Fractal Tree and the Hyperhelix














The gravitational orbit of any moon, planet, star or galaxy forms a helix, when you view it traveling through a time dimension.  A 3-dimensional helix is a ‘slice’ of the 4-dimensional shape of the orbit of a planet; X is a time dimension, Y and Z are space dimensions.  One 2D slice of a 3D helix is a circle, another is a wave.  One 3D slice of a 4D helix is a sphere; a planet in a specific moment of time.
Interesting patterns are revealed when you start thinking about the 4-dimensional shapes of objects through time.  One example I enjoy is the fractal nature of gravitational orbits.  Consider the 4D shape of the orbit of the Moon around the Earth through time; a helix.  The helix of the Moons orbit is ‘wrapped’ around the helical orbit of the Earth around the Sun.  The helices of the Earth and Moon are further ‘wrapped’ around the orbit of the Sun around the center of our Galaxy.  When Galaxies orbit each other another iteration is possible.  Because gravity causes the same behavior at different physical scales, a fractal pattern is generated.  Viewed from the ‘side’, with one space and one time dimension, orbits are fractal waves.  Viewed from the ‘top’ (two space dimensions) they are fractal circles.  A 3D slice in spacetime (XYZ) shows a helical fractal. The true 4D object is a fractal hyperhelix.
Another beautiful fractal in time is biology.  Every time a cell divides it creates a bifurcation or a ‘branch’.  The same thing happens whenever an organism reproduces, or at each speciation event.  All life is part of the same 4-dimensional fractal tree, extending back in time to the moment of abiogenesis.  When you consider your 4-dimensional shape it becomes clear that we are all part of the same fractal organism, wrapped on the spherical surface of a hyperhelix!


I am Haunted by Humans






They whisper to me in my head. They walk in my dreams. I see their silhouettes watching me, saying things I cannot understand.
I take steps in my mind to ends I do not see, yet each tread spells the promise of some new doom for me.
Each breeds the thought of something extraordinary. And the further I go, the more possibilities loom closer, move nearer. They seem without me, yet are always me -- whispers of I. I am the one who is moving and I do not wish to stop. Do you?

Read more in The Ghost Within.


Pictures by Anoxia.

[Review] The Warlord Chronicles by Bernard Cornwell






"A man should love peace, but if he cannot fight with all his heart then he will not have peace."

I've recently taken it upon myself to read the Majestic Warlord Chronicles, or, as they are also known, The Arthur Books.
It just so happened that I got the first book in the mail by a presumed admirer... because who else would send me this book?

So, before I begin this review, a big thank you to whoever it was that had sent it to me because these books are fucking fantastic!

Having said that, I must also point out that, have I not been interested in this subject and the Arthurian Myth in general, I would have probably stopped reading, for the first chapter consists of what I thought to be a rather curious case of world-building. Curious because (spoiler alert) almost every character that is painstakingly described and introduced through sheer "telling" gets screwed over badly (murdered).
The build-up still somehow works, however, since it cements the story of Derfel Cadarn, who is the protagonist and hero of the story and who in one fell swoop looses everything. How's that for a poor orphan with bad luck.

I should say that the books can be described pretty simply.

Honor. Loyalty. Friendship. Love. War.

These are the basic themes that run through the three novels and which are told with amazing skill and finesse. I wasn't bored in the least when reading these books, ever.
Yet there's a thing about the first book which the other three lack, and which I found pulled you in quite a bit (but by the second you're spellbound anyway, so I wouldn't say the other two lacked anything). Simply put, the first one is slower and builds up every chapter much more gradually. It then reaches the chapter's climax and suddenly you wish to read even more.

The historical aspects are added to and are made real by the names running rampant throughout the tale. Some of which are quite fun to pronounce. Gorfydyyd!

I will not get much into the story, other that the fact that is is great.
There's a lot of surprises and the prevailing sense of confusion, when you don't know if what Merlin and the druids can do is real, or if their magic is just circumstance, sheer luck and worldly wisdom. The religious aspects of the book are thrust into the forefront from the start. Although in the beginning it will seem as though everyone mostly just "spits to avert evil" (there's a lot of spitting), or pisses to avert evil spirits, but later, when Christianity comes into play, the strife between the two religions, and the differences, become quite interesting. Not to mention that the druids sometimes (especially at the end of the series and the end of each book) seem to truly have some magical powers that are baffling, but can mostly be explained by superstition and happen-stance, which makes it all the better and all the more confusing for the reader. But confusion in this case is good.

"They saw a British warlord in splendour, and I saw two dead Saxons."

