A Wandering Mind: Part 22 — Interference
“Once a great victory is won it dominates not only the future but the past. All the chains of consequence clink out as if they never could stop… It always amuses historians and philosophers to pick out the tiny things, the sharp agate points, on which the ponderous balance of destiny turns.” – Winston S. Churchill
Our days are filled with interference patterns. They can be blatantly obvious like the dog chuffing in the wee hours of morning interrupting your sleep so she can be let outside, or weird technological glitches that put your work life on hold. They can be beautifully invisible like the natural rhythms of family life or time well spent with close friends. It’s better to be aware of them, but whether or not we are, at some point, like a recurring dream, they will throw us for a loop.
Some event -big or small- may set us off and our emotions go haywire. The reaction may be anticipated or completely unexpected. As much as you try to prepare for the aftermath of making a difficult decision, sometimes it’s just as you imagined. Take, for instance, the utter turmoil you see in your daughter’s eyes when you tell her Mom and Dad are getting a divorce. You see the exact moment when she realizes her life just took a drastic turn into uncertainty, into fear that everything is changing after living with both parents her entire life. There is nothing you can do but suffer through that moment with her. You do your best to soothe her when she starts crying at bedtime when she asks what happens when she wants you to tuck her in and you’re not with her in the future.
Each turning point in our lives is an epicenter that sends out shock waves that disrupt other aspects of our and others’ lives.
I could only guess what set off a chain reaction of events that brought me to the InnerNet. When dealing with the unknown, a person cannot be trigger happy. You need to hold yourself still in a state of organized chaos. Ideas bounce everywhere. It is easy to get distracted by their interference. Thoughts war with each other, battle for our attention.
As humans we daily weigh the validity of possible outcomes and play with the future. Our mind wanders to other places and situations all the time. Our awareness flickers from one reality to the next. Time freezes in one spacetime as it pushes into the future or rewinds into the past.
“Now we have been training during the day night tactical training. It’s real interesting crawling under barb wire emplacements, feeling your way through mine fields and wired booby traps… you have to move slow and carefully in the dark because if you trip those wires you get a surprise of your life when it goes off …”
“I do not know where PUPYONG, KOREA is but that is what the personnel guy wrote on my orders…”
“It is something traveling westward because the sun stays almost in the same place. I guess I get to arrive the day ‘before’ I left. Figure that one out, huh?”
“Arriving at Kimpo Air Force Base in the dark, kept us in the dark…”
“Surrounding the compounds there are 10–15 foot barbed wire fences with concertina barbed wire on top and bottom. Every 100 yards or so stand a guard tower with an armed guard. I don’t know if they are ROK (Republic of Korea) or KATUSA (Korean Augmentation to the United States Army) or just a hired Korean soldier. Nobody gets near that wire because the guards are trigger happy…”
Scribe’s father at 25 years old while in basic training, traveling to Korea, and impressions when arriving where he would be stationed on the DMZ (Demilitarized Zone)
One piece of information tripped the wire for me and set off an explosion of connecting the dots. The unknown started to unravel into the known and the waveform collapsed. A timefreeze was communicated to me in a dream.
Surfacing from a dream I see this time flash across my mind’s eye:
I thought nothing of it. Just made a note in my dream journal on October 13th at 00:54. Until one day, October 16th (10/16) I started seeing combinations of the numbers 116 everywhere. I was working — all focused on an unrelated task — and this wayward ball hit me and it all suddenly started to make sense. I had tapped into a synchronicity across time.
- I started my InnerNet travelogue on June 1st after I started to receive strange “transmissions” from my would-be teammates.
- Team member Arrow’s first successful series of InnerNet relays were completed on June 1st.
- My grandfather’s chance mingling with a roomful of World War II leaders happened the 1st of June.
Yes, I’m fully aware I may have been suffering from apophenic shock, seeing meaningless numerical patterns. It could be, as is the case sometimes, that once your awareness focuses on something specific you are looking out for that something specific and start seeing it all around you. It was always there, you are just paying more attention to what’s around you, and those specific somethings jump out at you more while all else stays more in the background.
But consider this: we each have within us a time machine. We not only live each moment, but we have internal recording devices that capture our best, worst and ordinary experiences: our senses. We’ve all made leaps into the past, triggered by something in our present: a sound, a scent, a view, a taste, how something feels. Right now we are creating a memory that we can tap into in the future.
You stand in the center of two large time pieces, watch towers that for millennia marked important turning points in the year. Many have been displaced, are in disarray, their disorder confuses now more than ever, and with each tick into the future, more is hidden. The wings of your imagination flutter, stir the air: the dreamers who left, the dancers who moved right, curling in then out, all around their stone partners, honoring these old healers who cared with their callused hands.
