurous of my friends. In
turn they were put to sleep, and then wake up. It didnt seem like such a big deal.
Eventually, I took the plunge too, repeating the experience at least twice. No big deal,
hah! It only changed my life forever.
My undergoing unconsciousness snapped something vital, though it was years until I
figured out just what. Looking back, I see that the link it caused to break was a link of
the chain that binds the hot-air balloon to earth. Previously, Id gone along with societys
assumption that in essence we are physical beings with a spiritual add-on. However, my
visit to an internal nether region subtly altered my perceptions. I returned into a
disconcerting new world. It felt as if Id been reduced to semi-consciousness, because I
couldnt seem to shake myself fully awake, not to the degree that I remembered. I
worried that Id lost some brain cellsand may well have. But thats beside the point.
Heres what happened, I believe. This is how I explain it to myself. After having lost my
bodyyet retained my awareness of self (whilst unconscious)I realized that, instead
of the body containing me, I contained it. Far out! The dawning forced upon me was that
I could not be constrained. Rather, I-as-an-essence contained the physical body. I was
now obliged to see myself as a spiritual being having a physical experience, not vice-
versa. Evidently, the trip of self-induced unconsciousness triggered a form of near-
death experience in this schoolboy. And just as the NDE crowd are forever affected by
their experiences with bright lights, tunnels and celestial guardians, I was also indelibly
marked. Which brings us uncomfortably close to the topic of religion.
Hey, but lets not shy away from it. Lets deal with itJust Do It! As Nike proclaims.
Okay, but thisll hurt me more than it does you. Confronting the holy spirit is a
distasteful exercise, akin to being put on the spot by door-to-door-knocking Adventists.
But Ill put on my (Sunday) best smile, because its important for you, the reader, to
know just what my position is on the subject. Do I have a bias one way or the other? Am
I from the Richard Dawkins camp, or a member of another Salvation Army?
Religion, hm. As a child I used to get dragged along. Not by my parents, thank God. They
were enlightened enough never to practise or imposed the Sunday ritual upon their
brood. In that respect, my siblings and I were left to our own devices. Unadulterated
freedom was what we enjoyed. No, it was my friends and acquaintances from school
(again) who would induce me to come along. Socialisation was the Turkish-Delight that I
couldnt resist.
For me, making friends has never been easy. I find that people are so very hard to
figure out. Was it that I came from another country (never mind the fact that I was
born in the same one as them) or that in my first few years I spoke another tongue?
Whatever, Ive always sensed some hurdle that I needed to overcome. There always
seemed to be an obstacle between me and everyone else. It would have been easier not
to have to bother, but I share with everyone the need for human interaction.
And so, a little shamefaced, Id go along to the youth groups that were arranged by
various do-gooders. A bunch of us would meet up in halls, or go on weekend retreats. We
took part in encounter groups run by hip and vaguely evangelical teachers. I tagged
alongsampling what I wanted to, avoiding or enduring what I could not. It was a way of
life in those daysa way to get on with my life. It was something to do. It was the only
way I had of mixing with others.
But I never really felt comfortable in that environment. The background biblical white
noise raised my hackles. One evening, things came to a head when the teenagers group
that I attended was invited into the church next door for some sort of service. As we
were ushered in, I realised that wed been conned. But we were all too polite to voice a
protest. Lambs into the abattoir.
I sat there glowering on a hard wooden pew. So we all have this personal relationship
with God, do we? Right, I muttered, lets put it to the test. As the others traipsed up
for a sip of this and a nibble of that, I considered what to do. Remaining in my seat, I
socked God with an ultimatum. Okay buster, heres your chance. Give me your best shot
some sign that thats the way you want me to go. Do that, and Ill go along. Ill be your
best pet sheep. Come onhit me with some irrefutable evidence that all the ritual
around me isnt empty and pointless. You got a problem with that? Im waiting . . .
We leap forward a year or two. The sheets of the calendar flip with the wind to the
time of my first national census. Everyone in the country had to complete itwhere you
lived, your income, the members of your family, the works. The question that had me
pondering the longest concerned religion. Choose from a list or add your own. What was
I to put? For the first time in months I remembered my ultimatum. I screwed up my
face, eschewed all the choices on offer, and scrawled: Selective-apathist-active-
fatalist-ego-theist. Let some civil servant make of that what he wanted.
Decades later, I marvel at the fledgling whipper-snapper who had the wherewithal and
temerity to home in on what I now judge to be true. For a raw kid, I had bloody good
instincts. The insight that I possessed, even then, makes me shake my head in awe.
Religions ought to be individual, not organised. I wont believe in original sin, or in a
vengeful and jealous god. I mean, just how stupid is that? But it did make sense to me
that everything is predestined. Those atoms that Id learned about at school ought to
keep a-rolling in whichever direction they were pushed. That made sense.
And yet, how was it that I, constructed of the same atoms, could do as I pleased? How
was I able to boss myselfmy atomsaround, if they were really on fixed tracks? This
was a question that I couldnt answera paradox, I guessed. My only way out was to
suppose that this puzzle existed only because I was limited to seeing things from one
particular level, and that on another level the problem didnt exist. I set aside the issue.
It was enough, then, to know that paradoxes existed because one wasnt able to see the
whole picture. Ah, an excuse to go away and work on my X-ray vision!
The atoms rolling-slash-being-rolled explains the active-fatalist component of what I
put on my census document. The selective-apathy part comes from my conviction that
you cant do, or be, everything. Thats an important part of my make-up. If you want to
do something really welldevote yourself to itthen you wont have time for much else.
Therefore, if you want to make the best use of your life, then it behooves you to choose
wisely. You are going to have to practice discriminationor apathyso as not to become
embroiled in unnecessary and diversionary activity. The more options you have, the more
difficult life is. It is actually easy to live as a fanatic and be devoted to only one goal
(you hear that, Obama . . . or is it Osama?). Juggling a balance of interests, activities and
pursuits is no trivial matter. Perhaps this is why to others I appear indecisive. I've
always wanted to keep my options open for as long as possible. Drop one thing for
another only when the time feels ripe.
As for the ego-theist component, the idea of being ones own god was an act-as-if
decision. All that I could be sure of was that I existed; I wasnt sure about anyone else,
and God certainly hadnt fronted up when challenged. (Spiritually challengedha!thats
a new one.) So it might as well be me who did the honours, and took on that role, by
acting as if I was in charge. When I close my eyes, I can always get into a state where I
am all that there is (along the way Id been initiated into Transcendental Meditation).
Everything 'outside' of myself could well be a figment of my imagination. Oh sure, I
know full well that the master in control is hopelessly limitedanother paradox to set
aside and hopefully unravel at a later date. But the bottom line is that Ive never felt
the need to install any god figure at the head of a personal ideology.
Whether one god (or more) exists or not isnt pertinent. Itneither the idea nor the
entityisnt relevant. It isnt worth a scrap. It isnt substantial. Nothing in my construct
rests on such an insecure foundation. Forget about he, she or it, at least for the
duration. I would suggest that you build out from the centre of the universe initially.
From solid ground. From the space between your eyes and ears. Start with what you
know. Know thyself. And then venture out from there.
What do you see? Are we agreed that there are such things as life forms? They scuttle
about my feet most every day, and yours too presumably. Lets suppose that they differ
in one attribute at least. If there is such a measure, then I want you to suppose that
their aural envelopes vary. Dare I allude to levels of consciousness? Are you going to let
me away with that? Go on, be a devils advocate.
My next trick is to make use of that difference to assign rank, because I want to
establish a ranking. But be clear, this doesnt imply that I consider one particular life
form superior to any other, or more worthy. Were all the same, yet were all different
is difficult to grasp only if youre addicted to dualistic thinking. (If you do regard it as a
two-horned dilemma, then let it be a paradox for you to set aside.)
It follows, given that theres a ranking, that someone has to be the top dog, the kingpin,
el supremo, the yokozuna. In terms of consciousness, that being would stand above the
rest. Very well then, lets nominateelevatethat dirty rascal to the position of King,
Emperor or, why not, God? In what other context are we going to use that word?
Besides, who remains to be offended?
As to whether that entity is up to the task is another matter. Whether its omniscient,
omnipresent and all those other Oms, we dont know, since we dont know exactly who
was elected (a puff of white smoke from behind closed doors). No one is in a position to
say what its attributes are, and Im not going to go there either. Until or unless it
effects a self-introduction, Im not going to worry myself about it, since its going to
have at least as great a sense of humour and forbearance as me. By definition. It cannot
be the vengeful-jealous type; that doesnt cut it.
Religions, hey? Love them or leave them. Ive no ulterior motive to steer you towardor
away fromany. Cross my heart, Im not here to turn you into either a believer or
Thomas Covenant. No way. I wouldn't do that to myself or to anyone. Its not that
theyre utterly worthlessyoull find gems embedded in all of them. But I wont
subscribe to any organized religion. I wouldnt sell my soul so cheaply. Even the thought
of doing so rubs me up the wrong way, though I find nothing more pleasant than to sit
down with a cuppa in a nonthreatening setting and share spiritual viewpoints. How
convivial, or better, gezellig.
And thats not unrealistic or wishful thinking. All it would take is for everyone to have
formulated his or her own personal religion for this to be the rule. Wed then expect
every individual to have their own take, outlook or position, and in that way no one would
feel the compulsion to promote or defend their own, or feel that they needed to
convince others round to their way of thinking. No need to show the heathen infidels the
error of their ways. People would actually be interested in hearing what others had to
say (Louis, theres a song there).
To me, investing faith in some authority figures story is nothing but a cop-out. I've
always felt that to be the case. The only thing that pre-packaged philosophical
narratives offer is a ready-made excuse not to think for oneselfto give up that power
to some group, or to a theocracy. So I will not believe. I wont blindly accept any
unsubstantiated proposition (which is not to say that Im materially-minded and limit my
thinking to objects that I can sense; neither that I confine myself to musing upon the
mind-figments derived from logical and philosophical machinations). All Im saying is that
to kow-tow willy-nilly to any historical or mythological celebrity is not my scene. I don't
swallow any particular theory, and I don't expect you to swallow everything I say either.
Are we clear on that?
However, I do believe that youll find pearls of wisdom most anywhere. And thats a good
lead-in, because heres where I do my version of a literature review and mention a few
influences on my thinking. But before I do so, a word of warning. Its certainly true that
I have benefitted from reading what others have to say, but that has mostly been
supplementary. Ultimately, I'm accountable to myself only. I must use the manner and
style of thinking that suits me best. Just like Feynman, for the most part, Ive felt it
necessary to isolate myself from others' philosophies. I didn't want to risk being
steered off track. If you shop around for advice, you need to select your friends and
acquaintances wisely. Though everyone has something valuable to say, you gravitate
naturally towards certain individuals, and that probably says something about the
relationshipor potential relationshipbetween you both (what exactly, Im not sure).
The ideal, I suppose, would be for everything you say youve learned actually to have
issued forth from within, not fed from without by a spoon. People in the self-growth and
new age spirituality movement say that the answers are latent within us all, and that the
most that they do is to help those answers bubble forth.
Again, Im not here to convince or debate. Im not going to prop up what I say by
dragging out a phalanx of previous thinkersgiants on top of whose shoulders Ill stand
and rant. I am not claiming, nor do I intend, to have developedor be developinga
watertight system of thinking, or a way of apprehending reality. True, that is the
direction in which I want to head, but all I wish to do here is document that journey. I
dont see it as my job to make my discoveries fit in with what has gone before and
thereby satisfy the conventional view. I dont consider that my brief, so I wont take it
on. Ive enough on my plate as it is.
Others, later, may have a go. Thats up to them, and theyd be welcome. By all means, if
anyone out there feels that way inclined, then take whats here and run with it. As for
me, Im grappling at the limits of my strength with ideas that, for me at least, lie at the
highest possible heights of comprehensionthe Everest of what is humanly possible
without oxygen. You take a step then rest five minutes. Lurch forward another pace and
rest some more. It may seem as if I have it altogether, but thats an illusion. I can only
hold a line or two of this text in my head at any one instant (this book is a manual for me
as much as anyone to read and learn from). But in saying that, Ill pretend that I know
what Im talking aboutwhich I do, just not everything in totoand Ill do my best to
simplify this narrative as best I can.
Theres a saying that if you ever meet the Buddha on the road, kill him. Shocking, no?
Extreme? I guess the point being made is that its dangerous to expose yourself to the
teachings or advice of would-be well-wishers, do-good gurus and proselytising pimps. The
man himself told his followers, Believe nothing. No matter where you read it, or who
said it, even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense.
Killing the Buddha is a pre-emptive strike. Theres nothing more dangerous than ideas, so
be alert for them popping up on your radar. Take note, all you gorillas in the room. As you
read these words, youd better take that message to heart. As far as youre concerned,
I fall into that category too; Im a potential usurper. My style of mental gymnastics suits
me to a tee. But all you other primates had better use a filter. Get out your sun block
and UV sunglasses.
Using another analogy, it works like your taste in music and musicians. Lets compare
ideas to lyrics and riffs. Theres a category of artists each of us feels close to and has a
comfortable relationship with. For me its the Doors, Jethro Tull and Jimi Hendrix. In
my book, they can do no wrong. Below them, theres a group that I admire, but who I
cant listen to all day long, namely The Beatles, U2 and Oasis. And then there are other
highly esteemed artists that I simply cannot groove to. I know that they are talented,
but for some reason Eric Clapton, Van Morrison and Bob Dylan grate in my ears. So,
whats my point, and whats the answer?
What it means, I would say, first of all, is that everyone has a potential audience, or
following. Second, that one has to rely on ones own judgement for what sounds right. To
ask, Who is right?, expecting to get a definitive answer, is . . . well, wrong. Its the sort
of trouble that you get into when you ask the same thing about religions. There isnt one
that stands inarguably higher. Its best to assume that, at their level, and from their
perspective, everyone is right. And whether or not their ideas resonate with you is
simply a matter of hearing or taste.
A person's background, beliefs, world view, philosophical framework, and the stories
that they tell themselves, all support one another. The decisions that they take are on
the button, because they will been made self-consistently. Self-referentially. Itor
theymakes sense. And so, in that sense, everyone is absolutely correct with respect to
the views that they hold and the manner in which they conduct themselves.
Of course, that isn't much help to you. When you rake through the embers of other
philosophies on the lookout for material to incorporate into your own, personal way of
thinking, youll want a means of being more discerning. Just because something works for
someone else doesnt mean it will for you. That being so, it would be fair to examine, not
the set of thoughts that people have, but the principles or foundation stones that they
hold to be self-evident. Based upon that knowledgefamiliarity with the foundation
stones underpinning their philosophical structuresyou have a much better rationale or
strategy for weighing up what they have to say.
I say, give everyone a listenor read. Start out by giving them all a chance. Were all
monkeys on the same branch of the tree. But heed, or give more credence to, those who
speak more closely to your heart. In time, youll become more discerning. Youll get to
the point of being able to hearfirst-hand, from your own mouth, in your own style and
schoollessons you already, miraculously, know. And wont need to be told.
Of course, the easiest thing all round would be for you to accept everything that I
saidtempting for both of us. But no. Youll never hear me claim to have all of the
answers (if I ever do, please, challenge me forthwith). Beware of anyone who assures you
that they know whats what, no question. I've been there; Ive been done to. I was so
sure that Id been imparted lifes secret. I'd been so positive! I would never have
predicted that Id ever sing a different tune. But if the music changesor when the
musics overthen you've no alternative. Youve got to change your spots. You've got to
be prepared to evolve and to grow. You should never, ever, stick with your current
framework, insisting it is set in stone.
If a person is positive that they are right, then theyll feel that they possess something
valuable and will want to guard it. Using James Howard Kunstlers term, the psychology
of previous investment makes them feel obliged to defend that status quo. Also, because
youll never hear unbiased information in an advertisement, you should only listen to
those peopleif that is the way youve chosen to go, rather than figuring it out for
yourselfwho express their uncertainty, or at the very least in other ways demonstrate
that they are not unduly attached to their kit-bag of thinking. But do afterwards weigh
up what they say. As the Chinese say, listen to what everyone has to offer, but then
decide for yourself.
All the answers? I havent got them. What I do have, I've worked out, and worked up,
and it works for me. But I'd drop it at the drop of a hat if I had to. And I would never
impose it upon, or try to sell it to, another. But hey, you're welcome to take a gander!
But just be careful. Don't get burned. Don't become entrappedin my web of threads or
anyone else's. These strings are attached to no guarantees.
So lets continue by taking a look at what I understand by the term enlightenment. Your
concept of it probably varies from mine. People have the wrong ideaand would no doubt
benefit from a dummies guide. Im sorry to be the one to inform you, but enlightenment
is not something absolute. You dont attain it in a magicians flash of magnesium-
powdered light. Theres no sensory monitor that suddenly goes phosphorescent and
switches on some sort of a halo above your head, a failsafe fuse that prevents you
evermore from making a mistake or failing to come up with a profound answer to dumb
questions put to you. I dont think that it works that way, because it hasnt for me.
Enlightenment does not equate with godhood. Its humbler than that.
Just take a nosey at the so-called god-men. Youll find that they arent perfect. They
have their pet idiosyncrasies. They speak fossilized English with atrocious accents.
Rather than dressing in a utilitarian style, theyll swan about in elaborate national dress.
They pick their noses. They are overweight and waddle when they walk, or may suffer
from diabetes. Some have a material addiction to Rolls-Royces and have amassed a fleet.
Im not saying that there arent people who possess a certain degree of vision, but is
isnt 20-20 by any means. So, do learn what you can from them. Mine them for their
nuggets and holy ashes. But after that, you must take your leave. Love them then leave
them, because they are limited. As am I. As are you.
Dont use the flawed yardstick of enlightenment according to the common man as the
litmus test to fine-tooth wannabe gurus. That would be grossly unfair. To have an inkling
into a few of the whys and wherefores in the field of spiritual inquiry does not make
Peter perfect. Thats the sad reality. And yet that is what people expect. That is their
fond belief. But believing so doesnt make it so. It aint necessarily so, right Sammy?
