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Did you realize that electrons can travel through different states, known as localized and de-localized states, of an atom via the conduction band, essentially what this means is that an electron can leave the orbit of an atom and 'travel' to the orbit of a different atom. This process is the basis of the idea that electrons can "pop in and out of existence," fundamentally this isn't true, electrons do not pop in and out of existence, they can, however, disappear and reappear in different atoms. The concept is an important one in quantum mechanics because it furthers the idea, scientifically, that everything is interconnected.
That we are all interconnected.
Quantum Mechanics is the school of science that studies the nature and the behaviors of matter and energy on the scale of atoms and subatomic particles. The same school of thought that theorized the God Particle.
At the most fundamental of levels we not only, literally, share particles, but those particles can be influenced and manipulated by resonance, or vibrations of varying wave lengths in association with shared intent.
If you're familiar with the Law of Attraction, that your thoughts can change your life - yes, that's an oversimplification, a paradigm shift ultimately changes your life but that does require a change in the way that you think - then you're familiar with a practical application of Quantum Mechanics.
The science of this is exceptionally fascinating, still I think it's limited by how, many people, perceive God. Our understanding of God and our relationship with God is paramount in our capacity to understand our selves and our lives.
And, with that said, I believe that religion has oversimplified the perception of God:
I believe that our impression of God was established in a time when people, for the most part, were emotionally and intellectually incapable of truly understanding our existence as well as ourselves. I believe that Jesus, for example, was consciously aware of a general lack of a certain spiritual consciousness within the populace - creation, and a consciousness responsible for creation, the informed act of creation, and the extent of what follows or shadows that: the law of attraction, natural law, quantum physics, etc. - in his [Jesus'] effort to illustrate this understanding to the general public he had to apply parables and devices that the people of the time would understand, symbols and patterns that were relatable and physically sympathetic to their perspective worldview. As time, and we progressed our relationship with God, did not.
We have never actually matured to understand and relate to God in the way that we are emotionally and intellectually capable, in the way that Jesus was always able to relate to God; and so, while most other aspects of our societies and cultures were developing, our understanding of God would remain limited to a worldview of a society that existed in the first century.
I believe that God is intelligible, conscious, and omnipresent within all things, and that we exist, not apart from God such as the distinction that might exist between a creator and his creation, but rather as the living manifestation of God, in a similar, but not identical, way to that in which we attribute the role of Jesus in Christianity; what I'm suggesting is that neither God nor people can exist distinct from the other, and just as we share that relationship with God we are offered the means to share that relationship with one another.
String theory and Quantum Mechanics are mathematics way of manifesting God through the eyes of academia. While religion is societies way of manifesting God through the eyes, not of Jesus, but of his disciples. God, is like water, and we are like fish, and we are the universes' way of manifesting God through creation.
And, in either scenario, there exists an unassailable connection between us, one another, and our surroundings, and we - human beings - have, in our supreme brazenness and indifference, shuttered that relationship in effort of individual conquest and experience, with the egocentric belief that we are capable of having a completely, exclusive, diacritic experience; we're not.
God exist in all things, and through that existence, we exist in one another.
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I recognize how often I get on the topic of people, and how fascinating it is how we interact with one another, and how our moods and our emotions can effect how relevant or meaningful something might be.
Do you remember being a kid, and sometimes up through your early twenties when everything seemed so important? If something negative, or unwanted, or hurtful, or ambiguous happened and it felt like the end of the world. But, it did, veritably, feel like the end of the world: emotionally and intellectually, the feeling would be utterly consuming.
And then you get older, and the same things don’t feel so important because other things have replaced them, and we’ve trained ourselves to prioritize—we’ve come to recognize and accept what we will choose to be consumed about. These things, however, still feel exceptionally important to us—and I would be remiss to point out that with the exception of the oppressive worry we feel for our children, it’s all smoke and mirrors.
And then we get even older, and we have again trained ourselves to prioritize, and to recognize that we have spent the better part of our lives being conducted by our various and unsteady feelings of foolishness.
The things we didn’t say and the things we didn’t do; the life that we didn’t live or the chances that we didn’t take because of an immediate sense of consuming urgency: fear, doubt, confusion, what-if?, obligation...our seemingly steadfast designs that matter less and less when we near the end of our lives, when we start to wonder why we didn’t spend our entire lives just...living, being happy—listening to our hearts.
What we could have been doing from the beginning was learning how to let people in: and then letting people in, enjoying their company, enjoying our own company, making mistakes, forgiving, saying how we feel, not really needing reasons or excuses, just being completely open, because why the hell not? It's worth figuring out who you are and loving as profoundly as you are able in whatever way you are able, and doing so with as much intention and understanding as you are able.
