I’M NOW READING a book which suggests that life creates the universe, not the other way round.
I wrote a book like that years ago, in three pages. It’s in the story of my friendship with the me when I was ten years old. It’s about my discovery of why things work in space and time. The reasons for the book don’t matter here, but the conversation does.
Here’s a page when I walked with young Dickie into a grocery store, and told him about how our belief works in spacetime. I had to invent a few words.
“Sometimes I wish you were a grownup, Dickie.”
Interesting, I thought, picking a handful of beets. Not a murmur of distress when I wished for a change impossible for him to make. “Because I could explain in a lot fewer words if you knew quantum mechanics. I’ve whittled the physics of consciousness down to a hundred words, but you’re going to have to puzzle over it forever. You’re never going to be a grown-up, and I’ll never be able to hand you my tract that fits on one page.”
Curiosity prevailed. “Pretend I’m a grown-up who loves quantum mechanics,” he said. “How would you say how consciousness works in one page? I’m too little to understand, of course, but it would be fun to hear. Say it as complicated as you want.”
He’s daring me, I thought, he thinks I’m bluffing. I turned the shopping cart toward the checkout stand.
“First I’d say the title: The Physics of Consciousness – or – Spacetime Explained.”
“Next you’ll tell me the abstract,” he said.
I looked at him. I didn’t know about abstracts until after I had run away from school. How could he know?
“Right,” I said. “And now I have to talk in fine print, the way they do in The American Journal of Particle Science. Listen tight, and maybe you’ll understand a word or two, child though you may be.”
He laughed. “Child though I may be.”
I cleared my throat, slowed the cart and stopped near the cash register, glad for the minute’s wait in line. “You want to hear this right straight through, all at once?”
“As if I was a quantum mechanic,” he said.
Instead of correcting his grammar, I told him what I thought. “We are focus-points of consciousness,” I said, “enormously creative. When we enter the self-constructed hologrammetric arena we call space-time, we begin at once to generate creativity particles, imajons, in violent continuous pyrotechnic deluge. Imajons have no charge of their own, but are strongly polarized through our attitudes and by the force of our choice and our desire into clouds of conceptons, a family of very-high-energy particles which may be positive, negative, or neutral.”
He listened, pretended he could understand.
“Some positive conceptons are exhilarons, excytons, jovions. Common negative conceptons include gloomons, tormentons, tribulons, agonons, miserons.
“Indefinite numbers of conceptons are created in nonstop eruption, a thundering cascade of creativity pouring from every center of personal consciousness. They mushroom into concepton clouds, which can be neutral or strongly charged – buoyant, weightless or leaden, depending on the nature of their dominant particles.
“Every nanosecond an indefinite number of concepton clouds build to critical mass, then transform in quantum bursts to high-energy probability waves radiating at tachyon speeds through an eternal reservoir of supersaturated alternate events. Depending on their charge and nature, the probability waves crystallize certain of these potential events to match the mental polarity of their creating consciousness into holograph appearance. Are you following me, Dickie?”
He nodded, and I laughed.
“The materialized events become that mind’s experience, freighted with all the aspects of physical structure necessary to make them real and learningful to the creating consciousness. This autonomic process is the fountain from which springs every object and event in the theater of spacetime.
“The persuasion of the imajon hypothesis lies in its capacity for personal verification. The hypothesis predicts that as we focus our conscious intention on the positive and life-affirming, as we fasten our thought on these values, we polarize masses of positive conceptons, realize beneficial probability waves, bring useful alternate events to us that otherwise would not have appeared to exist.
“The reverse is true in the production of negative events, as is the mediocre in-between. Through default or intention, unaware or by design, we not only choose but create the visible outer conditions that are most resonant to our inner state of being.
He waited while I paid for the groceries. “That’s it?” he said.
“Is it wrong? Have I erred in any way?”
He smiled, for Dad had taught us both how important it is to pronounce that word correctly. “How can I tell if you erred, child that I am?”
“Laugh if you must,” I told him, “go ahead and call me a zany. But in a hundred years somebody’s going to print those words in Modern Quantum Theory and nobody’s going to think it’s mad.”
He stepped on the frame of the shopping cart, rode along as I pushed it to the car. “If you don’t get trapped by gloomons,” he said, “that will probably happen.”
Today is not a hundred years but only twenty from the day I wrote those pages. Here now are at least two books: The Physics of Consciousness, by Evan Harris Walker, and Biocentrism, by Robert Lanza. They may suggest something similar to the chapter in Running from Safety.
Does the smallest wish I have to go home, twenty years after writing my own little Physics of Consciousness, is my wish directed by gloomons? Or can jovions touch us in the same way?