The tendency and danger is for people to venerate a chosen few, as if they are special,
and that the heights they occupy are unattainable by the rest of us (so that we
ourselves need not bother trying?). Don't you believe it! If youre tempted to short-
circuit the quest for enlightenment by seeking out the greatest person livingor has
ever livedin order to get the gen direct from the horses mouth, then you may not care
for what I say. Theres no such person. Youll be short-changed. No one is great
leastways greater than anyone else. Many were good, or clever, or talented, sure. But
without exception, everyone lives an ordinary life. They eat, breathe, sleep, and
defecate. Theres no way round it. Therere grubby things were obliged to do to function
on this planet. The so-called Great dont have clean hands. Of course, they had their
heady moments. But so do we all.
I guess it's always easier to applaud than to perform, especially if the Grateful Dead are
no longer living, because theres no longer and chance of them making fools of
themselvesfarting in public, or marrying someone half their age. And the longer
they've been dead, the more soundly that they rest in peace, because by then everyone
that knew them is also six feet under. Theres less chance for new dirt to be dug up. And
if perchance an incriminating letter does surface. . . Oh, how quaint! How very human!
That only goes to show that the Gloved One in question was genuine. We fondly forgive
him or her. Now that hes dead, Michael Jackson can do no wrong.
What I'm saying is that every actor in this play wears out their clothes at the elbows
and knees. All need to brush their teeth and pay their bills. In between their literary
novels, artworks or inventions, they had an awful lot of time on their hands. And there
were timesundoubtedlywhen they messed up, or messed about. My last word on the
matter is, dont leave philosophical matters up to the experts. I've never yet met anyone
who fits into that box. There aint no such animal, I assure you. I've known the odd
genius. Underneath, they were just ordinary people.
A journalist by the name of Charles J. Acquisto once contacted as many celebrities,
sportsmen, stars and famous people whose addresses he could get his hands on. He
asked them for a piece of advice that he could pass on to his soon-to-be one-year-old
son, something for him to treasure as he grew up. He asked them all, How do you
achieve success in life? and collated the responses that he got back into a book. That
way, everyone would be able to benefit. I read Wisdom to Grow On sitting on the toilet.
Several threads emerged, all reasonable. There was nothing really earthshaking, but you
could do worse than walking-the-talk of Acquistos aggregated common sense. Strive to
keep growing. Educate yourself by reading and listening. Persevere. Focus on small steps
in your day-to-day livinguse time wisely, in other words. Maintain harmonious
relationships through love and honesty. Work towards a greater good, whether that be
in the form of a religion, a cause, a dream or personal goal. Stay happy by being positive.
Accept everything that comes your way, and dont take yourself too seriously. Several
people recommended that a person be the change that he or she would like to see.
For me, the strongest message was the exhortation to be true to yourself. It was
repeated many times. Letter after letter spelled out the phrase, Live authentically.
Only then, the respondents wrote, will a person be serene. Only then, as Anne Wilson
Schaef put it (elsewhereshe didnt make Mr Acquistos list), will you be in tune with
your own inner guidance, awareness, integrity, spirituality and morality. People urged
Charless son to demonstrate who he was by doing what he is drawn to and grows to love.
Dare to be different. Dare to be your deeper self.
I found it sad and ironical that we need to be told to be ourselves. Sea anemones dont.
Salmon dont. Even our pets need little instruction; they just do what they do purely on
instinct. It just goes to show how invasive our living arrangements are, and how strongly
our behaviour and thinking are influenced from without. In this age of information
theres all this marvellous advice to be had, but theres also a clear and present need for
us to ignore societys unspoken strictures.
Ill illustrate this with a personal example. Its trivial, but I think it makes the point.
One of the ways in which I resist the pressure of my peers is by refusing to wear shoes.
I wouldnt say that its a matter of integrity, spirituality and morality, but when I march
barefooted, Im in tune with my inner drum. My habit started a couple of decades ago. I
used to jog, and it cost me big bucks every time my running shoes wore out and needed
new ones. One day I wondered why. What made me think that I did?
It isnt difficult. It doesnt take much effort or time to do the research. Humans dont
need shoes. Its nonsense to think that we do; no other animal requires footwear. Why
do we imagine that were born incomplete? Shoes dont keep you warmthey are bad for
your circulation. They keep your feet wet instead of letting them dry, thereby causing
Athletes foot. They make your feet stink, and they give you bunions, corns, hammer toes
and more. They get in the way of your gait. In the final analysis, they are hardly ever
necessary.
And then society sticks in its oar. Where are your shoes? people ask. Why? I dont ask
them what colour underwear they have on. Dont worry, I reply, I always wear shoes,
whenever its necessary. And at the moment it isnt. But really, footwear isnt the issue.
What people really want to knowunconsciouslyis why you are behaving in an
unconventional way. Who does that person think he is to be bucking the system? Hes a
threat. Its our job to get him back in line.
I behave differently to most other people. I insist on doing so. Aside from the reason
that its fun to provoke a reaction, I need to be myself and live authentically. I behave
differently because I think differently. Its as simple as that. And I bare my toes as
fair warning: you are now approaching a person who thinks for himself.
In his Conversations With God material, Neale Donald Walsch speaks about the
importance of exploring your identity when he suggests recreating yourself anew in the
next grandest version of the greatest vision ever you held about Who You Are. Sure, its
a mouthful, but its as useful piece of advice as youre going to get, once you figure it
out. And in this literature review, that brings me around to discussing the biggest
outside influence to date.
Neales books were very helpful in weaning me away from a philosophy Id followed for
nigh on two decades (nothing to do with shoes). They jolted me from a twenty-year rut,
and for that reason alone Im indebted to the man. Id been operating on the principle
that I had to burn through the dross of accumulated karmas by meditating daily and
following a strict vegetarian diet. It was the old variation of the original sin thing: you
had to prove yourself worthy by purifying and punishing your soul. Luckily, in the back of
my mind Id tucked away the thought that I was only following that path because it was
the best one Id found so far, and that the instant I stumbled across a better
philosophy I would drop one for the other. And eventually thats how it panned out.
Neales books did the trick for me; they convinced me that it was time to move on. Once
more, I started thinking for myself. But youll understand that, having just escaped one
net, I was wary about entangling myself in another, even this new CWG material that had
been so persuasive. I made very sure that I did not swallow Neales every line, hook and
sinker. Indeed, I felt that I had something to contribute. One of the series of blogs
that I started, started out:
The Next Neale Donald Walsch
Gday Neale. The you in me salutes the I in you. May I introduce you to your
next book? Im starting it on your behalf (well, on both our behalves, really).
You could sayexcuse the wordplaythat were both halves of a whole, and
you will come to say it. But not just now, right? Dont worry, I wont force
you to agree before youre ready. For now, let me put the applorange in your
mouth; let me do the talking. Youll chime in later in good time.
Again, Im coming at you from an unexpected direction (this is God talking to
you now). Youll remember how it was that first time, when you picked up
that pencil and started venting. Oh boy! And just look where that led you.
This time, again, I guarantee it will be an eye-opening experience. You dont
know it yet, but were going to share the continuation of this incredible
journey. It will seem stranger and more difficult. Instead of communicating
with each other through the medium of your yellow legal pad, a welling up
from your inner self, Ill be coming at you from left field, through the lips of
another person. I expect that, initially at least, this wont be easy for you.
These past few years have seen you ease into a comfortable pattern. You
relish that control, and its going to be hard to give some of that up.
Also, my voice will at first sound foreign. Itll have a different accent,
vocabulary, style, cadence and so on. In my new guise, you wont find my
words as predictable. Not so much a dangerous book but a dangerous
persona. You wont trust me right away (and so you shouldnt). Youll be
hankering to know that this isnt simply some prank, and so it will be a while
before youre convinced. It will take time before you recognise yourself in
me.
But when youre ready, Ill be here. As always. When you are prepared to
trust the universe further by opening up to this dialogue, then well travel as
far again as youve already travelled, but this time in tandem. Neale, up to
now youve given me a free ride. Sit back and relax now, youve earned
yourself a rest. Take a breather (you know, youre not getting any younger).
Let me do the pedalling for a change. Let the force be with another of your
facets for a spell.
Well, thats how the blog began, but it petered out not much later. I dont know exactly
why. Maybe it was because two-thirds of the way through one of his recent books I
realized that Neale was a grandfather whom one did not teach to suck eggs (and at that
stage my thinking still sucked). I resonated stronglystill doto so much of what Neale
had to say. But I just couldnt submerge myself in it. I needed to remain me. I had my
own control to wrest my own control. I had to remain largely autonomous. And so, I guess
it was me that wasnt ready.
The book that Id planned for Nealeand for uswas another dialogue. But this time,
the conversation would be between Neale and Inot he and Godwhere he and I are
each other in other guises. Its premise: that although we two are distinct individuals
with our own names, addresses and bank accounts, theres nevertheless no essential
difference between us, just as theres no difference between Neal and God, or God and
I. (Or even you and God, or you and I and Neale and God . . . )
I saw it all so clearlyeven before it was clearthat in the book, Neale and I would
communicate openly. (He would join in the conversation, literally, when after he made
contact with me I would share the blogs username and password with him and give him
shared access.) Wed write and post without any pre-knowledge of where our talk would
lead. Wed trust that the universe would lead us where we were meant to go, and wed
arrive there together while bringing our readers along. It would be a wildly uplifting and
hugely beneficial new conversation. Neale and I would discover that we are onereally
oneand that there is absolutely no difference between us. Reading that, sharing in
Neals and my discovery, you too would realise that you too were part of the equation.
You too would belong and feel included. We are all-inclusive. We are all one.
Anyway, in the course of writing the above paragraph, I had to grab one of Neales books
from the shelf to double-check the spelling of his name. The book happened to be
Conversations With God Book 3. I opened a page at random, and the first phrases to
leap out at me (from page 116) were submolecular time travel and theres no such
thing as time. Well, I didnt need to look any further. I just knew that he and I were on
the same wavelength. Say no more.
Having said that, Neale has a much better way with words in his body than this one. To
use another turn of phrase which Neale is fond of, it would serve you well to read what
he has to say. Basically, his take of the cosmological picture is as follows. At the
beginning, God was lonely. He was bored. Its no fun being God, because youve no one to
play with. You see, being God puts you in a bind. By definition, you are everything that
there is. God is everything imaginable; theres no room for an other. And so God needed
to set things upcreate the situation, if you likewhereby She separated off pieces of
Herself. That was the only way to manage it. Next, God programmed it so that those
bits of Himself had no knowledge of their common origin. This was so that the different
entities could have a relationship with one another. Theyd start as strangers, and
gradually get to know each another as playmates. This explains why theres all the
variety that we find in the universe. It's so that God can have a damn fine time dont you
know! According to Neale, God views himself, enjoys herself, expresses and extrudes
itself through us.
To sum up, on one level Neales books released me. Nevertheless, on the physical worldly
plane, my life remained in a rut. Even though Id shrugged off one set of shackles, I was
still complacent about my life, resigned to that same old, same old. I plodded by from
day to day, doing as so many others do: earning a living, making my life as comfortable, in
an unquestioning, conventional way. It took a second major crisis from withouta
veritable meteor striketo instil me with a sense of urgency. Let me tell you, theres
nothing quite like learning that Civilisation as we know it is coming to an end soon to
spur a person into action.
When you turn your back on the real world, it has a habit of intruding. In my case, the
issue that tapped me on the shoulder, and then punched me in the face when I turned
around, was fuel. You know, the stuff that powers our society. In the same way that
Stephen Kings Cell got me to question why we regard the survival of people we have a
relationship with as more important than that of strangers, the knowledge that I
accumulated around the topic of global petroleum reserves forced me to re-examine a
whole host of similar assumptions. You could say that it ripped apart the fabric of my
life.
Since adolescenceearlier to tell the truthIve had no faith. I wont accept
unchallenged anything that anyone tells me. I dont disbelieve people or mistrust them,
but I certainly suspend my belief about what they say. And that applies not only to
ordinary people. I dont trust the authorities either, or the media. I find myself at odds
with the way that society functions. As my school friends grew up, conformed, and
began to mirror the values and views of the establishment, I dropped them. I had to
leave them. I withdrew from their world by growing my face long.
Emulating the Beatles, and, partly, to fill the gap of absent friends, I became a
transcendental meditation initiate. All you had to do is sit in a corner and close your
eyes. Who could be happier? Then, five years later, aged twenty now, I switched to a
stronger brand to see. For a while, I was earnest only about exploring the workings of
my inner worldthe outer world could go hang for all I cared. Id long since given up
listening to and reading the news. Ironically, it was only after I stopped meditating
twenty years searching for enlightenmentthat the penny dropped. Oh-dear-how-sad-
never-mind. Mind you, I guess that a certain amount of fertilizing-the-ground-before-
the-seeds-are-sown has taken place. But lets not go there with those biblical metaphors.
Instead, we turn to the dawning of the millennium where, instead of the second coming,
a very different apparition arrived on the scene. I can trace my love-hate affair with
what an informed community of free-thinkers fondly refers to as the end of the world
as we know it (TEOTWAWKI) to that pivotal point in time. My close encounter happened
on a fateful day in 2005. The next phase of my lifewhich Ill call, How I Learned to
Stop Worrying and Love Peak Oilstarted from that very moment.
Id been surfing the Internet as you do, reading up on my current passion. Velomobiles
are sublimely-shaped human-powered vehicles. They have polished enclosing fairings that
go low to the ground. Theyre Ferraris for cyclists, and when you ride them you save an
awful lot of fuel. A random link I clicked on to learn about the state of global fuel
reserves dumped me at the website, Life After the Oil Crash. What I discovered there
opened my eyes (widely), frightened me to the core, and forced me out of my shell.
Forthwith, I started to research that new topic (velomobiles fell by the wayside). By
crikey, this was important! For the next couple of years, it was all that I read about. It
was a whirlwind ride, a rough-and-tumble romance. For someone who used to shun the
news, those tumultuous years were an education and a half, I kid you not.
According to Socrates, the unexamined life is not worth living. In that case, peak oil has
certainly added value to my remaining years. Geology, geography, politics, religion,
economics, psychology, ecology, spirituality . . . Ive surfed a path to, through and around
numerous discussions about corruption, conspiracy, the media, corporatization,
civilization, consumerism, capitalism, sustainability, permaculture, delocalization and
relocation. In short, its almost blown my mind. How many books havent I consumed?
How many documentaries? How many sites have I earmarked, bookmarked on Delicious,
meaning to get back to and digest thoroughly at a later date? The process of discovery
has been horrific, and yet also fantastic. Yep, Ive been to hell and back, but I wouldnt
change an instant or retrace a step, because its been a journey that has brought me to
full life (paid for in the coin of a certain peace of mind).
On the positive side, Ive gained a group of friendsa whole tribe of them. I sought
informed and unbiased opinion, and that brought me into contact with a great community
of visionaries and thinkers. They are the best. By their words and actions, they
demonstrate that they are prepared to examine the evidence and if necessary modify
their worldview. Sharon Astyk, Carolyn Baker, John Michael Greer, Richard Heinberg,
Derrick Jensen, James Howard Kunstler, Dmitry Orlov, Ran Prieur, Daniel Quinn, Michael
Ruppert and KMO, the host of the C-Realm. Seek them out. Read their blogs. Borrow
their books. Download their videos and podcasts. Check them out on You Tube. Each has
his or her perspective, and they all bring something to the party (before the partys
over). They hussle vigorously to get heard, but they listen to one another with respect.
They value each other and the sum and range of their collective diversity. Im proud to
regard them as my virtual family. If I was building a lifeboat, thered be room reserved
in it for them. Theyre the human face of this world predicament, and I feel privileged
to know them.
There are, as I mentioned, a bunch of documentaries on the subject that you can watch.
For me, Tim Bennett and Sally Ericksons What a Way to Go: Life at the End of Empire
made the biggest impression. From the opening chords to the closing credits, I sat
enthralled. It socked me to the core. It stirred my innards with the power of
pornography. It moved me. I felt enthused, elated and excited, but when I glanced
around the theatre I registered only doom and gloom. Was I the only one in the throes
of an epiphany?
In one respect, the documentary is just another the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it
flick. I can sympathise with the sentiments of those who groan, Im sick of all this shit.
Bring the apocalypse on! I share the narrators premonition that he is living through the
end of the world. But what excites this middle-aged white guy is that, after having spent
a number of years farting about, scrambling from one peak oil fix to the next (its a drug
as well as pornography), What a Way to Go has finally shaken me free. The planet is
doomed. Theres nothing to be done about it. Deal with it. Get over it.
I used to think that the best response was to maximize my personal chances of survival.
However, I no longer subscribe to that view. I had thought that joining an eco-village
was the answer, but if the only outcome of that is the perpetuation, largely, of an
unsustainable living arrangement, and if we dont dramatically revise how we relate
toward our biosphere, then that wouldnt make much sense. Ive deduced that I dont
need to worry about myself, my chosen few, or even the future of the entire human
species. Theres no point to it. Moreover, it turns out actually not to be all that
important.
As What a Way to Go winds up, you accompany Tim as he strolls toward the coast along a
road that becomes a track and finally a path through the brush. As he forces his way
onto the beach, he sums up what hes gained. He speaks about his experiences during the
six or so years that it took to put his documentary together, and about his evolution and
development during that period. Along the way, he says, hes discovered his voice. He
developed a perspective and learned that he had something valuable to say.
Another who trod a parallel path is the author, Daniel Quinn, who I discovered in the
course of my six or so years of research. His name and his book, Ishmael, feature high
on most lists of recommended reading in this genre. Daniel writes about civilisation, and
where we might have gone wrong, and hes become a major influence on my thinking.
At one point I even tried to enlist Mr Quinns help. In his book, The New Renaissance, he
speaks for the need for a revolutionary new way for humans to perceive reality. That
rang a loud bell. Didnt my Rickmansworth meme fall into that category? Well then, since
I wasnt exactly enamoured with the way that I wrote, why not pass my ideas along to
someone better qualified? Eureka! Id ask Daniel to take up the cudgels on my behalf.
To cut a longish story short, the man declined. Or rather, his wife did. On his behalf,
she let me know that writing was not very easy for Daniel either. It had taken him
twelve years to write his first book, she explained. If I really wanted to express my
idea, then I should be prepared to spend that long too.
