Selling the Sizzle

There is a pretty good reason why Disobliging Reality is a tough sell. First, anything that seems to require more than common intelligence to understand is considered not worth the trouble. So much for quantum mechanics. Secondly, and this is the main reason, being told by those who are supposed to know that nothing is real is totally unacceptable. It has to do with having things. If nothing is real, then I don’t really have anything. We all have assumed inventories of what we have, and those are contingent upon our inventories of what we think we don’t have.

What we think we have defines us. We have our health. We have our beliefs. We have our values, our likes and dislikes. We have our friends and relatives. We have common sense. We have our skills and abilities. We have certain talents. We have our past, and we have hopes for our future. And then we have all the stuff we have accumulated based upon everything we have that enabled us to get it. Yet, according to quantum theory, all that we have does not exist until we look at it. No lookee, no havee. We don’t really have the steak; we just have the sizzle. Nobody wants to hear that, let alone acknowledge it. As long as we can hear the sizzle, we are convinced that we have the steak. But learning that the sizzle is not the steak does not satisfy us. The illusion haunts us with the knowledge that we really don’t have the steak. The sizzle without the steak just isn’t good enough.


Enter Disobliging Reality. Here is a book that reveals that there is no steak, only the sizzle out of which we create the illusion of a steak. Most people don’t want to read a book explaining why we don’t have the steak. If we can’t really have anything, what’s it all about anyway? Consider the paradox. All that we can have is the knowledge that we don’t really have anything. Where does that get us? It certainly jeopardizes the legitimacy of where we thought we were all this time. In most people, this produces an anguished cry of rejection. The readjustment is just too harrowing to bear. How can one adapt to a steak-free universe? As in the movie, The Matrix, if you can cut a deal with the agents so that you can enjoy the illusion of a real steak on the condition that you are never allowed to remember that the steak isn’t real, you settle for the bogus reality. And, as part of the deal, you forget that there are any agents as well. The point seems to be that the experience of a well-crafted illusion is worth the price of remaining totally clueless.

Disobliging Reality is too much like a slap in the face, and most people really resent being slapped around. Thus, the marketing of such an unpleasant experience is at best doubtful. There could be an initial interest, even an anticipation of learning something absolutely new, even revolutionary, until the knowledge reveals that you can’t really have anything. It’s a matter of knowing in conflict with having. Which is more valuable? I don’t think there’s much doubt about most people’s preference. You can see it every day in every aspect of our active existence. It is dramatized, and in politics caricatured as a willing sacrifice of knowing for the pleasure of having, even if the having is pure illusion.

There is a certain amount of guts required to appreciate Disobliging Reality. At least there is an element of having nothing left to lose. Think of Road Warrior. Think of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. The illusion you inhabit no longer has any claim upon you. You are free. True knowing has no object. What you have is what you know, and what you know is free of illusion. What’s it worth to you?


The Book Goes Farther

As I stated in my first blog (July 20), Disobliging Reality is a book I never intended to write. It appears to have happened even though, as quantum theoretical physicist Michio Kaku assures us, “nothing physical happens”. So it is an aspect of my consciousness that projected itself into my perception of reality as a book. The most important aspect of these projections is always their meaning. The meaning of Disobliging Reality involved everything that I believed had happened in my life to this point, and especially my wife’s passing into a different reality. Disobliging Reality became a bridge between the worlds, a connecting link between myself and my life’s companion. It is essentially a bridge of love and as such is the most effective means of connecting complementary (in the quantum physics sense) aspects of what is ultimately a unity or totality.

Like particle and wave, both aspects represent seemingly different, exclusive qualities of something that is inherently one. Consciousness cannot observe both qualities at the same time. There is either a particle or a wave. One displaces the other. But the apparent difference masks the true nature of a bigger reality that is both at the same time. That is how I view Disobliging Reality. That is how it functions as a bridge.

Hopefully, Disobliging Reality will enable readers to perceive, on whatever level is appropriate for them, the interaction of two very real aspects of a human experience that has been mistaken as a certain kind of space/time narrative to which we all must adapt. Whatever we choose to call it, it is unmistakably “out there” and we are in it.


Disobliging Reality picks up the narrative and, through the application of quantum mechanics theory (the most successful scientific theory to date), demonstrates just how mistaken the existing narrative is. Other books have done this, of course, but more as an exercise in clever reinterpretation of prevailing “facts”. Everyone still lives with the “facts”, but now is expected to understand them differently. This works only to certain extent. As I say in the book, “Winning a debate is not the same thing as a change of heart.” The unity of particle and wave realities can exist in the heart even though their dualistic aspect  continues to remain dominant to the intellect.

