If proved correct, emergence theory would transfigure our understanding of human health. Treating cancer by treating a tumor would be like trying to fix a broken movie by operating on the screen. Let’s take a closer look, then, at light and time, and try to imagine some new ways of envisioning them.
What is time? According to this paradigm, time is a relationship between matter and energy. It’s a balance between expansion and contraction, an equilibrium of the centrifugal and the centripetal forces of the universe. It’s an electromagnetic field that both influences, and is influenced by, the manganese (electricity) to iron (gravity) ratio. Time is the median, the membrane, the curved lens between matter and energy, and it takes place at the speed of light.
Matter and energy are emerging from each other, and the rate at which they emerge—the rate at which we, for instance, push calcium into the cell, (“matter”) and pull calcium out of the cell (“energy”)—creates time. When external pressure is high, time is fast. When external pressure is low, time is slow.
Time is a balance of the centrifugal and centripetal forces. When we push sodium into the cell (“make matter”) and move backward in time, expanding, we need iron, to hold together. When we pull potassium out of the cell (“make energy”) and move forward in time, contracting, we need copper, to hold apart.
When we make matter, we move backward in time. Time’s existence is a side-effect, in a sense, of the creation of matter. When we make energy, we move forward in time. Light’s existence is a side-effect, in a sense, of the creation of energy.
Matter and energy exist on a spectrum. The equivalent of the ‘sliding pointer’ that we use to locate ourselves on this spectrum is the speed of light. There is an underlying unity to the universe. To go fast, we must first be cold (matter). To go slow, we must first be fast (energy). In other words, matter and energy are not things, they are states. Matter is light that has slowed down; energy is light that has sped up. Matter and energy, according to this paradigm, are both emergent.
Time, as it is perceived by us, widens. It dilates. After it has dilated fully—to the speed of light—time, as it is perceived by us, contracts. Its dilation and contraction are a function of our observation. It is our own movement that makes time appear to change. Time itself is akin to the quasar at the center of the galaxy; we see it move because it is we who spin. We might envision time and our movement around it a little like this video, where the speed of light or the point at which time “flips,” its lens flipping from concave to convex, is the moment the lighthouse beam is vertical or perpendicular to the screen, i.e. shining right at us.
Whether we accelerate or decelerate, we are pivoting around the space within which time stands still, what T S Eliot referred to a “the stillpoint of the turning world,” also known as heaven or ouranos, from the Greek for expansion. Time standing still is the natural state. Acceleration and deceleration will each only precipitate more of themselves.
When time is too accelerated—too “flat”—we will have too much extracellular potassium. Too much dark matter. If we have too much dark matter, microbes will move backward in time or incarnate. This, I believe, is the true origin of pathogenesis. If the material world is not fundamental to the universe, treating pathogens is, again, like fixing a buggy movie by putting pesticide on the screen. The core etiology of pathogenesis, according to this paradigm, is metabolic.
When we are too accelerated, we will have too much dark matter (extracellular potassium), which, as it pushed inside the cell, will cause time to slow down too precipitously—akin to ‘the bends’. Dr. Cameron Kyle-Sidell will have my everlasting admiration for his insightful and brave reportage on COVID-19, his ability to see that, clinically, COVID-19 looks more like high-altitude sickness than pneumonia. I believe COVID-19 is akin to being too expanded, too far backward in time; like being on top of a mountain, when the rest of the world is at sea level.
When we are too accelerated, we will have too much extracellular potassium.
Conversely, when we are too decelerated (which is its inverse companion, the mirror image to being too accelerated), we will have too much intracellular sodium. One extreme precipitates the other.
Another way to look at it is this: yin and yang, “sun” and moon,” past and future, dwell within each other and emerge from each other. When time is too accelerated, it will be too decelerating (ALS). When time is too decelerated, it will be too accelerating (Parkinson’s). At one end of time, as the universe explodes, the explosion is being held in check. At the other end of time, as the universe implodes, the implosion is being held in check. Because the centrifugal and centripetal forces are balancing or ‘neutralizing’ each other, we do not perceive if they are both too low (Parkinson’s) or both too high (ALS).
Time moves like a swing. If time speeds up (expands) too precipitously, too much dark matter accumulates; subsequently, surfeit dark matter will cause time to slow down too precipitously. I believe this plays a role in ALS. Dark matter is extracellular potassium. It is ‘dark’ because, as time moves forward (speeds up), our perception is internal (intracellular).
