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Salt Bath Rebirth

This morning I woke up early and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I made a strong pink salt bath and lay in it. As my body took in the minerals and I relaxed, it began to feel like a kind of rebirth.

For a while now I’ve been practicing surrender. I’m not very good at other forms of spiritual exercise, and can’t really get the hang of meditation, but surrender I am good at. I asked God to take every part of me: my heart, my mind, my skin, my organs, my bones, my breath. You want my pancreas? It’s yours. My eyes, too. My lungs. All of this is yours, and I give it back to you.

I don’t own the code I’m working. This DNA. I didn’t make it, and it doesn’t belong to me. The things I think of as most “mine”—my hands, say; or my memories—are the least mine. I am not this body. This body could be made again with this DNA and these memories. This body is not me. I am this voice—the ineffable, immaterial spark of consciousness that is working this body. And the truth we are all about to wake up to is that this voice is your voice, too. We are different pipes, but the same wind. Different glass, but the same light.

There’s something else I realized in the bath. There’s a lot of noise in the world. I love the quiet, because I can hear my deepest self think. I can surrender my small petty self to my large loving self. I prayed that I would always stay connected to God’s voice amid the din of the world, and always remain deeply in line with my own intuition. My grandmother used to say she would rather lose her skin than her faith. Today I ask that no matter how busy the future may be, I always stay inside God’s strong voice within me.

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Density and Speed

The universe is accelerating, and so must we, if we are to keep pace with time. But in order to accelerate—and not fly apart—we must increase our density. For matter, it is contrary to increase density and speed simultaneously. Generally, when we speed things up—for instance, when we stir batter, or heat an ice cube—they become less dense. Adding energy decreases density; but if we are to maximize our lifespans, we must increase energy and density at the same time.

One day, I finally realized: my body was collaborating with me. When I give it density, my body makes energy. When I give it energy, my body makes density. It’s ingenious, actually.

When I give my body speed, it gives me density (sleepiness after a meal, etc.) When I give it density, it gives me speed. But whether it perceives what I give it as density or speed depends upon my own density and speed.

In other words, the problem—the way in which this mechanism can go awry, and cause illness—is one of perception. Density is relative.

What is oxalate (a crystal found in plants capable of photosynthesis)? It depends. If I am faster than it, it is crystal. It is density, and it triggers my body to make energy. But if I am slower than it, it is light. It is energy, and it triggers my body to make density.

When I was too dense, I perceived everything as energy, and the perception of energy triggered my body to create further density, which was damaging to me because I was already too dense. Sunlight, loud noises, the rumbling of a skateboard, the beeping of a truck backing up—all induced the fight-or-flight response in me. All made my body feel it was under attack.

Which it was. All of these stimuli were neurotoxic. All were causing my body to use calcium to hold itself together—and I was already saturated with calcium. My mother (Alzheimer’s) craves root beer all day every day. I think she’s (subconsciously) using the high phosphorus content in soda to manipulate her free calcium levels. My dog (miniature dachshund) goes bananas whenever a skateboard passing us on the sidewalk, as if the loud rumbling/physical vibration were physically harming her. I believe it is. Dachshunds, with their bad teeth and calcified discs, are a breed known for calcium dysregulation—meaning calcium is present where it shouldn’t be, and absent where it should be. The perception of energy—the loud rumbling noise—is triggering her body to seek further density via calcium, and she is already swimming in calcium, as evinced by her hypersensitivity to the skateboard’s rumbling in the first place.

When I am calcium-toxic—meaning I am using calcium rather than magnetism (iron) to hold myself together—my hearing becomes low-quality and extra-sensitive at the same time. I feel stiff, depressed, and low-energy. Old.

My illness made me somewhat hypersensitive to external stimuli; many have it far worse than I. There are those who suffer from myalgic encephalomyelitis, also known as ME/CFS (“chronic fatigue syndrome”), who cannot bear even the rustling of a sheet again their cheek.

This balancing act of density and speed in the body isn’t “fair.” Those who have a lot get even more; those who have too little get even less.

