Aliens, UFOs and Abnormal Psychology.

Dismissing myself as crazy has been my convenient go-to, a default triggered when my strange experiences and their apparent implications become too overwhelming. When this surreal aspect of my life comes to face the giggle factor, meets the laughter curtain and exceeds my boggle threshold, the barrier beyond which I am no longer able to suspend disbelief, I endure a sort of nausea of the mind so intense that I, for a time, submit to it. Declaring myself crazy by no means makes me feel better — to the contrary, I always feel worse — but condemning myself in this fashion requires less energy than continuing my efforts to actually understand my experiences. The issue is that once I get beyond the emotional devastation of labeling myself crazy and subject this self-diagnosis to analysis I ultimately come to realize it really doesn’t constitute a diagnosis at all. “Crazy” is just a buzzword, dismissive in spirit and entirely devoid of true explanation.

So early on, back in high school, I found myself trying to identify a more specific self-diagnosis by reading through books on psychology, even an Abnormal Psychology college textbook I got from a friend. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified when I found that no single condition I read about seemed to cover the crazy shit that I had been experiencing. No umbrella terms appeared to be available. When I began seeing a psychologist shortly thereafter, and one that I had quickly developed a respect for, I explained how I had tried diagnosing myself and failed, as no disorder seemed to encompass it all. In my memory, he retorted, stating that I was wrong, and when I pressed him he fumbled and mentioned schizophrenia. The fact that he immediately seemed to backpedal when he saw my reaction only made my terror increase. The moment hung with me and I fell back on it when the weirdness weighed me down. At one point I remember finding a page on the net that described traits of the schizophrenic and the schizoid personality that seemed to fit me perfectly.  I scotch taped it to my bedroom door.

In 2002, when I came back to him after an intense cluster of experiences and casually acknowledged in our session that I was fully aware that I was schizophrenic, he immediately asked me, with a skeptical look on his face, who it was that had given me that diagnosis. When I stated that it had been him, he was emphatic that this could not have been the case. After explaining to me that the term schizophrenia was essentially a dumping ground for what may turn out to be various disorders, he took on this proposed diagnosis directly.

“If you’re a schizophrenic,” he told me, “you’re certainly a highly-functioning one.”

I found the notion that I, a twenty-something living at home yet again and working fast food, could be described as “highly functioning” by any measure to be ludicrous, but he was, after all, the goddamned professional. Though he predicted that I had particular abnormalities in certain regions of my brain and called my experiences “perceptual anomalies,” he never gave me a diagnosis.

For a time, specifically after reading Dr. Marlene Steinberg’s book, The Stranger in the Mirror: Dissociation — The Hidden Epidemic, I also explored the notion that I might suffer from a dissociative disorder, perhaps even Dissociative Identity Disorder. Without doubt I experience what has been labeled dissociative symptoms. In addition, my memories and experiences may in part be due to some alternate personality or “alter” and there appears to be evidence of its beginnings in my childhood. My initial rush of memories and the flashbacks that followed might represent a previously compartmentalized sector of my mind, one belonging to this alter, colliding with my conscious personality and merging. My experience with the ideomotor response in my use of the Ouija board, in my spontaneous artwork and writing, as well as during the hypnosis session, all may have represented the alter gaining slow and localized control over my body. The entity I encountered during my “astral projections” might be one manifestation of an alternate personality or alter as well — perhaps after sharing previously isolated memories the separate aspects of mind we have governed over blended further, giving rise to shared lucid dreams I took to be “astral projections.” Maybe the incidents between June and August of 1995, climaxing in the incident at the java juicer, represented transient periods where the alter took control of my body entirely.  

The issue is that this degree of dissociation is typically associated with intense physical and psychological trauma. On the surface, at least, this presents itself to me as an utterly insane proposition. As I imagine is the case with anyone, I have my share of complaints and grievances with respect to how I grew up. My mother favored my sisters over me and I had endless power-struggles with her over the course of my childhood. It hurt and enraged me, and I continue in my attempts to deal with those issues. Even so, I recognize that I was one lucky little asshole. My parents never physically abused us kids. I was certainly never sexually abused. Our harshest punishments as children, which I faced often enough, involved either staring at a corner for a length of time measured by my mother’s oven timer or being under “room arrest,” confined to my bedroom until further notice. Without doubt this nonviolent discipline is what made the abuse I witnessed at Jimmy’s house all the more traumatizing — and indeed, that was all certainly traumatizing from the position of a witness as well, but that it might provide the fuel for alien encounters seemed far more ludicrous to me than the thought that, well, I might have legitimately had alien encounters.