Twelve years, hey? I wonder if weve got that long, was my first reaction. Its just as
well theres nothing else Id rather spend my time on, was the second. I live for ideas,
especially any that lead to some mental construct that helps to explain, clarify, or tie
disparate threads together. Im on the hunt for anything and everything that would be
useful in helping meand othersmake greater sense of the world. To me theres
nothing finer than to come up againstunless that be to come up witha brand new idea.
That's the main reason that I read. That's what I live for.
Right here Ill insert a little snippet from Bernie Siegel, M.D. who reckons that no book
can change a persons life. He offers that prognosis from observing two people read the
same book. One is bored, while the other is inspired, therefore it is the person that
makes the difference. Keep that in mind as you, yourself, read.
When I say that Im after something new, I dont mean that Im after the latest thing
per se. Its not about titillation. Its not about sitting in an armchair engulfed by the six-
oclock news. For me, the novelty of an idea does not lie in its newness. I couldnt care
less it its up-to-date and topical, or if the idea is an ancient one, and that the Greeks
were the last ones to fool around with it. My only requirement is that it needs to have
impactthats how I sift the wheat from the chaff. The sort of idea I value must have
the potential to affect how I live in and how I relate to the world. Im in the market for
ideas that force me to see things in a different light. To quote Oliver Wendell Holmes,
Mans mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.
Which tells you that youve got to beware too. Ideas that have the power to infect your
world view are dangerous medicine. They act to bring about transformations that single
you out from the common crowd. Yes, theyll awaken you from the consensus trance, but
theyll also earmark you as being different. And to stand out invites being cut down.
So, its wise to be suspicious of changeeither in yourself, or in your thinking. There are
categories or degrees of change. Mutations are one. These are usually detrimental to an
organisms wellbeing. If one happens to you, consider yourself lucky if it only has a minor
effect. Youve gotten away with it. But some of us dont learn. We keep dabbling because
very occasionally, maybe one time in a million, a mutation results in an improvement.
Thats the change Im after. Ill accept the risk, because I trust myself to evaluate a
mutational ideas worth. I am happy to sort through an unpromising bunch to come up
with a winner.
For me to rate an idea highly, it needs to be something that improves my life. It needs,
in other words, to be applicable and practical. I need to be able to smoke or consume it
on a daily basis. According to Jung, Philosophy butters no parsnips, so Ill stake out my
area of research as Applied Philosophy and see what grows in that garden.
Reading as a hobby is a natural complement to philosophical gardening. I am stimulated
by the thoughts that spin the worlds of others, and I benefit from tapping into some of
that centrifugal force. A little cross-pollination works wonders. Try it and see. I find
that reading is the best way to put me in touch with another person, as it helps me see
the world from their point of view. I become them for a spellit feels like Im under a
spellwhen I share their experiences. And, having come around to the point of view that
acquiring experience is the reason for living, that can't be a bad thing.
Whether the author of the book I read lives or is history makes no difference to me.
Really, if you read something and enjoy it, and then happen to find out that the person
who wrote it died last year, what difference does that make? Not a scrap, in my
scrapbook. Conversely, it doesnt add to the experience if the (wo)man is still alive.
Whether Id relate to him or her in the flesh is immaterial. In fact, reading their words
is so much better than speaking to the person in question in personthat's been my
experience. And the corollary: if youd like to make friends with me, please don't
approach me. Just write me an essay and post it to me.
But at the same time, let the buyeror borrowerof books beware. Don't dwell entirely
within anyone's headroom, no matter how comfortable it feels when you first slip
between the sheets. Dont let yourself be completely swept away in the throes of a new
love affair lest you lose your sense of equilibrium and poise. If you read books, then, to
act as a counterbalance, Id recommend writing at least one too.
A proverb credited to Cato the Elder has it that wise men learn more from fools than
fools from the wise. Bruce Lee used to say that a wise man can learn more from a foolish
question than a fool can learn from a wise answer. But the flip side of this coin is just as
important. Richard Feynman, the scientist who won the Nobel Prize for his work on
quantum electrodynamics, remembers that when he was a boy his father told him never
to have any respect whatsoever for authority. Forget who said it and instead look at
what he starts with, where he ends up, and ask yourself, Is this reasonable? Shades of
the Buddha.
Here's how I (you decide whether Im the wise man or fool) apply that lesson. I begin by
supposing that there is some grain of sense in every wrong-sounding statement. (What if
a girl in Rickmansworth was right?) After all, according to a persons framework, every
action they perform and every opinion that they hold makes perfect sense. It reflects
back their worldview. There is an integrity there, an internal consistency. And Im not so
arrogant as to assume that mine is the one true vantage.
I begin by allowing myself to contain every thought or idea, as if it was what Edward de
Bono calls a po statement (the term didnt take off the way that lateral thinking did).
You dont say yes; you dont say no. Just keep your mind open. Suspend judgment. Only
through entertaining an uncomfortable idea do you learn something new.
For example, someone claims that no Jews died in the holocaust. Preposterous! is the
right-thinking persons knee-jerk response (all right-thinking people are suck and tired
of being told that all right-thinking people are sick and tiredMonty Python or Alfred
E. Neuman). You want to put as much distance between yourself and such a blasphemer in
the shortest space of time. After all, you can be locked up for voicing such a thought.
But hold your horses. Don't rush. Refrain from screwing up your face.
No one died? What could that mean? In what way could that be so? Such an approach
may lead you to consider what it really means to die. Could it be that theres no such
thing as death, or that death not what we imagine it to be? Use that as a lever to pry
yourself in a little deeper. Life and death are just different sides of the same coin. Hm.
So therefore the holocaust merely hastened the inevitable. After all, everyone dies.
That is a given. Everyone who is born is destined to die. As soon as youre born, youre
dead. It's not that by killing someone you are bringing about something which would
otherwise never happen. When you are told that radioactive fall out killed 250,000, and
you learn thereafter that it shortened those people's lives by several weeksbut fifty
years in the futurewhat does that imply? How do you record that on your actuarial
tables?
See? What at first you react to as a nonsense can be rattled around and smelted into
cerebral ammunition. The point is not to be too hasty. Dont be in too much of a hurry to
shoot a non-truth down in flames. Develop the habit of keeping your mind open and
flexible. Jack be nimble; Jack be quick.
At first when you encounter something new, you can barely put a finger on it. You can
barely catch a whiff. Ideas are elusive; dont fool yourself that you generate them
within you, and that youre their master. I truly doubt thatthough am open to the idea.
They flit about around you, like butterflies. Theyre nimble. Without a net youll never
catch them.
As I said at the outset, I shy away fromin fact I shunany system of thinking that
claims to be superior to the rest. Philosophy, Scientific Method, Religion and the like.
Yes, I will use them, but not exclusively. I tend rather to go for the grok. An idea has
got to sit right, feel right, and heft in a way that I can accept. Its like when you test an
unknown plant to see if it is edible; you rub it on your skin or hold it in your mouth to see
if it provokes an allergic reaction. If it doesnt, then so far so good. Alice, why dont you
take a little bite and see what it does?
The scientific way, they tell you, to verify or disprove a hypothesis, is by carrying out
replicable experiments. In my career as a pseudo-scientist, Ive chosen to employ mainly
thought experiments. They are cheap, quick, and they seem to work for me. In the next
part of my doctoral thesisharrumphId like to walk you through a few Ive done. Let
me go back to the lab and dig them out. Ill re-examine their results to build on and
develop. Well see what the consequences are, the corollaries. Finally, Ill describe what
I see as their implications, and maybe close off with a question and answer session. How
does that feel to you?
Though it sounds a logical and sensible plan, Im sorry that I cant lead you along a well-
thought-out progression. Up my garden path, there are no easy, clear-cut steps (though
Ive installed old tyres). There isnt a wheelchair-accessible slope that leads you to a
coherent and comprehensive (and comprehensible) overview. My history isnt like that. It
is still being written, in fact, as I write. The order of these thought experiments is
roughly as they occurred to meloosely chronological. But they do not work seamlessly.
I dont have a firm, fixed destination, and I dont have much of a game plan. I engage in
this exercise for myself as much for others, so I share your curiosity about what will
develop. A machete? Yes, we might need one. Bring it along by all means.
To engage in thought experimentation would not seem to be too dangerous a pastime;
nothing is likely to blow up in your face and kill the catnot unless your name is
Schrdinger. With a thought experiment you dont usually expose yourself to the sort of
rays that caused Madame Curie cancer. Which is not to say that thought experiments
are foolproof or that they cant go wrong; for how long didnt people believe that heavier
object fell faster than lighter ones, or that the world was flat? But do thought
experiments have any bite. Are they a legitimate modus operandi? Can they lead you
anywhere but round in circles?
I think they can. Actually, if you want to make dramatic progress, they are the only
game in town. Application of the scientific method has never resulted in any great leap
forward. Every leap has only ever been achieved through imagination, creativity and lucid
dreaming. Thought experiments are extremely powerful. Einstein himself (who said that
imagination is more important than knowledge) is said to have arrived at his Theory of
Relativity after imagining himself riding on a beam of light. Other examples include
Kekules benzene ring, the discovery of Velcro, television, the microwave oven,
alternating current, coordinate geometry, chemical transmission of nerve impulses
eureka moments all.
You may wonder whether they are hard to conduct. Dont worry. Youre bound to have
come across thought experiments, maybe in another guise. Perhaps as koan, haiku,
riddles or puzzles. To some degree, these are all thought experiments. If you think
about it, the act of reading itself is a thought experiment. Consider how amazing it is
that the inky squiggles that your eye perceives translate into a shared experience with
their original author. And it's all happening right inside your head! Reach up with your
hand and grasp the back of it where the entire universe fits ever so snugly. Zowie Bowie!
Science fiction offers a particularly good portal in terms of thought experimentation.
Riverworld, Ringworld, Foundation and Chung Kuo. Every tale starts off with, and flows
on from, one or more suppose ifs: po statements that we accept for the duration. In
order to enjoy the story, we dont worry about how likely or believable they are. This is
great apprenticeship training. For example, take the premise that underlies the Matrix
movies. Say that everything we perceived as real by our senses is not, and that the
universe as we know it is an elaborately constructed virtual reality world that were all
hooked up into. If that were so, you wouldnt know the difference. No one can prove that
anything is really out there.
Yeah, but hey, you say, it's real. I can smell it. Nope, thats just molecules tickling some
nerve ends and scooting upward from there into your grey matter. But I can touch it.
Again, thats just another set of electrical impulses travelling up, this time, from your
fingertips. Et cetera and so on. Stick with me, as I pluck away at the warp and woof of
that insight.
Everything you thought you knew is wrong. Yep. Everything that you think youve
experienced is actually something else. Consider your last good meal. Wow! That was the
best bibimbap Ive ever eaten. Well, Im happy for you. And I wouldnt want to take
anything away from your enjoyment. But just take a look at what went on: You
experienced that meal through your senses. Taste, smell, sight, touch, hearing and so
forth. And what are they? Theyre generated by receptors of one kind or another that
transmit nerve impulses up to your brain, right? Those impulses get interpreted,
decoded. The brain decides that the experience was a positive one. Youre left with a
satisfiedsatiated?state of mind. What youve paid for, unless you were feted, or had
the meal at home, is an interpretation. Dollars for a state of mind.
You fork out big bucks to attend a concert. Wonderful music. Great sounds. Its mostly
hearing thats going on (mixed in these days with visual special effects). Electrical
impulses zapping along to the brain. Synapses sparking. The brain reacting. Wasnt that a
great gig? Again, youve paid for state of mind. Thats all. Poetry will do it too. So will a
run along the beach. Arranging photographs in your album. Witnessing the birth of your
children. Your dreams, your thoughts, your wishes, your goals. Everything that you
experience, even carrying out a real-world, honest-to-goodness chemistry experiment
with test-tubes and Bunsen burners, boils down to impulses shunting around in your brain.
Everything out there, everything that we sense, is just subjective experience. It all
reduces to neural activity. That must be so by definitionthats why theyre called
senses. They are our means of perceiving the outside world. And so, seeing, hearing,
touching, tasting and smelling are in a sense delusional, or at least illusional.
Everything else also: all the other ways I experience life. Everyone that I relate to. The
stuff that I own. Every activity that I engage in. How do I really know that Im walking,
cycling or swimming? It could just be what I imagine myself doing; it could beno, it is
just electrical impulses travelling to and from the muscles concerned. Even my own body
may just be a figment of my imagination. Really, all Ive got to go on is mirrors and the
poor evidence of my eyes.
This brings to mind the old question: If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to
hear it, does it make a sound? Really, who's to say that it isn't all just happening inside
your head. Draw a ray diagram. Inverted and reduced. You visualize the conifer upside
down on the screen at the back of your head, upended. But in the real world, is there a
tree, a forest? Is there even a real world?
Your turn, now. Mount up. Be my guest, and do your own mind experiment. Ill start you
off with a gentle push; you just steer and balance. Ready? Off we go . . . What is the
largest thing that you can imagine? Whats the largest thought that your head will
contain? Whatever you propose, Ill try to top it.
Is that so? Youll take me up on that? Youre wobbling along quite contentedly and think
that you can dream a dream that is larger than mine? Okay then, hit me with your best
shot.
Oh, very well. How about a room filled with fish and chips. All the ice-cream in the world
. . . all the tea in China . . . a million dollars . . . a billion . . .
Come on, you can do better than that.
I want to be the very richest, the most powerful, the most attractive . . .
Really, you disappoint me.
I see myself as the ruler of all, an Emperor, the head of my own religion . . .
Peanuts, my friend, peanuts.
I am the incarnation of Buddha, Mohammed, Krishna, Jesus . . .
Is that really as high as youre able to aspire?
I can travel back in time. I am immortala never-ending story. Im Superman and have
X-ray vision . . .
I tell you, you are merely scratching the surface.
I declare myself an angel . . .
So what?
I announce that Im the Devil. I am a god . . . God Himself!
I tell you, honestly, my vision for myselfand for youis much, much greater than even
that. Watch this space, my friend. Im about to inform you.
If you are anything like me, youre possessed with a certain sense of grandeur. Go on,
admit it. Dont be shy. There s nothing wrong with it. You are all gifted up, but with
nowhere to go. Am I right? Greatness lies within youif only you know how to coax it
out. You could save the world if you wantedif you only had the trigger. All your life
youve racked your brain for the 'right' thing to do, the one cause to be involved with.
Not this, not thatyouve avoided everything that doesnt completely fit the bill. There
are an infinity of options. Going through them to choose the best has meant that youve
had to refuse most of them. Extraneous activity has felt like an indulgence. Deep down,
listening to music or working on your fitnesseven developing relationshipshas most
likely felt like a waste of timenot a good prescription for happiness. But the cross
that you bear is to delve for deeper meaning. You know that youve something to do,
something unique, and youre prepared to make sacrifices. Youve lost patience with your
peers and the fussy little hobgoblins of their existence. Youre after the bigger picture,
and you can sense it. Its out there on the edge of your periphery, at the tip of your
tongue.
Go on, say it. Everyone loves a good conspiracy. The broader it reaches and the deeper it
penetrates, the juicier. And the tastiest one of all is the one that everyone is a part of.
It consumes us. It fools us. We cannot break free if we tried. It is an integral part of
lifes fabric. Without it, life as we know it could not go on. If we were free from it, wed
be lost.
A good conspiracy quivers at the edge of belief. That is what makes it so tantalizing, so
titillating. Surely it could not be true, but it might be. It might just conceivably be true.
I can almost let myself believe it. It intrigues us. It teases us. Oh, if only if it was true.
Just imagine!
To entertain a conspiracy is a form of thought experimentation. Here's a good one to
try. Apparently it originated with the French mathematician, Poincare. He wondered:
what if one night, while everyone was asleep, the universe became a thousand times
greater in size? No one would be able to tell the difference. People would wake up and
blindly go about their business as usual. No one would be able to know. Well, that idea
disturbed me, because it made me think of something else, a related notion. I wondered:
what if every day we wake up as another person?
Think about it. Just as you wouldnt register a change in size, you wouldnt know if youd
become another being, not if the procedure involved the complete deletion of previous
memories and the uploading of new ones. Youd wake up with your whole history behind
you, and this would be just another day in the life of you. The idea that this could be so
freaked me out. It made me feel I was going crazy. Because how could I be sure that it
wasnt already happening?
We awake into another body. We re-enter another life. We forget about our past, and
assimilate the past of someone else. We come to consciousness into another life with its
background intact. The yesterdays that we recall are its yesterdays, its events, its
birthdays and parties. What a conspiracy that would be, to forever be continuing in a
brand new continuum.
Ive always thought it stands to reason that if suddenly a person was someone else, with
exactly the same genes, upbringing, environment, circumstances, knowledgeabsolutely
everything the same as that person, right inside that persons headthen they would act
and make the very same decisions and choices as he or she.
Im talking exactly the same here. If you had any inkling of your former self, or retained
some of your present beliefs and attitudes, then it wouldnt be so, and couldnt. But
without such an inkling, if your brain was well and truly washed, thered be no way to tell
you had changed hosts, now would there? You wouldnt know that you were no longer you.
How could you? Yes, but . . .
Your day would seamlessly ensue from the background of all that had gone before. In
every respect you would be who youd always been. Without the memories and self-
awareness of a previous self, you would not miss your earlier existence. It would be like
being born again, what is termed reincarnated, only at a more frequent rate. Wed be
unaware of it happening, because all links would have been lost. Weve been reincarnated.
Incarcerated. At most theres just the ghost of dj vu.
Why could this not be true? It must be true. This is how things work; thats how the
world is. Im telling you . . . No, I shouldnt be telling you. No-one likes to be told what to
think. Okay, okay, please, bear with me. Hear me out. Po statements, remember? These
are just fleeting butterflies. Dont rip their wings off, weasels!
Metamorphosing into something new, my favourite conspiracy is a cross between E.T. and
The Truman Show. How it goes is that I fancy Ive a secret task to performto locate
The Other. Its my job to get back into touch withor, Im not really sure, meet for
the first timesome really important individual who Ive a very close tie to, though Im
not sure of the nature of the linkage, or lineage.