This is also what is happening, I think, with cancerous cells. If we increase their density (e.g. inject them with oxalate), they increase their speed. Conversely, if we increase their speed (e.g. radiation, or even sunlight + pH), they increase their density, and fall in line again. If they possessed a sufficient pH range, it’s possible they could fall in line of their own accord.

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Like all minerals, iron is a Jekyll/Hyde mineral. When I was at my sickest, iron was dragging me down. Now that I’m recovering my health, iron is lifting me up. Iron is not just an inert mineral; it’s a force. It’s magnetism.

Magnetism needs to be opposed. The thing that seems to most effectively oppose it, for me, is vitamin D. Sunlight. Energy + magnetism work together. We need to anchor our spin.

When I do not possess sufficient energy to animate my iron, it’s a tremendous source of oxidative stress. Morley Robbins, Dennis Mangan, and Ray Peat taught me about the myriad ill effects of iron. The overwhelming role of iron in human illness was a great ‘aha’ moment for me.

It took a while for the other shoe to drop. It wasn’t just the presence of inert iron that was killing me; it was the absence of active iron.

It’s this duality that complicates things. When we speak of forces, we’re speaking of physics, and at the quantum level, the arrow of causality goes both ways. Iron can help me to raise my core metabolic rate (which I must do if I am to keep pace with the accelerating universe). But my core metabolic rate must first be fast enough in order for me to effectively utilize iron.

My vitamin D status seems to affect how much iron I absorb, and also how much I store. And my iron status seems to affect how much vitamin D I absorb, and how much I store. When I was very sick, my vitamin D in storage was very high. But it wasn’t because I didn’t need vitamin D; it was because my body thought I didn’t need it. I was not reading—or generating—time and light correctly. I was too dense, meaning time was too slow and light was too fast. We want time and light to be the same speed.

Imagine cake batter. If we have batter in a mixer, and we both add a thickening agent and increase the rate of spin (mixing speed), the batter will ostensibly be the same. But behind the scenes, it’s different. Its density and energy have both increased. If we are to accelerate—and not fly apart—we must first increase our density. The thing that most allows me to increase my density (e.g. signals vitamin D to send to calcium to my bones) is iron.

The other thing that seems to affect my iron metabolism is manganese. It goes both ways: iron affects manganese metabolism; manganese affects iron metabolism.

When vitamin D does not send calcium to the bones, it is no accident. The body is intelligent. If I cannot maintain my density using magnetism (iron), I will maintain it less efficiently, as best I can. I will use calcium. This works in the short term, but in the long term it’s not only inefficient, it’s detrimental. When I use calcium instead of magnetism to hold myself together, my bones grow porous, my arteries harden, my heart strains, my muscles lose their responsiveness, my sodium-calcium exchanger becomes jammed, and my nerve cells perish. Over time, I ossify, and die.

That is to say, my body dies. But I am more than a body. I am information. I am light. The true bush is not the leafy shrub. The true bush burns.

I’ve been battling chronic illness for 10 years, and I’ve never felt as good as I did this week. I started taking an organic plant-based iron supplement. (I have nothing against meat, and in fact I eat meat often and feel terrible when I don’t.) I take it with organic orange juice or organic green tea (excellent source of manganese). Prior to starting, I’d been taking hearty doses of magnesium (3/day) and vitamin D (2-3/day) for a couple of weeks. I also take vitamin K. If I am light-sensitive, vulnerable to infections, storing fat in my liver, or feel an ache in my left side (spleen), I am low in vitamin D.

In addition to allowing me to generate energy, it feels as if the iron is strengthening my center of gravity. My core. By anchoring me in time, iron allows me to grow. It changes the way my muscles function. Previously, when I contracted a muscle, it would stay contracted (cramp). Iron has fixed that. It seems, essentially, to be giving my body a wall to rappel against. My stomach flattened; the skin on my face tightened; my fat metabolism kicked into high gear. Honestly, it has felt as though I’m aging in reverse.

We see through a glass darkly. Matter indwells energy and energy indwells matter.

