The Escape Clause

Since my last post, I have been reflecting on the best means of escaping this trashy novel I am in. I thought that I was onto something when I considered foreshadowing as providing clues as to how the novel ends. But, I have to consider that if the novel is poorly-written, there is probably no foreshadowing at all. Bang! It just stops. It seems that that’s what happened in Hotel Royale. Riker and his away-team act as foreign investors and buy the hotel–end of story. Obviously, that development came out of nowhere. So, I gather that an escape route need not be integral to the novel’s plot. I could come up with anything so long as it remains within the novel’s presumed limits of reality.

However, consider that Riker, Worf, and Data are not organic to the development (whatever that is) of Hotel Royale’s plot. They come from an outside or “alien” reality that was never written into the novel. Their escape is made possible by the fact that they can manipulate the novel’s reality from outside its parameters, from outside the assumptions and pre-conditions on which the novel is based. However, their intrusion into the plot has to be believable to the characters involved, and they are a cheesy bunch. Three aliens from the future who dress funny and seem to have some extraordinary abilities are not within the novel’s characters’ range of comprehension.

Okay. So I’m effectively an alien in relation to the novel’s reality because I can see its limits and the way it functions and am not buying any of it. What flaw in the story can I exploit or change that will still be believable to the characters involved? Will I accidentally be violating the Prime Directive by trying to fix, change, or improve the existing reality? The Prime Directive would not apply to virtual characters in a hologram created by a prior race of aliens, so I think I’m safe in that regard.

Let’s try some equivalencies. The prior race of aliens could correspond to all those humans who, presumably, created the reality in which I find myself. But for whom they created this reality is a mystery because I can find no corresponding Col. Richey who has been abducted and imprisoned. I have to set that factor aside. I arrive at the already prepared Hotel Royale. I know that its reality is not only false, but a very badly-imagined one. This puts me in the away-team with Riker, Worf, and Data. However, I don’t have the luxury of being able to read ahead to the end of the novel to see its conclusion. I am both in the novel and outside of it at the same time. This would seem to be an impossible situation, an unsolvable paradox. I am, in quantum physics’ terms, in superposition. It’s comparable to the situation of Schroedinger’s cat. It is both dead and alive at the same time. Any conscious observation of my situation will propel me either completely into the reality of the novel, or outside of it. Since both possibilities exist in superposition, I have to find a way to tip the balance of possibilities toward the outside condition despite the fact that both outcomes are equally possible. In other words, I have to change a possibility into a probability.


Now we’re into Quantum Bayesianism. According to Bruno de Finetti, a founding Bayesian theorist, we need to think of probabilities as gambling attitudes, and this would be entirely consistent with the nature of the Hotel Royale. Since my gambling probabilities are unique to me alone (yours are uniquely yours), all we can do is make our gambling attitudes internally consistent. What de Finetti proposes is not that my probabilities are mostly in my head and some are still anchored to the world (the Hotel Royale), but that there was never a Hotel Royale (fictional or otherwise) to begin with and therefore no probabilities to be considered in relation to it.

Eureka! What de Finetti is saying is that my predicament is wholly imaginary. It is unique to me and not to anybody else as is my experience of a fictional or virtual world from which I believe I cannot escape. In essence, I have made up the entire scenario including the standards by which I judge a story to be good or bad.

Is the away-team more real than the Hotel Royale and all its characters? Despite the away-team’s ability to interfere with the Hotel Royale’s bogus reality, it is no more real than what the novel portrays. It’s all just a matter of individual perspective. We ourselves decide whether or not we are in a novel or outside of it or neither or both.

I’ll bet I sleep really well tonight.

Where No Cliche Has Gone Before

On September 6, the fiftieth anniversary of Star Trek began. Included are all of the sequels and spin-offs based upon the original series, which began in 1966. I was never a hard-core Trekki, but I enjoyed the imaginative scope of the series and the sometimes thought-provoking subjects that it explored. It   was a strong subliminal influence in my life and I’m sure it pre-disposed me to study quantum mechanics in relation to the reality I was beginning to doubt. It dramatized a credible alternative to the earth-bound existence I had become used to.