You gather them all here again, their traditions alive. Caretakers like you take notice, offer enough care that thousands of years roll back in an instant for you. In a flash day turns into night, and the night sky lowers like blinds, stars fall from their current position, now resting like they did thousands of years ago on the pillars of the people who walk with you now.
Our shadows touching the ground, reaching out over the cliff, grasping each other just as our thoughts felt this space, went farther still to the surrounding area, and found solid ground with each other.
“Watch Towers” 24 March 10:28–10:59 (41 years old)
We are constantly haunted in our present by ghosts of the past and shades of the future.
I’m in a cabin, newly constructed, a presence that is outside is coming, a weather event. A man had been in the same room with me, he goes to bed, goes down a hall (that has several other areas it leads off to in other open areas), to a back room down the hall. I start moving to follow him — I see where he goes, I don’t follow him, I turn and see a small, child-like shadowy, hooded figure, whose feet and torso are dark. I can’t see all parts of the figure since it is hidden in shadow or is invisible in between the open space area of the living room and kitchen. I am not afraid. I get back in bed in the living room. I get comfortable on the couch with dark, soft blue blankets. The view over the couch where I recline, through the window, is dark countryside. I turn around and see a very tall, thin being coming straight for me. Am I scared at first? No. But when an invisible presence pushes me down, holds me down, I half can’t breathe, I move around, I try to wriggle free, it won’t move. I think in my dream I can still breathe, but what if in the next moment I can’t? There’s a heavy, invisible presence as I struggle and say “I banish you from this house.” Nothing happens. Does the invisible presence mean me harm? Or does it just hold me down to make me pay attention? I wake up and it is raining outside. 17 December 01:48 (41 years old)
In dreams, do we tap into the splintering of time? Every move around a room or a space, from the dreamer’s vantage point is a tick of a clock, a peek into different points of history?
On another strange note, a few nights ago I had fallen asleep watching t.v. in the bedroom and
awakened with a chill. For some odd reason I thought about Grandpa and how he had been watching over me and baby at the right side of the bed. It could have just been a draft or cold pocket of air. Strange how my mind would imagine this.
— 11 November Birth of a Dream (31 years old)
from a nighttime
There she is
next to me
her friend said
There were ghosts
Have you seen one?
If you are frightened,
what do you do?
Yes, my dear
Come to me
for ease of spirit.
17 May 19:43 (41 years old)
Nine and a half months pregnant I had a waking dream of my dead grandfather watching over me and my unborn child, and nine and a half years later I dreamed about my daughter standing in that very spot. The next morning I asked my daughter if she had been in my bedroom. She said she had tried to awaken me but I would not stir. My house was filled with scaffolded overlays of spacetime shadows.
Why is it we sense we are connected to those departed? Those people who have left this physical plane? I never met my grandmother, but the music she created comes through her old violin I play.
The poetry she wrote speaks to me. I miss the years I could have had growing up with her by my side. Yet, she never left, now did she? She lives on in me.
We are a miasma of genetic imprints, experiential data, embedded shared memories, geographical markers and code rewrites by ongoing learning. All of these affect our identity, our disposition, our tendency to sway in one direction and not another. We are in a continuous temporal flux via internal neural pathways and external life lines.
Could dreams be a blend of memories of past and future events? Are precognitive dreams caused by future events? -J.W. Dunne, An Experiment With Time
What if in dreams we tap into memories of the future? Is it really that far of a stretch? In dreams, our consciousness relaxes inhibitors. We navigate the unruly seas of our inner world, and unlike waking spacetime, boundaries are blurred, and we crisscross places and times in the blink of a sleeping eye.
“Since leaving New York last Wednesday morning the voyage has been all smooth and shipshape. Seven troop ships and convoy of destroyers, battleship, cruiser and two blimps. Blimps leaving us at sundown of the first day.
Five days out from New York and moving through heavy seas and fog. During the early hours of the morning while the ship is being pounded by the sea the corridors within the ship ring with song. It’s a happy feeling to know that though they fight amongst themselves during the day we can always get together in song during these long nights. Even though we cannot see any of the convoy it’s good to know they’re out there somewhere on guard.”
“…Feeling a bit blue today. Must be the monotony of army life or it might be that lack of mail from home.”
“What a beautiful day and I’m not feeling right to enjoy it because of before mentioned reasons. Very little news except for the fact that equipment and men are still moving up.”