When I’m behind time, no matter what I eat, I will find it difficult to lose weight. Even if my caloric intake decreases, my body will use its dark matter (energy) to make matter. When I’m ahead of time, no matter what I eat, I will find it difficult to gain weight. Even if my caloric intake increases, my body will use its dark energy (matter) to make energy. We’re designed to survive, independent of resource scarcity; master metabolic control does not depend upon something as capricious as diet. The mass we maintain corresponds with what we perceive to be the density of the universe, not with what we put in our mouths. What is fat? It depends upon the glasses through which we perceive it. If we’re looking through cool glasses, fat is energy. If we’re looking through hot glasses, fat is matter.

It was Johanna Budwig who first looked at dysfunctional fat metabolism as a possible variable in cancer. I believe the root cause of my illness and the root cause of cancer are the same: an error in metabolism. Once we increase our density, we can increase our speed. If I’m unable to increase my density—if my iron is inert and not functioning as magnetism because my core metabolic rate is too slow*—I will be behind time. If my liver increases its density ahead of the rest of me, it will subsequently replicate more quickly than the rest of me.

*Remember, the arrow of time goes both ways. If my copper and iron are inert and not functioning as electricity and magnetism, it will cause my metabolic rate to be too slow. And if my metabolic rate is too slow, my copper and iron will be inert and unable to function as electricity and magnetism.

When everything aligns—the iron, the vitamin D, the magnesium, the manganese—I can feel my metabolism kick up a notch. I feel happy and strong; my cheeks pink as if I’m running a slight fever. I believe what’s happening is I’m accelerating imperceptibly—accelerating into deceleration—similar to what happens when we ease our foot off the brake as a car stops. It’s not so much that I’m accelerating as it is that I’m a-decelerating. The maths of time is like the maths of imaginary numbers; we use the absence of a negative to make a positive. Time doesn’t speed up so much as it stops slowing down. The best way I can describe this change in time signature is to compare it to what happens to when we go so fast we appear not to move, as seen in this footage of an airplane.

Once my iron is active, I start to want iodine. Until I am fast enough, I don’t want iodine. Trying to accelerate puts reverse pressure on the thyroid (Hashimoto’s). The thyroid opens the spigot; I don’t want to open the spigot until I have achieved sufficient speed. I think I’m craving iodine now because I may also still have some mercury left in my system from when I had dental amalgams (1978-2011).

I sometimes crave sulphur. When I do, I take organic garlic (2/day) to support my liver and heart (I also love cabbage). Sulphur opposes (diminishes) copper, which can be tricky. Right now, it’s okay for me, because I’m in perimenopause, and my copper (which tracks with estrogen) tends to run high. In the past, if ever I responded poorly to sulphur or sulphur-based supplements, it usually meant I was low in copper. Copper is essential to iron metabolism and heme synthesis. But, like iron, in its inert form, copper is not only not helpful, it’s damaging.

Because I’m in perimenopause and my estrogen is running high, my bile can become supersaturated, and I start to feel congestion in my liver. The garlic capsules and magnesium seem to help to this. It’s also helped by glycine, which is essential for bile production. It took about a year of eating 100% organic (zero glyphosate) for my glycine metabolism to feel normal again. When my metabolic rate gets high enough, my liver starts to feel terrific. My liver wants to go fast, I realized, but its hands are often tied by my pH (my body’s perception of my time signature). This is why I sometimes say the liver is the engine but the kidneys set the speed limit.

Energy—vitamin C, B vitamins, magnesium, sunlight—is the spark of life. But unless I have enough magnetism, enough iron—enough density—to balance it, energy hurts me. I send in the calcium, to hold myself together; I slow down my core metabolic rate. As a result, my density (my material density) increases, which in turn increases my need for energy. And around we go.

That’s the vicious cycle. But I’ve also had glimpses of a virtuous cycle. There’s a rate of speed above which my energy and density seem to self-reinforce. To co-convert. Rather than spin myself manually, turn by turn, if I can just spin fast enough (while holding myself together)—like a top, I take off.

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Calcium is essential for our structural integrity as well as for our brain function. But it can also stand in for density, i.e. function as an oppositional force to time. When it is used in this way, calcium is the poor man’s substitute for magnetism. It’s cement. It holds us together, yes. But it kills us at the same time.