All of the versions of Star Trek, both old and relatively new, are still in syndication. Recently, I watched an episode from Star Trek: the Next Generation that gave me new food for thought. I believe the episode was called Royale, and told a story about an American astronaut named Col. Steven Richey. Richey had been taken by aliens 287 tears prior to the appearance of the Enterprise. The aliens, perhaps regretting their kidnapping of Richey, had created a reality for him that they believed would be most like his natural environment. Unfortunately, the aliens based their perception of this environment on a novel entitled Hotel Royale, which they found in Richey’s space craft. It was a terrible novel, badly- written, and full of cliches and shallow characters.

When Worf, Riker, and Data appear, investigating signs that human DNA exists on an unknown planet, Richey had already been dead for 287 years and his DNA and desiccated body are all that is left. However, Richey’s remains are found in a hotel room in the Hotel Royale, which the three crew members of the Enterprise have entered, looking for the source of the mysterious DNA.

The Hotel Royale is a lively place, full of guests who are engaged in gambling in the hotel’s first-floor casino. Worf, Riker, and Data interact with some of the guests who prove to be stereotypes of conventional characters one would expect to find in a casino.

In their subsequent exploration of the hotel, the three crew members find Richey’s remains along with a copy of the novel, Hotel Royale. Riker, paging through the book, immediately recognizes the utter banality of the narrative and, reading an entry in Richey’s diary, learns that Richey, to his dismay, had become aware of his circumstances and was unable to find his way out of the artificial environment created for him by the aliens. Richey bemoans his imprisonment and before his death notes that he had spent thirty-eight years longing for his demise just to escape the confines of a terribly-written novel.


Like Col. Richey, I have begun to suspect that I have been confined to the parameters of a badly-written novel, and so far have found no avenue of escape. Everywhere I look, every encounter I experience with others, leads me to believe that I am a character in an unconvincing narrative about my life. The events are too predictable and the other characters I meet or see presented to me by conventional media are too stereotypical to be believable. They look alike; they talk alike; the things they do are alike. Even the things they do to be different are alike. The background scenery seems to be painted onto a diorama that revolves, eventually returning one’s view to the diorama’s beginning so as to initiate the process all over again. It’s inevitably dull.

Worf, Riker, and Data escape the Hotel Royale by reading how the novel ends. In other words, they have to reach the end of the narrative. In that version, the hotel is bought by foreign investors and the story ends. So the three become the foreign investors themselves and conclude the story-line. I guess that’s what I have to do as well, but the last scene eludes me. I try to imagine all of the possible variations that could serve as a conclusion, but so far, nothing clicks.

Notice that the critical first step is to recognize that you are in fact in a novel. That gives you options that you didn’t have before. Then, you have to realize that novels end and bring the fictional ending into being by taking an active part in the novel, no matter how shallow and cliche-ridden it may be. I like both the irony and the paradox of that necessity. So, I infer that to escape I must further the action of the novel at the same time that I know that I am participating in a fictional story. It’s a kind of two-worlds thing. You know, I think I wrote about that very circumstance in my book, Disobliging Reality. I just need to create the appropriate ending. I need to discover the foreshadowing in the story that foretells what the ending will be. This could take some time.

Let’s begin at the beginning: “It was a dark and stormy night–”


Showing Up

Most of the time, we fulfill our roles in “reality” just by showing up. This is a day-to-day thing. Whatever the day brings, we validate it just by showing up. There is a gutsy courage to this. Quite a few people find ways not to show up. They act out a fantasy, pretend to be spiritually uninvolved, get high on drugs, alcohol, or a cause of one kind or another, or obsess on perceived slights, insults, or injustices. In other words, they formulate a specific, meaningful context for their lives from day to day that enables them to be functionally absent.

When you “show up” for the day, you let it be what it turns out to be without trying to configure it in one way or another. After all, the double-slit experiment has proved repeatedly that there is no “out there” out there until you make it up. I can’t emphasize this basic fact enough. Nothing actually “happens” until you believe that it is happening. There is no way around this inevitable condition. It’s a major function of our consciousness.