My grandfather’s journal entries are only a few lines long but the scarce words he used to describe his days in Africa during World War II transport me back to what he must have experienced. What stories the photos he took must have told. What did he wonder as planes came back battered and shot up from missions? And those that didn’t come back at all. His days filled with duties far different than what he was used to back home, and when there were long spans of time when letters didn’t come, how the loneliness creeped in and how deeply it must have affected him.
I watch the twilight unwinding
Pale ribbons across the sky;
Where you are, dear, it’s afternoon,
And the sun is still on high.
The honeysuckle’s fragrance lifts
To the cooling kiss of night;
You march and drill where the desert
Meets the sun in waves of light.
The telegraph stars shall carry
My love to you, while you sleep.
In a tangled dream you’ll bring me
The morning star in your jeep.
“Starlight-Saving Time” Poem written by Scribe’s grandmother
In today’s instantaneous communications networks, we sometimes forget how long news took to get to those around the world. What joy letters that came in the mail brought to the recipients. My grandmother’s poems to my grandfather reached across time and space, and must have given him much comfort that held him until the next letter came.
My grandfather rarely spoke of his war years. My parents attended some veterans’ gatherings with him a few years before he died and heard stories no one had ever heard. After his passing, he left his children his war journal. Some photos of his time in Africa were found, and pieces of stories started to come together.
30 May 1943
“Hotter and hotter every day, and what a relief it is to work downstairs in our darkroom. Large scale operations from which all plans returned. Nine bottles of champagne for tonight…”
That’s all he wrote. A photo of my grandfather had been published in a local newspaper along with an excerpt from Ernie Pyle’s book describing the darkroom he had worked in.
“…they have built a photography darkroom that is unique in Africa. It is an underground dugout 10 feet deep. Most of it was dug through solid rock, and without any blasting equipment…you [are] completely underground with a three foot roof of earth and rock over you for bomb protection…Everything in the darkroom is homemade. Running water comes through some curved piping taken from the hydraulic system of a B-17. On the end of the pipe is a spigot from a wine barrel. All their photographic chemicals are kept in old champagne bottles. Their developing trays are gasoline tins cut in half the long way. Their film printing box was made from fragmentation bomb cases. Their red safety light is the reflector off a jeep. An electric switch from a bombardier’s control box lid is cushioned with rubber from the pilot’s seat of a Fortress.”
An interesting twist to the story about the champagne bottles that held the photographic chemicals is that they were for a few special visitors that came to meet in Northern Africa where my grandfather was stationed. He probably knew nothing until their arrival.
Although black and white, the photo of Churchill emerging out of his car seems imprinted with the desert heat of that day.
01 June 1943
Important visitors: Churchill, Gen. Marshall, Antony Eden, Air Marshall Tedder, Gen. Alexander, Spaatz, Doolittle, Randolph Churchill, Gen. Ismay, Comm. Thompson, Gen. Sir Allan Brooks. One never knows who might stop at this base. Churchill’s plane what we thought was a new American transport is really a luxury liner with wings. Plenty of photographs taken by us.
What would it be like to be in the same place as all these leaders of Allied Forces? What was heard? What was felt? What was thought?
Although only a brief crisscross of paths, my grandfather’s chance meeting of these men in many ways was a clink in the chains of consequence, as Churchill put it. Somehow, decades later, on June 1st, I described my first impressions of a very different space, a virtual one: the InnerNet.
The InnerNet is a space that brings together teams of leaders in different fields to work toward a common good. There are always times when we each experience a warring within and amongst ourselves, but this shared, secure space is just what we need to learn to work together with our different abilities.
“ … I’m returning to the campsite after having spent the morning walking to see the sunrise and back…
As I walk up to you, you shift your view from the creek to me. I don’t stop. I come to you, drop my bag, grab your face and kiss you…You pull me close and your left hand caresses up my side into my hairline. You tilt my head and open my mouth more. Our tongues dancing, our hearts racing.
18:17 finished “Camp” 29 July (41 years old)
My heart warms. I wonder: is it just my own reaction, or are you *reading* what I’m writing? That’d be so BUTTERFLY EFFECT. Was someone immersed in my stories while I was writing them? I felt a presence. Did the other person feel me?
Throughout our lives we face the chasm of The Great Unknown. We venture mapless into uncertainty to create our own legend. Sometimes, no matter how many questions we ask, we don’t get the answers we seek to the unexplained. We are left with using keys as guides, we can only use the resources available to us along the way to hopefully stumble upon a discovery that will bring us into The Know.
