I had a conversation today with a friend whose patient has Parkinson’s. I told her I didn’t know how to fix it, but I could share my impressions of what was going on.
We are inside an explosion—the Big Bang. But it’s a controlled explosion. The exploding (centrifugal) force is matched by an equal and opposite centripetal force. In a sense, the universe is exploding and collapsing at the same time. You might say it’s emerging. It’s in a constant state of becoming.
Time is slowing down. We have to add leap years to our calendars and leap-seconds to our clocks to account for this. The Parkinson’s patient’s brain misunderstands time as being behind where it truly is. Because time is slowing down, the person with Parkinson’s understanding of time is too fast. For them, the Big Bang is not exploded enough, there it is too exploding. Time—this layer of reality, this membrane or “brane”—is an equilibrium between the centrifugal (exploding) and centripetal (collapsing) forces of the Big Bang. If one is too great; the other is forced to be too great. If one is too weak; the other is forced to be too weak. Here is an image of the forces, as a visual aide. Just tune out the economics terms (no offense to my dad). 😚
The way I envision the Big Bang is not as an isolated event but an eternal one. At the first moment of the Big Bang, the speed of matter (time) is so high it’s ~zero. At the last moment of the Big Bang, the speed of matter (time) is so low it’s ~zero. As time moves between these two zeroes—the Alpha and the Omega—it goes from quite fast to quite slow. But as time moves, the speed of light moves with it. The speed of light is accommodating the changing speed of time, “making amends” for it, if you will. As the speed of time decreases, the speed of light increases. If this toggling is out of sync, it results, I believe, in the diseases of the central nervous system. For the Parkinson’s patient, time is not slowed down enough. Time is too fast, meaning light’s circuit is too short.
Here’s another way to think about it. For the Parkinson’s patient, the world is too dense—not expanded enough. Therefore light’s circuit is too fast. Conversely, for the ALS patient, the world is too expanded, therefore light’s circuit is too slow. If, in the Parkinson’s patient, time is not exploded enough therefore is too exploding (i.e. the centrifugal force is too high); in the ALS patient, time is too exploded therefore is not exploding enough (i.e. the centripetal force is too high). Just look at later photographs of our [brilliant, beloved] Stephen Hawking. You can almost see the centripetal force of the universe upon him.
For the Parkinson’s patient, if the understanding of time is deranged, the brain will not properly read light. There will be problems with oxalates. Oxalate (a crystal found in plants capable of photosynthesis) is, I believe, light that is denser than light. If the Parkinson’s patient believes the universe to be denser than it truly is, she/he will endogenously produce oxalate, instead of endogenously producing energy (Kreb’s cycle).
The Parkinson’s brain does not properly understand pH. If it perceives the world as denser than it should be, the pH will be more acidic than it should be.
My friend whose father has Parkinson’s says his father does remarkably better on the evenings after which he has taken a nap. Like the universe, we, too, are collapsing and exploding. Time is not something we simply move through. Time is something we make, then move through—like a slingshot, or a swing. It’s as if we’re drawing light back and making it more dense so that it can move forward and become light again. With the Parkinson’s patient, the swing’s range is too narrow.
At night, we move forward in time (become fast and alkaline), so that during the day, we can draw back (become dense and acidic). If night is when we move forward in time, and a Parkinson’s patient is behind time, in a sense, she/he is “too much day.” We might describe them as too dense, therefore too acidic. Or too acidic, therefore too dense. If the evening is when we grow more fast and alkaline, I can see how their cognitive performance might improve after a nap.
Here’s another way to think about it. The universe is expanding and time is slowing down. The Parkinson’s patient has not expanded and slowed down enough. It is not a literal expansion; it is an expansion that is titrated, like a valve. As with hydraulics, it’s akin to when you twist a valve to slowly let one thing out and another thing in.
At the Big Bang, energy collapses into matter. The expanding, accelerating universe is matter then accelerating to (and surpassing) the speed of light. We think that matter cannot reach the speed of light, and it can’t. Matter can only reach the speed of light if it was never truly matter in the first place. At the center of this theory is the principle of eternal emergence: energy is becoming matter is becoming energy is becoming matter. The Big Bang is everlasting. From eternity to eternity, we swing.
Here’s one way I envision our ‘accelerating’ universe. It’s like a car that has stopped via depressing the brake. In a sense, there are two stops. The first, when the brake pedal is pressed—Alpha. And the second—Omega—marking the end of the period during which the brake pedal is slowly released. The first stop is forceful as there is a lot of pent up energy. The second stop is not forceful in the least. I see our ‘accelerating’ universe as the movement between those two stops. In a sense, we aren’t accelerating; we’re un-decelerating.
My friend said her Parkinson’s patient had too much calcium. She was interested in trying light therapy. This was my reply.
In my opinion, it’s not so much that she has “too little” or “too much” calcium; it’s that she’s pushing it into and out of her cells too quickly. Her calcium is toggling so rapidly between the “off” and “on” signal that the signal is weak, more like a “steady state” (i.e. no signal at all). This creates a vicious cycle: because the signal is weak, she needs to send it more and more*. As such, her calcium needs are way too high, and she’s likely pulling it out of her teeth (and bones). Calcium (as you know) is not just essential for our skeleton, but for heart and brain function.
*Conversely, in ALS, the calcium signal is too strong. This also creates a vicious cycle—but in the opposite direction. Because the signal is so strong, the brain sends it less and less.
Time is like a flickering movie, and it can flicker too quickly or too slowly. For the Parkinson’s patient, it is flickering too quickly. Ultimately, time becomes like a series of images that fly past us so swiftly, we are blind to them. They are like the bars the panther passes in Rilke’s poem.
Parkinson’s has some similarities with encephalitis lethargica, the illness the patients suffer from in the movie Awakenings. In that film, patient Leonard Lowe (Robert de Niro) directs Dr. Malcolm Sayer (a fictional Oliver Sacks, played by Robin Williams) to Rilke’s panther poem using a ouija board. An astonishing, wonderful scene that is on YouTube.
The problem with supplying light (light therapy) is that your patient’s brain is not understanding light properly to begin with. Light is being mis-read. Her lens is too bent, her sense of the universe is too curved. It’s as if her rainbow is smaller than ours. It might work, but I don’t really know much about that angle, or how to use light therapeutically.
Time is slowing down. With your patient, she is not slowed down enough. It is as if she is in the past. With every lap around the track, the rest of us are running shorter and shorter laps, while she is still running the whole thing. We are adding leap years to make up for our shortness; she is completing the circuit.
The drug L-Dopa works, temporarily, on both Parkinson’s and encephalitis lethargica patients (nothing works for very long because the brain—the confused brain—adjusts). Still, it works for a while. I have been wondering if L-Dopa (//dopamine) and serotonin actually slow down time (dopamine) and speed up time (serotonin), respectively—i.e. if that is their underlying function.
Perhaps our most well-known person with Parkinson’s is Michael J. Fox. People with Parkinson’s are shifted toward the past. Michael J. Fox needs to get back to the future.
Perhaps our most well-known person with ALS is Stephen Hawking. People with ALS are shifted toward the future. In the future, time is slower than the speed of light; future universes we are blind to, and will appear to us as black holes. Stephen Hawking, arguably the world’s greatest thinker on black holes, was cycling time at the speed of a black hole himself.
The puns are part of it. Consciousness (the great I AM) is embodying itself in the form of a language—a story. God is helping us from across the great divide.