I describe what I call Double Slit Awareness in chapter 3. I explain what it means and how to create it. Other books on quantum consciousness present different approaches to the same thing, but in a more speculative, detached, and established way. Disobliging Reality is, for all its theoretically scientific context, a cry from the heart. It is about reuniting with a lost love through transcending a reality that perpetuates a belief in inevitable loss and an unavoidable human condition of limitation and helplessness. It is a door that opens onto the discovery of a two-world awareness. It is an awakening into a sense of ever-expanding fulfillment.

What distinguishes Disobliging Reality from other explorations of human potential is its passion. In that first blog, I confessed to having been “insane” when I wrote it. I was not exaggerating. My grief was very real and very intense. I was not “myself” in the pages of Disobliging Reality. I had been torn from the self I knew as being complementary to another very beautiful human being who shared our totality. Together, you might say, we passed through life’s double slits as unlimited wave potential. Apart, I observe only my own particle passing through a single slit, and I passionately refuse to settle for the illusion.

“Nothing physical happens,” says Michio Kaku. In that assertion he is supported by the research of many other quantum physicists, especially by John A. Wheeler’s conclusion that “there is no ‘out there’ out there.” Coming to terms with that realization is terribly hard, not because it is beyond most people’s understanding, but because it presents us with so much more freedom than we have thought ourselves capable of. We disoblige reality so that we can find our true selves and recover from the painful losses we have mistakenly accepted as having happened to us. We “measured” our reality when we should only have accepted its infinite possibilities. As always, we walk between the worlds.

Seeking IT

Back in the early ’70s (before I became quantified), I was trying to overcome depression caused by the end of my first marriage through the practice of martial arts. I discovered that when I was flying through the air following a Judo throw, I was not depressed. Hitting the mat without injury was a more compelling concern than what had happened to my marriage.

I then progressed through Goju-ryu karate and Chinese Kenpo before settling into a prolonged practice of Xingiquan Gong-fu (Form of Mind Chinese Boxing), earning a black sash in that art in 1992. The disciplined practice of these arts was revelatory on many levels, but primarily it concentrated my physical, mental, and emotional composure while within an outward state of combative turmoil. I could remain undistracted by determined attempts to beat the hell out of me. I had learned to use destructive chaos to my advantage.

Inevitably, I encountered IT. Bruce Lee talks about IT in his Tao of Jeet Kune Do. He says, “When you are completely aware, there is no space for a conception, a scheme, ‘the opponent and I’; there is complete abandonment.” That, I realized years later, was the essence of being in a quantum state. That is the act of getting out of your own way. That is allowing some awareness greater than your own to take charge, and so IT became the foundation of my consciousness, which I elaborate upon in my book, Disobliging Reality. IT is not some airy-faery concept that you fantasize about. IT is real in the most fundamental way. IT can save your ass when you are battling heavy odds. IT is the you that is greater than you.

We are brought up to believe that our brains, and by extension, our heads, contain our consciousness. This is crazy talk. Besides maintaining our sensory input and firing synapses that create a context for our consciousness, our brains filter the information that is bombarding us constantly so that we don’t go totally wacko. In effect, we are being kept in a state of practical ignorance. It’s a survival mechanism. Consciousness–the true consciousness–is even bigger than we can even begin to imagine. It is not created by our brains like some hormone secreted by a gland. In fact, it doesn’t depend upon the brain at all. It is non-localized, and our brain’s experience of it is just a localized version. Yet we can “go non-local” when we need to. We can actualize IT under the right circumstances.

The further revelation for me is that you don’t have to be in a state of crisis in order to activate IT. IT is always there; you’ve just been too distracted to allow IT to appear. Consensus reality (our shared group reality) obscures IT. IT is addictive. I got to the point that I eagerly sought occasions to spar because sparring increased the likelihood that I would experience IT. Now I know how to trigger IT without having to fight to get IT. Meditation promises IT, but you have to create the required state in which IT can appear. IT’s not that complicated. Disobliging Reality explains how to make IT your constant companion.


Martial arts prepared me for my enthusiastic acceptance of a quantum consciousness. In the 1970s, the word was only just coming out about quantum mechanics and how it changed our reality. It would take me another thirty years before I was presented with a convincing and coherent version of how to incorporate a quantum reality into my everyday life. That version is Matrix Energetics:


Making Contact

Jean and I had no doubt that consciousness is eternal. It was one of the many convictions that we shared. We both had been married before we met (and subsequently divorced) so we were a bit wary about getting into a new relationship. Nonetheless, we discovered so much of ourselves reflected in each other that we needn’t have worried. We were both artists and both shared musical backgrounds. Jean was much the better musician. She attended Western New Mexico University on a music scholarship and played in the university’s jazz band. We both had played trumpet, but I was totally out-classed when she picked up her horn. She could wail.

