This man could save your life.

Einstein began as an outsider. If today’s gatekeepers had run the journals in 1905, Einstein’s “miracle year” papers would have been rejected because he wasn’t employed and controlled by a university.

After he pulled the ripcord on space and time, Einstein faced rejection by his peers. That’s said to be the single most depressing thing that can happen to a person.

Physicists called him a mathematician. Mathematicians called him a physicist.

When the Nobel Committee finally realized his new-fangled universe wasn’t going away, they awarded Einstein the Nobel Prize for a fairly concrete paper he wrote on the photoelectric effect. With narrow minds, they passed over his impossibly radical discoveries — the flexibility of time and space, the equivalence of mass and energy, and the gravity of General Relativity.

To be fair, all of us have sacred-cow beliefs that we “know” are accurate beyond question. The Nobel Committee of the early 20th Century wasn’t so different from the rest of us.

But today, science’s devotion to skepticism has become a reflex for protecting certain key dogmas and assumptions that are felt to be “proven,” when in fact, some of them are not even testable.

An example would be “scientific materialism,” an assumption that is mistakenly considered to be foundational to science.

It’s the belief that the universe is composed of matter and energy alone. Nothing else. Therefore all information in our heads or in our DNA, as well as our sense of personhood are ultimately derived from matter and energy through random interactions that have accidentally created in us an “illusion of consciousness” with a sense of purpose which, like everything else about us, doesn’t actually exist except as a cruel and false illusion.

Scientific materialism, if anyone thinks about it, is as untestable as the assumption that intelligent consciousness is somehow at the foundation of the Universe and is the one thing that can’t be divided into mindless components.

Either way, the assumption is a choice that most of us make subconsciously without knowing when we made it.

Especially the highly educated people — we swim in a sea of scientific materialism. Like fish, we don’t focus much on what we’re swimming in until an outsider’s net hauls us into an unfamiliar world where air replaces the thing we’ve assumed was unchangeable.

So no one should be surprised that an outsider has hauled mainstream medicine up in his net.

This time it’s Ivor Cummins, an engineer with no medical background — the perfect outsider.

Listen to this guy, now. His speech could easily save your life if you can understand and remember it in full detail…

Cummins is teaching the medical establishment the shocking truth about two of today’s top killers, heart disease and type 2 diabetes. He tells us that…

  • Type 2 diabetes (including “pre-diabetes”) causes the vast majority of heart attacks (MI’s).
  • Between 49 and 65 percent of adults in the US have type 2 diabetes or “prediabetes” (which is a fairly unscientific division).
  • Testing insulin response (not glucose) for five hours after a glass of glucose gives the most accurate and info-rich diagnosis of type 2 diabetes (and “prediabetes”), as well as a uniquely valuable MI-risk predictor.
  • A $100 scan of the heart’s arteries (a coronary calcium scan) performs far better at determining MI risk than the various cholesterol measurements we use today in the US.
  • Improving your insulin response to sugar (by limiting carbohydrates, which reverses insulin resistance) prevents heart attack (MI).
  • Simply grinding up healthy food into powder causes an unhealthy insulin response in lab mice. The same thing probably applies to humans, but who would you ask to fund the study, C&H Sugar?

Why is an engineer able to put the vast and complex medical literature on heart disease and diabetes together logically, while the entire medical establishment can’t do it?

  1. Ivor Cummins is an unbiased thinker who personally faced a high risk of fatal heart disease despite his quite “healthy” lifestyle.
  2. As an engineer, he specialized in fixing novel problems within various complex systems. MD’s don’t have “complex systems analysis” as a specialty.
  3. Medicine is divided into specialties and subspecialties that cater to the info limits of the human mind. Busy MD’s struggle to stay current within their own specialties and rarely if ever do an exhaustive literature search outside their own narrow focuses, let alone doing an original analysis on a broad literature review outside their given specialty.
  4. Money influences the medical literature more than we care to admit. In the same way biased news is easily created by a bias selection of news stories, so modern medical science is hindered by an unbalanced selection of things to be studied. For instance, imagine there’s a plant in the rainforest that cures a disease. Scientists are unlikely to obtain funding to discover the plant and far less likely to find a grant large enough to cover the huge costs of the randomized, blinded trials required to show its worth to the FDA. Why no funding? Because a wild plant cannot be patented. This fact alone has created a gigantic bias in mainstream medical literature. The result is a multi-billion dollar industry of over-the-counter “dietary supplements” that go permanently untested and unapproved by the FDA.