Yet, here we are, in the second decade of the 21st century, still processing a reality that we are making up and behaving as if it has an objective existence. Why the inability to move forward, to accept a colossal paradigm shift, and to embrace another reality? Sadly, it’s what makes us human. Being human is supposed to be a rich, wonderful, fulfilling condition that validates our being. It’s really a cop-out. Being human has its limitations and enables us to make excuses for what we don’t want to accept or do. After all, we’re just human. How can anyone criticize that?

Uncritically accepting our humanity lets us play “the human game” as if it were the only game available. If we’re human, then the only game allowed to us is the one that fulfills our beliefs about ourselves. In passing, it is instructive to note how many changes have occurred in our beliefs about what it means to be human. Right now, we have pretty much abandoned the dependency we thought we had on a divine authority figure, but have not had the guts to accept our own participation in what we believed that authority figure’s prerogatives to be. It’s scary. It’s hubris. We dare not aspire to god-like ambitions.

But who decided what those ambitions, those prerogatives are? We did. We reinterpreted the divine to suit our expectations for ourselves. When we need more elbow-room, we create it, but with trepidation. Have we over-stepped our humanity? Are we permitted to become more than the majority of us believe we can become? When it comes to the non-physical, we assume that we must act with restraint because that’s what the physical is all about–limitations.


But if there is no physical “out there” out there, there is no restraint either. We adopt the role of the cowardly lion, frightened of our own potential. We wait for a wizard to assure us that we really are brave and capable of being  who we truly are. We seek permission to be what we already are. And the reason we need permission is because we are only human. To be human is to be less than we already are. When we are not showing up for our day, we are accepting our limitations as humans. If we believe that by being human we have already lost, why show up? When we believe that every day is bounded by the same limits and restrictions we have grown used to, what is showing up going to do for us?

Remind yourself every morning of the double-slit experiment and what it is telling you about yourself. Don’t worry about being human; just show up.



Listening to White Noise

I was having breakfast at a restaurant this morning, seated near a table of people (genders will not be revealed) who were gabbing incessantly. The conversation was about the usual stuff: places they had been, what they’d seen there, and, most importantly, whether or not their experience had been good or bad. Then the subject segued into politics. The talk became more animated and much more assertive. These people were onto a subject they had strong feelings about. The feelings were based upon convictions and the convictions were based upon what? Certain knowledge? Hardly. Their convictions reflected everything they had been told about the current political drama. The cliches were as thick as particles being fired through an observed double-slit screen. No sign of wave interference anywhere.

What was apparent was the fact that none of these people had a clue that there could be anything but particles supporting their political biases. They were wholly embedded in a reality they had chosen for themselves and were, in lively fashion, flogging it to death.

Had I approached their table and proposed the idea that there was nothing real about anything that they were talking about, I would have been immediately scorned and probably asked to mind my own business. When it comes to politics, reality takes sides. And of course the assumption is that reality actually does have sides and that it can be divided into a “good” side and a “bad” side. This has been the major operating principle since Zoroastrianism and the Manichean philosophy. To hear it being celebrated into the second decade of the 21st century is frankly as disturbing as discovering a severed leg on the sidewalk.

Why the persistence of such a completely outmoded way of thinking? We’ve had roughly a hundred years of quantum mechanics and its implications are being revealed on a weekly basis. Now there is quantum Bayesianism, which is like quantum mechanics on steroids. If plain quantum mechanics has taught us that nothing exists until it is observed, quantum Bayesianism is asserting that we, individually and subjectively, are responsible for having that experience. Get this: Everything is just made up.

Back to the breakfast table. Imagine announcing to the diners that, first, not only everything they are discussing is totally fabricated by their consciousnesses, but second, that the food they are eating, the table they are sitting at, the other diners in the restaurant, and the restaurant itself are all being made up out of their observation of pure wave function. Their entire reality is a holographic projection created out of their subjective awareness. It is all essentially white noise being given form and meaning.