The first book is largely a "quest" book, since everyone is on a quest for something, Arthur, Derfel, Merlin, Morgan and even Nimue. The second book is almost all political intrigue with smaller battles aka skirmishes, while the third is where the larger battles take place, as the Saxon threat truly becomes real.

I never tired of the descriptions of shield-wall battles. It's interesting, to say the least, on how combat looked like back then, and how a group of 200 veterans in a shield wall was considered an army and a considerable threat. Did you notice I said looked like? The imagery is quite vivid and visceral indeed.

There's a lot more I could say about these books, but I will say nothing else but the fact that I wish there had been more of them.


Now I'm going to have to read the Warrior Chronicles... Damn you, Cornwell!

10/10



The Ghost Within


I was there when the spire became indistinct and the question whether it was solid or not became a real one. We sat at its feet, on the main square in a circle of friends. We were smoking, passing the joint around when I for a moment though someone might have laced the weed with something highly hallucinogenic.
Back then, before the thing went crazy, the spire felt safe. None of us really understood why. Perhaps it was because we figured people who lived in it could see so far that any danger would be reported should it come. Or perhaps because it felt like it connected the earth with the heavens. Or perhaps it was simply because a lot of people hung out there and being in the smack middle of activity was kind of fun.
In that moment when the thing first made a sound none of us had ever heard before, we all shat ourselves. My friend even did so literally, reinventing the notion of a brown note. The sound was so low and ripe, potent and with razor-sharp overtones, that my bones drummed. My teeth rattled. People screamed, and I later found out those who screamed the loudest were the ones who couldn't hear themselves for the account of their eardrums being as good as gone.   
Keyden was the first to ask what we were all thinking. Actually, she didn’t ask it, she screamed it. “What the fuck’s going on!”
None of us had answers and all of us wished we could run faster. But for some reason, my brain had decided to run in the wrong direction. While everyone began to sprint away from the spire, away from the insanity, I ran towards it. I saw the tower vibrate and noticed something spreading from the reality of it. It was a field of discoloured air, a mesh of intertwining patters and shifting, kaleidoscopic light. When the sound of it hit me I forgot my own name. There was nothing left of me then that I could distinguish or understand, no sense of self, no sound of my own feet, no sound of my heart beating or people yelling, just a long, endless and infinitely deep ‘wuuuuuuuoooooooooooo’ noise. The universe had collided with itself. My skin began to burn and itch when the expanding field hit me, but I went on, towards it, into the entrance and between the people running. Their clothes and skin flaked off and drifted into the air like moths of a pyre as they ran. Some collapsed while others kept on running for a few more moments.
I looked at myself, saw my own bones shining neon green through the skin. But there was no pain. No worry and no fear for me. Nothing. No feeling except an infinitely bizarre displacement, as though everything I was looking at was seen from the wrong end of some cosmic binocular. Then I forgot everything I knew as I was built anew.




Cover art by http://reku-a-day.tumblr.com/

Machine Victim



"Granted that the machine-victim has leisure. What is he going to do with it? What memories and experiences has he to form a background to give significance to anything he can do? What can he see or do that will mean anything to him? . . . What has heretofore made life tolerable for the majority is the fact that their natural workaday routine and milieu have never been quite  devoid of the excitement, nature-contact, uncertainty, non-repetition, and free and easy irregularity which build up a background of associations calculated to foster the illusion of significance and make possible the real enjoyment of art and leisure. Without this help from their environment, the majority could never manage to keep contented. Now that it is fading, they are in a bad plight indeed; for they cannot hope to breast the tide of ennui as the stronger-minded minority can. There will be, of course, high-sounding and flabbily idealistic attempts to help the poor devils. We shall hear of all sorts of futile reforms and reformers-standardised culture-outlines, synthetic sports and spectacles, professional play-leaders and study-guides, and kindred examples of machine-made uplift and brotherly spirit. And it will amount to just about as much as most reforms do! Meanwhile the tension of boredom and unsatisfied imagination will increase-breaking out with increasing frequency in crimes of morbid perversity and explosive violence."


- H.P. Lovecraft

[Review] Horus Heresy: Betrayer by Aaron Dembski-Bowden



It's been a while since last a read a bit of Warhammer 40k madness -- and madness it is.

Especially when penned by masters such as Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill, and now Aaaron Dembski-Bowden! And yet... Aaron is the usurper dethroning all with his most recent and fairly heretical instalment.
I first suspected what he was up as I read The First Heretic -- which was to climb on that blood-slick throne and laugh his warp-damned ass off.

And he has done precisely that, because Betrayer is the best the Horus Heresy series of books and Black Library has offered thus far.

First look at the cover art. Go on... I'll wait.

Did you look? Slightly awesometastic, isn't it?