It isn’t just trauma and mental disorders that can allegedly produce these alien encounters, however. People have linked alien abduction experiences with various drugs such as Salvia Divinorum, Ketamine, and psilocybin, but most often DMT. All are classified as psychedelics, I believe, aside from ketamine, which is a dissociative, but unless you’re willing to concede that each of these chemicals constitute different rabbit holes leading to the same parallel universe, all are psychedelic in the true sense of the term, which is to say that they are “mind-revealing.” In other words, these drugs draw back the egoic curtain and let you take a peek beyond the veil of mundane consciousness, bringing you can deal more directly with the more subliminal aspects of the mind — just as psychosis can.

Some believe sleep paralysis alone can produce the abduction experience, which I find ridiculous for several reasons. Even among the popularized abduction cases one can see that bedrooms are not the only place encounters occur and that often enough the people involved are not asleep at the time of the event. They might be fishing or driving, for instance, and be among others who are taken along with them. In addition, I have had sleep paralysis myself and the earliest such experience is the succubus experience mentioned early in the book. Even at the time of the experience I did not interpret it as an alien breaking into my dark room, crawling atop my bed, straddling my immobilized body and proceeding to dry-hump rape me. Instead, I assumed it was a disembodied entity doing something analogous or — more likely, I supposed — this was all a hallucinatory experience brought on by one-part sleep deprivation and one-part prescription medication.

So I have explored the Psychological Hypothesis (PH), which alleges that while it may require activation through trauma, drugs, mental disorders or the peculiar circumstance in which your mind wakes up before your body does, the abduction experience is purely a product of human psychology. There is no external intelligence at work here, only my own. It’s all in my head. A related school of thought I explored posits what I’ll call the Psi Hypothesis (PsiH), and it attempts to compensate for the failure of the PH to account for physical evidence by bringing parapsychology into the fold — specifically, the psi capabilities of the human mind.

My train of thought ultimately ran along this track: if one finds the PH absurd and instead accepts abductions as nuts-and-bolts physical experiences, these physical experiences require you to accept the existence of paranormal phenomena. It is simply a given. After all, a cursory glance at abduction reports should make it clear that telepathy and moving through walls, for instance, is by no means rare in abduction events. To the contrary, paranormal phenomena is pretty fucking standard — and not just during these events, either, but in the wake of them. There is the matter of the “paranormal afterglow” that manifests in my life during these experiences, and while some investigators fail to mention them, personal reports from abductees reveal that I am by no means alone. Others also experience spontaneous telepathic experiences, poltergeist activity, vivid dreams that seem like awakening in a parallel reality, odd coincidences and other strange events.

As this paranormal afterglow runs the full spectrum of psi, stretches on indiscriminately into the gamut of the strange, it seems natural to wonder if the aliens themselves, rather than extraterrestrials, might just be another manifestation. In other words, it could very well still be that the phenomenon is purely psychological at the roots, that it is governed by compartmentalized aspects of my mind that influence me subliminally, that this is truly my conspiracy against myself. Maybe it also branched out into physicality utilizing psi abilities, however: powers which for whatever convenient reason I cannot wield consciously.
This would by necessity be a form of poltergeist. In this view, the phenomenon of poltergeists is explained as a living individual who is experiencing recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis; the psychokinetic activity is the result of subconscious and involuntary acting-out of the focus individual.

For a clearer picture of how this might work we might first turn to a series of parapsychological experiments that have been conducted since 1972. These experiments sought to demonstrate that the display of psi phenomena often attributed to deceased individuals could manifest without them, and so such phenomena were not necessarily evidence for life after death. In the beginning, which in this case was 1972, there was Philip Aylesford, the child of eight members of the Toronto Society for Psychical Research. He was a fictional character they developed with an elaborate backstory regarding his birth, life, and eventual death. They collectively meditated on him before attempting to communicate with him in the style of a Spiritualist seance. Participants reported not only communications but manifestations — they not only saw and heard things, in other words, but poltergeist phenomena also manifested. Other groups conducted similar experiments, reporting that they had successfully created and then conjured Lilith, a World War II French Canadian spy, Sebastian, an alchemist from medieval times and finally Axel, who was from the future.

As expected, results of these experiments were disputed — as were the tales regarding the more extreme manifestation of what has typically been called the tulpa in Western culture and which is also variously known as an egregore or a thought-form. It is often conceived as an imaginary entity that achieves, through ritual intent of its creator, a physical manifestation — according to some, an intentional and advanced rendition of your typical poltergeist.

