Vaccine Injury & the Holographic Principle

The holographic principle was proposed by Nobel laureate Gerard ’t Hooft in the 1990s and there was recently a peer-review study, published in the journal Physical Review Letters in 2017, that revealed substantial evidence that the universe is, in fact, holographic in nature. I am applying holographic principles to human health.

There has been a lot of discussion recently about full-length spike proteins and mRNA; if the current vaccine contains aluminum salts or mercury adjuvants (some have suggested that random samples be tested at an independent lab); and whether vaccines are, in fact, safe and effective. I am not here to discuss any of that.

I am here because I have been watching the testimony of people who have vaccine injury.

Their experience reminds me of my own struggles—e.g. Reynaud’s and orthostatic intolerance—with modulating vasoconstriction and vasodilation, and I would like to share what I have learned.

Vasoconstriction is when your blood vessels constrict; vasodilation is when your blood vessels dilate. I have found that when my blood vessels constrict, my perception of time expands—like being on top of the mountain. And when my blood vessels dilate, my perception of time contracts—like being at the base of a mountain.

First I have to make time. Then I have to move through the time I make. It’s two separate movements. First I make time (melatonin), then I move through it (dimethyltryptamine/DMT). First I vasodilate, then I vasoconstrict. The world is not a steady state. The heart is both pump and release.

But the fact that it’s the same brain that is rendering time and reading time is problematic. When I get stuck, it’s as if my sympathetic nervous system and my parasympathetic nervous system are looping. One keeps yelling “Fire!” and the other keeps running for its life. But there is no fire. They are creating the fire.

The philosophy expressed in these pages deals with the perception of reality as discussed by such people as Plato, George Berkeley, and the cognitive scientist Donald Hoffman. It treats reality as a 2D hologram. This 2D hologram has three different varieties of observer. One is behind it (i.e. behind time); one is in line with it; and one is in front of it (i.e. ahead of time).

If I am too vasoconstricted, i.e. if I am ahead of time, my brain is going to perpetually think it needs to make time, and it is going to overproduce melatonin (ME/CFS?). And if I am too vasodilated, i.e. if I am behind time, my brain is going to perpetually think it needs to move through time, and it is going to overproduce DMT (Autism?).

The act of rendering and reading time seems to create a lot of inefficiency. In order for my body to decelerate, which is what matter (i.e. fast matter or dark matter) wants to do, it has to perceive alkalinity. But in order to perceive alkalinity, it has to make itself acidic, to accelerate. So in order to perceive what it needs to perceive in order to do what it needs to do, first it has to do the opposite. This is hugely inefficient. It keeps speeding up so that it can perceive alkalinity so that it can slow down.

And it’s the same thing with my brain. In order for my consciousness to accelerate, which is what energy (i.e. dense energy or dark energy) wants to do, it has to perceive acidity. But in order to perceive acidity, it has to make itself alkaline, to decelerate. So in order to perceive what it needs to perceive in order to do what it needs to do, first it has to do the opposite. It keeps slowing down so that it can perceive acidity so that it can speed up.

Imagine a world where, every time you wanted to make a right turn, first you had to turn left.

This leaves both systems (hardware and software, body and consciousness) extremely vulnerable to metabolic gridlock.

This is not just about vaccine injury. When I look at Parkinson’s and Lou Gehrig’s disease, I see metabolic gridlock. When I look at Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Autism, I see metabolic gridlock. When I look at cancer cells, I see metabolic gridlock.

When I am light being rendered as light (light qua light), I have full use of my pH range. When I am matter and energy superimposed, my pH range gets cut in half. From matter’s perspective, my amps only go up to 7. And from energy’s perspective, my amps only go down to 7. When I’m on the chairlift halfway up the mountain, though it’s for opposite reasons, both sides yell Stop!

Why? Because I’m not seeing light properly. I’m looking at energy + matter, and calling it light. I’m seeing the distance from Mars to the moon, and calling it the light of day. My understanding of TIME is off.

And it’s not just Mars to the moon. What happens if I look at the distance between Jupiter and Venus, and call is the light of day? Then my chairlift gets stuck only 1/3 of the way up the mountain. And if I call Saturn to Mercury the light of day? Then I can only go 1/4 of the way up. Pretty soon, I have no pH range at all.

pH stands for powers of hydrogen. Hydrogen, as in the sun. When I lose my pH range, I lose the power of light. I am matter, in a world of light. I am dying.

If I have to speed up in order to perceive alkalinity in order to slow down, what happens if I reach the speed limit (computational constraint) of my universe? Then it’s as if I’m stuck on a chairlift halfway up a mountain. By one way of thinking, I’m too slow. But by another way of thinking, I’m too fast. I’m trapped. Though I keep straining to do so, I can’t go up—but I only want to go up so that I can go down.