But I, or s/he, or even both of us, have been brainwashed (as per the above). The
knowledge of our relationship has been scrubbed. The grand conspiracy has worked to
separate us. It has rendered him or her invisibleIll use the name Theo from here on
out (from THE Other), and refer to Theo in the second person singular to avoid having
to dither between he and she. It has hidden Theomaybe youve morphed you into an
unrecognizable form. I dont know what you look likeor even if youre human! I dont
know where you are, or when you live. But somehow, somehow I must reach you. I need to
remind Theo about me.
Hows that for a premise? That would make the best Famous Five story yet!
Ive a mission on my hands, because Theo could be anywhere in the world. For all I know,
you may be living in another time period also. I hope to high heaven that you dont live in
the past, because how would I reach backward in time down the years? However, if you
occupy the future, then clearly the best way forward is for me to plant this book for
you to find.
Another difficulty is that we wouldnt recognize one another on sight. Were both in
mufti. How would we get around that? I, at least, have the benefit of knowing that there
is a person to be on the lookout for. Ive got my eyes primed. But you dont necessarily
know that theres even a game on. Your lensesyour overview of the situationmay not
be so clear. Still, I can make a stab at Theos characteristics, feelings, perceptions,
attitudes and mind. I must trust that you are fortunate enough to live in a relatively
open society, one in which differences are at least tolerated, and where it is possible to
harbour variant thoughts (as long as you keep them to yourself). Those around you
probably follow a conventional religion, and you might also, in spite of the fact that
youre not one-hundred-percent convinced. But Theo is the type of person who goes
along with the flow. I warrant that youre not the sort of person who makes waves.
That being so, I figure that my best course of action is to send Theo a message-in-a-
bottle (from your friend Roxanne). Ive probably only one chance to make contact and to
make a convincing argument. A one-shot lesson. But an additional complication is that, in
the course of the search, were waking up every day in another body, or bodies. If this is
so, then we really seem to be caught up in a whirlpool. Is our situation hopeless?
The particular body that Ive woken up into today seems to have a grasp of the situation.
It has lenses through which I can see all of this reasonably clearly. All its systems seem
to be functioningIve got a clue or two. But can I be sure that tomorrows lenses will
provide that same insight? And thereafterhow long will it be before I return, some
future morning, into a host in which I can continue my work? No, not continue, for all
my previous memories would have been wiped out, and Id have to start from scratch.
Shit! I tell you, this version of Groundhog Day is utterly warped. I can rely only on a
single day to realize where I am, assess the situation, and compose my message. A spin
of the wheel to get my act together.
Eyes that are closed. Eyes that dont know where to turn, or maybe even how to see.
Eyes that are blind to the predicament that the two of us are in. I try not to panic at
the idea that I may soon awaken into such a pair. Today I simply must escape. Ive got to
attain escape velocity and get beyond the boundaries of this Truman World. Carpe
diemseize the day, because the day is all that Im sure of. I can only rely on these
daylight hours to do what I must. This is my timeframe. This is a job that cant be put
off; it must be done right here and now, completed by the time that the sun sets and I
go to bed and my consciousness slides into the peaks and troughs of alpha waves and
beta. Deep sleep with my muscles paralysed. REM sleep, eyelids a-flutter, dreaming of
the little death. I have now the means, the time, the wherewithal, and the insight to
make hay of this span of unbroken stream-of-consciousness when I know Im alive, I
know who I am, and I have a handle on what Im about. I cannot dally, for who knows
when the planets will be aligned as now, and Ive the insight to glimmer whats going on
behind the scenes.
When I state that the goal is for the two of us to get into contact, I dont mean in the
flesh. By contact, I refer to employing the medium of the written word. Given the
practicalities of geography, the possibility that we speak different languages, the
likelihood that we live in different eras, it is doubtful that we could ever meet up in the
physical sense. Nor should we need to; it isnt necessary. It might not even be desirable.
It probably wouldnt hurt, but what good is likely to result?
Because you see, even if we happened to live in the same street, the best or maybe only
means of reaching out is through words. Its only the thoughts that matter. Even if we
did get together in one room, theres no way I could speak aloud as I do on paper. I need
the time to edit and refine my words, otherwise Id just gabble and blather. I must
work in isolation, and then afterwards beam the finished product message into the
ether. And hope its picked up on someones radio-telescope.
Disconnect. Where am I? I had everything clear in my head just nowwonderful lines
that swept and swooped and slid across the page. But theyve come out chopped and
broken. They clatter upon the page, clunkenly. This damned conspiracy doesnt want me
to proceed. It resists and hinders me. It swivels my head towards the window and glazes
my eyes over. Window-gazing. Windows glazing. Im turning into a zombie. No, foul spot,
no! I need to finish my story in daylight, before the clock strikes midnight and the coach
becomes a pumpkin. Forgive me if it sounds rushed, but, having accompanied me this far,
youll appreciate why.
I scramble back to our original point of departure. This is not her story, wrote Douglas
Adams, alluding to the Rickmansworth girl. Ive since revealed that the story is mine
and yours too if you want a slice of the action. But if time and opportunity are limited
and valuable, why bother with stories at all? Why not tell it to you straightdo an
article or thesis? Take out an advertisement in the New York Times? Isnt a narrative
just a work of fiction? Why spend all that effort on something that isnt even factual? A
good read is all a work of fiction can aspire to, surely.
Not so. According to the author, John Michael Greer, stories are extremely powerful.
He claims that theyre the tools we use to understand the world. Not only do they
contain lessons and morals, but myths shape the way that we relate to our environment
and to life itself. So dont worry. This isnt a narrative in the conventional sense. By
attacking the larger philosophical questions, Ill break downseven with a single blow
the straw, stick and brick huts of our cosmology. Then, never fear, Ill go on reconstruct
the wreckage into a giant beanstalk that will win us the golden goose. Hows that for a
Grimm days work?
Our bedtime story for tonight (jeez, is it that late already?) is called either Lust for
Life, or Starry Night, depending on whether we want to create a hedonistic or romantic
mood. As you might predict, its about Vincent Willem Van Goghgood biographical
fiction.
Not once upon a time but for as long as I can remember, Ive felt a connection to that
gentle soul. I share his nationality, middle name, red beard (before mine went grey) and
socially inept manner. I savour his zest for being, his compassion for his fellow man, his
overpowering creativity, his simple tastes, his passion for life, and the way that he railed
against relentless physical limits and limited means. Ive pored through his letters, and
Ive papered my walls with his prints. Ive traced his history and have amassed a library
of books about his art. Ive even named a son after him. If I had been he, I couldnt have
lived a fuller life.
Maybe thats an indication. Maybe I was once Vincent Van Gogh. Would it be so very far-
fetched to imagine that he and I are one: that I used to be him and was then reborn into
this present body? As a thought experiment, where would that take us? I expect that
wed need to think along the lines of reincarnation; I dont think you could avoid it. So
how about it? Let me consider the question and, for the sake of argumentno, not
argument, for who wants to argue? For the sake of, oh, I dont know, mental gymnastics,
lets suppose that reincarnation is possible. After all, the greater fraction of the world
pays it lip service.
Do I have any evidencenot of reincarnation in general, but of this particular instance?
Well no, I dont have any clear memories of being him. I dont have dj vu moments of
sitting behind a canvas, mixing pigments. I havent an unexplained taste for tobacco and
absinthe. But the absence of hard evidence doesnt rule out the possibility of a common
ancestry.
There are documented accounts of people who recalled where treasure was hid within a
house where they lived in a previous life. Ive read of such a thing in books, and urban
legends of that type abound on the Internet. Let's allow that there are instances of
people remembering a former life. It's just that where Vincent is concerned, I have to
confess that I dont possess that power of recall.
Prior memories not generally being common, I suppose that reincarnationshould that be
how our souls are processedinvolves some sort of cleansing or brainwashing step in-
between lives. It would have to, to avoid a situation of confused identity. And that would
explain my inability to demonstrate a closer connection. There's hope for me yet.
Say that Im right. How then to explain the period of timea half century or sofrom
the day Vincent shot himself (two days later, actually) to the day on which I was born.
Does that pose a problem? I cant see how it would. For reincarnation to be the norm, it
would be quite inconvenient for the next life to have to start the instant one shuffled
off ones previous lifes mortal coil. The bookkeeping system for that would beggar
belief.
At any rate, time ought not to be a problem for a god. God can cope, surely. We want
God to be times masterI mean, who is in charge here? An all-powerful god must be
able to run rings around any old sundial. And so, for people in a state of limbo in between
bodies there must be some cosmic equivalent of a transit lounge or suspended animation
pod.
Oh dear, there goes the siren. A fire drill, or red alert. Did you notice? In the previous
paragraph we were invaded. A deus ex machina entered the door. Gorillas in the room
well allow, but God? Not on your Nellie! Quick, someone give the bouncers the nudge-
wink. Mustnt allow an alien presence here. Weve got to clock his ticket, right now. Nip
him in the crux so that were free to proceed onto bigger and better matters.
This notion of God. Youll remember that weve been there before. You know, when I
spoke of being an Ego-theist. You may have felt then that I evaded the issuethough I
feel that I handled the matter rather adroitly. Regardless, now is the time to revisit it.
Lets see how you rate me on this occasion. First, to retrace our steps.
I didnt begin where most people begin, and then immediately get stuck. Instead of
trying to decide on whether or not there is a dog, I pondered on that beasts secret
identity. I didnt slip the issue to the side by the semantic expedient of giving Him, Her
or It another name: Life Force, Universal Spirit, Nature and the like. I assured youand
Richard Dawkinsthat the quandary was, in fact, simpler.
It didnt take me more than a minute to clear the air, and then we all breathed much
easier. Remember the trick I used to back the hairy monster into its lair? I deviated
from the mainstream definition which is that God is some superhuman identity looming
loftily over its creation. Intending to regain some perspective, I made a vital
adjustment. I re-defined God simply, as the highest form of consciousness that there is.
Thereby, I conferred the title God to the most imposing player on the block. Sir God,
arise. The king is dead, long live the king.
And by default, if a person happened to hold the notion that he or she was alone in the
universe, then the onus would fall upon them (and if they doubted even their own
existence, then God help them.) I asked you not to worry if our chosen dog didnt appear
to have the power reply to prayers, move mountains, or walk on water. I promised you
that wed get to that, which is where weve arrived.
With a fell swoop, I sorted out several pressing issues. I did away with the one-god-or-
multiple-dogs thing. Because you see, if there are more than one, then they cant all be
equal (if they were equal, exactly equal, then, by definition, they would be one). No, if
theres more than one contender, then there has to be a winner. The godhead not a
lottery that you can share. And the issue of whether God is an actual entity or a cloud-
chamber-like, spiritual ether is also avoided. For now, it isnt a concern. Its not on the
cards. Consciousness, in whatever shape or form, is key. It doesnt matter where it is
housed, just as long as it exists somewhere.
Because, unless theres no consciousness anywhere, then God, as Ive defined that being,
must exist. You see that, dont you? How could there be a question? Well hell, God may
then not be as omni this, that and the other, or as all- powerful, present, knowing and so
forth as youd imagined, but as I said, dont sweat the small stuff. Who are we to
determine just what god can or cannot do? Anyway, you may be surprised. It remains to
be seen just what implications will follow.
But . . . is there a consciousness? I suspect that you sometimes half doubt it. I know
that I certainly have. People pay lip service to the idea that were all awarethat each
one of us is the centre of his or her universebut thats often hard to reconcile with
the way that most of the peasants conduct their drudgery. When you look into their
eyes, you cant believe theres someone home. Is it any wonder that sometimes you feel
as if you are a spaceman left here on some bitter, far-off world (where a hyperspace
by-pass may as well go), or an ET who missed the boat, or saucer rather.
Youll recognize the spectre of conspiracy starting to bestir itself (see how I came to
dream it up?). But just you hang fast, me hearties, onto the one fact that if anything at
all exists, then, by definition, so does Dog. Anyway, I hadnt meant to blather on about
God, religion and the like. In my experience, doing so turns people off. Pepper religious
words throughout your tome, and you can bank on potential readers discarding your work
in droves after but a cursory flip-through (I tell you, I play with fire). Though it couldnt
be helped, do please accept my apology. If youre anything like me, then you are blessed
with a healthy aversion to organised religion in any shape, manner or form.
However, if Im to present an all-inclusive and meaningful philosophy of life, then I cant
in all honesty avoid bumping elbows and rubbing shoulders with the big boys. Apart from
the study of Philosophyis that quaint subject still taught?organised religions have
more-or-less cornered the market. And so to some extend, Ill need to intrude upon
their patch and bandy swords with the bastards. Have at you, Crusaders!
Now, as far as religions go, Im afraid that Im going to have to be blunt. No beating
about the Bushes, by George. This may well shock you, but it has got to be said, and
sharply too. Every religion is miles wide of the mark. I tell you, people like Jesus were
well-meaning, but all of them were neophytes. In the next few pages, Ill prove it.
From a very early age, and in spite of my resistance, Ive had a moth-like fascination for
religion. How perversely did people enforce it! How they suspended their powers of
rationality to pursue it! Even as a six-year-old, those observations intrigued me. I could
tell that the adults had it completely wrong. Circling at a bemused distance so as not to
singe my wings, I knew it in my bones even then. And now, with the benefit of hindsight,
I can see that that my instincts were totally correct. Religions are damnably dangerous.
All religions are no more than cults. I say this categorically, because not one of their
models of the world or systems of thought addresses an essential couple of existential
features. And that shortcoming alone proves that they are seriously deficient.
The first, is that no religion explains the real nature of the relationship between us and
God (and with each other). All that stuff about neighbours, treating each other as
brothers and sisters, who is in my family and who is not, this tribe and that tribe, the
chosen people, Good Samaritans, turning your cheek seven times seven . . . It may seem
as they deal with that matter, but Ill show you that it simply isnt so. Theres a far more
intimate involvement between all forms of life that organised religions have no inkling of,
and therefore can't hint at.
And that would be enough to damn them. However, the second deficiency is even more
damning. Its that no system of belief half adequately addresses the nature of time. No
system of belief explains how time workscorrection, how time doesnt work. That
understanding is crucial. Unless you have it, you cant read any meaningful pattern into
the warp and woof of the universe. That being so, Ill make it my mission to make time
disappear in a puff of smoke, and Ill do so in the time-honoured fashion of tellingor
continuing to tella story.
Get ready for another character to join the cast ofwhat was it again?Starry Night
for Lust? Vincent is about to be joined onstage by another person from history. Here
comes the wolf! (just seven-kidding). No less a figure than our old friend Einstein is
preparing to step into the passion play (hes in make-up now). But before he makes his
entrance, Ill risk peppering the next few paragraphs with another loaded word or two.
Maybe a little less loaded. Id say that for the modern reader, the terms Ill use are
milder. Words like reincarnation and transmigration are now quite tame, and yet,
because their flavour is quite exotic, they roll off the tongue and may actually help a
little in terms of customer interest. Just as womens magazines enjoy boosted sales
when they feature a member of the royal family on the cover, these Eastern imports
might help to dilute the more mainstream religious terminology and add Spice Girls. So I
roll up my sleeves to tackle the next item of vocab with gay abandon. Watch me wrestle
it to the ground and place my foot on its head. For your entertainment, Ill attempt to do
an Ernest Hemingway here (if youll take the photo).
Reincarnation as a concept is now a fairly middle-of-the-road concept, though I can
remember a time here in the West when it was regarded as wild and wonderfully woolly.
However, thanks to the spread of Hatha Yoga and the ubiquitous Hare Krishna lunch, it
has come to occupy a more established niche within the collective consciousness. Theres
no need for me to write a primer. However, since its my habit to revise and recapitulate,
Ill examine the part it has to play in my drama of fancying myself a reincarnation of
Vincent Van Gogh.
To start with, reincarnation cant involve only the two of ushe and I. To be consistent,
everyone must be included. I dont see just Vincent and I doing a tango as a twosome in
the middle of the floor. Everyone is at the dance, and theyre not just watching. Were
all whirring madly en masse, with everyone changing partners on cue. I dont think that
fate has singled the two of us out. Were nobody special. Well, maybe Van Gogh would be
thusly regarded . . . and me too, come to think of it. But so is everyone else, in their own
eyes at least. In this circle of lifeor sinusoidal curveIm going to treat reincarnation
as the rule, not the exception. Well then, shall we dansu, Mr Sugiyama?
Now, it follows on, doesnt it, that reincarnation must be a series of repeated
occurrences. If V becomes me, does the process stop dead right there? Why would it
once its learned how to leapfrog? How would your essence wear out through overuse?
The soul, should it exist, undoubtedly has the hardiness of DNA in its durability. One
reincarnation, two, or a series stretching all the way back to whenever, should not make
a difference. Were born, we live, we die, we are reborn. No problem. Weve got a little
bit of ad infinitum going there. Lets keep that fire fed.
Another quirk of reincarnation is that we naturally assume it to be geographically
unchallenged. Should ones rebirth involve relocation miles away, maybe in another
country, we take that as a given. Those considerations dont impede us. Would you
foresee difficulties with transporting spirits across oceans and mountain ranges? Do you
have a problem with being broadcast to another planet? No? Mighty! Youre my kind of
alien.
Next, what about the timing? I mean, theres usually a time lag, no? The next Dalai Lama
isnt necessarily born the instant that his predecessor snuffs it. It might take weeks,
even years, before the right cubicle is free. Hell, he might have to might hang around in
limbo for a century before the time is right and the signs are fortuitous. But I suspect
that this wouldnt cause you to worry either. Am I right, or am I right? Very well, were
motoring! Lets move on right along.
The situation at the other end of the scalewhen the transition is to occur
instantaneouslywell, that doesnt bother us either. As far as were concerned, it can
happen as quickly as it likes, Someone dies, and we dont bat an eyelid to imagine that
person reborn an instant later on the other side of the ocean. We acceptexpectthat
astral travel is supersonic at the very least. Indeed, should a reincarnation event require
an astronauts soul to jump from a fatal accident on the moon to a baby on the dark side
of the earth (Scotty, beam me up), then we wouldnt in any way envisage this as a
problem. We wouldnt consider that as lying beyond the powers of the entity in charge.