As for the writing it has to be said that to truly appreciate these fine scribblings you have to have read The First Heretic and the novella Aurelian, then, after having listened to the insanity that is the Butcher's Nails audio drama, you may read this book. (having read stuff like After Desh'ea and Lord of the Red Sands is also welcome).

"Aaaah but the butcher's nails..."

The reason I say this, is because the story of the two brothers, Lorgar and Angron (the perpetually angry one), evolves through these stories, well mostly Loregar's, but it's still fun to read how the two work together - or should I say clash.
Lorgar always gets calmer, even when he says "You are not Fulgrim," (although he might punch a guy or three with a psychic mace to the face), while Angron simply gets angrier. At everything. All the time. Sometimes he too punches people, although he does it quite literally and with an axe. It is rare that he keeps his anger in check, but that eventually gets even worse. (for everyone)

And this, my friends, is the crux of the story; the relationship between these two titanic and sadly flawed characters. The Betrayer himself, aka Kharn, is also splendidly written, (the true quality of the written word comes out in its full when voiced in the audio book). His calm demeanour seeps through the pages while retaining a sense of simmering rage beneath, waiting to explode in someone's face.

Focusing on these two characters (the primarchs) is what makes this story great, because sometimes even other characters talk about these two, which again creates a sort of centred feel, almost as if Lorgar and Angron are the planets around which both legions gravitate.

Most know the tale and how it ends, but if you're a fan, you'll no doubt wish to know exactly how it shall happen. [Minor spoliers ahead] And I'll admin there was a bit of nerdboy glee on my part when Kharn "scolds" Angron for being so, "meh, whatever, dude" with Lorgar, after the first heretic had just saved the bloody one's behind.
And also, could a story go without Erebus screwing things up as usual? No. Although this is the first time he gets told to "piss off". [/spolier]

Superbly written action scenes punctuate the tale nicely and are thoroughly vivid, although not in the vein of McNeill, who likes to describe his gore quite elaborately.

A theme runs though most of The Horus Heresy books, meaning that each tends to subtly centre, or have behind it a specific God of the "Warp Pantheon" or Gods of Chaos. In this case it is the almighty Blood God Khorne and Tzeentch, who seem to be at the forefront. Splendid indeed!

All in all, the only reason I cannot give this book a ten is because I want Aaron to bleed his mind onto some more pages and make the next one even better!

9/10
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Apocalyptic


[Review] Necronomicon: Commemorative Edition by H.P. Lovecraft



For quite some time now, I thought I should perhaps review the books I read, since I tend to read quite a bit.

Lately I have been preoccupied with a certain tome I had been wanting to get my hands on for a while, but always ended up reading short stories on my mobile device or computer instead. I finally bought the damn thing and let me tell you, this was the best book purchase I have ever made!

There is a thread and a certain style which runs through all of Lovecraft's writing that appeals to me greatly. A grandness, or a sense that, even though at times you are reading about "ordinary people", you get the impression of something vast moving behind the curtain and, as a result, the people themselves become far less than ordinary. Them coming in contact with what Lovecraft liked to call "unnameable", is always chilling. And there's always something behind that curtain, you can feel it, sense it.

One thing which I suppose might bother "new-age" readers, is that Lovecraft tends to be very descriptive and tends to "tell", rather than "show". In some stories descriptive narrative may become overpowering, but it never did, at least for me.
For example, the last story in this edition, called The Dream-Quest of Strange Kadath, is an overwhelmingly rich tale when it comes to visual description, as the author jumps between scenes and landscapes a lot. But you can't fault a guy for doing so when he describes sailing the ocean and in so doing has the protagonist reach the moon, can you?

What is truly special about Lovecraft, is how every story draws you in with a certain mystery which the protagonist wishes to reveal or solve, or in most cases, dreads to reveal. There is nothing mundane about any of the stories and most have a special twist. Some you will see coming, while others you may not.

The mysteries behind the veil will slowly come into light through the story itself, making the masterful unravelling a joy to read indeed.

I will admit I had expected more from Call of Cthulthu, a story which I purposely didn't read until I have gotten the print version of it into my hands. But I think that's only because I read it so fast once I got to it, and enjoyed it far more on my second read. I like other stories in this collection a lot more, like The Outsider, The Colour Out of Space, Cool Air, The Silver Key, The Strange High House in the Mist and Through the Gates of the Silver Key, and others. Although Call of Cthulthu did provide with what  I think of as the most memorable and profoundly captivating first paragraph in anything I have ever read.

Indeed there was not one story in this whole 800 page thickness which I did not enjoy. It is, however, a matter of taste which one you will prefer most.

The common thread in all of them is psychological horror, as you might imagine. In this sense everything else is worked around that horror so that when it happens and while it slowly begins to happen, you will gaze onto the pages with a certain emotional investment.