Though the notion is reasonably dispersed across the collective consciousness at this point, methinks, the only alleged personal account I have come across is the one told by Alexandra David-Neel. In her journey through Tibet, she became interested in tulpas. Having elected to make one herself, she decided on a friendly, pudgy monk, and was eventually able to visualize him as a hallucination in her visual field. Over time the hallucination gained clarity, and eventually she found it indistinguishable from a living, breathing, physical being.

The frightening aspect of her little experiment soon became apparent, however, when the monk began appearing when she hadn’t conjured it, and then began behaving in ways it had not been programmed by her to behave. The monk also seemed to be losing weight and had taken on a distinctly malicious appearance. Nothing was as shocking, however, as when an individual she knew, who knew nothing of her practices, began questioning her about the stranger that had been meandering about in her tent. She reports that it took half a year, but she was eventually able to abolish the creature through other Tibetan techniques.

Though in both of these cases the entities were intentionally generated, in both cases they reportedly also exceed their programming and seemed to take on a life of their own, independent of the conscious aspect of the mind: essentially, a spiritual form of artificial intelligence. It also fits the profile of a dissociative identity state, an alternate personality. They are essentially intentionally-generated alters that can manifest physically.

An interesting aspect of the Philip experiment was that none of the eight involved were gifted psychically. Nonetheless, they were apparently capable of creating and programming a spiritual entity that could communicate in a way that was consistent with that personality and, most important and amazing of all, producing psychokinetic effects. David-Neel seemed to be at least moderately gifted psychically and have some degree of discipline as well; despite being a lone individual, she was able to produce a creature that could be seen by her and others. The entity was also able to become independent of its creators, functioning autonomously. Naturally, this might lead one to wonder what kind of effects a large group of psychically-gifted individuals might be capable of producing.

All the people I know that have had experiences similar to mine seem to have no knowledge of the UFO or abduction phenomenon beyond the superficial reports that the media regurgitates every now and then. Despite this, correlations between our narratives are plentiful right down to unanticipated details. From the way one friend described the shadows of the beings from outside her tent during a formative experience while camping as a child to the way another friend described the manner in which one of the creatures in his encounter ran, there are correlations even in the details littering our experience that I cannot in good conscience deny. This extends to many of those of whom I have read and read about in blogs, articles and books and seen through interviews and documentaries. Could the answer really be that our collective unconscious is conspiring against us, utilizing telepathy to share a narrative and RSPK to bring that narrative to life?

Despite finding the concepts of both the PH and PsiH fascinating, I have, in the end, always choked in my attempts to swallow. Those who have posited that poltergeist activity is the unconscious product of an individual note the similarities in individuals around which the alleged recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis (RSPK) manifests. In cases of alien abduction, on the other hand, it is clear that these experiences are shared by people from all walks of life, people all across the spectrum — racial, religious, cultural, class, education — as well as people of wildly different constitutions who react to these shared experiences in very individual ways. This sounds less like a psychological disorder — with or without psi effects — and more like an actual, nuts-and-bolts experience.

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The Berenstæin Anomaly and Cosmic Exchange Students.

It’s September and Claire texts, after we’ve talked about my most recent dream about her, to ask if I had ever heard about “The Berenstain Bears” conspiracy. A conspiracy? No, I tell her. I remembered The Berenstein Bears, at least visually. Though I had no recollection of the characters or stories, I know that I had seen them in cartoons or books when I was younger. Clearly she had spelled it wrong, though; she had spelled it Berenstain. I decided to gloss over it and just spell it the right way, though when I did so my iPhone gave it the old dotted red underline. Clicking on it, it suggested the spelling Bernstein, which I knew damn well was wrong. So I spelled it her way, and the spell-check for some reason accepted it.

When I got around to looking it up in an act of “deep Googling” I discovered that many people were certain they remembered the The Berenstein Bears despite the fact that the books now, and claim to have forever been, named The Berenstain Bears. Allegedly (as I have read countless references but have been unable to find the original post) this perplexing shit with the spelling first came to light on the world wide web in 2009 when a user known as Burke had asked, in a forum called Dreadlock Truth, why they had changed the name. Only later, perhaps, would it become clear that not everyone shared his certainty that it had been changed, and in some cases quite the contrary. Some, and for all I know most, recall it as Berenstain. Others apparently recall it being spelled Bernstein, and even this “lesser error” is still accepted by the autocorrect and spellcheckers of both my laptop and iPhone. In the meantime, weirdos such as Claire and I are lost at sea, clutching onto the memory of Berenstein. The natural question, of course, is: why?

One possibility is the psychological equivalent of autocorrect. We all have poor memories, we are told, in comparison to the actual past events in question, as must actively “re-member” events stored in memory every time we glance back at them. Some suggest people can also easily be led to believe things that are not true or recall things that never happened in the first place. Still, it would appear more difficult to explain cases of shared false memories, right?