Partly because of our shared philosophical and spiritual views, Jean and I were drawn to the study of quantum mechanics. This subject brought the role of consciousness and its relation to reality to the forefront. So when she passed less than two years ago, I didn’t hesitate to try to contact her. I formulated a kind of password that would be extremely unlikely to appear in my daily life. Years before we met, Jean had played the female lead in the musical Kismet. Nowadays, hardly anyone knows that such a musical exists or that it was a Broadway hit. I asked her to give me a sign that she was present and heard me by bringing to my attention any kind of reference to Kismet. That same evening, I was watching an interview with actor Kelsey Grammer on TV. The interviewer was asking Kelsey about his part in a recent film in which he played Herod. Near the end of the interview, the interviewer asked Kelsey how he believed he had gotten the part. Kelsey paused for a moment in thought and then said, “It must have been Kismet.”

Not long after that, Jean hacked into my smart phone. I had just returned from grocery shopping and had put the phone, which was turned off, into a back pocket while I gathered up the groceries. On an impulse, I said aloud, “Jean, I love you so much.” Almost immediately, a faint voice in my back pocket said, “I’m not sure what I heard.” Startled, or maybe stunned, I pulled out the phone and looked at it. It was now turned on and showed a text message version of the sentence I had just heard. I would have had to complete four steps in order to prepare the phone to receive any calls at all. The phone had not signaled me in any way. There was just the voicemail coming faintly from my back pocket. The message was typical of the kind of wry humor Jean favored. Naturally, I repeated what I had said. There’s no telling what she might have done if I hadn’t.

Obviously, Jean and I are continuing our relationship or, as she liked to say, “working for the cause”. I know that she is continually guiding me and sharing in my experiences. When I contact her now through a medium (one she picked out for me at an Academy for Spiritual and Consciousness Studies conference in Scottsdale, Arizona, she is able to bring me up to date about her activities. From my end (just a figure of speech), without the medium’s help, my connection with Jean is patchy at best. Often I can feel her presence or she will arrange a striking synchronicity for me, but clear conversation isn’t possible.

I know that when I write anything, she is my collaborator. She proved that in helping me write Disobliging Reality. She has told me specifically that I should have fun and adventures so that when I cross over, I will be able to share them with her on the Other Side. I always try my best for “the cause”.

A Book Too Far

Disobliging Reality is a book I never intended to write, and even now am not entirely convinced that I did. My wife, Jean, passed on or crossed over or whatever the gentler phrase is supposed to be on Christmas Day 2014. We had been together for 44 years and married for 40. Our relationship was the kind that even we could never have imagined. We were and are still “soul mates”. We loved each other simply for who we are (verb tenses get a little scrambled when speaking of those who are no longer entitled to the present tense, but who nonetheless continue to be “here” in spirit). We shared what is commonly considered “unconditional” love. We loved just being together because we found each other so completely fascinating.

Then a kind of separation occurred. I am certain that it is only the temporary semblance of a separation, but the grief accompanying it is as close to a crushing reality as you can get in a made-up world. I don’t claim any special sympathy for undergoing an experience that the vast majority of us must endure. I will simply state that in my experience grief is a form of temporary insanity. All the normal landmarks vanish, all directions are equally meaningless, and life itself mocks its own seeming necessity. Eat, dress, do laundry, pay bills? What could any of it be for? What purpose could any of it serve? There was nothing left to sustain except an ongoing misery. Why do that?

Two months after Jean’s passing, a friend suggested that I begin writing something–anything so long as it gave me something to do and kept my mind occupied with some sort of diversion. So every day I sat at the computer and typed whatever came to mind. What came to mind was (I thought) a chaotic jumble of ideas and thoughts about reality and what it was about. Jean and I had spent years studying quantum mechanics theory and even had begun attending Matrix Energetics seminars around the West and Southwest. Matrix is described as a “transformational consciousness technology”, which is based upon quantum mechanics. We took to it right away and applied what we learned to our everyday lives. It was a kind of transcendent silliness that made everything light, wonderful, and dependent upon our state of consciousness. If we were soulmates before, we were identical twins now. We had a blast.

Weeks passed. I don’t know how many. I was insane. I typed feverishly every day and later, when I read what I had written, I couldn’t always recognize what I had said. There were ideas and concepts that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Some of them surprised me with what seemed to be insights and intuitions that I considered beyond the scope of my thinking. I was on the verge of being creeped out. Besides, everything I had written was coherent, well-developed, and had the structure of a well-considered composition. True, I had been an English professor for a time, but when I tried to recall the actual process of writing this latest composition, I couldn’t identify a single step. It was blurry and tangled in my memory. I really couldn’t lay claim to have consciously managed anything at all. Still, I had what seemed to be, not only a short book, but a book that actually said something that had understandable meaning. All I could link to the writing of it was crushing, unending grief.  The only explanation that I could bring to mind was that Jean had had something to do with it. My study of quantum mechanics hinted that something like that was entirely possible. I began to put, not two and two, but particle and wave together.