Come on, Jack, flick that switch. It takes light a fraction of a second to make the leap,
but theres no earthly need for souls to be so slow. Look at thatfor a god who wasnt
able to more mountains or walk on water, (s)hes doing fine!
Now that were running hot, how about a spot of transmigration to stir the waters? You
know, being demoted (or promoted) to a dolphin, because in your previous life you were
so into surfing. Or a pig because gluttony was your vice. Yes? You can handle that? Im
impressed. Are you up for more? Are you ready? the mindless voice announced. Well
just take a moment to review where weve got to so far, before awaiting the neck show.
Okay then, let's tally up. First, we touched on the concept of Godwhere Ill admit that
I might have employed a certain sleight of hand (in the holy spirit of the means
justifying the end). We established that there is one of some form or other, and we
fondly nicknamed it Dog (what, you dont name your dogs and cats?). We established that
fact quickly for a platform upon which to build and launch off from, not just for the
sake of argument, mental exercise, or fun. I trust that you are satisfied that theres
some sort of power, even if that role devolves as yours. No way should you fear it
neither that actual being, nor having that mantle bestowed. One of them is benevolent.
The other is cosy and warm.
Lemme see now. Weve an organizing principle that doesnt baulk at physical limitations
(distance). It doesnt see bestiality as an issuethats not exactly the word, but you
know what I mean. It can either suspend time for as long as it likes, or ignore it by
travelling faster than light. Ah, but can it do the superman thing and spin itself
backwards along the fourth dimension?
Thats a new one for you, isnt it? Take a minute or two to decide. Dont snap back at me
with an answer; I want you to give it some serious thought. Is it possible for someone to
be reborn at an earlier hour, date, or year than that persons death? You tilt your head
one way, then the other, but hold onto your hat. Do. Were getting ready to do some
thought experimentation here, and topple old Father Time from his throne. Just as soon
as weve completed our recap.
Lets tick off those points again. God was number one. The second thing we did was to
toss around the concept of reincarnationagain, not as play, but so as to snap off a few
useful sticks for a Meccano-type construction. Reincarnation we accepted as a distinct
possibility. We had no problem with it operating across geographical distances. We're
happy for it to leap periods of time at a single bound or even, if need be, faster than
light. Assuming that it operates, and that it is administered by mans best friend Dog
(who better?), were not going to place limits on what can and cant be done. The next
point is that reincarnation may occur as many times as it likes, without the essential
DNA ever wearing out. I suggested that reincarnation occurs as a series, and to
everyonenot only to a select few. At deathphysical deaththe soul leaps merrily
across time and space to take up residence in another bodygeographical location not
being an issue, and time not being a major concern eitherits delay or annihilation (or
consistent use of tense). But now we want to take further grammatical and even
metaphorical and/or metaphysical liberties. We want to chop the hourglass into
smithereens and turn it on its head!
Do remember if you will that everything weve been discussing is only a working
proposition. Theyre only what-ifs, or po statements. Thats what you do when you fire
up a thought experiment. You dont jump in with both feet and then immediately shoot
yourself in the foot. I once read that every great idea is born drowning; they need to be
given a chance to breathe and dry out. Hold off, I say, you vultures!
Okay, its time now for a change of pace and scene. At this point, let me welcome
another character to the cast. A big hand, please, for Mr Einstein. Hes come here at my
behest, because I admire him. So much so, that I intend to append him to my chain of
predecessors. Hes going to be another forebear of mine. I see, you say. But how would I
manage that? Or rather how would Dog? Because, you see, there are certain
complications.
But wait, let me do my duty first. Ive neglected to properly introduce the man, maybe
because hes so well known. I took it for granted that you were familiar with him. I also
assumed that you knew which Einstein I meant. Thats a thoughtthere must be
thousands with the same surname. How did you decide that I wasnt referring to his son,
say, or his uncle? What made you home in on our friend Albert? Is he more important?
If so, whats the deciding factor?
Its strange how easily we leap to conclusions. Let me ask you something else. When I
mentioned the name Einstein, you would have visualised the man. Okay then, can you tell
me how he appeared in your minds eye. What features stood out? You would probably
mention Alberts shock of white hair, his moustache and rumpled clothes. But how? I bet
youve never met him in real life. Youve never shaken his hand. No, you must have
recalled a photographone taken, probably, near the end of his life (the one where he
sticks out his tongue at the camera is a favorite). But you know, his hair was once cut
short. It once was black. Why not picture him thus? Why did you picture him as an old
man?
Heres a quickie for you. Answer me this: How old is Einstein? No, not his age in the
picture you chose, but in actual fact. Very well. That should be an easy one to work out;
you take Einstein's birth year and you subtract it from what year it happens to be now.
Hey presto, there's your answer. But are you sure? Say we have 2009 minus 1879. That
makes one hundred and thirty. Heavens to Murgatroyd! How many 130-year old people do
you know? Can you visualize someone that old? And if you can, wouldnt that creature
resemble Gollum more than Albert Einstein? It doesn't bear thinking about, does it? It
doesn't sit comfortably with you, nor does it make sense.
If old Albert had died at his peak in a car crash like Diana, the consensus, most likely,
would be that he is about 36 years old. It doesn't compute to us that a body keeps aging
after it dies (although Ive read that a corpses fingernails and beard keep growing for a
few days). Gross! Someone who lived a good long innings, though, and who was memorable
for several events during their lifetime. How old do they appear in your mind now?
(assuming theyve left the land of the living). It's a weird thing to consider, don't you
think?
How about you? Never mind how old you actually are; how old do you feel yourself to be?
And does that perceived age change with time? By that I mean: as time passes, does
your self-image age too? Does it keep pace with the clock, or according to another ratio?
And maybe it isnt uniformit speeds up or slows down according to your physical
condition, health, or life circumstances. Maybe when you develop some chronic illness
(not acute), or when you are in prison, such events or incidents would have some
pertinence.
But to continue with my storytimes a-ticking on that 24-hour dialyou have a problem
when you want to be both Van Gogh and Einstein. The thing is, Einstein was born whilst
Van Gogh was still living. Their lives overlap. Hm, bummer. Not only that, Einstein was
still alive when I was already a toddler (not really, but well imagine that this is the
case). Damn! Somehow there must be a way around it, but how could a person, a soul,
wangle it so as to be alive in two places simultaneously, which is the only way that I can
see it working? I would seem to be stymied. Still, I wont give up. Im going to assume
that there has to be a wayremember, Dog ought not to be restricted by time (or by
anything). How might that mighty beast crack that particular Bono?
Let me offer a solution. Heres what Ill doIm going to dust off and recycle our
conspiracy notion of being reborn/uploaded into another body every day. You know, the
one where you awake as someone new, and come to consciousness with all the memories
and attributes and inclinations of an entirely different personthe Poincare spin-off.
Ive already pointed out that if this was indeed what goes on, then thered be no way to
tell youd changed hosts. You wouldnt know that you were no longer you. Your day would
unzip forth from the background of all that had gone before. To all intents and
purposes, you would be who you had always been. Without another set of memories and
the self-awareness of a previous selfremembering that cases of prior life recall are
extremely rareyou would not miss your earlier existence.
Now, you might say that this sounds rather depressing. That wouldnt surprise me. Its
my experience that most people clutch fast to their individual identitywitness their
efforts to live a few seconds extra when their time is upand they resist the idea of a
collective consciousness as strongly as they do doctrine of Communism. So yes, I can
understand how the idea of giving up ones ghost on a daily basis would be repellent. But
not so fast, I plead. Do give that po statement a little time. Try to realise that youre
not losing a daughter, youre gaining a son. Touch the water with your toe. Dont worry,
youll soon get to be you again, and sooner than you can imagine.
Are you willing to wind things up a notch? All righty, heres your next assignment. Were
going to work on getting you up to speed. Strap yourself in, Burt Monroe. Im going to
get you to suppose that reincarnation is unlimited in another way. Ill get you to imagine
that it doesnt wait for your life to end before it kicks in. Ooh hell, hold on now!
Run with me for a minute, and the idea that every night when you go to sleep, you
become another person. There are a couple of things worth considering. One, is that
your system is somehow able to miraculously reboot after wiping its previous memory-
consciousness and replacing it with another. One would have to conclude that if this was
done wellweldlesslythen, once the software was uploaded, your new identity (or
dolphin or pig) would behave exactly as the programming dictated. Yes, its a mindbender,
but Im sure youll get over it. Youd better, because Im not far from opening up the
throttle. The second thing we need to grasp is that this new, improved-Persil version of
reincarnation could slot us, Matrix-like, into the next life as fully-formed adults.
Thereby, our consciousness is not obliged to go the long route and have to grow up
tediously from babyhood.
Well and good. I eased you into this realization by putting you to sleep, as it were. I had
the change occur at night while you were under. But the next step upthe next gearis
to try for size the thought that the change happens right under your nose. I propose
that the change is effected by a form of fast-forward reincarnation that takes place
more regularly than once a day. I say this, because the engine would surely stall if we
had to hang about for twenty-four hours at a time in between identity changes. Theres
no such clock, in my opinion. No, such a mechanism would be far too cumbersome. For us
humans, days dont pass so regularly. They are not as clear-cut. For one thing, we live in
different time zones. Some of us work nightshift. And all of us have been to all-night
parties. Since were apt to be up at all hours of night, reincarnation on a daily basis would
be too much of a handful, even for Dog. So prepare yourself (youd better you better
you bet) for a giant leap in quantum mechanicsone small step for man; a giant leap for
mankind.
Try this out. Roll the following between your fingers. Toy with the idea that
reincarnation occurs, not after an entire lifetime, not at the end of each day, but after
every second, half second, quarter second or eighth. Try to envisage your self-
knowledge, awareness of self, and consciousness, shifting into another identity at
lightning speed. And then I want you to bounce back. And back again. Back and forth, like
The Moody Blues seesaw, faster and faster until you fairly feel yourselfyourselves
vibrate as if between two mirrors. Can you do that? No, not do. I mean, can you imagine
that? Dont worry about the mechanics. The whys and wherefores, the logistics, the
dizziness and the nausea are not your concern (Ill get you a pill). Just try to envisage
flitting into someone elses shoes and instantly engulfingor being swamped bythat
persons memories, history, genetic makeupeverything.
See it as the principle behind moving pictures. In many ways, movies are a wonderful
analogy to this processand on the wider screen, life. Film is spliced together by the
frame. Flash twenty-five frames per second upon the screen (less in poor quality
cartoons, where the picture jerks) and there you have it: the illusion of movement come
to life. It seems to run continuously, but that is only an illusion. Okay, what if the same
rule applied to how we sensed our beingness? What if consciousness was a series of
rapid-fire stills. Theres some evidence for this, in that our brains run at eighteen cycles
per second. According to J. Hughlings Jackson, a neurologist interested in epilepsy,
Time in the form of some minimum duration is required for consciousness.
Okay, okay, hang on now. I can see what youre driving at. Just give me a minute. You see
the identities or dual identity of Einstein and Van Gogh dithering between the two of
them, right? Each personality is filled to the bursting point with self-awareness. Each
individual believes himself unique and separate. Yet they are joined more tightly than
any pair of Siamese twins for the eighteen or so years that their lives intertwine, and
yet they remain utterly unaware of the connection. For the sake of argumentsorry,
powe might suppose that Van Gogh and Einstein (and yes, me too) comprise some sort
of living strand. You then, you would imagine, are part of another strand. And other
people, unless they belong to mine or yours would be part of theirs. Is it a collection of
reincarnation threads that youre weaving?
No, not exactly. You havent quite got the cat by the tail. This isnt a question of who
gets to bag which being I grabbed Van Gogh and Einstein, so you get to nab Da Vinci
and Tom Cruise. No, no, no! Think larger and grander. Think of the bigger picture.
Heres what I want you to do. Imagine that the rate of reincarnation were increased
immeasurably. Twist that dial all the way up. Increase our speed up to a rate that makes
it ridiculous to hang onto the term reincarnationits too long a word to work properly at
higher velocities. From now on, well refer to the process as flitzing. That will be the
noun we use, or verb, for the speedy version, whereas well reserve the term
reincarnation for the refined and sedate end-terminus disembarkation. Think of flitzing
as reincarnation with a vengeancereincarnation on broadband. Instantaneous and every
instant. But why? you ask. Why would we possibly want to do that? Dont I realise that
Im giving you a headache?
I do know, my friend. I appreciate that this isnt easy, but theres a very good reason.
Bear with me. Think of this as a lesson in quantum physics of the consciousness; its
tough to get your brain around it, but a thorough understanding of the underlying
principles confers unbelievable power, and itd be great to empower us both. Well start
small once more. Okay, just as matter and energy can be broken down into the smallest
particles, wavelets, bits of string or what have you, lets say that consciousness is also
quantifiable. Fine, you may roll your eyes at meIm a typical science fiction reader.
Why do we need to venture into La-la-land territory? Hold your horses, I say. Po
statements, remember? Poe statements, quoth the raven.
Im talking not just billionths of a second, but billionths of billionths of seconds. Nanos,
picos and further. Slice it up as finely as you want. Theres no limit how fine a tooth
comb can be pulled, at every miniscule point in time a flitz occurs. Yes, you read me
rightly. At every conceivable instant you are another personno, Ill expand the field
another being. I want your spark of consciousness to have time to rush around the entire
cosmos and back to where it started, so that it seemed it had never been missing. I want
you to have time to flitz a circuit of every centre of consciousness, into every creature,
plant or life form that exists . . . and get back to where you started, before the
sensation of having taken leave has had any chance to dawn.
I propose that ones soul is a spark of consciousness that leaps about the universe in
quantum-sized instantsshall we call it a quark, a quirk, a snip or a snark? Im open to
suggestions. This arrangement would permit the illusion, in every life form that it
touches, that he, she or it is continuously, uniquely and separately aware and alive.
Our life historymy life, yoursare (or is) made up of infinitesimally small quanta of
consciousness linked together. That would generate the illusion of continuous being.
Digital, not analog. Its like the way that vision works, with our eyes darting here and
there, their focus leaping from one object to anotherforeground, background, this
side, thatrapidly building up the whole picture of what is out there, even though the
area we actually sight clearly is only the size of a thumbnail at arms length. The memory
of what is perceived lingers in the mind until such time we reconfirm that it remains or
has moved. Wow! Talk about existence being an illusion. This is the mother of all illusions!
Just like Poincares idea about the universe expanding a thousand-fold overnight, you
wouldnt know that a flitz has happenedthat this flitzing is happening. You cant prove
that its so. You cant prove that it isnt.
Flaming Nora! But that would mean . . .
Yep. Youre right. Under the above mechanism there aint enough room in this town for
the two of us. Its meaningless to speak of separate entities, or separate living threads.
Its nonsense to think of a me and a you when were that utterly combined. Theres not
a Van Gogh and an Einstein doing the do-si-do. Let me spell it out in plain English: life
consists of ONE spark: a single entity that flitzes around as instantaneously as makes no
difference into every skull (Im anthropomorphizing, I know). Youve got just one
whirling dervish (the Eingog?). What did you think that the expression Were all one
meant? But it gets even better.
If Dog can manipulate matters to control a creatures consciousness in that fashion,
then thered be no limit as to however many Whos Who from history I, or you, might
have been. In that case, Dog truly would be unlimited in time and space, and that makes
good sense. For It, time, the fourth dimension, ought to be as accessible for roaming as
any other. As humans we might worry about travelling back in time, lest we adversely
influence the natural course of events and never end up being born, but that doesnt
mean that a higher power would be thus inhibited. Go for it, Dog!
Our challenge now is to come to grips with the concept that reincarnation can move us
backwards in time, as well as forwards. Theres a lot of traction wed gain from
grasping that. For instance, the future and the past would be equally real. That being so,
wed never need to worry about the future, just as we never worry about what will
happen/happens/happened in the past.
In a sense, I mean to demolish time and space (Einstein, cheer me on!). What I suggest is
that my spark (or your spark and everybody elses) doesnt have to follow a particular
temporal and Cartesian sequence. It doesnt have to flitz in split-seconds around the
universe in order to return before it is missed in the here-and-now. Im proposing that
any time is as good as another. Every time is real for the consciousness quantum spark.
It may leap across distance within the present, and also to what we think of as the past
and the future. And believe it or not, that idea is not unfounded either. It has some
support.
From Thomas B. Czerners What Makes You Tick?:
As they travel, photons have a mysteriously unified view of things. If they
had taken a clock and an odometer with them on their trip from a distant
star, the time and the distance travelled would have measured zero. At light
speed, time stands still, distances collapse, and everything is in the here and
now. From the perspective of the photon, everything along its paththe
start from which it came and youexist at one point, simultaneously, and
since time stands still, eternally. As you travel at your leisurely pace you are
oblivious of that extraordinary state of affairs. Eternity and total unity are
physical entities that lie outside of your direct awareness.
Additionally, the physicist Feynmanor it could have been his PhD supervisor, John
Freemancame up with the equally astounding idea that the universe may actually be a
single electron/positron leaping about all over the place both backwards and forwards in
time so quickly that it fills out the entire thing.
Quantum physics, quantum mechanics, quantum electrodynamicswho could possibly keep
abreast of that field? Would anyone want to? I cant tell if were talking about a photon,
electron, positron, quark, quirk, spark or whatever. One thing, thoughthey say that
matter and energy are fundamentally the same. That, I find interesting. It makes you
wonder if consciousness could also be an integral part of the equation? Could there be a
third aspect or quality to stuff? The one thingy-bit Id be curiouser and curiouser
about is whatever sub-particle carries consciousness on its back.
So lets invent another science. Well add Quantum Consciousness to the curriculum. It
would deal in consciousnesswould regard it in quantum-sized units. If you start with a
single centre of consciousness and smash it up via some sort of big bang mechanism into
a helter skelter of apparently discrete centresthe particle-wavelet whatevers that
have features of mass, energy and now consciousnessthen that would lead to an
explanation of the whole shebangmaybe rip the veil from the face of Old Mother Maya
herself. It would hint how life as we know it has resulted from the explosion of a single,
original, concentrated centre of consciousness-essence. For the sake of convenience,
lets refer to that whole before-and-after conglomeration, the it/them/us assembly, as
God.