Not necessarily. Some might suggest the scenario took place as follows. Parents read the books to us as children and the way they pronounced the name (“Barren-steen”) stuck with us. As a consequence, this is how we came to say the word aloud or to ourselves while reading the book. As we grow out of these books we are conditioned by a culture that subjects us to too few names ending in -stain and more than enough ending in -stein (Einstein, Frankenstein, and so on) that upon reflection on our childhood memories of the books the brains of many of us autocorrect our memories of how the name was spelled. As a consequence many of us not only falsely recall the spelling of the name but falsely recall it having been spelled the same way.

Fiona Broome calls this the Mandela Effect, earning its name from a large number of people who recall Nelson Mandela dying in prison when it fact he remained alive until 2013. There are other examples, too. For instance, there is the line Tom Hanks famously says in the movie, Forest Gump. Some recall him saying “life is like a box of chocolates”, though in actuality he says “life was like a box of chocolates.” An auditory equivalent of autocorrect could explain the Gump anomaly, perhaps suggested by a chain of false quoting through the amount of satire the line has been subjected to. I never actually saw the movie, though I am quite familiar with the impersonations and the quote which I recall as being widely quoted as “life is like a box of chocolates.” Some remember the Challenger explosion occurring in 1984, others in 1986. Some remember having seen a painting of Henry VIII eating a turkey leg. It never existed.

There are other proposed possibilities, however. For instance, there is the time travel hypothesis, first offered in 2011 on the humorist website The Communist Dance Party, where it was posited that the anomaly had to do with time travel and the Butterfly Effect. More specifically: sometime after the mid-1990s someone had traveled back in time, altering the history though not the memory of human beings, though in manners so slight we hardly notice them. It was akin to Ray Bradbury’s short story, “A Sound of Thunder,” which echoes the logic inherent in the Butterfly Effect to explain how we could return to the future after time travel to find one different from the one we left. In Bradbury’s story, however, the only ones who noticed a difference were those who had actually done the time traveling and created the paradox. The hypothesis makes little sense to me.

As it turns out, I am not alone. In an August 23rd, 2012 entry on “The Wood between Worlds: Blog of the world’s worst scientist” there is a post, entitled “The Berenstein Bears: We Are Living in Our Own Parallel Universe”. Reese, the blogger, recalls the books as the child and, upon seeing the obituary for 88-year-old Jan, now joining her husband and coauthor Stan in death, the blogger noticed the apparent and, to his eyes and mind, quite obvious misspelling of the name. Upon a little investigation, however, he found that everyone he came across spelled the names of the authors as Jan and Stan Berenstain. How could this fucking be? Even the old book covers had it spelled that way. Reese mentions the apparent similarities between the Berenstæin Anomaly and the ending of Bradbury’s tale, though is quick to assure us that contrary to Bradbury’s seemingly cautionary tale time travel cannot allow for the alteration of the past. “What happened, happened,” as LOSTies might echo.

Instead, he concluded that there are two universes which he arbitrarily dubs the “stAin” and “stEin” universes and that some point after 1992 the similar but nonetheless distinct universes collided. He then posits that the universes merged and that all now live with these inconsistencies between our memories and the history of the universe we currently inhabit.

Reese, like Burke before him, had made the mistaken assumption that we all shared this specific inconsistency between memory and history. It turns out we do not. If we posit that these two universes collided but never merged, however, this might explain why some of us recall things differently.

When two objects make contact, there is always an exchange of material. There is a term for this in physics, but I’ve forgotten it and my googling has thus far proven to be fruitless. It is also known as Locard’s Exchange Principle in the field of forensic science: “every contact leaves a trace.” Such a collision between two universes would result in a cross-contamination of consciousness, sending some but by no means all members of either universe into the other. The anomalies would therefore suggest that weirdos such as Claire and I are members of an exchange program between parallel universes and constitute the trace evidence for the collision that spawned it.

When I texted Claire back to tell her I had looked into it and found it interesting, she told me she liked the idea because it gave her an explanation for why she felt so out of place. It was something I had always sensed about her, that she felt like a fish out of water much as I did, that she belonged nowhere, but this was the first time in memory she had ever verbalized it to me. I told her I preferred her explanation to the one that my little inhuman friends had pounded into me throughout my life.

She agreed. She liked her explanation a hell of a lot better.

Aliens & the Nested Universe.