How often do we hear the wisest of us telling us that they don’t know, “Why I didn’t, just, say that...” “Why I couldn’t, just, do that...” “Why I couldn’t, just, be that...”
And yet, most of us, are still holding so tightly to that feeling that it’s the end of the world, because, in all honesty, it takes us—nearly—our entire lives to let that go. We don’t want to feel like we’re making a mistake, we don’t want to feel like we’re doing something wrong, and it seems so important in the moment that we end up giving away so much of our lives to worry and to a feeling of emotional debt.
I’m thirty-five, and I don’t want to do that. I mean, do you really want to do that?
I have offered my life to worry, on and off and I have offered my life to well-being, on and off and I choose well-being, and regardless of what some people might have you believe God does want us to choose well-being, to follow our bliss. It is considerably more difficult to follow your bliss than it is not, otherwise the things that once felt so important wouldn’t lose their meaning, and we wouldn’t spend the remainder of our only life (whether you’re a believer of reincarnation or not you do only get one chance to live this life) wondering.
Those that are truly content with their lives lived honestly, and passionately, and devoutly; they acknowledge their faults and the lessons they learned from them; they acknowledge the work they did and their accomplishments, nobly; and they stand by the life they lived and they chances they took, resolutely.
You may lose people in your life for being honest and for being open and it may cost you things that once seemed or felt important and it won't feel easy, but the people and the life that you will gain are far more rewarding, and once you've taken this path and traversed the obstacles gathered, and lingering from your past the path will present itself to you unwaveringly, as if God were meaningfully and directly guiding you along the way.
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For a running number of years now I have wanted to pack a backpack with a few essentials, design and buy a sailboat out of Hamburg, Germany, then hop on a freighter from some undisclosed point on America’s east coast and disappear, at least from anything that I am familiar with.
I imagined that I would end up somewhere along the southwestern coast of France. In my novel, Between Transitions, Jonah, the protagonist, started his journey in Paris then headed north by train to Brussels, Belgium then east to Cologne, Germany followed then by Leipzig, Berlin, and, finally, Hamburg. Where he too had commissioned a sailboat. Between Transitions ends with Jonah sailing up the Elbe towards the North Sea, leaving in an open-ended journey towards whoknowswhere, as Jonah sails away.
I, however, would like to visit the shores or Bordeaux and backpack inland to Lyon, and wander upwards to Geneva, Switzerland before making my way to Paris. Or to find myself in San Sebastian, Spain and then to walk south to Pamplona, and then west to Santiago de Compostela completing the walk--The Way—Camino de Santiago, before heading to Bordeaux and then east towards Lyon.
I was driving earlier this morning, listening to music, and singing along, I don’t remember to what exactly, and this feeling swept over me: how badly I wanted to get out of the car and just walk away. In that moment I could picture my sailboat, and I could see me sitting on the deck, with nothing but the sea surrounding me, and, in the distance, there was a faint hint of land, but still I could be mistaken, it could very well be nothing, only a mirage. I might be reading, or writing, or fishing perhaps, there is a glass of wine on the deck next to me, a small crimson puddle gathers around the edges of the circular base of the glass stem; or maybe I’m doing nothing at all, I’m just staring off into the distance, until I’m distracted by the warmth of the sun on my arms, and the salt in my hair, and the smell of seawater, of the sea completely consuming me, “you would think I would be used to it by now,” a thought likely to have crossed my mind: the smell; while also being consciously grateful that I’m not yet used to it, and here’s to hoping that I would never be.
I could go anywhere at all the world is as big or as small as I allow it. I could eat cheese with wine at a café in Barcelona, after running with the bulls, and smoke hookah with old wise Turkish men on a patio near the port of Istanbul, and swim in the pale blue ocean off the coast of Santorini, Greece, and walk through the castles and the hills of Croatia, jog from coast-to-coast on the tiny island of Zanzibar, and after docking in Mumbai, hike through India towards Nepal: Tibet: China. And, this would be the beginning, only.
What keeps me, I wonder. Here. Projects, different dreams, love? All of which are consuming day-in, and day-out, and yet all of which are still just slightly out of reach in their entirety. So, again, what keeps me; here.
I had let go of my fear of the unknown, and of the familiar long ago. I packed up my 99’ green Honda Civic and drove west down I-10: Pocatello, Idaho; Idaho Falls, Idaho; Salt Lake City, Utah; New York City, New York; Santa Fe, New Mexico. All of which came and went as easy to me as picturing myself sailing up the Elbe, towards the North Sea.
When I was younger I had an unquenchable desire to experience life. In the mornings, as my eyes slowly opened, I thought only about what I had already missed that day, and what I would not allow myself to continue to miss if I didn’t get out of bed. And so, I was up, and I was out, waiting to experience whatever opportunity I was able.