Somebody call the cops! Of course, the arriving cops would be made up too. Did you ever hear of Br’er Rabbit and the tar baby? Rabbit gets into an argument (a one-sided one) with the tar baby and when Rabbit loses his patience with the tar baby’s lack of response (because  he’s just a tar image of a baby), he gets physical, attacking the tar baby and getting ever more stuck in the tar of which the baby is made.

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Physical reality is a lot like the tar baby. As soon as we take it to be real and begin interacting with it physically and emotionally, we get stuck. The more we struggle to get free, the more stuck we become. Overcoming the tar baby would seem to be a good idea at first, but it’s actually the worst thing you can do. “Spiritual” people think that they are overcoming the tar baby by not getting into a fight with it. Still, they acknowledge it exists. Otherwise, they would have nothing to ignore. We, on the other hand, believe that by controlling or punishing the tar baby things can only get better.

I wound up seeing the diners at the breakfast table as a bunch of rabbits struggling with the tar baby and the noise they were making over it a nondescript white noise. After all, they were just making it all up.

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.

Catching the Wave

It has been my experience (and I admit that that’s all there is) that younger people in the sixteen to twenty-eight age range are already familiar with many of the principles of quantum mechanics, not because they are formal students of it, but because quantum mechanics has become embedded both in popular culture and in ongoing scientific discourse. You can find various aspects of quantum mechanics all over YouTube and sprinkled liberally throughout social media. It’s just part of the current scene. Decades of science-fiction and now superhero films have made an indelible imprint upon the minds of teens and twenty-somethings.

On the other hand, the over-fifty crowd is still struggling with their mainstream classical physics’ version of reality and all of the limitations that it imposes on them. Talk of time-travel and parallel universes is virtually meaningless to them. If they listen at all to these ideas, they confess that they just can’t “get their heads around” such abstract notions, and of course they don’t even try to do so because they don’t believe any of it has a practical bearing on their lives. They are the “dead men (but fewer women) walking”. Reality has changed and left them behind. They are strangers in a strange land of new and infinite possibilities and it scares the hell out of them.

Still, the younger crowd likes to entertain itself with the ideas of quantum mechanics, but without actually implementing them. In other words, the content of their consciousness has changed, but not their consciousness itself. They are still imprisoned by consensus-reality thinking. Look at the Bernie Sanders phenomenon. Supported by enthusiastic young people, Bernie promised a revolution, but within the context of an outmoded political model. Bernie harks back to the Russia of 1917 and to the turmoil of 1960s’ America. Naturally, he eventually disappeared back into the existing political system. He never went through an actual consciousness shift.

This is a dense and persistent reality. Albert Einstein stated that “Reality is an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” Reality is an illusion precisely because it is not limited by space-time as we know it, or confined by a four-dimensional structure. It has no material existence at all. We create it out of our consciousness, both personal and collective. The implications of that fact have not been assimilated by the younger generation, which is still taught to rely on outmoded models of reality. They still want to change the world, not realizing that it is they who have created it in the first place and sustain its illusory power. They can talk alternate realities, but still don’t know how to implement them. You can’t perform magic with a non-magical mindset. You can’t transcend politics as usual while accepting the need for it.

Concepts and labels are limiting. They are the stock-in-trade of a consensus reality. The old-timers are captivated by them. They are familiar and comforting. But the younger generation has a chance to escape their intoxicating hold. They have glimpses of other possibilities. They just need to allow for their  emergence. It’s the allow bit that’s important. The young are impetuous. They want to reshape something that has no intrinsic shape in the first place. It’s their perception of a pre-existing shape that confuses them. By simply no longer investing in the reality of a pre-existing and objective reality, they can create their own out of their own consciousness both personally and collectively.


The older generation has its own morphic field (a consciousness of shared values and characteristics that defines it and what it does). It knows no other reality. The younger generation is still malleable enough to shape its field for the better. It merely has to give itself permission to do so. Hopefully, continued immersion in the principles of quantum mechanics and in the possibilities embodied in archetypes like Iron Man, Supergirl, the Flash, Green Lantern, Wonderwoman, Batman, and Superman will salvage the young from an ongoing deadening and constricting mindset.

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.