So how do we get a grip on all of that? What do we consist of then as individuals? How
are we to regard ourselves? What does each of our lives comprise, and how do we fit
into the overall picture? I ask, because at the moment were just passengers in a ship
adrift in the midst of an absolutely perfect storm. We really need a lifeboat here. Were
casting about for a lifebuoy. Save Our Souls.
Okay, Dont Panic (inscribed in large friendly letters). Lets be present in the present. As
Baba Ram Das wrote, Be here now. Imagine yourself sitting at your shoulder watching
yourself with a detached objectivity. Practise Eckhart Tolles adviceAll you really
need to do is accept this moment fully. You are then at ease in the here and now and at
peace with yourself. Well take a closer look at Czerners eternity and total unity. He
claims they lie outside our direct awareness, but well examine them anyway.
Tolle, Richard Alpert and others state that the present is all that there isthat its the
only time that we have. But we also sense that the present is, at one and the same time,
nothing. It is gone before we know itgone, only to have been replaced with another
Xmas present. Any of its occurrences cannot be measured. It has no substance or
duration. The present is gone as soon as it arrives. It lasts not an instant. It lies
between the future and the past, thinner than the thinnest skin. When speaking
objectively about the phenomenon of time, we might easily overlook that meniscus and
split time into two, the past and the future, were it not for the fact that we skate or
glide or surf across its surface. But lets give the present moment some measure of
credibility. Lets think of it as having a certain substance. Well assign to it the thickness
of one of our quanta of consciousness.
Do you see what I intend? Im about to string together these moments, essentially of
nothingness, into an unbroken, unbreaking wave (surfs up, Beach Boys). Our perception
of the present, our most intimate experience of being, is itself the greatest testament
of, argument for and even proof of quantum-mechanical-reincarnation. Ism is the means
and mode whereby life jerks itself forward by the bootstraps.
We pull the wool over our eyes when we cling to the anchor of seeing is believing, and
when we insist on regarding ourselves as individuals with separate souls with discrete
lives lived out linearly in different times and locations. But were not fenced off from
one another. I put it to you that were finger puppets, and that together we make up one
enormous hand (its just that its hard for our self-awareness to stretch that octave).
Or else were those little wriggly things on a starfish, or the cilia on a single-celled
creature. Though were alone, we are totally together. Weve got to get it all together.
The question is how. Whos got the glue?
So . . . let me get this straight. Correct me if Im wrong, but what youre saying, I think,
is that theres just usWEplus God, right? Us and Hima kind of duality. On one side
the whole school-herd-flock that is actually one, and on the other side theres Him. So
what the hell is the point? Do you mind me asking, just what it is that God wants from
us? What is it that he wants usMEto do? What is myOURpurpose?
Ah, you still imagine yourself separate.
Whoa now! Youre not going to . . . I mean, you cant mean . . . Are you telling me . . .? Oh
my God, what the hell is thissome unholy text? Is the writeryours sincerelythe
devil in disguise? Is that whats going on here? Is he (as me) fooling with your mind? Is
this the antichrist youve run into? Is your soul at risk? Danger, Will Robertson!
Who knows? It could beI mean I could be. It depends. I dont know what the people
who conjured up the term have in mind. Did they see any of this coming? Certainly, if the
ideas contained herein result in your seeing everything in a new light, and if they make
you realize that everything that you had previously believed in is now largely irrelevant
thereby causing you to discard your earlier religious convictions then, from the
standpoint of those guardians of the status quo, perhaps I am.
And would that be such a bad thing? Arent you halfway there already? Western society
has already largely weaned itself away from the idea of a vengeful and jealous Dog. Come
on now, really. Is there anyone who still seriously believes in hell, damnation and original
sin? Does anyone see the devil as a red-skinned being with horns on his head, cloven
hooves and a pitchfork? The sooner we escape the clutches of such cult-generated, half-
pied, crackpot fantasies the better, it seems to me.
Let me make sure that I understand. As you assured us, your worldview is incredibly
simple and easy to grasp, and yet it is such a difficult one to absorbI dont know that I
even wish to. Heavens above! What changes am I going to have to make in my thinking,
and to my life? This has come, not out of left field, but from another planet!
First, Im required to give up my worldview, that of billions and billions of usboth the
living and the dead (and those to come)being individual entities living separate lives,
each having a unique relationship with a higher power. Instead, you ask me to accept that
there is only one super-being, all of usincluding god, no lesswrapped up and lumped
together. Give this poor sod a handle on this, if you please.
Well, Ill certainly try. But really, I may not be the best person to do that; I know full
well my strengths and limitations. Visualising and conceptualising are what I do best, but
I struggle to spin my thinking into words. You might like to sample a shorter, user-
friendly version. Andy Weirs short story, The Egg, is doing the rounds on the Internet
as I write. It gets across quite nicely the idea that were all one (though it holds dogs at
arms length). It may also be a good idea to dip into Neale Donald Walschs Conversations
With God material.
Its a struggle for us allall one of usto conceptualize that which has emerged from
the woodwork, and I include myself here. I know that at present it all looks like a house
of cards. One good breath . . . But remember what I promised at the outset, these
philosophical gymnastics are not simply to indulge any delusions of grandeur. Its not
about self-gratification. I perform them not so as to cosy up to whichever famous
figures I take a fancy to. No, I have a grander aim, which is to meld together these
hypotheses and postulates to explain all the unanswered mysteries of the universe.
Unified Field Theory, eat your heart out And you know, were almost done. Believe it not,
there are only a dozen or so pages to go. Ive a few cards left to balance, and then the
whole structure will gel into bedrock.
Visualise once more our little spark. It leaps merrily around the world unhindered by
geography. It skips blithely across time, allowing us to experience ourselves in multiple
bodies, both simultaneously and overlapping. Behold that spark now flare several orders
of magnitude. Im going to up its power. This spark is going supernova. Fasten your seat-
belts; hang onto your hats. Warp infinity, here we come. Its time now to tackle time
travel. But weve got to circle around and sneak up on it from the dark side of the sun.
Shh now . . .
I am here.
You are there.
Every single instant. We are neatly self-contained. The illusion is of a wondrous
separateness. Enjoy the individuality, independence, autonomy, free will and choice. Life
feels so deliciousas its supposed to. This is a carnival, dont you know? And then,
because we have a sense of past, and to a lesser extent the future, we know that at
each extreme there are boundaries: our birth and death. This knowledge snips us even
more sharply off from one another. Everyone occupies his or her (gender is yet a
further distinction) quarter-acre patch of reality. Were all fenced off from everyone
else, including God.
But dammit, we are God. Were wrapped up in that containing consciousness. We are one
another. We are one. ONE. US. I. Ism.
I wake up from a dream in which I was a butterfly. Or am I really a butterfly dreaming
of being a man? I wonder if the dream state isnt more real than wakeful consciousness.
After all, we only dip into wakeful waters for a matter of hours before needing to
recharge our batteries and refill our oxygen tanks. You never become exhausted in the
sleep state and just have to wake up. Nevertheless, we never question that the waking
state is higher than mere sleep. Of course it must be. Isnt our level of consciousness
greater when were up and about? It seems so, but maybe we ought to check out that
obvious assertion.
Lets leave consciousness out of it for the moment. Instead, lets do an assessment of
quality of being. Specifically, lets consider our depth of connectedness to each other,
the planet, the universe and our roots, when were asleep as opposed to when were
awake. In which of the two are we more at one?
With your eyes open, you take on an aura of individuality and otherness. The illusion is of
being a separate entity. Youre here behind the rays that shine into your eyes. Things
are out there, outside of you. Time feels real, space feels real, the cinematography of
our lives feels as if it's actually happening. The reels roll, were mesmerized, and we take
in the drama at face value.
But we slough all of that off when we sleep. At that time we are centred (unless were
just tossing and turning). We return to our origins where it is natural to be, and we draw
nourishment from being there. Dont we feel freshest just after weve arisen in the
early part of the day? And conversely, dont we feel dullest at days end? And so, Id
judge that wakefulness is not our default state. Were not wakeful beings who
sometimes need to sleep. We are the one source that dips into regularly into
wakefulness to enjoy the dream of so-called reality (and we know that TV reality shows
arent real life). Were not so much a flutter of butterflies, therefore, as a cocoon.
Its a perplexing thing, but for me, when I awaken, its as every day is utterly new. Why
is it that it takes me so long to orientate myself? For up to an hour Ill lie there gazing
at the ceiling. Im obliged to work out what my routine is as if Ive never followed it
beforetalk about brain washing! Every morning takes me back to square one. Why is
that? Could it be that the illusion of being a diurnal creature is stronger in others, and
that they experience a continuous existence, whereas for me consciousness is
punctuated more deeply by periods of unconsciousness?
Another thingwe assume that the adult form is more advanced than the immature
fledgling. The pupa grows, gets bigger, and that must be an improvement, no? Cmon,
theres more of it, and so it must be more important. As our memories accumulate, surely
so does our wisdom. However, just as I feel that the wakeful state may be inferior to
the sleep state, Im seriously considering the idea that the child is the father to the
man.
In a dream, I go into a busy mall with people walking about everywhere. Therere all
types, all races, and Im struck with their variety and beauty. I look into everyones
eyesespecially if the people are women, and the eyes are brownand then I suddenly
stagger. I stumble and reach out to support myself. Ive just had an epiphany and now
know what it means to be God! In every pair of eyes I witness consciousness swim. This
pulsing matrix of humanity is like a fire awaiting a match, an omnipresence that is all
ready to go. Am I the only one who sees that? Were only a spark away from the
realization that all is one, were just a membrane away from grokking ourselves for what
we are and always were, which is the timeless entirety. I imagine the simultaneous smile
as that light dawns!
Someone hand me a cell phone so I can spread the word . . .
Who am I really? More to the point, who are you really? From your perspective, thats
the more important question. Forget meafter all, I may not even exist. What evidence
do you have that I do? Youve only these pages of print which proves nothing. InThe
Taboo Against Knowing Who You Really Are, Alan Watts refers to individual identity as
an ego in a bag of skin. CSNs David Crosby calls the body a meat suit. Dave Pollard, an
ardent blogger, thinks of himself as the space through which stuff passes. Don Juan,
in the books by Carlos Castaneda, sees luminous eggs with tendrils. With a nod to Lewis
Carroll, and with help from The Dean of science fiction writers, Ive come up with the
jabberwocky framework.
In Life Line, the first story he ever had published (in 1939), Robert Heinlein describes
a four-dimensional body in the following way:
You are a space-time event having duration four ways. You are not quite six
feet tall, you are about twenty inches wide and perhaps ten inches thick. In
time, there stretches behind you more of this space-time event reaching to
perhaps nineteen-sixteen, of which we see a cross section here at right
angles to the time axis, and as thick as the present. At the far end is a
baby, smelling of sour milk and drooling its breakfast on its bib. At the
other end lies, perhaps, an old man someplace in the nineteen eighties.
Imagine this space-time event which we call Rogers as a long pink worm,
continuous through the years, one end at his mothers womb, the other at
the grave. It stretches past us here, and the cross-section we see appears
to be a single discreet body. But that is illusion. There is physical continuity
in this concept to the entire race, for these pink worms branch off from
other pink worms. In this fashion the race is liken a vine whose branches
intertwine and send out shoots. Only by taking a cross section of the vine
would we fall into the error of believing that the shootlets were discrete
individuals.
Reading this for the first time as a teenager, I jolted up from the page. I have travelled
around the world, and I imagined my own pink worm encircling the globe. Heinleins idea
lodged in my mind in much the same way that Adams Rickmansworth meme did a few
decadesand world revolutionslater. I grant that its not exactly glamorous to picture
oneself as a worm, sausage or tube, and so the temptation might be to turn up ones nose.
But just consider what weve accomplished here. Weve taken time right out of the
equation and elevated our position to that of Czerners photon! For us in the nowin the
knowtime no longer exists. It stands still, eternally. We stand outside of it like the
time lord, Dr Who.
It is a curious phenomenon, but within any point of the worms body we have the ability
to look back in one direction only. We are only able to see along our body in one
direction, which we label the past. Our knowledge, or awareness, of our other end is
more limitedintellectually we know that we stretch in that direction, but not for how
far. We peer at the future upstream and, because theres so much less visibility in that
direction, we declare that it hasnt happened yet. But thats not the truth. In reality,
there exists just the one continuum. Every point upon it is as real as another. The whole
thing is existent. Pink worm naked over snow.
Enter the return of the spark. It alights as gently as a butterfly slash bee along our
tubular bells length like a finger playing chopsticks. Or, because of the eye-blurring
speed with which it performs, we might visualize it as a giant hand playing all eighty-
eight keys at oncea chord more powerful than the all the grand pianos at the end of
Sergeant Pepper.
Time, then, is, essentially, nothing more than an illusion. It is the phenomenon that
results from our (limited) ability to see or remember along one of the dimensions of our
being. It is the equivalent of you looking down the length of your outstretched arm to
your fingers, but with your other arm extended into thick mist. Or, think of time-vision
as a diode, an electronic component that allows electricity to travel one way only.
Say that someone is afflicted by not being able to retain memoriesneither long term
nor short. For that person, time would have absolutely no meaning. Perhaps its like that
for other animals. If four-legged creatures dont have the ability to remember, then
theyre not going to have a sense of time. For themand for our hypothetical absent-
minded professorthey live entirely in the present, and in a sense have a much more
accurate perception of life than do we. Could that be what its like to have Alzheimers?
But returning to the topic thread, after every jump, our consciousness quantum brings
to life its hosts complete store of background memoriesinstant update (though slower
for me in the morning). However, that next moment can occur at any point of the hosts
life. Just as an electron can appear in any spacial position about its nucleus (so quickly
that it seems to be a cloud), time is open for our sparks next random popping up. The
present is no more special, or more real, than any point in the hosts past or even future.
And again, one would not be aware of any anomaly in this random-number-generation as
observed from without. At any point in ones life, whether it be the day of one's twenty-
first birthday, (first) marriage, or was told one had cancer, it would be perceived as the
cutting face of life thus far. In a wink of a blink, I could be me as a ten-year-old. And if
I knew what I know now, Id no doubt exclaim, Wow! Its suddenly Xmas!
You and I are not human beings. Get over that notion. Dont take pride in your ethnicity,
race, tribe or nationality. There are no borders, no species, no aliens. When all is said
and done, were jabberwockies: four-dimensional wormlike bodies with flukes for arms
and legs, a zygote-sized snout and a somewhat shrunken seventy- or eighty-year-old tail
that is rudely truncated (sooner and blunter, if you are cut down accidentally in the
prime of life). Our entirety exists outside of time, like a statue in a blurred time-lapse
photograph. Life as we know it at every instant is simply a cross-section of that
jabberwocky. Ones spark touches base at every place along the worms length. While it
does sohere, there and everywherethose kisses constitute the current present
awareness of where we find ourselves at any given moment.
But actually, there is no present. There is no past or future either. In a sense, there is
no time at all. There is only our subjective present, the one which were forever
unwrapping. Do a little thought experiment and judge for yourself. Just sit back and
close your eyes. Try to feel time pass. Are you able to? I certainly cant. You might say
that you can see the clocks second hand move, but that doesnt count. Its merely a
physical event. It is an external action that you dont experience within yourself.
What Im saying is that everyone experiences the present only as an instant, albeit an
instant with duration. And like the principle behind motion pictures, we link up those
separate instances to create the illusion of time fluidly passing. In actual fact, it
doesnt. Its made of granules, quanta, or instants. Life is but an eternal instant.
As a diversion, try this thought experiment out for the other dimensions too. Youll find
that theyre not real either. Think of travelling a distance. It doesn't matter how far
short or longwhere you end up, youll always state youre 'here'. It feels like the same
place that you were before. You remain at the epicentre of the universe, not at its edge.
Whether you walk, drive or fly, your consciousness stays put. The scissoring of your
legs, instead of propelling yourself across the landscape, pulls it toward you.
But that the fourth dimension doesnt exist is surely a preposterous, ludicrous and
ridiculous idea. Without time, what are we left with? Where would we be? When? What
chance is there for us to grow? How could we hope for a change in our situation? How
could evolution occur (if you havent already shown Darwin the door)?
Its not that theres no time. Its just that time isnt the thing we imagined it to be.
Time is not what weve been brought up to believe. Time is merely the measure of the
distance between two points. It just tells you how far apart two moments are. Its like
you know how far, for example, there is to drive from one city to another. And you dont
attribute a connection or a magical relationship between the two and insist that the
horizon is creeping towards the foreground.
Features that lie along the road do not cause one another to happen: this forest is not
the bad karma from having crossed such and such a bridge. This roundabout is the not
the effect caused by running over the sheiks sixth sick sheep six miles back (or that hill
ahead). And this reasoning applies to our lives also. A bulge in one part of our
jabberwocky body does not cause a depressionphysical or mentalin another. A knee
cannot make an elbow happen. The whole jabberwocky exists, at once, upon some Roswell
operating table. Examined from a vantage freed from the mental constraints of time,
the creature is fully formed. You pass your gaze from one part of its body to the next,
the same way that you ride the highway.
I admit that this interpretation of time turns our whole concept of life topsy-turvy. It
whips the carpet out from under our feet and the cloth from under our meal. All of a
sudden theres no cause and effect, theres no free-will, there are no chance happenings,
and there are no choices to make or be made. Theres no karma going on that weve got
to watch out fornothings going to zap us between the eyes. Right and wrong have
little, if any, meaning. Each illusional life has a fixed length that is inbuilt, and you need
not mourn over only being able to reach merely two metresfingertip to fingertip, or
top to toe. Death is merely the dead skin that lies at your periphery, or the air that
breezes by your fingertips and across your scalp. As far as the jabberwocky is
concerned, it is it, and that is that. Death, for it, does not exist. No killer on the road.
Whoops! There is no death. Where did that firework burst forth from? Did you catch it
too? Oh my god, there is no death! But surely thats crazy!
I agree that its a fish bone to swallow, but only because we havent trained or prepared.