If you want to read truly good tales, I would recommend this book, as it one of those rare tomes I cannot give anything less than a 10/10.

   

All Monsters Are Men




I can still see the glistening crimson on the fields of white. The sight of it sends shivers down my spine like the cold never could. I've managed to quell the bleeding, but my pursuer had gotten the whiff of me and will eventually find me. I can hear footsteps crunching the snow, but I don’t look back, tighten the hood around my head and, against the gale, press on.
The cityscape ahead stands dotted with fires. Tall spires burn and collapse like slumping glaciers, their muffled and distant noises shaking reality with sense-impacts. 
I began hallucinating yesterday, after passing a few smaller towns where news of something coming out from below the cities reached me for the second time. What it is that had come out no one could tell me. 
They used to say all monsters are men, but what they supposedly found below the streets of Boston was quite different than a man. I kept running since I first saw it on TV --  ran to a different, new city. They are all the same, I am told, and the countryside between them no better.

Back in one of the towns, an old man, bent with age and grey-haired, had offered me to stay the night – told me a few things, right before the old bastard stabbed me while I slept.
Before that, he took me in with a smile. “Only the wind knows their name,” the old man had croaked and stirred the pot again, “but even it is a liar.”
I had no idea whose “name” the old gizzer had been talking about. The fireplace we had sat in front of burned dimly, the black pot simmering a liquid which didn’t smell edible. Needless to say, I began to doubt my decision to stay the night almost instantly after setting foot within the man’s house. “It would whisper it to me,” the old chap had added. “It jabbers and shouts names like curses around me, none of which feel right.”
“The wind speaks to you?” I had asked.
“It speaks to all who are willing to listen.”
“And those not willing?”
“It curses them,” the old man spat. “Like it has cursed this world.”
It made me wonder. Insanity seemed in short supply these days.
The cold began to bite then, even through the windows closed shut. I managed to ignore it while my imagination spilled. I tried to envisage a world where the wind speaks, but could not imagine such a world, until I realized we now apparently lived in it.
That night, the foul things came to me in my dreams. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to see them again. I wanted to see them simply because I had to make sure that such things truly existed in a rational, logical universe obeying physical laws and where the Earth revolved around the Sun. In my dream, the world kept braking around me as I walked, hooded and cloaked. Cracks boiled upon the surface. The population fought an unseen foe stalking the shadows. Fissures opened and closed. People fell into the cracks where the earth devoured them and their screams. Yet just as the thing I wished to see was about to turn its head to reveal a face, I felt something hot pressing against my kidney.
I had lurched up to find I had been shanked. The old man held the glittering blade still, now ready for a downward stab. It would appear the first cut had been for the feel of it, for sport. The bastard had seen blood then, and his eyes held a thirst in their glint, scared me enough to make me forget about the pain. I managed to push the man aside and ran like hell.

I kept running since, not daring to go to sleep for what felt like a week.

