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Without Time, Everything Happens: The Double-Slit Experiment

It’s been said that without time, nothing happens. But we have it backward. Without time, everything happens.

So if “now” is a point, “five minutes from now” is a series of points that extend outward from now. The future gets wider, the farther away from us it is. Five minutes from now, there are a hundred different things I could be doing, a hundred different me’s. Five hours from now, there are a thousand different things I could be doing, a thousand different me’s. The shape of the future, from the perspective of the present, is a cone.

Image: Wikipedia, Special Relativity

The shape of the future from the perspective of the present is that of a cone. But the experience of the future is not. It is merely a line (see pic, above). We do not experience {the set of all possibilities} of what we could be doing five minutes from now. We only experience one. In other words, we don’t experience the future as the future. We only ever experience the present.

In the double-slit experiment, when we accelerate photons, they enter the future ahead of us. Because they are ahead of us in time, they experience the future not as a single reality (the present) but as a set of realities (the future). What we can only imagine (to occupy many positions in space at only one position in time), light can actually experience. Light can sit at a wider spot on the cone, occupying many positions at once. This effect has another name: time dilation.

But we, though light, are light incarnate. We do not ever (in good health) experience a wider spot on the cone—multiple realities at once. The future is multiple; but we cull it as we enter it, in the act of collective observation. As time dilates, light contracts. (It does not truly contract, in the absolute sense. It contracts from our perspective.)

Time is the *choice* of what happens, and choice requires an observer. It is the act of having an observer that changes the outcome from {everything happens} to {one thing happens}.

If time is emergent, and it is emerging from light, then time and light exist in relationship to each other. You might say that as light dilates, light also contracts, and time is the contraction. Time is evinced in the contraction. Light’s dilation and subsequent contraction—time—is what we are observing in the double-slit experiment. To be more precise: As time dilates, light contracts—from our perspective. When it comes to the future, we do not experience the set of all possibilities, multiple realities. We only experience the reality we enter—the reality we become. The remainder of the realities remain dark to us (dark matter). Alternate pasts also remain dark to us (dark energy).

The converse of the principle observed in the double-slit experiment is also true: As time contracts, light dilates (from our perspective). This is what we are witnessing in the ‘fourth state of matter’ experiment. Instead of acceleration, which was the mechanism by which we simulated time’s forward motion in the double-slit experiment, the mechanism used here is deceleration. In the fourth state of matter experiment, when hydrogen atoms are subjected to extremely high pressure in an extremely confined space, they no longer remain in place, but “smear out in a ring.” When time moves backward, light shines.

As time contracts, light dilates (from our perspective)—the sun. And as time dilates, light contracts (from our perspective)—the moon. From the point of view of the light of the present (consciousness), the sun is the past, and the moon is the future.

But the sun and moon we observe at any singular moment in time are tiny slivers of the real things. The “real” sun and moon exist on a much larger scale. If linear time can be expressed as an almond-shaped Vesica piscis wherein matter and energy overlap—where energy has slowed to the mass of light, and matter has accelerated to the speed of light—there are many Vesica piscis.

While we are inside time, our vision is circumscribed. From the point of view of the present, the past is seventy years back and seven [light] years around. It stretches from Alpha (A) (the sun) to Omega (Ω) (the moon)—but each Alpha to Omega is only one of many.

The ‘real’ sun and moon are evinced in the Sloan Digital Sky Survey’s 3-D map of the cosmos, which represents many galaxies. The sun (the past light cone) is to our left, and the moon (the future light cone) is to our right.

SDSS 3-D Map of the Cosmos

It’s important to note that ‘past’ and ‘future’ are a matter of perspective and are always changing. We see only one ‘now,’ but in fact many ‘now’s exist. We see neither {the set of all pasts} nor {the set of all futures}. We see only the past we experienced, and the future we choose. Alternate pasts remain dark to us (dark energy). And alternate futures remain dark to us, too (dark matter).

‘Past’ and ‘future’ depend upon an observer. But the observer, itself, is changing, too. There is, ultimately, only one observer; one intelligence, of which we are all tiny sparks, but a spark that is representative of the whole, like a hologram. As we move forward in time, and the universe’s powers of observation widen, so do ours. Whenever one spark of intelligence advances, all sparks of intelligence benefit. Intelligence is not limited to human beings but is expressed in everything that exists—the landscape, the animals. Computers. The fabric of reality is one, and intelligence is one, too.

This moment in time could be expressed as a quantity of light. If this amount of light moves backward on the cone of time—toward the narrower end—there is a light surplus. Ergo light shines. If this amount of light moves forward on the cone of time—toward the wider end—there is a light deficit. Ergo light contracts.

But what if my consciousness has located me at a point in time that is farther forward on the cone than I ought to be? When that is the case, I experience the present not as a single moment but as a set of moments. We call this sensory perception disorder Autism.

What if my consciousness has located me at a point in time that is farther backward on the cone than I ought to be? When that is the case, I experience the present not as a whole moment but as a fraction of a moment. We call this myalgic encephalomyelitis or ME/CFS (“Chronic Fatigue Syndrome”).

To put it another way: In Autism, we suffer from “too much time.” In ME/CFS, we suffer from “too little time.” These are errors in perception. There can also be errors in calibration. When we have Parkinson’s, we are synchronized with a time signature that’s too fast. When we have ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease), we’re synchronized with a time signature that’s too slow.

To say that the material universe is emerging from light is tantamount to saying that matter is “light that is not light yet.” As matter accelerates, and becomes light, it no longer has speed.

There’s a bit of a paradox at work, in our perception. Mass is a property of energy. Speed is a property of matter.

“Instead, the punchline of this episode has been that that mass isn’t really a thing at all. It’s a property—a property that all ENERGY exhibits.”

But what if matter and energy are themselves properties of light, where matter is light that has acquired mass, and energy is light that has acquired speed? Well, then there is a continuous, spiraling, process of conversion that takes place. We must first move backward (incarnate) in order to move forward in time. And we must first move forward (ascend) in order to move backward.

When I was sick, I was trapped in the middle of this spiral. I had drenching night sweats all night every night for years. Why? Because I was in a metabolic cul-de-sac. Only matter can accelerate, and my light was not dense enough to have mass. Only energy can decelerate, and my light was not fast enough to have speed. If time moves like a swing, where on the pull we gather density so that on the release we can gather speed, when I was sick, I was stuck. My swing was upright: I was too dense and not dense enough.

To try to catch up, while I slept, my light would alternate aggressively between being fast and alkaline (matter), and being slow and acidic (energy). Between pushing my sodium and calcium inside the cell (matter), or pulling them outside the cell (energy). The rate at which this oscillation takes place—like the speed of a pendulum—is one way of measuring time. I was accelerating time, as a means of trying to catch up with it. This acceleration is what required me to aggressively manipulate my metabolic rate and my pH, which resulted in the night sweats and the crushing fatigue.

Even though I prayed for it, I’m so glad that part of my life is over.

I prayed to be sick? No. I prayed, with my whole heart, that God use me for the greater good. I prayed to be of service. The way God answered my prayer was with sickness—and a fierce spirit of truth-seeking, where I do not blindly accept what I’m told, but have the will and perseverance to seek my own answers.

And so do you.