In this holographic model, the same speed, c, can be rendered either as dense energy or fast matter. But when it is dense energy (e.g. sun), the light/energy/consciousness is supersaturated, i.e. is denser than time. And when it is fast matter (e.g. moon), the light/energy/consciousness is split, i.e. is faster than time. Time, in a sense, is the mirror between dense light and fast light—energy and matter. It’s like the invisible zero-point plane of a slingshot. Behind it, light is denser than itself, and has reverse speed. In front of it, light is faster than itself, and has speed.

My brain treats the 2D hologram as pH7. But it does not always perceive pH7 accurately. When it is behind it, or in front of it, its perception of pH7 becomes deranged.

When my perspective is contracted, when I am behind the flat disc of time (and I can induce this with vitamin K1), instead of reading as pH7, the disc reads as alkaline to me, and the perception of alkalinity seems to induce vasoconstriction. This vasoconstriction, in turn, causes me to accelerate so that I am no longer behind the disc, but in front of it. Once I am in front of the disc, instead of K1, I need K2. So taking K1 seems to induce my need for K2.

The perception of alkalinity and the resulting vasoconstriction feels similar to my experience with general anesthesia.

When my perspective is expanded, when I am ahead of the flat disc of time (and I can induce this with vitamin K2), instead of reading as pH7, the disc reads as acidic to me, and the perception of acidity seems to induce vasodilation. This vasodilation, in turn, causes me to decelerate so that I am no longer in front of the disc, but behind it. Once I am behind the disc, instead of K2, I need K1. So taking K2 seems to induce my need for K1.

The perception of acidity and the resulting vasodilation feels similar to my experience with micro dose psilocybin or LSD.

If I get stuck viewing the 2D hologram from behind it, I become too electric. My body—my image of my body—continuously wants to expand. Time itself wants to expand. It takes a lot of energy (aldosterone, angiotensin) to hold myself together. But by holding myself together, by constricting, I further shift my perspective toward the small point behind the 2D hologram, and I add to the problem.

If I get stuck viewing the 2D hologram from in front of it, I become too magnetic. My body—my image of my body—continuously wants to contract. Time itself wants to contract. It takes a lot of energy (anti diuretic hormone, water) to keep myself from collapsing. But by holding myself apart, by dilating, I further shift my perspective toward the large sphere in front of the 2D hologram, and I add to the problem.

For optimum health, we don’t want to view the 2D hologram (the flat disc, pH7) from behind it (the small point) or in front of it (the large sphere), because that distorts our perception. We want to be in line or in tune with it.

In either direction, I essentially get caught in a loop. If I am too contracted, I have to use angiotensin and aldosterone to hold together—and I become even more contracted, more electric. Time is “too short”—its axis is truncated, meaning its curvature is too bent. My body seems to use DMT, dimethyltryptamine, both to shorten time’s axis and to signal that time’s axis is short. When I use DMT, I am rendering myself as dense energy. My light is supersaturated. When my light is supersaturated, I see pH7 as more alkaline than it is.

And if I am too dilated, I have to use anti diuretic hormone and water to hold apart—and I become even more dilated, more magnetic. Time is “too long”—its axis is elongated, meaning its curvature is too flat. My body seems to use melatonin both to lengthen time’s axis and to signal that time’s axis is long. When I use melatonin, I am rendering myself as fast matter. My light is dilated. When my light is dilated, I see pH7 as more acidic than it is.

Sodium seems to induce my need for potassium, and potassium seems to induce my need for sodium. But if I take them together, I can’t easily read them. Together, they equal pH7. They just read to my brain as “wide water,” and they alter my brain’s understanding of scale. I don’t want to take them together because I need to use them to do separate things.

It’s possible part of the problem is that my brain, my consciousness, can cross in front of the hologram, can go a little ahead of time. But my body can’t.

When I am stuck behind time, “at the base of the mountain,” my body thinks it has reached its computational upper limit. To surpass the computational limit, according to this model, is to branch into many worlds. So I supply an incredible amount of external pressure (vasoconstriction) to keep many worlds from branching. But it is the very pressure I am supplying that causes many worlds to branch.

And when I am stuck ahead of time, “on top of the mountain,” my body thinks it has reached its computational lower limit. To dip below the lower limit, according to this model, is to fuse worlds. So I supply an incredible amount of internal pressure (vasodilation) to keep many worlds from fusing. But it is the very lack of pressure I am supplying that causes many worlds to fuse.

Many worlds and fewer worlds, in this model, are just a matter of perception. It’s all the same world, the same light. Looking forward, it appears to branch. Looking backward, it appears to fuse. When time is squeezed (sun), light dilates. When time is stretched (moon), light contracts.

But sun + moon is not the same thing as true light, light qua light (light as light). Sun + moon is like using yellow + blue to make green. It may look like green, but it is being rendered more strenuously. It costs more ink. And it alters perception. When blue looks at green, it sees yellow. When yellow looks at green, it sees blue. Altered perception can lead to metabolic gridlock—when your chairlift gets stuck halfway up the mountain.