The lack of information on any journey can be trying, maddening even. Pioneers, adventurers and soldiers face emotional turmoil, psychological trauma and physical trials. Wartime letters and memoirs remind us how the separation from the familiar and correspondence deprivation interferes with well-being.
09:13 19 August (42 years old)
At first, telepathy, like early communication tools, was unreliable and had its faults. Add in the feelings of isolation due to the separation from team members across great distances, reality checks that were more like guesswork than hard scientific evidence, and the possibility of multiple voices with innumerable possibilities of what version of those selves one can be connected to at any given moment — at any given place — was CONFUSING. Was the person I was talking with dreaming? just having a stray thought? in a parallel universe? was it her/his future self? a residual memory echo? an imposter?
Those first months were the dark ages for me. What little information I had I pieced together to figure out who was in the static: dreams, vision flashes, news articles, photos, social media posts. What happens when you put together all the coincidences? When strange phenomena keep happening? When the timing is right over and over again? When there were definitely more hits than misses?
We begin to wonder and to ask questions when coincidences no longer look like coincidences, when too many details of dream and event agree, when the odds against chance go soaring, and when the whole tone and feeling of our double experience seem to be quite different from anything we know in an ordinary encounter with coincidence. There is a point past which coincidence turns into something else, compelling us to demand an explanation, just as there is a point past which scientific detachment can turn into bull-headed prejudice. -J.B. Priestley, Man and Time (p. 200)
It’s good to have an inner skeptic in you to question what your dreamer self wants to believe. The dreamer in me on many occasions wanted to see an unbelieving skeptic’s face the moment when something like what I experienced out of the blue happen to him or her. When that wayward ball kept smacking that person in the head. What explanation would they come up with? The same skipping record of excuses they had to explain away unlikely events in the past? Subconscious expectancy? Logical Inference? Wishful thinking? Plain lucky guesses?
For a system to be reliable, you build in redundancy. To trust something or someone, you use your discretion. When I first met Arrow, he, like the others when we first met, made an impression on me. One I did not know how to take at first.
SCRIBE’S DREAM RECALL 05:57 25 August (41 years old)
I see an RV park or campsite. I sit next to an IdeaSpace friend on a couch and start talking to him. He says “You know it was me all this time” or “It was always me.” “Look again,” and he points to all the clues I should have picked up that are suppose to tell me he’s the one I’ve been communicating with. He says “Arrowhead” or my head’s shaped like an arrow or my head’s an arrow, then he points to a blue t-shirt with a white drawing of an island.
I look across the room or space to a picnic table nearby where others sit. Healer is there talking with another member of IdeaSpace …
The next scene is a bedroom. The door is shut and we get undressed to change. We are completely naked, and we face each other, we make contact, the fronts of our bodies touch and Arrow says “beautiful.” I take it as a comment about appreciating my beauty. Once these words are uttered, I’m overcome with a full-body blissful shock of awareness and I pull out of my body. From the doorway I can see both of us standing there naked. I wake up and immediately reflect on how I’m never naked in my dreams.
It was a vivid and symbolic dream in which Arrow’s sharp, focused attention hit me -his target- that I needed to pay attention to the fact that he had been shadowing our team on the InnerNet, a very intimate space where we have to be comfortable in our own skin, where we are constantly crossing lines transporting ourselves outside the waking world’s limits of time and space and social boundaries.
Our initial virtual meeting was followed by a series of dream connections. With each trial we worked through our errors.
SCRIBE’S DREAM RECALL 04:59 28 May (42 years old)
I walk to get to a complex in the mountains (winter). There is a very narrow (gravel or dirt) path, and when I start walking and say out loud “I can’t do this,” I head to an offshoot, and there is a lake.
I see a bird shelter with two green tropical birds. I only see one bird that emerges seeing I have come. I sit at the edge of the water.
I have two coconuts stringed together,
I dip them in the water, the bird comes over to my right, is curious, but doesn’t grab the coconuts. I also have some leftover food in a wrapper and it falls in the water (or I throw it?) that the bird eats. I worry that the wrapper wouldn’t be good for the bird.
These may not seem like much, and the initial results might not seem to be extraordinary, but Arrow understood that with practice he could fine tune our connection and his abilities and add even more talent to the team.
We all knew that communication is multi-layered, even in waking reality. So much is communicated in a gesture, a facial expression, posture. We take it for granted. In our InnerNet training, we needed to learn telepathy’s language, its signatures, to become more fluent in it and read each other. We needed to get past Dream Language 101 & Dream Code Breaking 101 before we could consistently understand & act on what each message was really telling us.