I know when that changed. When my lust for life left my body like a cold soul being lifted towards the heavens prematurely. It was during those same series of moments when everything else left me, and I was numb. I was a shell of body that contained only the hope of revival. It’s funny how the subtle manipulation of someone who claims to have loved you will slowly rip pieces away from you, it’s not so funny when you look back at a younger version of yourself remembering that you once had a lust for life, but to not remember what it felt like. It’s gratifying slowly developing it again. And then again the promise of sailing away is postponed because of dreams of opening a bookstore, the determination to see it through, and the limbo of a love that’s an unspoken, mutual, idea…only.
Do you ever think about that kind of stuff, and then you look out the window, and you see the sun reflecting off of the innumerous shades of green—my favorite color—and feeling only the passion, again, to experience…everything? Perhaps I would not have found that lust again without the direction of a dream, and the fulfillment of unrequited love: like pieces being put together, but differently, a puzzle that slightly resembles you. “You don’t know this new me, I put back my pieces differently.”
It is so easy to let the mistakes of your past dictate the direction of your future. In very small, unsexy ways, it builds up: more, and more, until it is all you can do just to get through the day, and then the next day, and the next, and the next.
I was driving earlier this morning, listening to music, and singing along, I don’t remember to what exactly, and this feeling swept over me: how badly I wanted to get out of the car and just walk away. In that moment I could picture my sailboat, and I could see me sitting on the deck, with nothing but the sea surrounding me, and, in the distance, there was the faint hint of land, but still I could be mistaken, it could very well be nothing, only a mirage. I might be listening to music, or dancing, or cooking perhaps, there is a glass of wine on the deck next to me, a small crimson puddle gathers around the edges of the circular base of the glass stem; or maybe I’m running along the beach, I’m not even sure what country I’m in, the silhouette of my boat anchored just off shore, the course, uncomfortable feeling on the pads of my feet from running in the sand drifts in and out of my thoughts, “the sea is cold this morning,” a thought likely to have crossed my mind: the ocean; while also being consciously grateful that I’m not yet used to it, and here’s to hoping that I never will be.
*"Something Beautiful in the Morning: What Our Dreams May Become" was something I wrote a few years ago, and I wanted it to be a part of this collection of writings.
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Our political affiliations are almost entirely, and uncompromisingly learned. People rely on others, namely our parents, to guide us and teach us what it means to be human, and in doing so certain affiliations are impressed upon us by the very act of that guidance, many of which are imprinted upon us indirectly. More often than not generations of families become accustomed to certain affiliations without even the slightest conscious understanding of even their own respective worldview.
That’s pretty fucked up.
Regardless of what you may actually think and believe your belief systems are almost always inherited. It’s exceptionally rare for a person to step outside of their construct and to look around at the world through only their eyes, tabula rasa.
I doubt that you could even imagine what you would see if you did, because you are only as capable of opening your mind to the possibilities of what your own imagination will allow.
“How is one to know one’s mind when one’s mind is all one has to know it by?”
I think this is why I’m fed up with our contemporary system of political discernment. Everyone is, quite literally, out of their minds. Very, very few people have a clue of what their talking about or why, everything is broken. And it was broken so attentively and systematically that the measure for which we—we, the people—are picking up the pieces is in-and-of-itself a system of repress.
Still the majority of the people—of us—are consumed with the folly, and the enmity, and the contest that we have lost nearly all sight of repose.
Why is it, do you think, that we feel like we have to actively do something to-, or about people who might believe differently than ourselves in order for us to resolve anything? And what, exactly should we do about them? Because, it seems to me, that we’re actively doing too much as it is. The thing about unity or equanimity or coexistence is that there really isn’t anything that we can do to obtain them, they are all just, kind of, waiting for us to calm the fuck down.
And if you’re actively trying to force someone to believe something other than what they were bred to believe then, I mean, you’re a fuckin’ idiot, you’re just wasting your time, and sure you’ve got the raw attention of a large number of people who think they can punch the stupid outta you, so you and they are otherwise doomed to a very long and difficult and provoking life, of which you only get one; so you’re both, essentially, wasting your one opportunity to live any degree of a decent life for no reason other than to be inexhaustibly irritating, and irritated with little to no recourse at the end of which you both, more than likely, suffer a drawn-out, painful death at the hands of your own disavowal to live a balanced and peaceful life.
In any state of political indifference the first thought, for most people, is the direction we need to take in order to get out of it, so we come up with answers to solve the case of current position. However, we never actually take the time to ask ourselves how we got to this point to being with, so...we’re essentially looking for answers to problems we don’t understand. And when you do that you get things like Donald Trump, and Democratic Socialism, and special interest groups financially controlling our elected representatives, and dangerous political dynasties like the Clinton’s, and people thinking that we need more, or less government involvement in our lives.