Calcium traps me in time, whereas magnetism (iron) anchors me in time. Calcium is not fluid. It tethers me to this moment in time—but as the universe accelerates, this moment in time is changing.

When my body is using calcium to hold itself together, my eyesight dims, as if I have scales over my eyes’ lenses. My hearing diminishes. My teeth get tartar. My nails grow ridges. My liver and gallbladder fill with stones. And, worst of all, my pineal gland becomes calcified. Once I use calcium to stabilize me in time, my ability to read light’s speed and know where I am in time diminishes. When I am calcium-toxic, you might say my heart—as well as everything else—hardens.

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We are information. And we are new every moment. A signal that is static—that does not oscillate—is dead to us. We cannot read it over time.

Here’s what I mean by oscillation. I’m 50 and I haven’t had my period for about a year. My estrogen is high. Women need estrogen to drop in order to menstruate. I need my estrogen to go down—but in order for it to be able to go down, first it has to go up, and there’s no room for it to go up. In other words, I need it to go up, so that it can go down, so that it can go up—etc. It matters less where it is than in what direction it’s moving. Movement is energy. Movement, we can read.

What it comes down to is perception. If I don’t register my estrogen go up, I don’t know it needs to come down. My estrogen becomes inert, its functionality lost.

From the perspective of metabolism, we need both the thing and its opposite. For instance, sodium and potassium function as gas and brake. We cannot fully utilize one without the other. Sodium/potassium, copper/zinc, iodine/lithium, etc.

We don’t want to be static. We want our iron, zinc, copper, etc. to be able to pulse. When they are able to pulse—when they are, in a sense, alive—the minerals are able to heal us. See “Copper That Cancer”

We are more than flesh and blood, sperm and egg. We are light (information). I used to wonder, when I was a child, how we could trace Jesus’ lineage as the son of David through Joseph, who was ‘only’ his step-father, and did not materially participate in his birth. Now I know.

We are information that is being made manifest, moment-to-moment, in matter. Our illnesses are material manifestations of a deeper dysfunction. They are waves upon the ocean. To cure them, we don’t slap at the waves. We look at the tides and the currents.

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Spaceflight Osteopenia

When we are in spaceflight, because of our constant acceleration, our bodies will—in response—constantly be trying to gather density. This has the potential to cause both bone demineralization and the re-activation of viruses. When calcium is used instead of magnetism to hold the body together, it skews our density, and traps us in time rather than anchoring us in time. In cells that are too dense, the speed of light will be too fast. I believe excess density is a factor in both pathogenesis and oncogenesis.

Astronauts’ dietary requirements for iodine and iron might be different from ours, for metabolic reasons. They will need to toggle with a different time signature.

Time travel of the kind we read about in science fiction is not possible. The universe is accelerating. If we were somehow able to wake up in the future, we would be too dense. We would perceive everything as energy; our bodies would perpetually seek to create additional density; this additional density would drag us back to the past. It’s a self-correcting system. We cannot stay where we don’t belong.

Similarly, if we were somehow able to wake up in the past, we would be too fast. We would perceive everything as density; our bodies would perpetually seek to create additional speed; this additional speed would bring us back to the future.

The system is self-correcting, but it can go awry, in which case this tendency of speed or density to accrue works against us. Once our perception of density is too high, it will continue to get higher, and we will incorrectly keep increasing our processing speed (Parkinson’s). Once our perception of density is too low, it will continue to get lower, and we will incorrectly keep decreasing our processing speed (ALS).

Of course, in truth, every day we essentially wake up in the future. When we are behind time—I personally slipped “behind time” around age 40—we will be too dense, and we will misperceive the energy level as being higher than it is, which will cause us to increase our density, and fall further behind time. This is also known as aging.

When we are ahead of time, we will be too energetic, and we will misperceive the density level as being higher than it is, which will cause us to further increase our energy, and skip further ahead. What is optimal is to be in sync with time, where less energy is expended to correct our metabolic rate and processing speed, and more is available for everything else.