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I have had a hard time, lately, with the perception of alkalinity. Plain water seems to read to my brain as alkaline, and it makes me want to vasoconstrict. But I have reached my limit for vasoconstriction—I am as dense as my understanding of time will allow—so instead I get this woozy feeling as though I am underwater, or as if I were just a head floating on top of a long wobbly stick.

I used to love to have 2 or 3 big cups of coffee with organic grass-fed milk in the morning. Lately I can feel myself crossing into a zone of hyper-vasoconstriction, where my body can’t find the release valve. I have had to eliminate caffeine. Lately my brain seems to predominantly want to perceive heat or acidity (olive oil, salt, meat, hot sauce). I had a tub of chicken curry this afternoon, and I found myself picking out all the apples. They seemed too alkaline to me. My brain wants to perceive the acidity signal, I think, so it can slow my basal metabolic rate.

I believe time has been slowing down for a long time—but now it’s beginning to speed up. In this model, time and light are co-emergent. While time is slowing down, light has to speed up. But when time begins to speed up, light finally gets to slow down (phew!).

When I get stuck, the problem is metabolic gridlock. The same thing—e.g. acidity—is being read in different ways by my body and my brain. To my brain, acidity seems to be a signal to use the gas pedal; but to my liver, it’s the signal to use the brakes. Whereas to my brain, alkalinity is the signal to use the brakes; but to my liver, it’s the buffer (permission) to accelerate. If I could somehow put blinders on my brain, and give my body alkalinity—and put blinders on my liver, and give my brain acidity—I might be in fine shape.

I therefore do well when I consume meals that have a balance of acidity and alkalinity—heat and cold, the condensing and the exploding force—so that, ideally, my brain can perceive it as acidic, and my body can perceive it as alkaline, and both can move forward in time. Water, although it’s in between acidity and alkalinity by definition, is a flat zero (rather than a net zero) and doesn’t provide much information. My brain wants food and drink that can give it information about the density and the speed of the universe. Information about TIME. Non-organic food that contains Glyphosate (RoundUp) is the worst. It cannot cross the 2D hologram, the speed of light. It is cold, cold, cold. And because it’s so cold, it is—paradoxically—hot, because it has to be rendered so strenuously. Food that contains Glyphosate reads to my brain as dead and deadly. Like chemical fragrance, chemicals, pesticides, preservatives, artificial color, artificial flavor, and plastic, Glyphosate is matter in a world made of light.

You know those people who will not even use ground pepper that is not organic—who, even their bra and their sheets are organic? I am one of them. I don’t read tea leaves, but if I did, I would tell you this: Organic is the future. Planet-centric is the future. People-centric is the future. The whole universe is one fabric. It is being rendered.

If you feel shy on hope, let me share a little good news.

This model of reality is different from the traditional model you may be used to. The old model says there is a solid object, e.g. a ball, that is hurtling through time.

This holographic model says that the world is made of light. There is no solid object, “ball.” There is a frame of time, and in it, a ball is being rendered. And then there is a new frame of time, and in it, a new ball is being rendered. Like a movie. Or a slide show. And your body, in many ways, is like the ball. New every minute.

In other words, as T. S. Eliot liked to say, every moment is a fresh beginning. At every moment, the world is being made again.

We have the power to be well. But our power is being constrained, somehow, like the panther in Rilke’s poem.

The Panther

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly–. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.

—Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell

(I should note that Leonard Lowe, who suffered from encephalitis lethargica for decades, pointed Oliver Sacks to this poem when he briefly regained consciousness, as depicted in Sacks’ 1973 memoir, Awakenings, and the 1990 film of the same name.)

“A ritual dance around a center in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.”

The nature of this paralysis—the nature of the constraint we are feeling on our power to self-regulate—is physiological, not psychological. In a medical landscape littered with grave errors, “It’s all in your head” is one of the gravest. I once asked to see my medical records, and noticed that the doctor had repeatedly used the code for “physically well, but worried.”

Physically well but worried? There was literally nothing about me that was physically well. At the time, I was spending 20 hours a day in bed. When I pointed out that when I stood, I felt like I would black out; and that my heart could not find a proper rhythm and was beating far too fast, she suggested I was just nervous to be at the doctor. “But this happens when I’m not here. And I’m not feeling nervous,” I said. “I came here motivated by hope and faith that we can fix this and I can reclaim my health.”

I forgive her. I forgive everyone. And I forgive myself. Energy is too precious to waste on grudges—and I don’t want to train my consciousness to follow those dark grooves. They only lead to unhappiness.

I don’t know what the answer is. I’m so sorry—I wish I did. I’m just sharing what I have learned from my own personal experience. But I do believe we will find the answers. And perhaps sooner than we think.

I believe the vaccine injured, and I stand with them. For most of the time during their testimony (see video, above), I was crying.

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