Rather than extraterrestrials, some have speculated that the creatures from UFO abduction accounts may be of extradimensional, interdimensional or ultraterrestrial origin. These aliens originate not from outer space, in other words, but from what is generally known as hyperspace, which gives them room to move in and out of our three-dimensional (3D) space in directions we cannot even point to. While they could be both hyperspatial beings as well as extraterrestrial, there is also the possibility that they may exist alongside us on earth, though chiefly in extradimensional space that remains invisible to us.

In an effort to explore the notion that this exotic hyperspace is the true home of what we typically call aliens, I decided to make my best laymen’s attempt at exploring the concept. Hyperspace is a complex world, however, and I can only hope that what I offer here are signs that I have finally gained some clarity with respect to it.

There are, so far as I can tell, three general forms that hyperspace may take: that of a nested universe, a parallel universe or the wacky world of the Many Worlds Interpretation. The notion of a nested universe seems like the right place to start.

Currently it seems to be the consensus that we live in a geometrically flat, indefinitely-stretching existential fabric of 4D spacetime. Our space is comprised of three symmetrical spatial dimensions, allowing movement along three axes (arbitrarily labeled x,y,z) in any of the six cardinal directions they make accessible to us (east-west; north-south; up-down). Each of these spatial dimensions are an orthogonal extension of the other. A line is a one-dimensional object, its single axis providing length stretching in two directions; though its arbitrary, let us say that its length is in width and it can move east and west. If we extend a line into two dimensions, we get a square. Its two dimensional axis would provide length in width as well as depth and provide, alongside the directions of east and west, north and south as well. Extend a square into three dimensions, you get a cube that could then be measured in terms of its height, width and depth and move north, south, east, west, up and down.

Bound to these three dimensions of space is one dimension of time. Given the coordinate axis t, this temporal dimension is distinguished from our spatial triad in its unique, asymmetrical nature — which is to say it flows only “forward,” unidirectionally, pushing us away from the past and towards the future in the vessel of the omnipresent now. As both space and time are part of a continuum, they are inseparable strands the fabric of spacetime. One is always moving at varying speeds through spacetime with the upper limit on linear acceleration set at 671 million miles per hour.

When one speaks of any number of spatial dimensions in addition to the standard three, this is known as hyperspace. Assuming the existence of just one additional spatial dimension, then, we would extend a cube at right angles into the fourth dimension it becomes a hypercube known as a tesseract. It has length not only in height, width and depth but in spissitude. It can move not only in the aforementioned cardinal directions but also along the 4D axis, providing the bonus directions known as ana and kata.

Unfortunately, such nifty names fail to help one attempting to conceptualize hyperspace. Much of what you read online and in books when you’re struggling to understand the concept of extra spatial dimensions references Edwin Abbott’s 1884 work, Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, and adopts its use of dimension-down analogies.

Imagine, first, that I have an office. Now imagine that I walk into my office, sit down at my desk and look down upon what I first mistake for a sheet of paper with various shapes drawn upon it. Soon I notice that the shapes are moving about on the surface, however, which is kind of trippy, and that they are not drawn on so much as embedded within this 2D Flatland. No matter how close I bring my face to Flatland, for instance, they cannot see me, for they only know of north, south, east and west. Up and down simply do not exist for them.

If we now extend my position to some hyperspatial entity, some hyperbeing, our geometrically flat 3D Spaceland would have to be a universe nested within a greater Hyperspace much as Flatland is nested in Spaceland, specifically on the desk in my nonexistent office. This is because, judging from our lack of immediate and recognizable evidence of it, we can at least typically avoid interaction with this hypothetical hyperspace. Like Flatlanders unable to wrap their mind around our notions of up and down, us Spacelanders would be at a loss trying to conceive of ana and kata. Just as I am effectively invisible to the Flatlanders as I study them, so would a hyperbeing looking “down” (kata?) upon Spaceland, closely tracking and monitoring me.

The kind of perceptual range available to a higher-dimensional creature is also interesting to consider.

As I watch the Flatlanders, one square comes upon another square. It strikes me that not only am I invisible to them both, but that I can perceive them with a degree of totality that they would never be able to achieve in their own realm. Embedded in their plane, each of the squares might understand one another as squares, but they would only be capable of seeing one of the four lines of the other at once. Only by use of depth perception or by moving around the other square and seeing its other faces in seamless succession would its two-dimensionality be suggested. As a 3D Spacelander, of course, I see the two squares as wholes — that is, I see all sides, all four lines at once, adding up to one square “face” framing what it experiences as it’s inside.