Therefore, well need to do a little more work around the question of time. How could it
be that time is an anachronism? How could things function? We need a model to use as a
crutch.
Okay, let me concentrate for a minute. Let me try. Ill do my best to present an
alternate explanation, one that is consistent and logical, but one which I won't ram down
your throat into your liver. All Ill aim to do is to get you to admit that my explanation
could hold water, be airtight, and stand firm. Ill demonstrate that time, as a dynamic
phenomenon, can be generated through a static process, and then Ill leave it at that.
Take it or leave it . . . or construct your own (you will tell me about it?).
Step one: start with our newest portrayal of time as a collection of instants. In other
words, time is quantized, discrete, digital or particulate (enough synonyms already). I
suggest that consciousness consists of being 'uploaded' into a particular instant. Now
then, if this includes the awareness of a set of other 'conscious-quanta', together with
their cqs, nested and contained . . .
Rats, I've lost you already.
How am I going to do this? How can Einstein keep it relativitaly simple? Okay, picture
this. Have you ever created your own cartoon sequence? You might have done so back at
school, although not as class work. If so, the following might ring a (school) bell for you.
In a quiet moment, perhaps during an especially dull lesson, you might have drawn a little
stick figure in the corner of your exercise book. There he standsyour little friend. You
might have even given it a name. On the next page you drew it again, but slightly altered,
and then repeated that on the following pages. By the time that you came to the end of
the book, you had something that you could impress your friends with during whatever
they call it on your part of the worldinterval, break or recess. Look! you told them, as
you flipped through the pages. Theyd see your figure skip, walk, run, jump and fly (you
were inventive). Your figure had come to life.
In reality, of course, your little fellow doesnt move; its static It appears to be moving,
even though it might think otherwise. But what is not so obvious to us is that on a
higher plane the same thing applies to us, we so-called living beings. Theres some
mechanism at work a-flipping through our leaves that makes us imagine that were in
motion and progressing through time. Time passesor is passedby some thumb that
works our pages. Though were a fully-formed, always present and essentially static
jabberwocky statue, we seem to be in a flurry of motion.
How does it work? What are the mechanics, and what drives them? Well, I believe that
memory is the keymemory, as an awareness of a subset of moments that we think of as
our past, contained in our instantaneous consciousness. But this isnt self-evident. To
tease out what I mean, lets, for the sake of simplicity look at happy birthdays. Mine, if
you like. At the time I turn ten, I have memories of my ninth, eighth, seventh and-so-on
birthdays. The memories of each of them includes the memories of all previous ones.
They come included one inside the other like those Russian nesting dolls. Im ten
remembering when I was nine, the memory of which contains my memory of being eight,
seven and so forth. Towers of Hanoi, right? That nesting of memories has the effect of
flipping pages without any additional helpnothing else needs to happen. You can happily
leave your exercise book inside your desk; it remains in perpetual motion. Nested
memories flip all on their own without any external help; that is their in-built nature.
Additionally, this flipping is not just one way; it can occur in either direction, and in any
order. Imagine that youd drawn your stick figures on a deck of cards. If you then
shuffled them prior to flipping, youd witness the most amazing thing. It doesnt make a
difference to the illusion! Ill say it again because this is important: if you shuffle the
deck and then flip through, everything works. It doesnt make a scrap of difference that
youve changed the order. Stack the desk whichever way you want. In each case the
illusion will be that of a life proceeding through time in an orderly fashion.
Some days I get this. Some days I dontnot easily. So you might need some more help
with this too. Call IT support. Lets say that you flitz through the years 4534644one
of my old phone numbers. At a given moment, you find yourself at age four. Fine. From
there, lets say that your awareness flitzes to age five. Well and goodyouve aged as
expected. Then, suddenly, youre three. Would that disconcert you? Not at all, the
reason being that at age three you have no awareness of ever having been four or five.
At three you only have one and two under your belt. Those birthdays are nested nicely
one inside the other, so from your vantage point, and those of your parents, you are
growing up nicely. Next, you proceed to four. Do you do a double take? Do you suffer
from a spot of dj vu? Again, you do not. As far as you are concerned, youve just
turned four after having been one, two and three. You havent retained anything from
your previous visit to that number. You may as well have never been there. When you
next jump straight to six, you dont perceive any gap, because at six you have access to
your memory of being five. As far as youre concerned, that time exists because youve
recall to it. Every jump in any directionforwards in time, back, and, dare I say,
sidewaysposes no problem at all.
A deck of cards that is there to flipthats all you need to conjure up the illusion of
time passing. Instant magician! You dont need to do anything with them, just leave the
pack sitting on a shelf. No sleight of hand is needed for it to be active. Its alive.
Brownian motion and atoms. It whirrs and pulsates and a little light flashesa virtual
electron leaping from one energy state to another. What causes it to imagine itself
happily alive and proceeding in a smooth orderly fashion through the years are the
characteristics of its nested set of consciousness moments. Contentedly, like a screen
saver, it buzzes and hums to itself.
We have now a nifty model for what life is, or rather what constitutes a particular life.
A personsor creatureslife is simply a set of cards that have an awareness of certain
other cards hardwired into them. Now then, is that set the universal set, or just a
subset? I couldnt tell you right away. But if there do exist some other cardsanother
suit, saythat that dont share in the same awarenesstheres no intersectionthen I
suppose that they would belong to other creatures life spans.
So how does it operate? Okay, Ill come at it from another angle. Somehow a person,
creature or life form has access to a set of past-up-to-present memories. That would
constitute its life. But the awareness of those memories extends only in one direction,
like a semi-diode or one-way transmitter. It's like an arrow pointing back into what we
imagine or feel is the past. We have a set of 'time moments. Now, if they each
contained within them a nested subset, or the memory/awareness of other moments
(imagine a Venn diagram with subsets that get smaller and smaller (think of an onion
(that does not need to be of glass (or contain a walrus)))) then, within the context or
paradigm of continuous expansion, growth or progress, then that, ipso facto, gives rise
to the illusion that time is passing into the future. On the handattached to the arm
that points in the opposite directionwithin a paradigm of shrinkage or disappearance, it
would result in the converse illusion: that time is progressing into the past.
Similarly, you appear to be travelling along with time. The universe tooit seems to
explode and then, after aeons, implodes back into a black hole. Whether it does so once,
or else loops back on itself like a Moebius strip, or even if it oscillates repeatedly ad
infinitum, doesnt matter, since none of those cosmologies break free from the
gravitational pull of the illusion of time. They only seem to be happening, whereas from
gods point of view everything is. It is all here, complete. The alpha and the omega at
once. The alphabet exists as a unit. The letters dont scroll, theyre carved in stone.
(Think 2001: a Space Odyssey not Star Wars.)
All is as it is, and every particle sees every other according to the laws of gravity and
electromagnetism and what have you, yet relates to every other particle as if they were
all separate. Separated in space or time. As if each was different. In fact, though,
theyre all one and the same. Feynmans or Wheelers (same difference) electron. As you
know, there is no way to tell an atom apart from any other. All gold atoms glitter with
the same intensity. Mix them up, and you cant tell which is which.
This is not idle speculation. This is no fanciful word picture. This world view of a spark
dithering up and down a jabberwocky (or jabberwockies) stretching four-dimensionally
through the timeless ether is neither an idle dreamers toy, nor a means whereby I or
you get to link up with the important, the famous, or merely the well-known. Seriously,
were shooting the breeze about eternity and total unity. This is where the buck stops,
right here. This is no lolly scramble by God, by God! He does not play dice with the
universe. God does not splice our living by the life, by the day or even by zillionths of
sparks. Theres no need to. Lifes actually far simpler than that.
Theres just one spark. See itor imagine italighting randomly along all moments in the
superwocky rat king of intertwined lives that every living creature is a part of. Dont you
see? Theres just the one of us. You and I are one, the one-and-only. The brotherhood of
man and beast. Love your neighbour as yourself. Do unto others. No man is an island, and
listen, just listen to that bell toll.
Of course, by you and I, youll understand that I dont mean just the two of us. This is
not a private conversation. You and I refers to all of usthe thousands of millions who
are sitting on the other side of the monitor (well, maybe a dozen). What I mean to say,
is that everyone in the world is connected. Theres only ustheres no I, theres no
you, theres no he, she or any other. Theres no six degrees of separation; weve all
got our hands in each others pockets and nothing is private. Everyonealive, dead, and
as yet unbornis inextricably linked. Were all wrapped up and pounded upon by that
same, single spark. Its no wonder that each one of us feels special. Its no wonder that
each of us feels that were at the centre of the universe, convinced that our spirit will
never die, all-important. The truth of the matter is that we are! We are the one. Were
Napoleon, Christ and Cleopatra. Theo is our shared name. Instead of "I think, therefore
I am", declare, "I are, therefore we am! In fact, I, the guy responsible for these
words, may just as well not exist. Theres only you. Youre the one, dude. You did this/are
doing this. Its your brain that is squirming like a toad.
Dont point the finger at me. Ill say it again, I dont exist. I am just you. You have
merely jump-started yourself into another environment, housed yourself in a different
living arrangement, experienced what is there to be experiencedand written about it
and have now flitzed back home to you. Youve taken a return trip. A cheap day
excursion. Look, Im not telling you that Im God; Im telling you that you are. And how
you deal with that is up to you. All Im relaying to you is Hey, it was a wonderful holiday
that I had away from yourself, but Im back now. Can you grok that?
Your head is spinning (I can feel it vibrate from here). Whats the point of my
scrambling your brain with this addled, fangled info? What would be the reason of this
supercalifragilisticjabberwocky arrangement? You shouldnt be left up in the air like
this.
I agree, and so Ill try to do something about it. Ill ease you down to earth as I wrap
things up for this session. If you would, please, turn once more to face the glass and look
directly into the eyes of the superjabberwocky. I see that super being looking back
through our eyes. I see it enjoying its creation through its creatures as a mansion of a
thousand eyes. It looks through our windows onto the world . . . and finds it pleasing. It
is the whole wishing to experience something different (and can you blame it?). Because
see, being the whole is a difficult situation to find yourself in. Getting a game of poker
going when youre the only player in the room is rather tricky. One optionmaybe its only
oneis for it to separate itself. It doles itself up into little parcels. It fires up each of
these animalcules with a little quota of self awareness. It instils each critter with the
sense of being separate. By doing so, the superjabberwocky gets to imbibe the world
through those multitudinous portals. Flitting here, there, sampling a little of this life and
thathow it does enjoy this show. How passionately everyone plays their part! You could
almost believe that its trueand that is the whole point. The ebb and flow must seem to
occur in deadly earnest. Every creature ought to be completely into itself. Every one of
its lives must be for real; it really is a matter of life and death, except that it isnt, not
really. Behind the scenes, its only cowboys and Indians. Cops and robbers. Serial killers
and rapists. Cannibals and saints.
Im going to close with some light entertainment. My treatlets go to the movies. Tell
me, have you ever exited a theatre amazed at how closely you resemble the hero? You
even walk the same way as him, and so you are almost too embarrassed to make your way
to the foyer. In a minute, when the lights come back on and they see you, people are
surely going to gasp. Now, a psychologist might say that this could indicate either a poor
sense of self, or a strong sense of empathy, but I would suggest that its neither. I think
that a movieor story, song, or work of arthas the potential to disengage us from the
illusion of our separateness or boundedness. That is why we pay such homage to the
stars. If they do their job well, they alter our consciousness and take us out of
ourselves. And thats a microcosm of the macrocosm.
In the grander scheme of things, God gets to enjoy itself when it shares our lives. Now,
out on the street, were the actors. Were the ones receiving homage. Think of watching
a video (in the genre of The Matrix it would seem). God, always in the starring role,
takes its seat to take part in the most real virtual reality show of all: a tri-D sensaround,
panasound, supersensual bio-pic. Each movie runs for seventy or eighty yearsthats
from our human point of view. And of course, that's it from God's point of view too
that portion of it that compresses itself into each head. But the overviewthe bigger
superpicturesis that there is no time. Any 'time' is as good as another; it all exists at
once. Life as we know it in the present tense is but a cross section of the beast. God
actually watches every monitor at once, and is intimately involved with every bit of the
videotape in the vault.
Whether your current life story is one of war, medical drama, horror or western, is not
a matter of concern. Thats not you; its just your day job. Its just the current book
youre reading. You really shouldnt be bothered about the ending. There's nothing that
can go 'wrong' with it, and there's nothing that will harm you in a permanent sense.
Really, from an overarching perspective, it is ludicrous to think along the lines of: "What
kind of god could allow such things to happen?" Events such as the twin towers collapsing,
online beheadings, New Orleansthey seem horrendous, callous and evil to we spectators,
and a thousand times more so for the people involved, but thats only because of the
quality of the special effects. For Dog it is only a show, a game to enjoy, or an
experience to relish.
Now, at this point someone like Derrick Jensen is bound to leap in and challenge me with,
What are you going to do when your home is invaded, and they start torturing your son?
Are you going to turn around and say, Oh, but youre not really hurting anyone here;
were all the same person, and blah, blah, blah. My answer would be, Of course not. This
tableau feels as real to me as it does to you. It wounds me as deeply as it would anyone
else. But that doesnt prove that Im wrong, only that Im subjected to the same rules
that everyone is. Just because I can make out a higher plane, that doesnt mean that I
get to reside there.
On the plus side, by accepting the Rickmansworth meme, one banishes death. Now, thats
a biggie in anyones book. No death, for heavens sake! Isnt that a cock worth crowing
over? As the jabberwocky, were immortal. Woowee! Better than a slap in the face with a
wet fish, however you cook it.
Just a quick reminder about how that works. The thing is, our jabberwocky body has a
span in every dimension, including time (since time is the fourth dimension). It attains
those dimensions and no further. It is static, remember? Were not going to move, no
matter how we stretch and strain. So why grieve, just cause you can't get to the honey
jar on the upper shelf? Why mourn for the air beyond your fingertips? No one bemoans
not having lived before they were born; if youre not bothered how far back that arm
extends, then why would you kick up such a fuss about the other?
Besides which, god is continuously tapping into and out of our jabberwocky's range of
experience. Think of a piano, its keys tinkled up and down, in chords and rhythms, scales
and arpeggios, legato, staccato, fortissimo, pianissimo, ritardando (yep, I had piano
lessons as a kid). Your piano has eighty-eight keys that, at a stretch, and if you are
moderately lucky, you could think of as so many (nested) years. You are forever being
played upon, that music savoured by a god who would otherwise be at a loss for
entertainment. Give yourself a pat on the back; youre performing a great service.
And so has everyone who has ever livedfriends and family, strangers and enemies,
figures from the past, the present and also the future. Were all in the same boat on a
grand adventure at least as good a read as Philip Jose Farmers Riverworld series. Weve
no need to wait until we die and go to heaven before we meet up with our cronies. Were
all on the same riverbank. Indeed, we're a veritable mangrove swamp of intertwined
jabberwockies slithering in the . . . what was it . . . tulgey woods?
But arent such stories grand? I love devouring them. Heres another that I half
remember. Science fiction, of course. Naturally an alien race was involved. They were
humanoidwriters should always keep in mind the possibility of a film adaptation (its
easier for actors to creep inside their costumes if your creature from the black lagoon
has four limbs). In fact, in this story the aliens were virtually identical to human beings.
Two sexes and all. The only major difference was that they were about a thousand times
larger, and their inclination was to swat us like midges.
They had discovered the Earth, but before colonising it (ha, they didnt know about the
hyperspace by-pass either), those giants sent out an exploration party. Some sort of
fracas or incident resulted, and surprisingly, through some twist, the aliens came off
second best. One or two survived, but they were brain-dead and no use for interrogation.
Still, it was a lucky break for mankind.
As an aside, the concept of alien is bogus. According to Ism ideology, there is no such
thing. Were all just tentacles on the same tree. Were simply differently-shaped limbs
on the one jabberwocky. Aliens, plants, or whatevertheyre just talons, tentacles,
trunks and wings. To be afraid of aliens makes no senseits purely xenophobic. How
daft it would be if your legs stood in mortal fear of your arms. Still, as Derrick would
say, when an alien confronts you, what are you going to do, philosophize? No, you pull out
your atomic blaster.
Getting back to the story, the aliens in this one were so gigantic that after their
prefrontal lobes were removed (that tissue was no longer functional) there was enough
space in there for a lunar module-style office to be constructed right inside the giants
head. Next, living quarters were installed, and also an exo-skeleton type of contraption
that allowed an astronaut-operator to control the hulk of the giants body from within.
In a bizarre form of virtual reality, a space cadet occupied that chair to control the hulk
as if it was a robot. Wired up to the different parts of what was left of the nervous
system, he peered at a monitor through the giants own eyes. He had access to its
memory banks, and he learnt its language. Then, after about six months of training, he
operated the giant to use its original spacecraft to return to the home planet. Eventually,
after a thorough debriefing and medical examination, the remotely-guided giant took up
with its family again. Well, his better half eventually found him out; you couldnt expect
to keep such a thing permanently under wraps now, would you? You might fool the
military, but rarely a womans intuition. And never in the sack. Talk about faking it.
At this point my mind draws a blank; I forget what happened next. Anyway, it doesnt
matter. For me, the best part of the story was over. The idea that grabbed my
imagination was to think of consciousness as the controlling force that sits behind your
eyes. Seen in that light, every life form is but a vehicle inside of which there sits some
secret operator. (Admittedly, that begs the question of what homunculus sits behind its
eyes, but lets skip that for now.) And, if you look at that vehicle as consisting, not only
of its body parts, but also the associated paraphernalia of personality, memories,
attributes and what have you, then were approaching the idea of flitz-like reincarnation.
Theres some parallel evolution going on here.
It used to bother me whenever a so-called yogi, mystic or holy roller would state, always
with a vacant grin plastered across her or his face: Everything in this world is perfect
the way that it is. I dont need to tell you how Id react. What utter garbage! Didnt
they watch the news or read the papers? By a very long chalk, everything obviously was
not all right. How dared they say so? Where did they get off? Now, however, I see that
they were right. Lemme show you.