Conversely, if time slows down (contracts) too precipitously, too much dark energy accumulates; subsequently, surfeit dark energy will cause time to speed up too precipitously. I believe this plays a role in Parkinson’s. Dark energy is intracellular sodium. It is ‘dark’ because, as time moves backward (slows down), our perception is external (extracellular).
We are always, in a sense, observing ourselves from both sides of the lens (cell), simultaneously.
Time’s natural state is vertical. It never truly deviates from the vertical state. Anything that slows time down is simultaneously creating an equal and opposite force that will speed time up. Anything that speeds time up is simultaneously creating an equal and opposite force that will slow time down. The same forces that are true for the universe are true for us.
When I suffered from mold sickness, I was over-accelerated, “faster than time.” I was too contracted and the universe too expanded: I contained too much dark matter. The analog to dark matter is extracellular potassium, and it slows time down, forcing light to speed up. The universe mirrored my distortion, as is always the case. My moon was too bent and my sun too huge, the distance between them too great. My energy was skewed; there was far too little light on the other side of the moon—“tomorrow”—and far too much on the other side of the sun—“yesterday.”
When we accelerate, or move forward in time, we accumulate dark matter—extracellular potassium. Our perspective is from the inside—the lens concave, the sun. Our orientation, our “reality,” in intracellular.
When I accelerated 3000 miles backward in time in a single day, crossing two time zones, I became under-accelerated, “behind time.” As I flew from the east to the west coast of the United States, I felt great, as though something inside me were righting itself. But the next morning, I woke up stiff as a board. I felt acid everywhere, in every joint and sinew; it hurt to move. I knew the feeling: it felt as if I were suddenly filled with oxalates.
When we decelerate, or move backward in time, we accumulate dark energy—intracellular sodium. Our perspective is from the outside—the lens convex, the moon. Our orientation, our “reality,” is extracellular.
Once we have decelerated, our intracellular sodium moves back to the extracellular matrix; time speeds back up again. (In college, after fasting for a few weeks, I accumulated so much excess intracellular sodium that, when it all moved into the extracellular matrix at once, I developed the excessively swollen calves of ‘refeeding syndrome’.)
Once we have accelerated, our extracellular potassium moves back to the intracellular matrix; time slows back down again. But sometimes the rate at which our consciousness or light crosses from concave to convex—i.e. the rate at which we pull sodium out of and push potassium in to the cell—gets out of whack.
When coffee (copper) makes me too jittery, beef jerky (iron) sometimes helps me feel all right again. Copper provides the expansive force, which allows me to contract, toward matter (note: my response is the opposite to the force I provide). Iron, conversely, provides the contractive (magnetic) force, which allows me to expand, toward energy. Again: please note the martial arts relationship between what I give my body, and what it does with it. These days, I seem to crave coffee in the morning, and beef jerky at night.
According to this paradigm, all time exists at once.
Let’s imagine time as a series of membranes (‘branes’) or concentric rings. As the rings increase in size, moving outward from the center, time slows down. But as time slows down—as the rings increase in size, meaning light’s circuit increases—light speeds up.
Conversely, as the rings decrease in size, moving inward from the center, time speeds up. But as time speeds up—as the rings decrease in size, meaning light’s circuit decreases—light slows down.
In the larger, outer rings of time (“the past”), time is slower and light is faster. In the smaller, inner rings of time (“the future”), time is faster and light is slower. In the center ring, c, time and light are the same speed.
We cannot see the future rings, where light is slower than light. Our sight lines stop at light’s speed.
In the future rings, where time is faster than the speed of light, therefore light gets to be slower than the speed of light (e.g. “runner’s high”), it feels heavenly. In the past rings, where time is slower than the speed of light, therefore light has to be faster than the speed of light (e.g. mold sickness), it feels like hell. But in order to get to the future rings, light has to first go to the past rings first. Light moves like a pendulum, gaining momentum.
The terms “heaven” and “hell,” as they are used here, connote not so much a destination as a direction of movement. When time is speeding up and light is slowing down feels heavenly, from light’s perspective. When time is slowing down and light is speeding up feels hellish, from light’s perspective.
Light’s perspective is our perspective. We are the light of the world.
Ultimately, time is a fiction. Time is an impression created by light’s movement.