I found Bohm's comments on electrons particularly significant. It seems that they divide (not individually but as a group) and then reform much in the same way a ballet dance diverges and reforms. This opposes the notion that everything is moving in a essentially unordered pattern - like a crowd of people, each with their own agenda and, in a greater sense, many accepted beliefs of mainstream science.
This notion of choreography is apparently integral to the idea of wholeness and not dissimilar to Sheldrake's idea of biomorphic fields. From wholeness and harmony - indivisibility and unification. An idea that not only ventures in the realm of spirit but correlates with what I understand of Bohm's thoughts on the problem of fragmentation - a condition which bothered him in terms of the modern approach to science.
Bohm's vocabulary, like his science, is precise. Fragmentation, he says elsewhere, means not to take but to break apart. It is not an orderly division into parts but rather a state of disorder. Not a good approach to understanding or reason!
I will attempt a short article on Sheldrake and the biomorphic field in an upcoming post.
I have yet to see paranormal energy act with a strong physical force - which is not to say that such a thing is impossible. Only that I am yet to be convinced of it and that it is my opinion at this point in time that ghost energy is usually physically subtle.
Somewhat surprisingly, for a girl once accused of vanity, I am okay with growing up. Several years ago, a wonderful friend predicted that an early retirement would give me the opportunity to do all the things that I loved.
As David Bohm says, there is no safety in things. But be this as it may, our lives are largely even primarily based on creating relative safety by way of the material. To this end we consume vitamins, safety test cars and maintain the integrity of our homes. And it is within this last instance, our homes, that our primary source of safety lies.
West Pittston PA September 2011 |
Making our way in this reality is never easy but it is worth the effort. Whatever it takes.
Most people can create images inside their mind quite easily. About 1 in 50 people, however, have a problem with the visual cortex called aphantasia. In aphantasia, the part of the brain that processes information received from the eyes doesn't function properly. As a result, there is an inability to create mental images.
According to Web MD: “The ability to create mental images exists on a spectrum. On one end, are people who can create extra-vivid mental images. Most people are somewhere in between.” On the other, those with complete (or total) aphantasia are unable to conjure up any kind of mental imagery. Though they are able to dream because dreaming is involuntary.
My aphantasia was and is, total. Like many people with aphantasia, I grew up thinking that everyone was like me and that the ‘image’ in imagination was a metaphor.
But there was one "psychic" advantage to my condition. I couldn’t deliberately make up a vision if I tried.
So when I began to see visualize spots of color during a guided chakra meditation I was overjoyed. As the meditation progressed, a distinct circle of violet light appeared, and I felt as if I was looking through this circle of color into another space.
Then, very abruptly, I found myself surrounded by color.
A bright endless blue.
It was almost as if a giant curtain had fallen or a bright blue screen had blinked into being and wrapped completely around me.
For a moment, I panicked. Thinking that I was having a seizure or even a stroke, I opened my eyes to an ordinary room. But when I shut them again, the color was waiting. This continued for a good ten or fifteen minutes before I decided to keep my eyes open and get on with my day.
Later, when I sat down to record my experience in The Mystic Review, I remembered the swirling spectrum of blue I’d seen in the Spirit Dream. While the blue I’d seen in meditation was only a single shade, it had reminded me of some kind of screen.
Thinking about it now, I think it was almost as if my attention was being drawn away from my New Age interests, and back to the dream.
UPDATED: 2024
I will be returning to this experience in a future post and wanted to update the original with an updated version.
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The update to this post is excerpted from The Spirit Dream © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Front Hall View of Street (Glass Door Knob Since Found At Auction Allowing Us to Open Door) |
Looking Down the Front Steps (Nice Old Stained Glass Window Above Out of Sight) |
Front Steps Awaiting Intensive Scraping |
Badly Damaged Oak Flooring in Living Room |
Odd Wall in Living Room and Rear View of My Pup |
2nd Floor Previous Apt. Kitchen Partially Removed by Previous Owner (Note Woods Behind House) |
The Pink Room: My Future Bedroom |
Remainder of Upstairs Hall, Weird Framing and 3 Sided Bedroom On Right |
2nd Floor Bath with Cracked Marble Floor (Not Used in Years). View of Back Yard. |
Kitchen Ceiling Below Said Bath |
Mismatched Doors to First Floor Bath and Back Staircase (Note Cool Old Tile) |
Odd Assortment of Cabinets |
Pantry and View of Back Yard (Note Cool Old Archway from Kitchen) |
The argument for pattern recognition and random chance maintains that people experiencing the repeating number phenomena look at digital displays repeatedly and mostly unconsciously throughout their day until they observe a repeating number sequence. The sequence makes an impression on the individual's conscious while the majority of patternless events do not. According to this theory, we believe that we are seeing a repeating number every time we time we look at the clock when when we really are only seeing it occasionally.
The time-interval training theory however is only applicable to people who have this skill and not everyone does. Additionally, time-interval training mostly seems to work when a person notes a specific time on daily basis and many people who note repeating numbers do so frequently as opposed to daily.
Does 11:11 convey any meaningful message? I'm not sure. But many people believe it does!
Additionally, I have found it surprisingly necessary to factor in my entire fairly complicated relationship with the concept of home. Having grown up in a truly unhappy and traumatic household, I became a person who forged ties to people, instead of place.
Throughout my childhood, I spent small slices of summer at my grandparent's old farmhouse. It was a beautiful old house with long dark halls and sunlit windows and safe quiet spaces. The big farm kitchen always smelled like fresh bread and you could feel the energy of true happiness the second you walked in the door. There was a wide porch with rocking chairs and a sunrise view of the river and you could see forever from the mountain behind the backyard. In difficult times, it was my paradise and the only place I was ever truly safe. Loving it the way I did made it almost impossible for me to connect to all lesser houses later in life. In the end, losing all access to that place and the fields and mountains that were part of the property apparently severed my ability to forge an attachment to any future point on the map.
In November at the very start of my house search, I thought about the impact all of that history and decided to drive by my grandparent's old house and make my peace with the past before I truly moved on. When I reached the place I remembered so well, I stopped and sat in the car for a very long time - too stunned to cry. The the hill overlooking the river was barren and the house was no longer there. I saw nothing but brambles and the hint of a foundation. The final and irrevocable loss was unexpected and disheartening.
To me, this meant that it might be time for me to finally make my own real time connection to place. And so a few short months later it seemed about to happen. I found a lovely old Victorian at a surprisingly affordable price. It had plenty of room, a rental unit and all of the lovely original woodwork including two beautiful fireplaces. It needed work of course but it was a house worthy of such devotion. Over the course of the negotiations however, a feeling of foreboding overtook me. I blamed my past. I blamed my inability to believe in my own good fortune. But I just couldn't shake it.
It was a hard blow but I am a survivor and I moved on. The second house I seriously considered was disliked by all family members excluding myself and I was able to let it go, having no real attachment to the property other than practicality. Within a relatively short time, there was a third house but the subsequent rebound deal fell through as well.
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