It is becoming harder and harder to believe it’s the old man who still chases me. But who else? It is definitely someone. I can feel it. I can hear it. Paranoia is a factor, no doubt about that. But also fear. I figure getting stabbed would do that to you. Having eaten nothing but snow for a week couldn't help either.
My legs feel stiff as they pound the snow and getting to the city before me slowly begins to feel like a task equal to grappling the sun. I rub frost from my eyelashes and think about lying down for a bit.
Just for a bit, I think as I stop. I look behind. Nothing. Sitting down I take a few breaths, before someone tries to kill me again. The cold most definitely has a way of bludgeoning a man down to his true self, and thanks to the muted shots I had just heard, my true self is a state of being scared shitless. I stumble at first, but manage to get back on my feet. After a few wobbled paces, however, I fall on my face. Snow crunches in my ears. The white feels like shards of glass and what little courage I had managed to keep while running, dissipates instantly. I crawl over the snow.
A pang in my leg, then another, then a cackle behind me. Twisting my body, I manage to face my pursuer. The old man is nowhere to be seen. I blink, convinced that what I am seeing couldn't possibly exist. The eyes of a spectre look down on me. Its gaze is ice, its silhouette as unsubstantial as the wind around it, throwing its shape about with its gusts.
“Where is the key?” the creature demands, its voice hissing, burning in my mind.
The wind picks up. “What!?” I scream back.
“Where. Is. The. Key,” the thing repeats.
I try to crawl further, knowing it wouldn't help even as I keep at it. I don’t look at my leg, fearing what the creature might have done to it.
Those couldn't have been gunshots, I realize, the thing doesn't even have hands! Tears freeze in my eyes, my breathing is quick and in tune to the pounding in my ears. Still I crawl, still the creature keeps repeating the same question. I curse under my breath, I had gotten so close. I couldn't be more than a few hours from the city’s outskirts. And then it hit me, a realization I dread more than anything I have ever known.
I will die here.
But I suppose fate isn’t done torturing me. It had sunk its talons into his flesh and spilled my blood – gotten the taste of me. And oh how it seemed to suit the bitch. My curses mix with sobs as I understand the pain I feel shooting up my leg and into my spine is something I’ll have to endure for a while still.
What key could it be refereeing to?
There’s something not right with the scene around me. The snow below me begins to feel harder than it should be, the air stills and smells stale and old. I feel the wound on my side and grab hold of my leg. My fingers feel sticky, but do not come back warm or smell of blood. I look back at my pursuer still asking the same question over and over. I look at the city, the towers I had seen collapse once again standing whole and distant.
“What key?” I finally ask.
The thing without legs stops and looks at me as though my question isn't even logical or something it can comprehend. It doesn't blink, it doesn't answer and when I look at it again, I notice it change. Its yellow eyes blink for the first time.
I am missing something vital. I feel the effect of a thing deep in my marrow subsiding and my sight drawing real. It paints reality into a new form like a theatre curtain dividing. Gone is the wind and its razor-sharp touch on my wind-chafed face. Gone is the cold snow beneath me, although what replaces is it just as cold and ten times as hard and unforgiving. A sepulchral gloom surrounds me and I realize there isn’t a spectre staring down on me, but two men. Men in white, broad-shouldered and thick-fingered with shadow-cast faces. They stand backlit and terrible, silhouetted by the glare from behind – a sickly light streaming from an open door.
Their faces become no clearer as their footfall passes nearer. The regiments of the dead howl their terrible litany in my mind in a remnant of my delirium. The two men know I see them for what they truly are as I realize that, truly, all monsters are men, or they have once been men. Gristle-faced and lipless, they crouch down and my eyes adjust to the darkness. I see a faint glimmer in their eyes. Invisible smoke fills the cell with its sterile stench.
“Where did you hide the key, huh? Where, you insane bastard,” one says. I feel his hot stinking breath on my cheek.
 My ears, lagging behind my other senses, pick up on the insane ramblings of lunatics and the crazed within neighbouring cells. Within the asylum where all monsters are set in their cages and pacified by unseen agents in their bloodstream. A painful moment of recollection shatters my mind and once again fills me with the knowledge that I am the monster, not the two men standing before me. I swallow a thick glob of my own madness, but crack a smile when I remember what they want.
“If you want it, you’ll have to cut me up, pig.”
“We’ll just wait instead,” says the other as they walk out of my cell and slam the door shut, leaving me with something I dread to be left with the most – my own demented mind.
     

Contemplating The Void


I saw a video yesterday of a sphere refuelling at the sun. The foxnewsian explanation is that these are in fact solar eruptions of a special kind - a solar activity called "prominence" which is as of yet a little understood phenomena and happens every so often.

What is startling for me is the very notion that these events have been observed before, as well as the fact that 'the thing' indeed looks like a giant, dark sphere which, in the video at least, shoots away from the sun in an unprecedented display as though detaching from it and causing a tumultuous event on the surface and around it. But does it appear like this due to perspective?

What intrigues me are the questions that arise should this not be the so-called coronal cavity, that is to say that, what if this is something completely different than what we think it is? The possibilities are endless should the observed event of solar activity in fact prove to be something unnameable and altogether different. Something from the void of space where no man can exist.

When I think in terms of 'what if', the possibilities are somewhat mind-blowing indeed. Yet in these wanderings of the mind I find one excerpt stands out from all other thoughts. It is the first paragraph from H.P. Lovecraft's Call of Cthulthu, since his version of something from 'out there' is the most primal and I think the most true in terms of what may float in the farthest reaches of the cosmos - something man can neither comprehend nor emulate, let alone witness without severe repercussions to our collective sanity.

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island in the midst of black seas of infinity and it was not meant that we should voyage far. Some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age. Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the cosmic cycle wherein our world and human race form transient incidents."

Coexisting Energy



I've gotten a few emails from people asking me just what the hell I mean with "we are coexisting energy". The blogpost itself doesn't really explain the notion directly, nor goes it go beyond the title in any real sense. Yet the title itself was meant only to provoke a thought in such direction. But there is more to it... obviously.

This question, what are we really? is something which has been answered time and time again throughout history, yet the internet is strangely devoid of textual explanations that would be simple and uncomplicated. Largely because, for us -- who are used to thick textbooks to explain things because we believe things are never so simple as to be explained in just a few words -- we find that someone who cannot explain something at length, doesn't truly understand. We are used to things being explained at length, and so feel like something which can be explained overly simply, at least things which don't seem simple, cannot be true, or that there is more to it. But one of our greatest thinkers said that, if you can't explain something simply, then you don’t understand it well enough. Simple is E=mc2.