Each InnerNet test had its bumps. As pioneers, we created models for future teams based on our experiences.
TEST PILOT: SpaceTime Travel
01:17 18 August (41 years old)
I get comfortable on Healer’s lap.
I kiss the left side of his neck. I caress his heart.
Scribe: Are you going to read? I may fall asleep.
Healer: That’s why I bought the book.
During the plane ride, I am on your lap, then, it is as if all turns invisible. I am in limbo in no space at all except for one puzzle piece portion, then my heart gets a jabbing jolty sensation. Not playful and it scares me a bit to stay there. I open my eyes to pull out from your space.
What interfered with our connection? Did this prove part of me was half a world away while my physical body was at rest on the other side? Where I traveled — imagining — did I really have the power to create a presence? Was it a simulacrum? Doppelgänger? Spirit body? Did Healer feel my presence across oceans and wide expanse of skies?
What began as a numbing tingle at extremities sinuously coiled into a confluence of conflicting superheated emotions in the center of our chests. Eyes closed, a silky smooth sheet slices just under our skin. We are left hanging in a cool blue calm before terminal velocity would rend us apart. We sense a multitonal powering up, a high frequency vibration rises, rumbles, and a microburst shreds us from within.
The sawteeth of time fast-forward and intervisible spurts of glaring white gold are held back by a charred meshing. We are gliding toward our destination at immeasurable speed while a blackburned netting sears through us. An emotive shower vaporizes via the open circuit light while protective dark energy holds us together. Traveling so far deep inside ourselves and at the same time out across space, we black out.
Scribe’s Anachronistic Rendering of spacetime travel 16 August (42 years old)
SCRIBE’S DREAM READING 05:09 April 22 (42 years old)
Coming out of a dream…
Voice: Are you okay?
Scribe: What WAS that? I just read a story in my dream. An entire short story. I read the print on a page or screen.
The body next to Trickster arched, upended. It’s white form lifted. Trickster saw a blue form. The white form (she) came up to the blue shape and healed it. It turned clearer blue.
Scribe: The blue form was circular, like a disk or a very large coin that had something embossed on it. There were other floating disks of varying colors. I was confused by the story because it said she healed, and the form had been blue. Maybe it changed to a different shade of blue.
Scribe: I can’t remember it all and it wasn’t very long. It was illustrated, too. It was like a magazine article, like 3D images or a screen on top curved and wrapped around.
In the upper right hand corner of the article illustration, Trickster’s face is in profile. It is looking off to the right.
Scribe: The last sentence ended when I flipped the page.
I believe in your healing power, and we can talk about it if we ever get to meet.
DJ’s REPORT 10/16
DJ: Trickster, Scribe wants to talk to you. You need to write more clearly in your transmissions. Here is the message she received:
Scribe slips out of a dream and remembers butterflies and goddess of consciousness. She takes a look at her recording device. It’s 1:16 in the morning on 10/16.
SCRIBE’S DREAM EXPERIENCE before 04:27 16 October (42 years old)
You (Trickster) hold(s) onto me and pull(s) me close. Your right arm is wrapped around my waist. You pull me over to your sketch book.
DreamTrickster: Here is what I’m working on the next month.
I look and there is a sort of outline.
DreamScribe: I see a numerical nine dash one
I read next to the number a title. I have to look more closely. The writing is written in black ink but I can’t read what is exactly written. It was a series of maybe three words.The first word definitely started with an E. The second (biggest) word I thought started with C because I was trying to figure out the pairing with the first word. Then, there was a blank underneath like in an outline you would fill in with details later.
DreamScribe: You’ll have to explain what I’m reading, what I’m missing. Talk it through with me. See how it forms, then you can write it down to fill in the blanks.
From cavewall to dreamwall shadows we make our mark throughout history, we project who we are to the outside world. Just as art has advanced from its primitive, shadowy beginnings, our distorted, splintered, sketchy dream renderings will become refined, enhanced & more defined with the assistance of technology. We will be better able to understand the messages we bring back from our dream journeys & be able to review those we forget even before we wake up.
Dreams are like a changing polyptych mosaic with temporal & spatial fragments. The better the resolution, the better we understand their layered & contiguous relationship in each oneironaut’s spacetime.
Navigational Tool: When all is sketchy, sketch the future.
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The story continues now and then here on Medium.
Everyone dreams. Are you one who realizes there is more to dreams than just what you do while sleeping? Check out @virtuonaut on Twitter to see who else throughout human history has commented on the value of dreams, wondered about the unknown and pondered the unexplained.
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