The universe is set up for godOurselfto enjoy. Were at a fair ground. There are all
sorts of attractions there for us enjoywild rides, stalls, shooting galleriesand each
of them feels incredibly real. Our hearts thump and the adrenaline rushes. Our nerve
endings scream when are murdered, raped, or lose a child. Indeed, for the remainder of
that lifetime we may never recover. And yet, this does not negate the alls-right-with-
the-world view. It doesnt mean that its wrong, were wrong, or that wrong has been
done. It only goes to show just how realistic the illusion is.
One approach to life is to give it the works. Inside whatever six-foot giant alien you
discover yourself strapped, you floor the pedal. The devil takes the hindmost, is your
motto. You give it heaps and go all-out. Barrelling hell-for-leather down lifes highway,
you burst across the finish line, not necessarily with your vehicle in the best nick, or
with the most possessionshe who dies with the most toys winsbut as if you'd tumbled
down one roller-coaster of a mountain. You broadside to a stop in a cloud of dust,
bruised, bleeding, exhausted and out of breath, but with a smile on your face, panting,
"What a hell of a ride!"
And the journeys never over. Look at all the models and styles of vehicle that we get to
enjoy! The Greatest Show on Earth been arranged for our viewing pleasure. We have
before us a fantastic and limitless variety of DVDs or computer game modules that we
get to live through, not vicariously, but for real (or as real as anything can be said to be).
We come in different sizes, shapes, ages, colours and sexes. There are different
cultures, customs, languages, time periods and geographical locations to immerse
ourselves in. There are different states of health to experience, and different physical
bags of attributes to masteror not. We live at every end of the spectrum and all
conceivable positions in between. And thats just as humans! The mind boggles.
All of us, every human, animal and plant, are God to the extent that Dogs consciousness
shines, squeezes or expresses itself through our being. In most cases, the being in
question has an opening that is very small. Its not much of a third eye. Though theres
not much evidence of divine inspiration in most of the fish in the sea, it needs to be that
way; unless the openings are small, it would be impossible to maintain the necessary
illusion of separateness. God wants to be having these relationships, you see, and its only
possible to have a relationship with someone other than yourself. If the two parties
suspected that they were one, then that might take away some of the fun . . . or maybe
add to it, I dont know. Hey, are we bringing forth the Age of Aquarius or what? Roll on
2012.
The sense of self is purely relative. Knowing you as yourself relies on the fact that the
self stands apart from the external environment. You can't be you, unless there is
something that you are not. There has Gott to be a boundary. To be you, there needs to
be something that is not you, something from which you can differentiate yourself. But
the essence of the Rickmansworth message is that there is only the one of us, Theo, who
experiences him-, her-, or itself (us-self) through every form of life, not only those that
are, but those that were or will be. And that might include parallel universesall and
every possibility, for all anyone knows. Cranking up steam as much as each engine allows,
and simultaneously. How do you like them apples, Stephen Hawking, you steam punk, you.
And so, when the god boys say Its all okay, I have to agree that it really is.
Everythings just fine and dandy with the universe. Every good boy deserves fruit.
Whatever happens to you in lifewhether you come down with some condition that
confines to a wheelchair, or whether you lose everything in a fireit doesnt matter. Not
ultimately. Oh it may hurt all right, the tooth may pain as it is pulledIm sure Id fume
and fuss along with the best of thembut that doesnt change the fact that, although
each of our stories seem so real, and our programming makes us cry, laugh or scream
when the whip comes down, its all but a Technicolor dream. We like to believe that good
and bad exist, and that there is something we have to do, something we have to prove,
and that we need to earn our entrance into heaven, but, really, thats only our
imagination. All good thought experiments will lead you to that conclusion.
The whole circus has been set up with just one purpose in mind: to provide everyone with
a good show. Thats why weve been compartmentalized. At heart, were all essentially
the same; were one. But that wont doyou cant put on the best performance with a
bunch of clones. Look at the spectacle of synchronised swimming! (Mind you, those
Chinese acrobats arent half bad.) And so a magic wand has been waved to conjure up the
illusion that were all different and separate. Think of us as portals opening out into one
another. Were here for each others entertainmenthey, it's good to meet you! There
are no strangers here, only our selves we havent met. God passes away the time in an
endless circle game. The grand conspiracy that were an integral and unwitting part of is
a never-ending story. Think of it as a grand twiddling of thumbs.
What is time? I ask not so rhetorically. Its part of the illusion. It is simply one more
mechanism that serves to cut and dice. It allows us to view the multiplicity of instants of
our being as separate slices that we can compare. We are enabled to say, Look at the
difference. See me then, see me now. I must be changing, evolving, growing! But
actually, its part of the play, or rather ploy. Our consciousness is in an infinity of
instants, subsets of which are hyper-memory-linked in such a way that we consider that
assembly a life. But there are no lifelines.
And to those of you whose lenses, windows, viewing portalsor whatever Ive referred
to them asare clear enough for you-yes-you to spy the superjabberwocky through the
looking glass for what it is, count yourself lucky. Id warrant that your perspective is at
best impermanent. I too catch only glimpses. Nevertheless, I would like you to trust that
nothing is worth worrying about. No milk is worth crying over. Nothing in this life is a
matter of do-or-die. But its delicious to believe that it is.
The issue here, there and everywhere is experience. That is the coin of the realm. It
fires the grand conspiracy that makes it possible for God to experience himself, and for
him to view life from the widest variety of angles. Variety has been hard-wired into our
very being. We are different so as to be able to experience ourself from all those
points of reference. The glassin the windows of my soulof my particular manufacture
allows me to see this. And the attributes that Ive been granted allow me to run that
notion by you. Your turn to take the baton.
You know, Id love to release you, but not because of altruistic motives. My reason, I
must warn you, is purely selfish (witness that I havent yet developed the habit of
universal thinking). To be blunt, to be brutally honest, I must confess that my ulterior
agenda for intellectually grooming you is that I wouldnt wantone dayto find myself in
your shoes. I dread the thought of waking up in your eyes to discover myself trapped
together with the memory of all those years lived as you, under whatever paradigm you
follow. Ugh! The thought makes me shudder. The whole point of my spending today
these twenty-four hoursto create this magnum opus, is to make available to me (when I
flitz into you) the wherewithal to escape from your head. Barry Manilow writes the
songs; I provide the liberation literature. And, just as Ive only the day to perform my
magic, so do you. Youve discovered this text in a university library? Dont muck around.
Get it out on close reserve now! Your mission, should you choose to accept it . . .
And that, I believe, is basically that. This is more-or-less the end of the storyor
several storiesalthough the tale continues. It has ended with a twist; did you notice?
Ive hinted at it often enough. Here, in the preamble to the ramblings that preview the
following volume, Ill lay out what you may have missed in all the excitement. The plotline,
or premise, that I used to kick things off, did a little shimmy right where things reached
their peak. Youll remember that I began with the supposition that it was I who had the
mission to locate and make contact with Theo, the Other, the brother-at-a-distance to
my Vincent Van Gogh (and the cousin to Einstein). It was he and I, or me and him
WeUsmerging as one. I learned that he was just a version of me. But not so fast.
From your perspective, I have it all wrong. From where you sit, youll view the Zapruder
incident quite differently. What youre going to dowhat you did as the readeris to
consolidate the two of us as one, and then trace the bullet back to your vantage point.
Youre quite entitled to rub me outin fact, Ive given you the go-ahead on several
occasions. You are absolutely correct in acting to remove me from the picture. You
actually ought to. And you wont even have to kill me.
I already dont exist. Youve only assumed that I do. Because, when all is said and done,
you dont know me from Adam. How do you know that you havent dreamt me up out of
thin air? Hey, I could be an author from the dim and distant past. Youve nothing more
substantial than the inky marks across the page or the text upon your screen to base my
existence on. You are the one who has made material sense of me, generated through
the action of scanning your eyes side to side. You brought me into being, and saying so is
not merely a literary trick of the tradethere is no me here, only you. Youre the One.
Youre the God, the top Dog, the only player on the block. What happened was this: you
flitzed out of your head into thismyCharles Atlas physique. You uploadedor became
uploaded intothe set of attributes and skills and insights of another biology, one which
allowed you to conjure up the Rickmansworth meme, hypothesize the Theory of
Everythink, and then to construct the philosophical worldview of Ism. And youve
brought that all back home. Youve done it, brobrought home the bone and laid it at
your feet. The donkey work is done. The musics over. The question that remains is: Can
you grok it?
And thats the preamble to the ramblings over also. The first volume is done, it is
finished. However, I wont leave it there. I intended to bring the reader up to the
headiest of heights, but not to leave Theo high and dry. I wouldnt do that. I cant. How
could I be so irresponsible? Im not going to hand you over the secret of atomic power,
then tell you to go outside, fool around, and see what you can do with it. Einstein and
Eisenhower, dont you know? Were on a high here, and the zeppelins got to be brought
down safe and secure. In the volume that follows, were going to have to undertake some
processing. Theres a lot that were going to have to unpack and internalize before were
fit to be released into the world and onto society.
Think of the seventy or so previous pages as constituting the greatest hits package
wrapped up in a rock opera. What follows will be the essential loose jamming that
happens backstage after the concert is over, the unwinding, the coming down to earth
and the start of rehearsals for the next tour. Or, to use another analogy, weve just sat
through the main feature and have now selected another option from the menu. This
book is unique in that will be followed up by the option to, you know, rerun the entire
movie with the sound turned down, where the producer, director and an actor or two sit
in the dark discussing what went on. A commentary, I think, is what is needed here.
So, were not home Scot-free yet. I suggest that you make yourself comfortablemaybe
get yourself a refill of popcorn (but go easy on the coke). The extra feature that follows
will translate the Theo-ry into practice. Its a Talmud of sorts that spells out, not The
World According to Garp, but the brave new world as alluded to by yours truly.
Correction: OURS truly. It follows up some of the consequences of this new home-spun
philosophy, and will lead us to a veritable bizarro world of conclusions. Its where the
rock and a hard place meet, and where The Theory of Everythink evolves into the
ideology of Ism (and without the sacrifice of a limb).
Be seeing you.

Appendix 1 - Questions

1. What happens when we die?
2. Is there an afterlife?
3. Does my pet have a soul?
4. Are all religionsor just one of themon the right track?
5. Is there a god we can depend on?
6. If so, what is our relation to he, she or it?
7. What is the purpose of life, or are we free to eat, drink and make merry?
8. Are we more responsible to ourselves, or to others?
9. Do we possess free will?
10. Are we governed by destiny?
11. Does a law of karma operate?
12. Does reincarnation occur?
13. Is transmigration possible?
14. Is there some guru who knows what its all aboutis that even possible?
15. What do I do to get enlightened?
16. Good and evilwhich is which, and why?
17. Do heaven and/or hell exist?
18. Do souls need saving?
19. Are sins worth worrying over?
20. Are people punished for doing wrong, and rewarded for doing right?
21. Is it wrong to kill (for food)?
22. Why are the wicked aspects of this world tolerated by a higher power?
23. What makes something alive or dead?
24. What is the meaning of existence?
25. Dj vu consists of what?
26. What does it mean to be spiritual?
27. Does logic lead us anywhere useful?
28. What is our role/mission/duty?
29. What is reality?
30. Soul, mind and bodyhow do they operate?
31. Is sex okay for purposes other than procreation?
32. Is there any merit in abstaining from alcohol, drugs, meat and tobacco?
33. What is the nature of consciousness?
34. Where do other life forms fit into the picture?
35. What is the nature of time, space and infinity?
36. What does my apparently being at the centre of the universe tell me?
37. Why arent other people much bothered by the Big Questions?
38. Where precisely in my body is home base?
39. Where do I go when I sleep?
40. Am I the same person that was as a child?
41. What are memories actually?
42. What are dreams actually?
43. Say I achieve self-actualisationwhere do I take that?
44. To strive for enlightenmentis that the ultimate goal?
45. How does one achieve perfect happiness?
46. Is love the pinnacle of what it means to be human?
47. Should I be more concerned for others instead of myself?
48. What do I do when I differ from the consensus?
49. How can I be both ordinary and uniquely special (I feel that Im both)?
50. I feel separate from yet connected to otherswhich is it?
51. Is their a ranking or importance of species?
52. Is it okay to regard our family and friends as more important than others?
53. Where do I fit into history?
54. How do I reconcile my worldview with that of others?
55. Do I live according to standard practice, or do I go my own way?
56. Is the holding of some or other belief warranted?
57. If theres only one answer, doesnt that make everyone else wrong?
58. Are artificial intelligence and the singularity on the agenda for the future?
59. Is there life on other planets?
60. Are there parallel universes?
61. Is time travel possible?
62. When and where are the beginning and the end of time?
63. Was there a Big Bang?
64. Does Einsteins god play dice?
65. Should we be concerned about aliens, UFOs and terrorists?
66. How do we stop wars once and for all?
67. Is human nature an insoluble problem?
68. How can we stem nationalism/tribalism?
69. Is self-sacrifice to save another life meritorious?
70. What would bring about spontaneous global co-operation?
71. What would bring about a global mind shift?
72. What would render all previously wrong thinking obsolete?
73. Does the meme of progress work for us?
74. What is the cure for greed?
75. How can fear and worry be nullified?
76. How may negative emotions such as jealousy, envy and enmity be avoided?
77. What is the crux of the mind-over-matter conundrum?
78. What stops people applying the golden rule?
79. What knowledge would empower us never ever again to panic?
80. Should we live in the present, the past, or concentrate on the future?
81. Are some people higher than others?
Appendix 2 100 things about me

1. The Doors is my favourite group
2. Eggplant is my favourite vegetable
3. I resumed stamp collecting after a gap of four decades
4. I find public speaking easy
5. I fall asleep within minutes
6. My IQ is very high
7. I have completed several walks of over 1000 km . . . barefoot
8. Ive trekked in the Himalayas
9. I didnt speak English until I had to start school
10. Ive travelled by ship through both the Panama and Suez canals
11. The age difference between my oldest and youngest children is 23 years
12. I started and stopped a computer based business before the Internet
13. I cant use public urinals
14. I spent more than 8 years writing a book that was never published.
15. Ive written over 5000 haiku over a ten-year span
16. Ive lived and worked in India and Japan
17. I was vegetarian for 25 years
18. I learned to meditate when I was 15
19. I took piano lessons for 5 years and passed every exam but one with honours
20. I suspect I have high-level functioning Aspergers syndrome
21. Im on the point of being able to ride a unicycle
22. Ive lost count of the number of marathons Ive run (about 20)
23. Im happily married for the second time
24. I have ridden my bicycle quite happily on snow and ice
25. I dont watch TV
26. I rarely drink and have never been drunk
27. Ive never done any drug
28. My gall bladder along with 14 stones has been removed
29. I read out aloud the entire The Lord of the Rings to my younger sisters
30. I was born at midnight, and so dont know the date of my birth or zodiac sign
31. I once walked 150 kilometres in 35 hours
32. I only got my car drivers license at the age of 28
33. I have appeared on two TV game shows
34. I admire Kwai Chang Caine, but not David Carradine
35. As a teenager I was into surrealism, op art and dada
36. I have memories from when I was a baby (cribs, nappies, bath-time)
37. A great-grandmother lived to be 101, and so shall I
38. The first two movies I admired were Papillion and 2001: A Space Odyssey
39. I always need to go to the bathroom several times during the night
40. I wear earplugs against the noise of heavy traffic
41. I can read a book while walking
42. The first cooking I ever learned was Indian
43. When I was 21, I rode across the USA by bus in a week
44. I only managed to tolerate New York for 45 minutes
45. In my fifties, I weigh what I do when I was 17
46. I remember when The Beatles broke up
47. I can remember Robert Kennedy being shot, but not his brother
48. I cant abide gardening
49. I hated how my face changed when I turned 16
50. Heinleins Doorway into Summer was the first book I stayed up all night to read
51. Our family got our first television set when the moon landing was televised
52. I am 16 years older than my wife, but we feel the same age
53. I still have dreams about setting a personal best for the marathon
54. Ill wear the same clothes constantly, but change the inner layer
55. When I started cycle-touring, traffic wasnt a problem yet
56. I cant leave chocolate alone if I know theres some in the house
57. Making decisions is stressful for me
58. I have never purchased bottled water
59. I am most content in my own company
60. My fingernails are weird: very thin, round and flat
61. I have the hairiest legs of anyone I know
62. I dont put salt on my meal
63. After Ive had coffee, tea or something sweet, I regret it
64. Too much sugar makes me sneeze
65. I hate to lose at chess, but Im not that keen on winning either
66. My parents are in their eighties despite smoking their whole lives
67. Im not attracted to Western women
68. I cant imagine being homosexual (though Im not homophobic)
69. After Muhammad Ali retired, so did I (from watching boxing title fights)
70. I own thousands of books
71. I knew it was true the instant that I learned about Peak Oil
72. I can count on my hand the people who I can relate to
73. I could eat bibimbap every night
74. I'm the only one in my family never to have smoked
75. I never need to use an alarm clock
76. I have gone for more than a year without toilet paper
77. Im allergic to nothing that I know of
78. I get almost all my clothes second hand, and I keep them until they wear out
79. I like computers, but they frustrate me
80. Ive entertained the ex-Prime Minister of my country
81. I started listening to music after watching a Jimi Hendrix documentary
82. I always read on the toilet (I must)
83. I use the smallest dab of toothpaste when I brush
84. I hardly use soap or shampoo
85. Im an excellent teacher, but it leaves me exhausted
86. Ive never owned a dishwasher, and I hang my laundry outside to dry
87. Im not averse to foraging
88. I attempted to set the same world record in 2008, 2009 and 2010
89. I have perfectly good tape cassettes over 30 years old
90. Ive never been in trouble with the law
91. When I stroke the left corner of my mouth, the inside of my left ear itches
92. I wore a beard for 16 years
93. In my teens I read nothing but science fiction
94. Every year, my wisdom grows exponentially, yet I feel Im just a novice
95. I could do anything that I set my mind to; I just dont want to
96. At school I was second in my year, but the top guy was literally a genius
97. In a face-to-face situation, I cant speak to save myself
98. Ive never had a broken bone
99. I haven't any tattoos or body piercing
100. Im named after both of my grandfathers


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