Yet when a thing seems too simple (an overuse of the world simple, I know), many will not pay it much notice, precisely because of a false notion that, because everything seem and feels complicated around us, it cannot be explained in simple terms. Not true.

Sure enough, there are many doctrines that were founded on this notion of coexisting energy, the chief of which is Buddhism and many other, sub-shoots of it. These are less known to the average Westerner  yet still operate on the principle. For us, the inhabitants of the Western world, with its different cultural "standards" and religious endowments, such notions tend to mean nothing. Coexisting energy? Pfuj! "I am a being of matter and I coexist because I was born in a culture which forces me to coexist for my own benefit and survival." This is all true enough. But what happens when you don't know how to coexist any more?  What happens when you feel out of touch and unable to function in set parameters "forced" upon you by society? You crumble. You either find another way to coexist, to get back into the flow of coexistence, or you crumble into dust. Most likely sooner in your mind than in your body.

But let's for a moment return back to the energy part of coexistence. Since the West needs complicated solutions because the world is complicated, there is nothing more complicated, yet at the same time simpler, than the Quantum Theory. It explains how the very smallest is nothing but possibility. This relates to the very biggest; you. Because you are, since your inception into this world, a pure possibility. You are a reflection of that Quanta, that caged energy which forms out of possibility and probability.

A girl who has spent her whole childhood among wolves will never again be successfully assimilated into normal society. Because our minds are shaped by other minds, by the piling of possibilities to make actualities. In this sense, we are coexisting energy. We project our energy to others through speech, the functions of our body, through our thoughts, and in turn, our minds shift and form actualities.

Imagine, for a moment, that your eyes don't see crude matter, but the movement of Quanta itself. Image for a moment you could see the sub-net, below even the atomic scale, where everything is fluctuation, a foam without shape. An intrinsic field where nothing but the rate of vibration differs. It is this state which relates to energy. This field is where it all truly happens. This is what I meant in my earlier post, and that all of these processes will never be truly known to us. They are hidden from our senses and reside in a spectral universe. We can only be aware that these processes are happening and realize they will always happen, all around us, without pause. The question then is, will you coexist with this movement? Can you even not coexist with it? Not unless you live with wolves, but even then, you're coexisting with them... thus you will always be matter [caged energy]... coexisting.


Animation by Mr.Div.

On the Spirit


When oceans collide and stars die, we are reborn through endless fire. We breathe and we battle our minds, we struggle and lunge forth in ever-increasing strides. When that which was deemed enough and sought after is achieved, we see the divide and realize this object was not our true desire. When our hearts turn sour and we think of what we need, we find only more fire. But its flames are of no colour that we can see, no colour that this world can craft for you, or for me. It is an undefinable thing that we are after, in the end, realizing this only when there in nothing left for us but the hereafter, the bitter end. And when in the grip of dying we draw our last breath, life reveals to us and we realize, there is no more time left.

Random Scribble #722


Emotion is energy in movement. It mirrors life. We shift and the spaces between the lines move, yet it's not only spaces in between which determine an area. A reality consisting of fragments and intangible "things" around and within, which drift onto forever. They are thoughts taking form in the mind - they start and begin in the mind and end in the mind. 
The eyes see, but only what's "out there", what can be determined and captured, processed, while emotions feel what the eyes cannot. 

And always the sphere of emotion warps and wefts, sets and determines a different mould of reality outside reason and flesh, ever-adding to the complexity of its infinite design.


An interesting fact that, in Zen, the mind is located where the heart is (Kokoro), the psychic centre; where intuition and spirit intertwine, mutually collapse and reform, slumping and rising. 

The Human Abstract


Have you ever had moments in your life wherein your outline appeared to expand and encompass everything? When you seemed to become one with everything and everyone? A moment between moments when the notion of Oneness wasn't simply an abstract idea in your mind, but a sensation you felt? If you have, please share you experience with me. I would love to read about it, not only when it happened and how long it lasted, but also how many times it has happened since and how you think it changed your outlook on life and existence.

Please describe these experiences in a comment or (preferably) send me an email on kzeefreeman@gmail.com.

