“Everything is energy and that’s all there is to it.” —Albert Einstein
“The trouble is that like all great truths it seems too simple. It is there before our noses all the time, while we look elsewhere for more subtle answers.”
– Walter Ciszek
I recently was struggling with my health and found that transdermal olive oil (olive oil applied to the skin) helped me quite a bit. It seemed to help excess salt leave the cell. The olive oil was providing an exit route for excess sodium. Without the olive oil, the situation was static, trapped. Salt inside the cell, salt outside the cell. The olive oil was providing a medium via which the salt could move.
Does our world have a medium?
We think of ourselves as matter (cells, mitochondria, etc.), but does matter exist within a context? In other words, if matter is the foreground image, could something else be the background—light? Consciousness?
What if the “I” that is speaking to you, and the “I” that is listening inside you, are actually the same thing?
And when I refer to myself as I, is this “I” matter, or light? If it’s light, then the analogy flips. What if light is the subject, the foreground; and matter—or energy—is the background? Perhaps light behaves differently depending on which type of fabric against which it exists. When the “fabric” (context) is matter, light will appear to expand. When the “fabric” (context) is energy, light will appear to contract. We have observed light behave in mystifyingly inconsistent ways depending on the presence of an observer in the double-slit experiment.
I am an outsider. I look at the mysteries of physics through a storyteller’s lens. Is my lens woefully oversimplified? Probably. But sometimes the eyes of an outsider can provide an advantage.
Because it is the heart of this thesis, I will ask again: What if light behaves differently depending on which type of fabric it is viewed against? When the “fabric” (context) is matter, light will appear to accelerate/expand. When the “fabric” (context) is energy, light will appear to decelerate/contract.
From the perspective of matter—when looking backward in time—light will appear to accelerate/expand. In “sun,” we see one becoming many. Fission. From the perspective of energy—when looking forward in time—light will appear to decelerate/contract. In “moon,” we see many becoming one. Fusion.
The pineal gland is a tiny crystal at the center of the brain dubbed by René Descartes as the “seat of the soul.” I wonder if it is fundamentally crystal. Perhaps—unless it is under too much or too little pressure—it is light.
Is it possible that the relative density of our pineal glands affects how our brains perceive the light of the world?
When I (my pineal gland) am too dense, the light of the world looks too fast. It’s as if I am matter, and the world is energy. Conversely, when I (my pineal gland) am too fast, the light of the world looks too dense. It’s as if I am energy, and the world is matter.
When I (my pineal gland) am light, the light of the world appears as it is.
My central nervous system seems to be capable of getting caught in a feedback loop. It’s as if there’s a hidden variable at work in its understanding of the world: the medium, the “olive oil,” the fabric of the universe: the speed of light.
My body uses things directly, straightforwardly. My brain seems to use things paradoxically. If I give it a brake pedal (e.g. zinc, which opposes copper, which conducts electricity), it uses it as permission to accelerate. It speeds up—because it knows it can slow down. If I give it a gas pedal (e.g. vitamin B6 or P5P, a good source of phosphorus, which can be flammable at room temperature), it uses it as permission to decelerate. It slows down—because it knows it can speed up.
When I give myself arginine, my CNS (central nervous system) wants to use it paradoxically. Because it knows arginine can be used to increase the arterial blood pressure (via arginine-vasopressin)—because it can be used to increase the pressure in the system—I use it to vasodilate—to decrease the pressure in the system. But arginine becomes nitric oxide, and lately I sometimes find myself veering toward getting caught in a nitric oxide loop.
I consume arginine, my brain reads it, and I vasodilate. But if I am too dilated, it causes vertigo and orthostatic intolerance issues, and makes me want to increase the arterial pressure (via vasopressin)—so I call for more arginine, and the cycle starts again. Around and around I go, vasodilating, then increasing the arterial pressure, then vasodilating. It is as if I am a rocket, exploding through space. If the world is image, when this happens, my image has become too large. When my image is too large, I am not salty enough (i.e. I have symptoms of hyponatremia). I am using too much aldosterone and too much anti-diuretic hormone.
Why am I trapped? Because two forces are working in tandem, and they need to “connect,” to sense each other. I want to vasoconstrict—but I can’t, while the arterial pressure is too high, without risking a stroke. I want to decrease the arterial pressure—but I can’t, while I am too vasodilated, without losing consciousness. The pressure in the cardiovascular system and in the cerebrospinal fluid must be high enough to reach and stimulate the centers of the brain that create my visual experience.
I learned a lot about the potential role of the nitric oxide cycle in ME/CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) from Dr. Martin L. Pall. I do not have ME/CFS, but I have suffered from fatigue and orthostatic pressure issues since living in a moldy house.
More information on ME/CFS: https://www.healthrising.org/blog/2020/09/28/paradox-chronic-fatigue-syndrome-pots-renin-aldosterone/