When we are materially fast, we will be energetically dense. Conversely, when we are materially dense, we will be energetically fast. In the former, our light spins down slowly (our lifespan is long). In the latter, our light spins down quickly (our lifespan is short).

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We Wake in Different Worlds

It took me a long time to realize how important my pre-sleep mindset was. If I tell myself: This week is going to be terrible, when I wake up, indeed it is. If I tell myself: This week is going to be challenging, but I’m prepared, and I can handle it, that, too, seems to come to pass. And if I tell myself: This week is going to be challenging, and unfortunately I’m not prepared at all, but I know that when I’m least prepared is when the real magic happens, then Pow: magic. I have much more control over the character of the world in which I wake than I initially realized. Any number of things seem to be able to work themselves out overnight when I simply give my consciousness the power—the permission—to do so.

There seems to be a portion of my brain beyond my conscious control that believes I cannot have good things without suffering. That I need to “earn” or “deserve” abundance; that I don’t merit my miracle. This is faulty thinking. As Monsignor Torgerson told us this week: God’s love is not tit-for-tat. (Indeed, be it divine or human, tit-for-tat is never love; tit-for-tat is business.) I know from reading the work of teachers such as Brice Le Roux, Bruce Lipton, and Joe Dispenza that it is possible to over-write faulty programming that is neither true nor useful, but I have not done that yet. So when my I-don’t-deserve-this fear rears its head, I feed it the 20th century. We have suffered, my friends. We have suffered enough to satisfy even the most voracious unconscious needs.

While I have not yet elevated my consciousness, others have, and I benefit from their efforts. Our consciousness is a collective. When you do your spiritual work—whether it be prayer, meditation, yoga, reconciliation, volunteering, or whatever makes your soul sing—I invite you to say, either silently or out loud: This is for everyone.

Here’s an example of how I think energy and information works.

I have a piece of good news. I want to tell a friend, but I’m busy. I’m driving my mother to church; my emails are piling up; the dog wants to go for a walk. I’m scanning my contacts quickly.

Some of my friends, though they are lovely, are negative. Critical, suspicious. They do not trust good news, good people, good intentions; they see adversaries everywhere. I want to tell them my good news, but it would take more energy. In a sense, they are the ones who need good news the most, yet somehow … it does not want to go to them.

I have other friends who are joyful. This is not an easy thing to be these days, so let me say it again: they are joyful. It’s as if they’re always, deep down, expecting good news. As I scan my contacts list, my fingers are drawn to them. It would be so easy to tell them my good news. They would get it—receive it, understand it, double it—immediately, and together, we could celebrate. I wouldn’t have to volley sentences like: “Well, have you signed the contract yet?” Or: “You never really know the truth about a person after a first date.”

It isn’t fair. But it seems as though my energy and information—either consciously or unconsciously—are always seeking to reinforce themselves. If I have bad news, my fingers are drawn to the dour friends.

And what are my friends, anyway? In a way, they are a reflection of myself. I am both joyful and suspicious at times. I remember what it was like to balance on top of a beach ball when I was five; and I remember what it was like to have my credit card information stolen.

We are surrounded by all kinds of information. We are bombarded by information every day. We have no control over what kind of information hits us in the face.

Or do we? What if there’s good news out there, waiting to come to you? It may take a lot of chocolate, coffee, or walks with my dog (or all three), but I’m going to try to be the kind of friend to whom my future good news will want to gravitate.

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Tryptophan: A Case Study

Here’s an example of what I believe we need to fix in our current medical paradigm.

I noticed my mother responded extremely well to tryptophan, which positively affected both her memory and her mood, so I googled “Alzheimer’s tryptophan.” The top hit was an article in the journal of the Alzheimer’s Association, by Donald F. Weaver et al, whose title declared in full caps: ALZHEIMER’S DISEASE IS A DISORDER OF TRYPTOPHAN METABOLISM.

But does the article suggest supplementing tryptophan (available for $20 on Amazon) in the treatment of Alzheimer’s? No. It wants, instead, to invent a drug that mimics tryptophan. There’s an enzyme called IDO involved in tryptophan metabolism, and this research “targets synthetic analogues of tryptophan as potential competitive inhibitors of IDO.” As a culture, as scientists, we are looking at synthetic analogues (drugs) that mimic tryptophan, rather than looking at tryptophan itself.

