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The Core Etiology of Cancer:

Could it be this?

Fischer Black, Fille

My father died of oral cancer at age 57 in 1995, exactly one hundred years after the death of Louis Pasteur. By the time they found the squamous cell carcinoma at the base of his tongue, it was already stage four. When he delivered the news, he asked if I knew why it was that people had to die. I shook my head; I was so heartbroken that speech was not available to me. “To make room for the babies,” he said.

In addition to surgery and radiation, his oncologist prescribed multivitamins, which I used to pick up for him. I noticed something about the bottles. At the bottom, in full caps, they said: COPPER- and IRON-FREE.

Twenty years later, when my own health faltered, I also had problems with copper and iron. I needed them, but—like thiamine—taking them seemed to make me worse.

Like a cancerous cell, I was trapped. Inert. My perception of time (the M/E) was askew; I was too much M and not enough E. Because my energy (rate of spin) was too low, my copper was not able to function as electricity and my iron was not able to function as magnetism. A paradox kept me stuck: I need to be cycling time at the right speed (core metabolic rate) for copper to function as electricity and iron to function as magnetism. But I need sufficient energy—electromagnetism—in order to cycle time at the right speed.

As I fell farther behind time, though my body desperately needed and hoarded them, my copper and iron only accumulated in my tissues in their inert forms (as M, not E), where they were worse than useless: they increased my need for speed.

The body must hold together (vitamin K1) as it accelerates—and as it decelerates, it must hold apart (vitamin K2). If magnetism (iron) and electricity (copper) are not available, I will substitute as best I can. I will use calcium—cement.

Calcium works in the short-term, but it damages me in the long-term. Magnetism anchors me in time; calcium traps me in it. When I use calcium instead of magnetism to hold myself together, I steal from internal strength to make external strength: my hard tissues soften and my soft tissues harden. My bones grow porous, my teeth get cavities, my arteries become brittle, my skin crepes, my heart strains, my sodium-calcium exchanger loses its potential, and my nerve cells perish. Over time, I essentially ossify, and die. You might say my heart—in addition to everything else—hardens.

When I’m forced to use calcium to hold myself together, it inverts the functioning of vitamins D and K. And worse: in the face of high free calcium, to maintain the action potential of my sodium-calcium exchanger, I must retain sodium—for as long as I can. But sodium will increase my core metabolic rate, and the more sodium I retain, the more calcium I need! My consciousness is not able to move forward in time, and my brain slowly dies (Alzheimer’s).

Once I calcify, I damage my perception of time. I think I’m in a dense time signature, but it’s my own density I’m reading.

Working Time in Reverse

When time slows down, light speeds up (the sun). And when time speeds up, light slows down (the moon). The speeds of light and time should alternate in synchronicity with the universe.

But if our metronome is off, instead of toggling back and forth at the proper rate, time and light will toggle either too quickly or too slowly. This represents a change in time signature.

When we don’t keep pace with the speed of light—if we’re either too slow or too fast—our mass-energy equivalence gets skewed toward matter. We are too much matter and not enough energy, meaning time is too slow and light is too fast. We are, effectively, too dense.

Under these conditions, instead of electricity and magnetism in the body, we get their material “precipitates”: copper and iron.

If time keeps slowing down, light will keep speeding up. But what happens when we have light’s speed going up and up inside the same amount of mass? It strains the M/E (matter to energy) ratio. We have too much energy in too small a space. So what does it do? It splits.

If our density—our M/E—is too low or too high for this plane of time, it forces the cell to double (or triple, or quadruple, etc.) or divide. The M/E is how our cells read time. If they read the wrong density, they will cycle time at the wrong speed.

Do all of our cells read density collectively so that the body may advance in unison? No. Each cell reads time individually. Why? To allow for cell cleavage and blastulation—embryogenesis.

The ability to cycle time at different speeds within a single organism is perhaps our greatest gift. It’s creation. It’s gestation. It’s how we continue life on this plane. This mechanism is at work wherever you see the term genesis. So it’s in gluconeogenesis, and embryogenesis …

… but it’s also in pathogenesis. And oncogenesis. That’s the flip side of the coin. When cells possess altered density—a skewed M/E—it alters their speed.

Cancerous cells are working time in reverse. Instead of speeding up and slowing down (increasing the metabolic rate and increasing the pH), they’re slowing down and speeding up (decreasing the metabolic rate and decreasing the pH). Because their metabolism is skewed toward “night,” their melatonin needs are outsized. If a cell perceives excess relative density (e.g. oxalate crystal where there would be light; or iron where there would be magnetism), instead of using dark energy to make energy, it will use dark matter to make matter.

Oxalate is a crystal found in plants capable of photosynthesis

Instead of growing out toward the future, along with the expanding universe, these cells will grow in toward the past.

To us, cells with processing errors will appear to be cycling time too quickly—i.e. over-replicating, in the case of cancer; or over-multiplying, in the case of microbes. But this is a misperception. In truth, because of their higher density, they’re cycling time more slowly than we are—causing their light to cycle too fast.

Often, we see not the derangement, but the derangement’s opposite (antidote). When we’re hyperactive, we don’t need to slow down; we need to speed up.

The DNA is our code, and it’s protean. It’s designed to adapt to the changing dynamics of time. As it perceives its environment, it changes accordingly (epigenetics). This is why the environment—both inside and outside our bodies—is so important to our development, and why adding chemicals to our environment can damage us.

If the universe is all one thing, like a balloon inflating and collapsing, our notions of “pathogens” and “enemies” may need to be re-examined. Germs cause disease, yes. But what causes germs? According to this hypothesis, the root cause is always alterations in the speeds of light and time.