The perception of motion is a funny thing. It requires a point of reference. When you are on a train, the trees appear to move. But are they really moving? Instead it is you, the observer, who is moving. But … are you really moving? Moving relative to what? Are you not like the trees? By that I mean, you might appear to move from one reference point, but appear to be stationary from another. In fact, there might be a point of reference from which you appear to be moving backward—i.e., from the perspective of something that is moving faster than you.
So too with our world. I am looking for universal rules, meaning rules that apply to our perception of things that are very small, and our perception of things that are very large. But here, again, we find the issue of a point of reference. What is small? What is large? Perhaps these terms, ultimately, point back to an observer. “Small” is smaller than I am. “Large” is larger than I am.
One universal rule, then, might be this: what matters is not what we are looking at, but rather the lens through which we look at it. I am proposing that the lens through which we look is the speed of light.
We do not see “pure” motion—motion as motion. Because there is no such thing. There is only motion relative to a point of reference. We take what our eyes deliver to our brains as frank information. But it is not frank information; it is being filtered through a lens.
In some respects, we know this already. When Mercury is “retrograde,” we know it is an optical illusion whereby the planet appears to move backward from the perspective of the earth. But why would one portion of one planet’s motion be an optical illusion, and not the whole of all the planets’ motions? This is what I mean by universal rules.
Everything in the universe—including us—appears to be in motion. But why? Why do we grow? Why do the tides swing and the planets spin? Perhaps it is not the world that is in motion, but we, the observer.
Maybe the planets appear to move in the same way that trees appear to move when we are on a train. Just as it is not the trees that move, but rather the train; it is not the planets that move, but rather the earth. But … is the earth really moving? Moving relative to what? What is the point of reference? Who is the observer?
If matter is emergent, physical reality is A) Not what it appears to be, and B) Not responsible for causality. Here is a brilliant video by Donald Hoffman, a cognitive scientist at UC Irvine:
Don’t have time to watch the full 38 minutes? Start at 16:06 and watch just three minutes. Don’t have time for that? No problem, just read this quote (at 18:22):
“Spacetime is doomed. There is no such thing as spacetime fundamentally in the actual underlying description of the laws of physics. That’s very startling, because what physics is supposed to be about is describing things as they happen in space and time. So if there’s no spacetime, it’s not clear what physics is about.” — Nima Arkani-Hamed, Cornell Messenger Lecture 2016
If there’s no spacetime, what is there? Here’s an idea: there is no spacetime, there is only an observer. And the observer is light (consciousness). But if there is no spacetime, there is only an observer, then materialism—interpreting the world, fundamentally, as objects—is on its deathbed, and we are about to collectively shift our thinking.
These ideas are not fringe. Stephen Hawking’s Holographic Principle (you can’t store information inside a volume of space, only on its surface area); Donald Hoffman’s Interface Theory (explained elegantly and compellingly in the above video); Emergence Theory as it is applied to physics (Raphael Bousso, Gerard ’t Hooft, Klee Irwin, Fotini Markopoulou, Herman Verlinde, and many others): these are some of our best and brightest minds, leaders in their fields, who have been bent over their desks for decades. If matter is not fundamental to the universe, what the current science is irrefutably telling us is that the globe is a fiction. But instead of sparking an explosion of new science, there seems to be slack in the line. Why?
Well, to be perfectly candid, for one thing, it’s just so shocking. We’ve been viewing ourselves and our world through the materialist lens for hundreds of thousands of years. If you come along and tell me you have scientific proof (Donald Hoffman) that materialism is dead, it’s going to take me a minute to process that information.
[Takes minute. Walks around for a day muttering “There is no spoon” while wiggling her fingers in front of her own face. Comes back to computer.]
But it’s more than that, isn’t it? Part of the problem here is that we’re only halfway there. We know—Donald Hoffman has the maths to prove—that reality is not what we think it is. There truly is no spoon. What we are perceiving is more like a hallucination than anything else. But if matter isn’t ‘real’, then what is?
In other words, maybe we don’t have to come up with a whole new paradigm. Perhaps we are being pointed toward an old one. In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God. And the Word was God.
Don’t like the word God? No problem. It’s easy use consciousness instead. God is I AM.
So, let’s get back to the original question. What’s going on in this world of ours? Why is everything perpetually in motion?
