In my 20s, I had Reynaud’s. It was as if I would get too vaso-constricted in cold weather. My capillaries became too tiny for my blood to enter them. It was as if they were slightly off the electromagnetic grid.
Time, in these models, is like sea level. From beneath sea level (“behind time”), light will appear to be branching into many worlds. From above sea level (“ahead of time”), light will appear to be condensing into one world.
In the present (“at sea level”), electricity and magnetism are held in balance. But beneath sea level, I start to feel the exploding force. And above sea level, I start to feel the collapsing force.
When the background is exploding (below sea level), I have to condense. When the background is collapsing (on top of a mountain), I have to expand. Both of these directions pull me in the opposite direction of what is needed.
When I am too low, I feel the exploding force—so I have to go even lower. When I am too high, I feel the condensing force—so I have to go even higher.
When I go too high, I can enter a state of hypertension that is masked by my altitude. When I go too low, I can enter a state of hypotension that is masked by my altitude.
In these models, light that is so high that it is condensing (fusion) is no longer light. It is energy. Light that is so low that it is exploding (fission) is no longer light. It is matter.
When I have entered a state of hypotension that is masked by my low altitude, is my pineal gland too dense (cold)? When I have entered a state of hypertension that is masked by my high altitude, is my pineal gland too diffuse (hot)?
Could time be a missing variable in our analysis of human health?