Similar to the Flatlanders, however, I only catch suggestion of the 3D nature of a cube by means of my depth perception or seeing one of the cube’s six square faces. A tesseract would have 24 square faces — it would be comprised of eight cubes. A hyperbeing would see each of the 6-sided cubes as it rotated its tesseract just as I see each of the one-sided squares of the cube I’m moving around in my hands.

A hyperbeing would perceive me and the cube in my hand as I see the squares embedded on Flatland. Casually glancing my way, it would see all of my insides at every angle framed by every angle of my skin simultaneously. It would see the bald-spotted top, bottom, back and sides of my head along with my face, all pasty caucasian-colored surface packaging for the skull, eyes, brains, tongue and coffee-stained teeth. In this same way it would see me digesting my lunch. I could run from it, sure, but I would be a fool to think I could escape the all-seeing. There would be nowhere to hide. No matter how secure, how thick the walls, as it peers with its hyperdimensional eyes upon Spaceland it would easily see inside any locked building, any safe, and determine my location no matter how deep underground or high in the sky I am. There would be no privacy. It could track and monitor me from every angle at once and remain entirely undetectable.

The NSA has shit on a hyperbeing.

Despite this apparent perceptual boundary between a nested universe and its extradimensional space, direct interactions between them and their inhabitants are often a focal point in the literature. All examples take for granted the ease with which a higher-dimensional being would be capable of penetrating a lower dimensional plane and effecting its inhabitants. This strikes me as strange given that, as previously described, the shapes are embedded into the fabric of Flatland. Not only do they have no perception of up and down, they are inseparable from and therefore intrinsically bound to their nested, 2D space. They are drawn “in” rather than “on” that sheet-of-paper universe on my desk. You and I and everything else in our Spaceland is embedded within our 3D space, too — we are not resting “on” it. Even so, it could also be a matter of having the necessary technology to penetrate the nested universe.

It may be possible that rather than penetrating the nested universe a higher-dimensional entity would need what we could call “surrogates” or “avatars”. One could adopt an existing lower-dimensional being and utilize them as a medium. They may also adopt the style often attributed to the poltergeist: they could draw and manipulate energy in order to create an “avatar” to work through. Alternatively, one could inspire the members of the lower-dimensional space to construct a tulpa or egregore for them to work through.

Regardless as to whether they are direct contacts or ones accomplished through lesser-dimensional mediums, particular characteristics of their manifestations, if recognized for what they are, may betray their higher-dimensional nature to lesser-dimensional witnesses.

One such characteristic may be the seamless nature of their constructs. If I turn my attention to a group of circles constructing a square house on Flatland, I find that they do this by bringing together countless “dots” to form a square. However laborious this process is for them, I do not have to go through the same, tedious process. All I have to do is grab the interdimensional Sharpie on the table nearby and draw a seamless square. Even so, my square is also composed of countless dots, each of which are composed of dots, and so on, though all dots comprise and constitute the continuous lines that make up the circle. By extension, we would need to gather material to form a sphere — material ultimately composed of countless points called atoms, composed of points called electrons, protons and neutrons, made up of still smaller points, all of which are at once continuous waves that comprise and constitute the sphere. Still, my circle is cooler because it’s seamless and, without breaking a sweat, I could construct it in a jiffy.

By extension, however, it should be just as easy, natural and sensible for a hyperbeing to draw a seamless globe through an analogous process. Creating seamless objects would be as natural a consequence of their hyperspatial nature as the capacity for drawing a seamless circle would be for us. This may help explain the frequently-described seamless nature of both the exterior and interior of the alien craft, strangely devoid of sharp corners to the extreme that the chairs and tables seem molded into the floors. The same logic would apply to the seamless clothing they are often reported to be wearing.

Just as I could step in, or given its size perhaps just poke my finger into the center of the circle I had drawn, a hyperbeing could “step” in and out of their craft or their clothing — or even step through them. Walking through walls and other solid matter would be no more difficult for them than it would be for a basketball to roll through a square drawn in colored chalk on the pavement.

Another suggestion of their higher-dimensional nature may be their shadows. Though they could not see me directly, if I turned on the lamp behind me and let it cast my shadow across Flatland, would they see it? Would they see a 2D shadow betraying the presence of 3D me? Say that I held up a transparent cube near Flatland and shined a light behind it: the Flatlanders would see two boxes superimposed over one another, each of their corners connected by lines — what we would call a Necker cube. If I wanted to get them to grasp what I was and where I came from, that might be one way to do it. If all of this could be extended to our relations with hyperspace, we would then see the 3D shadow of 4D hyperbeing as it observes us from hyperspace. We could even be an audience for a 3D shadow-puppet show, I suppose. Could there be a strange logic behind the reports of “shadow people”? We would see the shadows of a transparent hypercube as a cube within a cube, attached to one another by lines at all corresponding corners. In either case, a rotating cube or hypercube may give the lower-dimensional being a better chance of getting the message, as it would be executing strange behavior.