To be fair to ourselves and to Donald F. Weaver (who sounds like a genius who has been toiling in the Alzheimer’s trenches for years), there may be a problem with tryptophan itself. After all, it’s an amino acid found abundantly in bananas, chick peas, and turkey—among other things—so my mother is already getting it in her diet. Either her tryptophan needs are larger than her intake, or she’s not using what she gets properly, or both.

I know from my own illness journey that stress and inflammation can cause the loss of tryptophan via something known as the “Tryptophan Steal,” where tryptophan is shunted toward B3 synthesis. Loss of tryptophan to this other pathway—which can also produce a potent neurotoxin known as quinolinic acid—may be involved in the pathogenesis of Alzheimer’s. But I think there’s more to it than that. I don’t think it’s merely that her tryptophan is being lost; I think it’s that her tryptophan needs are exaggerated.

Maybe my mother’s tryptophan supply is being diminished by using her tryptophan to make DMT. (This might also explain why I recently saw a patent application to use LSD, another potent hallucinogenic that mimics DMT, as a treatment for Alzheimer’s.) If her pineal gland has located her in the past—meaning it is reading the density of the universe as higher than it actually is—and our DMT needs increase as we enter the future, then she would actually need far more DMT than her brain (her hardware) thinks she needs. Perhaps tryptophan is being used to fill that gap.

But it’s a dysfunctional loop. She needs more DMT because she’s reading time wrong. The answer isn’t to supply more tryptophan—and, consequently, more quinolinic acid—but to fix her body’s perception of time.

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What If Time Is a Measure of Density?

If time were a measure of density—a matter to energy or M/E ratio—it’d have deep implications for human health. Because the same M/E could be achieved in different ways. We can be materially fast and energetically dense (high metabolic rate and high pH). Or we can be materially dense and energetically fast (low metabolic rate and low pH). If matter and energy are essentially the same thing—as mass-energy equivalence or E=mc^2 tells us they are—then either matter or energy can play the role of matter or energy. For matter to be energy and energy to be matter would require a lot of speed. But for energy to be energy and matter to be matter would be easy.

Daniel Dennett: “The user-friendly world that we live in—the manifest image—is sort of a friendly user-illusion in the same way that the desktop of your laptop is a user illusion. It simplifies—and it distorts, in helpful ways, for most purposes. If you really want to know what’s going on, you have to go backstage.”

What if we’ve been seeing things backward? Matter that is fast can move forward in space which is to move backward in time. And energy that is dense can move backward in space which is to move forward in time. But matter that is fast and backward-moving is not matter; it’s dark energy. And energy that is dense and forward-moving is not energy; it’s dark matter.

What if this interface—where dark energy and dark matter are trading places—is not time, it is spin. Space. A spiraling flat dimension within the Vesica piscis (the intersection of matter and energy) whose circumference is about 70 years. But what if time is a much larger dimension than this—time is the circle (actually two circles; one spinning forward and the other spinning backward) within which the Vesica piscis sits? Both space and time, if circular, would be infinite. But for space’s ~70 year radius, time would have a ~7 year radius—7 light years.

Why would space spiral? Because matter can move forward only incrementally, because of the conflicting needs for density and speed. I can increase my speed, but first I must increase my density—which increases my need for speed. For every three steps I take forward, I take two steps back. This circumscribed nature of motion within time is evinced in the Fibonacci spiral, found in everything from galaxies to hurricanes to flower petals, pinecones, and even the human face. While we are inside time—while matter is playing the role of energy, and energy is playing the role of matter—our hands are tied. Fibonacci is the signature of the material world.

Matter, in a sense, is a prison. But we are more than matter—as we’ve seen in the fourth state of matter experiment. If matter and energy are essentially the same thing, then anything we observe is a hybrid of each. If we push the material component in (backward in time), we are left with energy. If we pull the energetic component out (forward in time), we are left with matter.