Biochemist Nick Lane discusses proton gradients in this terrific piece in Quanta. https://www.quantamagazine.org/a-biochemists-view-of-lifes-origin-reframes-cancer-and-aging-20220808/
In a sense, a proton gradient is a measure of relative density.
I recently published a peer-review article in which I argue that this is a holographic universe, and illness relates to light’s density—but light’s density is a matter of perception. “Am I Too Pixelated?” DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.23756/sp.v11i1.1138
To make a coarse analogy, let’s say the proper density is that of light, and liken light to water.
Ice thinks water has speed (if you will). Vapor thinks water has density.
But these perceptions, in a sense, are illusions. Ice only thinks water has speed because it is too dense. Vapor only thinks water has density because it is too diffuse.
What would happen if I read the light of the world as denser than it is, and try to maintain a density that is too high? This would be akin to a kind of K1 toxicity.
What would happen if I read the light of the world as more diffuse than it is, and try to maintain a density that is too low? This would be akin to a kind of K2 toxicity.
I am always trying to establish a “floor” and a “ceiling” for time. A value for “moon” and “sun,” if you will. For any given unit of time—day—my brain wants to understand the limits it has to work with. It wants to understand light’s maximum density (moon) and speed (sun).
To return to the water analogy, it wants a value for ice and vapor.
But what if I establish light’s limits at a smaller scale?
All I need is too much K1—and, simultaneously, too much K2. Then I am off to the races.
Once I have a value for “ice,” and for “water,” and for “vapor,” you don’t need to tell me what time’s speed is. I can establish time’s speed for myself.
When these cancer cells “round up” and become refractile, are they achieving the speed of light—at a smaller scale?
I have actually reached the point where if I use vitamin K1 on my face, near my eyes, I can immediately see the way it makes color appear supersaturated. Once my brain misunderstands the proper density of light in the world, then I am in a real pickle. The problem is fairly simple. I am using the same instrument to set the clock and to adhere to the clock: my brain.
So, let’s say I keep giving my brain—the crystal at the center of my brain, my pineal gland—wrong information: too much K1 (too many leafy greens/oxalate); too much iron (magnetism); too much dopamine. After a certain point, it becomes very difficult to correct. I have “set my clock” to think the light of the world should be very dense. Now, if I consume information that tells me the light of the world is not that dense, it simply prompts me to become denser. I am obeying my inner light—not the external light. Or, rather: I am obeying my inner light while simultaneously trying to make my inner light match the external light.
If we are talking about proton gradients, I am always seeking homeostasis.
If I consume information that tells me the light of the world is too diffuse, it prompts me to make my own light (my pineal gland) denser. But perhaps the whole reason the light of the world seemed too diffuse in the first place is because my pineal gland was too dense! I am constantly trying to parse distinctions between self and world.
When I drink coffee with whole milk and organic vanilla sweetener, I am giving my brain three different values to use: bitterness, density, and sweetness. The bitterness is masked by the milk and the syrup, but there is still a value there that I can read. I am always trying to determine how deep (bitter) time is, and how wide (sweet). I drink organic whole milk that came from cows who ate grass that was under the sun. If I use cream, I am telling my brain that the light of the world is denser than it really is. If I use skim, I am telling my brain the light of the world is more diffuse than it really is. I treat the world as if it were made of light (holographic universe). I have not eaten glyphosate for years.
Time is not absolute; it is a matter of perception. In a sense, time is a proton gradient.
Is the light of the world narrower (denser) than I am—or wider (more diffuse)? When I perceive time as wider than I am, I have to dilate. At times, I have to dilate so much, I over-utilize nitric oxide. This throws my insulin off, among other things. I can in extreme instances even get tiny bubbles under the skin of my palms, which then rupture and peel (desquamation). This happened after I had mercury fillings put in my mouth. It has also happened during this extreme heat wave (July, 2023).
Mercury is a neurotoxin and it temporarily damaged my ability to gauge time’s true rate of decay.
The accurate perception of time is very important. My brain is in charge of my neuroendocrine system, and my brain, at heart, is a clock. Time is as sweet (wide) as honey and as deep as bitter herbs.
The observer makes time, then moves through it. We need to put the observer at the center of our equations. For any given observer, a sphere is not a sphere. It is a dome.