Another possibility is having them walk on the 2D surfaces of a 3D object. For instance, if I were to rest a cube upon Flatland, they would only see a square — only the 1D faces of it, actually. And while they could not perceive the fact that they were walking upward at a right angle, they could nonetheless travel across all six 2D faces of it. That is to say that if they walked at this square they would not slam into it but rather travel up the face they had been unable to directly perceive, and ultimately all five of them. In this case, our analogous experience with a hypercube might be easier to understand directly. Imagine that a house in the form of 4D hypercube were brought down upon Spaceland. We would just see a regular house, but upon walking into the house we would find it composed of eight rooms, each as large as the house appeared to be from the outside. This may tie in with a pattern in abduction cases reported to various researchers in which the inside of the craft is reportedly bigger than the outside.

If the squares had covered all six faces of the cube I embedded on their plane several times, finally exiting and returning to familiar territory, we could go a step further in trying to help them conceptualize our higher-dimensional space. As they stare at the visible square face of the cube from outside of it, they are of course perplexed: how could that single house contain six times the space as implied by the size of it from the outside? Before their very eyes I could then unfold the cube into its 2D components, the single house manifesting, one by one, identical houses that served as “additions” to it in a cross-shaped formation of six squares. With respect to the 4D hypercube, if it were unfolded I would see the aforementioned house as the base for a fucked up looking skyscraper composed of seven other sections of equal size. It is stacked four houses high, with the third floor accompanied by four additional sections attached to it at all sides.

I could then go on to make more direct contact, and this is typically described as being accomplished in one of three fashions. First is by means of cross-sections. It is generally imagined that if a 3D object somehow managed to penetrate Flatland, the shapes would experience the object in essentially the same way they would an object native to their 2D environment, which is to say they would only see its 1D faces. That said, the object would appear to have bizarre qualities. If I took my two hands and punctured my ten fingers into Flatland, for example, the living shapes would see ten fleshy circles (in line-face) appear out of nowhere in two roughly-symmetrical formations of five.

Now imagine how curious Flatlanders in the vicinity might experiment with this strange phenomenon they are observing and how they might interpret the results. If a triangle poked one of the fleshy circles, for instance, it might notice how all ten of them immediately moved in unison, as if jointly reacting with surprise. What affected one, it seemed, affected them all. Communication between them was impossibly immediate and operated through an unknown medium. The fleshy circles seemed to be able to pop in and out of existence at will as I dipped my fingers in and out of their 2D plane. Imagine now that I dig my fingers of one hand in even deeper, until first my knuckles penetrated the plane, then my wrists. What would the Flatlanders see? Five fleshy, pasty, bony Caucasian circles — or 1D faces of them — slowly growing, then merging into one fleshly, bony oval, then shrinking, growing a bit, shrinking again. I’m kind of hairy, and that would doubtlessly fuck with them, too.

Hyperspatial objects and entities may then appear to us as multilocational, shapeshifting, growing and shrinking, splitting and merging, appearing and disappearing ambiguous 3D forms that offer no real suggestion as to their actual, hyperspatial nature. While this may not explain the reported aliens very well, it certainly does provide an explanation for some of the more peculiar phenomena exhibited by their craft, which have often appeared and disappeared, split and merged before eyewitnesses.

Second is by means of “peeling”. Typically it is described how I, for instance, could be expected to just casually peel a square off of Flatland despite the fact that it is embedded in its surface. Michio Kaku echoes the ease with which the process is typically described in his analogy regarding picking up a fish out of a pond. By extension, the suggestion would be that I could be just as easily peeled off Spaceland by a hyperbeing, vanishing into thin air before the eyes of any fellow Spacelander that might be looking. Psychic surgery would be simple: see a tumor, pluck it out. If the tumor was neglected, an autopsy would be unnecessary. For them our knots would not be. Childbirth would be an extradimensional breeze, requiring neither cesarean nor parting of the meat drapes.

Third, there are folds (or warps) and wormholes. Imagine I were able to pick Flatland up off my desk and fold it so that two areas a considerable distance across come to touch: would a Flatlander be able to cross the crease of the fold and, in the eyes of its fellow Flatlanders, move a great distance in a single moment, having disappeared from one place and reappeared in another? This would be a “warp” to the extreme and would constitute what is typically referred to as teleportation.