Here’s an idea. The Big Bang reversed the centrifugal and centripetal forces, and now they are slowly righting themselves. (Slowly being a term of art, of course, because time is a fiction, i.e. is not fundamental to the universe, and our perception of it is relative.) Ever since the Big Bang, what is on the inside wants to be on the outside; and what is on the outside wants to be on the inside. At the Big Bang, out of light, something new was born: energy and matter. But the energy and matter, as they were perceived by each other, were in the wrong place, so something else was born: spin. From the perspective of matter, energy appears to be spinning forward. From the perspective of energy, matter appears to be spinning backward.
If there are universal rules, why is there matter at the center of an atom, but energy at the center of the universe? Because reality is not about reality; it is about the observer.
If the lens of the observer is the speed of light—if we are, indeed, the light of the world—matter looks “hot,” and energy looks “cold.” Because for matter to spin at the speed of light requires speed; and for energy to spin at the speed of light requires reverse speed. In other words, our eyes “correct” for the speed of light. They make the moon look hot (“sun”), and the sun look cold (“moon”). We see backward. While inside time, we are in an upside-down world.
The Big Bang, in a sense, is the observer. It is the lens through which we see the world. The Big Bang is the speed of light. The speed of light makes matter hot (sun), and energy cold (moon). At the moment* of the Big Bang, matter and energy traded places, and they’ve been trading back ever since. Energy was compressed to the density of matter, and matter was expanded to the speed of energy. This is a slow-motion explosion where we perceive time as linear, but in fact, everything happens at once. We are living inside a singularity. Meaning: the observer is a singularity. There is only one observer: God (consciousness).
(*At the moment of the Big Bang is a term of art because according to this model, everything has already happened and is always happening. That is what is meant, here, by the term “singularity.” It is time—time’s arrow, the universe—that is singular. As one thing happens, it affects everything else (past and future) that is happening. And as everything else happens (past and future), it affects what is happening today.)
Everything in the visible world is invisibly twinned. Inside the cell’s nucleus is energy—dark energy—pressing out. And outside the electron cloud is matter—dark matter—pressing in. When we’re on the inside, we see what’s outside. And when we’re on the outside, we see what’s inside.
To return to our original question, why is everything the world in motion, including the world itself? Perhaps nothing is in motion. Perhaps it is the observer who is in motion. Because energy that has been compressed to the density of matter (dark energy) wants to fly outward; and matter that has been expanded to the speed of energy (dark matter) wants to fly inward.
The dynamic created at the Big Bang—where what’s inside wants to fly out, and what’s outside wants to fly in—is a reversal of the natural order. Look at a whirlpool. The center doesn’t explode; it collapses. The Big Bang could have been called something else: The Great Reversal, or The Fall. But we cannot vilify The Fall of Man. There’s a hidden Zen to Christianity that we have not yet fully appreciated. Nothing that exists is to be vilified. It is the tension created by the Big Bang that holds the material world together (and apart).
Perhaps we are not inside a vacuum. We are surrounded by light—information—to be precise, by dark energy that is exploding (to our left), and dark matter that is imploding (to our right). Dark energy is energy that has been condensed to the density of matter. Dark matter is matter that has been expanded to the speed of energy.
In other words, we are inside time. Time has layers, like an onion. Each layer is a paired equilibrium between the centrifugal (exploding) and centripetal (collapsing) forces. If my brain perceives itself as too far outward in time, my body’s experience of the centripetal force will be too high (ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease). If my brain perceives itself as too far backward (inward) in time, my body’s experience of the centrifugal force will be too high (Parkinson’s disease).
When we have Parkinson’s, we oscillate too quickly, i.e. have too much dark energy. When we have ALS, we oscillate too slowly, i.e. have too much dark matter. Dark energy is intracellular sodium. Dark matter is extracellular potassium. The perception of sodium as sodium and potassium as potassium—i.e. the perception of pH (the powers of hydrogen)—requires an observer and is relative to the pH of the observer.
More on Parkinson’s and ALS in my next post, bearing in mind that in this blog, as in life as we know it at the moment, time runs backward.
Time “runs backward”? Excuse me? To “run backward” means time slows down to zero—like pressing your foot on the brake. To “run forward,” on the other hand, means time speeds up to zero—like releasing your foot from the brake. When time runs forward, it is a lot easier. But the period of transition when time switches from running backward to running forward is fraught.
We don’t see the layers of time inside which we reside. But time-lapse photography can offer us a glimpse of them.