What we need is to take a deep breath and to actually evaluate ourselves. We need to take inventory on the state of our ongoing means and figure shit out before we systematically try to fix anything, otherwise we might find ourselves standing up in a town hall meeting making statements like “Even if we would bomb Russia...we have to get rid of the babies, its a big problem, even if we stopped having babies it’s not enough, we have to eat the babies...” or worse, to become so desensitized by tribal politics that we exchange doing what's right for conforming to party nuances.
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I’m a very conscious person; almost to a fault, which is to say that I am very observant, pansophic, empathic, and that my mind is very active. I also have a reason for everything that I do, and say. I have learned, early in life, that people, in general—either—tend to assume that most others don’t have reasons for just about anything that they do or say, or people are very actively arbitrary in their hair-trigger re-actions.
My reasons for doing or saying a thing are, more often than not, not at all what you, or most people might expect, when I discovered this stilted obscurity about myself and about people it did come as a bit of a shock to me but, I mean, I am not at all like most people—I have always been aware of that inasmuch as I am aware that, when inquired, most people would respond very similarly—most people like to think that they are also different, anywise—they’re not.
I am accountable for my actions, as well as semi-apologetic, if I feel like I should be—because my pride isn’t worth my compassion—and yet I’m not very concerned what most people think about me. I am neither accountable or apologetic for others, I am both because, quite simply, I try to “...be the change I want to see in the world.” I also believe in the power, and juxtaposition of gratitude.
I think that a number of people find some of these qualities to be conflicting, I don’t. That, among many other reasons, are what has enlightened me to the now evident verity that I am unlike most people.
I realized not too long ago that I haven’t missed anybody in a while, and it dawned on me that I rarely actually miss people, I mean, I have, of course, missed people, but not as frequently as most people seem to miss people. I care about people, not so much individuals, but that realization has never affected my basis of being kind and applicable, understanding and forgiving, grateful and authentic when, you know, living in the world—I mean, the only thing that any of us are guaranteed throughout the course of our lives is that we will, without a shadow of a doubt, always be surrounded by people—unless, of course, their awful, disgusting, rotten human beings, in which case, my general assertion is to—as gently and firmly as possible—specify that “we no longer exist to one another.” Some people think that’s cruel, personally I believe that life is too short to actively pretend, or to ignore (without the appropriate communicative action) people who I don’t want in my life.
I have observed, a short while ago, that I do actively miss somebody; there is someone in my life that I miss, sometimes even, while they are standing directly in front of me. In our humanity we need people, and there are people in my life that I care very, very much about, they matter a great deal to me, but I have moved around a lot and people have come and gone from my life so often that I haven’t really allowed myself to get attached; but it’s weird caring about what someone else actually thinks about me, like it willfully and exhaustively matters to me, and it sucks—for a lot of reasons.
I have been in love a couple of times, in my life; I mean, like, in the way that we commonly appreciate being in love (I accentuate the point because of my recent column about love, that you can read here), but I have never known love that has actually developed organically from nothing → respect → love; I’ve only been, like, you know: friends, and then like “whoa, we’re, like, totally in love now, far out! We should totally get, like, mar-ried and shit."
The thing is that although I do like, you know: playing a fool, and stumbling over myself, and saying stupid shit, and trying too hard, and having feelings it’s still also, well, it’s complicated—yeah, that’s the problem, I like the simplicity of communicating complicated away. That is—at least, part of the reason—why communication is so important to me; but what if you cannot genuinely, and openly communicate? The thing about a love that evolves organically, is that it’s not a choice. It is completely and irritatingly instinctual and compelling. It’s never been so difficult for me to, just, turn it off (I have tried, even if I don't really want to). And, that is very conflicting, which invites my reasons—whether they’re apparent to you readers or not—for writing this today. I haven’t yet talked about it, and that is not like me.
Do you ever think God gets bored—however you want to perceive God—I mean, boredom doesn’t have to look like a fat ol’ drunk sitting on a rusted (rusted, WTF?), torn ash gray couch, with a “half-full” bottle of Pabst pathetically offset between the cushions, one hand in a bowl of three day old popcorn, and the other hand stock-still down his untied gym pants, that look strikingly similar to the molded couch beneath his butt watching American Gladiators or Al Jazeera or recorded VHS tapes of 25 year old Dallas Cowboy games.
...or a human being without their cell phone!
We can reinvent what boredom might be to a collective, omnipotent, omnipresent (un)consciousness. I don’t know that God does necessarily get bored but there is definitely a dearth of entertainment in the omnisphere, cause WTF? ...I'm gonna need a reason for this one, my friend?