More popularly, a similar process is conceived in which the space is not only folded but a hole is punctured through both sides, allowing a Flatlander to walk through a circle and emerge out of another circle some distance away. This is usually called a wormhole, though more popularly both “mouths” or circles are described as being connected by a “neck.” Although this tube does not offer instantaneous travel to your destination, it takes the Flatlander traversing it a much shorter time to reach the other side than it would if it were to travel in typical linear mode. A wormhole in Spaceland would be not a circle, as the movie Interstellar depicted, but a sphere.

Folds and wormholes could also be utilized as a means of transporting a Flatlander not to a different location on their plane, but to another surface altogether. In other words, to parallel universes…

SOURCES:

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, Edwin Abbott (1884).
Rob Bryanton, “Imagining 10 Dimensions” (YouTube).
Jim Dekorne, “The Out-of-Body Experience as Dimensional Translocation,” (New Dawn magazine No. 74, Sept-Oct. 2002).
Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey Through Parallel Universes, Time Warps and the 10th Dimension, by Michio Kaku (1994).
Thad Roberts, “Visualizing Eleven Dimensions” (YouTube, TEDxBoulder).

Sophia the Untouchable.

Absolute nothing is a fertile field.

If a universe Big Banged ex nihilo once, then it may have happened countless times before. Universes may still be Banging away into existence as you read this, all of them doing so in a direction you can’t point to (with all of this dependent on time having any meaning outside the context of a given universe and in the superspace that contains the hypothetical multiverse). We would perceive but one universe in a vast multiverse — and not much of that one universe, it would seem.

Current estimations hold that our universe is composed of 68.3% dark energy and 26.8 percent dark matter — substance we can neither grab nor perceive makes up most of everything, and apparently we are not a part of it. The normal matter that is accessible to our senses (and of which our senses are composed) presently makes up only 4.9% of our cosmic pie (in a potential superspace bakery).

This is not to suggest that our senses are sensitive to so much as a considerable fraction of that 4.9%, of course. We have a set amount of senses among those available in the animal kingdom, each picking up but a narrow range of a specific type of signal. This data is edited by our subliminal beliefs and values, integrated and finally translated by genetically-hardwired processes. This translation is stored in sensory memory and subsequently and involuntarily recalled by consciousness in working memory. Only then does it become our “immediate” experience.

All we know of the external world derives from what we “remember” regarding what our body experiences. As a consequence, our Here and Now is truly There and Before. Even at our most attentive we have no hope of living in the moment; we are forever riding its coattails. We are all living in the past and no one is ever right where they are standing now.

When your body’s memory of the moment passes by working memory, it might be stored in long term memory, from which consciousness in working memory might summon it through retrieval cues. When long term memory swallows something, however, it seems to in some sense digest it, break it down, dismember it — and so recall always involves creativity on the part of the recollector, as memories must be literally “re-membered.” To some degree one always incorrectly recalls past events and may even go so far as to produce “false memories,” which is to say one recalls events that never even happened in the first place.

Despite this, memory serves as the backbone for our sense of identity and our understanding of the world. Long-term memory suggests the temporal dimension, which is the only way we can make sense of the spatial dimensions suggested by sensory memory. Our reliance upon memory is inescapable. We require it to compile and associate data, scientific or otherwise. If we are honest, all that any of us ever know is memory, and all memory is ultimately false memory.

Even what we accept as imagination and fantasy is dependent upon the ingredients supplied by memory: it is no coincidence that the way in which we experience anything subjectively has analogues to our biological experience. Inner-senses are modeled after our biological senses and for all we know reveal our true consciousness as accurately and completely as our biological senses do with respect to external reality.

We try to make sense out of our external experience and so form worldviews; we try to make sense out of our internal experience and its relation to external experience and so form identity. As a consequence of our worldviews, we tend to conform our experience to them, and so further obscure our sense of reality. As a consequence of our identity, we tend to conform our internal experience in such a way that it reinforces our identifications. In so doing, we further obscure our sense of self. To make matters worse in both cases, this fatal flaw is the law and it is followed without exception: we can do no more, no less, if we have any hope to survive.

Of Parallel Lives & Points of Divergence.

Sometimes I imagine there is some parallel universe in which I am a successful writer and artist, financially stable, emotionally stable, entirely independent, confident and looked up to by others whom I frequently help and surrounded by people who’s friendships I take the time to nurture — free from the fear that rules my life here and by default necessitating my seemingly diametrically-opposing fate in this life. As if there is some pool of potential him and I both share and what one of us manifests, the other cannot; what one does not, the other must.

Yet if we met one another and both compared our lives in minute detail, what would we discover — what, ultimately, would be the departure point? When, where, how and why did our paths diverge?

In short: why am I so fucked up?