Quantum Oneness - Everything Connects




A blackbody is a theoretical, physical body which absorbs all forms of radiation. In reality, such a body doesn’t exist, but let us look at this a bit differently.
Historically, this is where the Quantum Theory began. So it seems only fair that we should also begin here. The basic idea is this: the radiant energy of a hollow cavity – energy that originates from within it – that is to say, inside the walls of the cavity, emits vibrations of every possible frequency and in all directions simultaneously. The rate of these emissions increases rapidly with the increase in temperature. The amount of  emitted energy, however, does not increase indefinitely with time, as the rate of emission is opposed by the rate of absorption within the cavity walls. To put it simply, there is always radiation within the cavity, so as the emissions are increased, the absorption rate needs to “keep up” with the emission rate. As equilibrium is reached between emission and absorption rate -- meaning that absorption occurs as soon as the radiation is emitted -- the material which absorbs and emits is no longer important, what becomes important is the temperature of the material. And this is the key point.  Because what is temperature? It is the rate at which elementary particles inside the material vibrate and spin. For now, we’re not going to delve deeper and say, but what are elementary particles, really? For now let’s take on the quantum explanation and say elementary particles are objects of possibility. Now, if we take a single neuron pathway, and apply the previously discussed principle of emission and absorption (in equilibrium) governed by temperature, we can assume every pathway, since it simultaneously absorbs radiation from other neuron pathways and emits it upon itself and onto others, that that neuron pathways acts the same as this hollow, blackbody cavity.
Example: We have all known times where we feel “run down” and haggard, tired, and times when we are brimming with mental activity. My suggestion here is not that we increase the temperature of our heads by any external means [although I believe this too would work to an extent], but to do this by increasing our mental activity. There is no doubt that when the brain’s mental activity lowers, so too does the frequency of its operation, resulting in lessened emission and absorption rates. Could it be then that, in fact, when it comes to the blackbody, we have devised this theoretical thing, without realizing there is in fact a perfectly working one already inside us? And that, because of this, we were able to conceive of such a thing in the first place? My personal opinion is that, yes. Now it is true that the forms of radiation which our brain can absorb is governed by the capabilities of our senses, but once this information passes through this filtering systems of our sense-perception organs, the brain absorbs all. The reasons why we are perceptive to such a narrow band of radiation, whether it is light, sound, electromagnetic or any other field, are due to our evolutionary processes. Processes which limited our minds, made them more resilient to “useless” stimuli in order for the whole to be able cope with the stimuli which are necessary for its survival and continued existence.
Another thing which is  to note in the case of blackbody emission and absorption rate is this. If the temperature of the blackbody is raised, the maximum is shifted towards higher frequencies, which makes sense, since, frequency is the rate of vibration, or the number of cycles per a given length of time. This is important because, in a very real sense, we have all felt this happen in our heads numerous times. But in the case of the brain, the simultaneous rise in temperature and frequency is even more obvious. That is to say, the process in our minds happens so fast it would seem and feel the two arise mutually, as it is indeed the case in a blackbody (as per stated in the beginning of this paragraph). The most noted example is anger. A flash of intense anger often feels like a rise in temperature in our heads, because in fact it is. In a spur of momentary anger, absorption and emission rise to such a degree in a given spot, that we can feel it and, as a result, usually use our organic apparatuses to express it. Meaning that we yell, curse, flail our hands or whatever. In quite a similar fashion, the expression “they are having a heated debate,” is not used in vain. This, however, does not necessarily apply only in the case of anger. But to all things in the brain. Allow me to elaborate. We know the brain heats up when there is increased activity in any given spot or area. Thus, in our “heated debate”, neurons absorb and emit at an increased rate. When the absorption rate (the understanding of a subject is lowered) while the emission rate (information input) is higher, the blackbody equilibrium is nonexistent (there is no equilibrium), and we have issues with comprehending.
But when the rate of emission and absorption within a neuron is in equilibrium, the process becomes discontinuous and allows for near instant absorptions of outside stimuli (obviously there is still a path upon which the signals must travel, so it’s never instant). 
It is thus no surprise that we feel most alive when this process is occurring at the maximum frequency (temperature) and thus rate – as the blackbody is, at that instant, absorbing more and more radiation as a result.
There are, of course, other instances that would suggest that the brain does not absorb only sensory input. By now experiments have been conducted by universities in Brasil, Zurick and Berlin, that would seem to suggest that, in cases of meditative states, people seem to be able to communicate non-locally. Thus, I think, it is not wise to simply exclude this phenomena and assume the brain is simply an organ full of chemical reactions and not much else.
Another good source of how the brain seems to be able to access increased levels of perceptional awareness have been drugs, in particular DMT, which has been experimented with, not by individuals alone, but by doctors using scientific methods and data-collecting, like Rick Strassman MD, to show truly puzzling data on how, by altering the brain’s vibrationonal structure (meaning adding new molecules to its receptors) it is seemingly able to absorb radiation of forms that it otherwise cannot access. Most might dismiss this as drug-input altering the brain and making people see things that do not exist and never will. But what do you really do upon ingesting (absorbing) a drug, any drug? You add a molecule. You add a new vibrational structure into your brain which, by definition, makes the brain itself vibrate in a slightly different manner. And this is another key point. If the brain can and will absorb ANY vibrational structure (an atom) [of course such a thing is not advised and may result in cancelation of its functions] then it is indeed a blackbody. It might reject the particular radiation, but will still absorb it.

Now, an important aspect to note in all of this is that energy within the blackbody is a sum of different terms and conditions. This means different wavelengths (the time between vibrations) and polarizations do not interact with each other. For them to be able to interact, the energy of one vibration depends on the state of another and vice versa. What does this mean for the brain? For our own interactions with others? To give concrete examples would be what I had just mentioned in the paragraph above. The introduction of drugs and intoxicants often means that two people cannot relate to each other on the same level, assuming one has taken a drug and the other has not. It has often been stated that they are on “different frequencies” and that is completely true. When this happens in the brain, it often results in conflicting data between neurons, conflicting energy, which causes confusion and conflicting emissions within the other, non-drugged individual.
Another example is that, on one hand, you want someone romantically, to be with them, while, on the other hand, you may not be sure that you two fit. The two energies simply do not interact, and are feeding your conscious thinking with separate, often times conflicting information of what you think you desire. This quantum state of energy fluxuation also relates to human interactions in a sense that it expresses itself outwardly from  the nexus of neuron constellations and expresses in mannerisms, speech, movements.

I am like you. Remove the ‘am’. 

The problems of all our interactions arise when we fight for this energy within us and our two systems cannot interact because our vibrational patterns are different. Yet when our inner states are in equilibrium, ie. we understand what someone is expressing, we in turn say we understand that person. This energy is outwardly mostly exchanged with speech, effecting in turn the neurons within you. When you understand someone and find aspects of yourself in them, equilibrium is easily reached. We say we connect. That we connected with someone. But, in reality, the inner battle of our neuron pathways has simply ceased and an equilibrium has been reached as the radiation and absorption of energy in the form of thoughts has become discontinuous ­– one motion.
In quantum theory and within the blackbody, it is possible to choose an interval so small, that no important physical quantity changes with it. But we can also choose an interval so large, that very many oscillations are included in the process. In our case, the term “oscillators” can – in the case of the brain – be exchanged for the term neurons. This largeness or the amount of neurons, can be mathematically expressed in a density function. When the amount of oscillations/neurons is large – so large if fact, that their number can be treated as a net, the process complicates further. When the internal leaps between input is so small (only a small net of neurons need to fire for a specific memory, for instance) you cease to perceive any change in your mind and the process of thinking becomes discontinuous. When in turn this activity absorbs a whole set of neuron pathways along with it, the discontinuity of the process remains, and suddenly, your “whole” brain is engaged with a problem with which you are struggling.
Energy within the blackbody is weight according to its probability. This is also helpful to our line of thinking. For the brain functions (even if you subscribe to the basic view of chemical reactions and sensory input alone) in quantum fields. If you look from the standpoint of oneness, of discontinuity in the sense that, all non-discontinuity is brought on only by our point of view (reference) then all the chemicals are simply different sets of vibrational patters. Different wavelengths.
How does probability come into play, then?
First, let us examine one of the assumptions made by Planck. Again, we will change the term “oscillators” with “neurons”. The energy of a neuron of natural frequency is restricted to integral multiples of a basic unit.  This basic unit is not the same for all neurons, since it is proportional to the frequency (a frequency which is its own). The idea here then, is that [by the way, the energy within this neuron is so small it cannot be detected with most instruments, but only as a web of neuron pathways.] each neuron adds its own specific wavelength, an imprint that correlates to the imprint of input at the time when it had formed.  This adds new layers of possibility and is, in turn, what helps us form new ideas and thoughts as the inner webs of neurons struggle to form a state of equilibrium, which can only be achieved by cross-reference or adding new neurons. If you were following closely, you might ask, how then, can neurons even interact and reach a state of equilibrium between each other, if no structure of a neuron is similar to the other? Because by definition that would mean they have different wavelengths, right? But you see, that is the beauty of our brain, instead of struggling how to make two systems interact, it adds new systems that connect to and are separate, yet part of the whole within that system. Remember, for two separate systems to interact, one needs to depend on the energy of another. This is the key here. In such a system, as it becomes more and more complex, everything else begins to rely on everything else in ever-growing complexity. The direct result of this is that all of them come together as one motion, striving for constant balance. Balance, of course, is not always reached. But balance is key.


I would like to end this chapter with this: conflicting thoughts* are necessary for new “balancing” mechanisms to arise in the brain.

Time Betrays Us All