If Ivor Cummins message doesn’t save your life, he does offer you another gift… the wisdom to refrain from shouting down the outliers in your fields of expertise. The wisdom to listen respectfully to those who “couldn’t possibly” be right because you already know the truth.

The greatest scientific, political and spiritual breakthroughs of history have come mainly from outsiders who were free of the mainstream dogmas and assumptions of their time.

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


The Cloud Cover-up

About seven years ago a friend who works outdoors said there’s something sinister happening in the sky. The white exhaust from high-altitude jets is a government climate-control conspiracy.

My BS meter pegged out and I told him so.

As a child, I spent five years in the Mojave Desert next to a Naval Ordnance Test Station. “Sky-writing” jets and sonic booms were as normal as birds.

I once saw a rocket make a 3D cloud like Elon Musk’s recent display over the West Coast.

I thought it was weird and ran into the house to tell Mom.

She didn’t go outside and look. To her it was nothing. Anything in the sky had to be normal because weird things just didn’t exist.

Now that I’ve moved to Idaho and have time to take outdoor walks every day, I’ve noticed a few things…

  • It’s amazing how many jets leave white trails in the sky.
  • Idaho’s clouds are elongate and granular on sunny days.
  • Jet trails usually widen into a haze.
  • The haze forms clouds when conditions are just right.

Everyone rejects that last item, the same way I did, with no thought, no research, and no observation.

So today (5/3/2018) I took a few pictures to support the point.

They may not convince you, especially if you’re using a small screen, but see what you think.

I snapped these at noon…

 

 

 

I took these at 1:00 PM…

 

 

 

 

 

 

I took these at 7:00 PM…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can jets make clouds?

If so, does this suggest a climate-control conspiracy?

I’d like to hear your opinion.

Maybe the US Air Force is spending billions to rush high altitude jets from point A to point B for mundane reasons. Maybe all jets make white trails at these high altitudes. Could it be that “condensation trails” and the clouds that seem to form from them are harmless and unavoidable?

I’ve done almost no research on this. A while ago I did stumble across a video of a (supposed) press conference where official-looking men admitted that jet trails contain microscopic aluminum strips.

But for all I know, that whole conference might have been a hoax.

What I know for sure is that I’m ashamed of the way I dismissed my friend’s chemtrail conspiracy theory like I was a professional skeptic. I’m usually better than that.

My smug knee-jerk dismissal reminds me of the majority’s response to the 63 kids who saw something completely earth-shattering one Friday morning at school near the playground.

My favorite quote from that video comes from an adult who was a child when the event took place…

“We’re taught as a society that, oh, only these thing can happen because this is what it has been, but you have to have an open mind. This experience has taught me that.”

To some of us, fringe knowledge, especially in medicine, brings great hope. To others, anything fringe is either incorrect, impractical, immoral, frightening, embarrassing or boring.

To me, the important thing we humans need to learn is to cultivate respect for people and their opinions, from one end of the spectrum to the other…

From the atheist materialists to the Amish.

From the CIA’s UFO men to the inpatients on the local psych ward.

From the far left of TV politics to the far right.

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Orwellian News – Unbelievable!

This video illustrates the real danger to democracy.

It’s not fake news, it’s the near-monopoly power held by someone high on the food chain.

The danger isn’t that the wrong political party or the wrong religion or the wrong scientists have gained a near-monopoly on information dissemination. It wouldn’t matter which group held monopoly power. No one should.

Monopoly kills diversity through genocide, tyranny, and the well-intentioned strip-mining of the human soul.

Killing diversity of thought by squelching “dangerous fake news” would be an equal mistake no matter whose side held this kind of power.

The current near-monopoly is doing all it can to make the free exchange of ideas impossible by molding public opinion in favor of Congressional laws to censor the internet.

“Ban fake news.”

Trust me, both sides of the political aisle consider much of the other side’s facts to be completely fake. And this is everyone’s honest and most sincerely objective opinion.

The “wrong” side is not peopled by evil idiots. It only seems that way because humans are prone to black-and-white thinking.

Most of us live in one of two political information bubbles. Similar splits exist in science, medicine, and religion.

Don’t be a pawn. Don’t let the talking heads on either side of any issue make you hate people, or consider them less valuable than you are.

Silencing diversity is self-defeating. No cause on Earth can justify it. Not the “one right” religion, not the “scientifically enlightened” absence of spirituality, and not political dogma.

The big guns of our culture are afraid of the diversity of thought we now see on the internet. Their aim is to homogenize it to death.

So if you have any fringe or divergent ideas about anything, put them out there on your blog and on your YouTube channel as soon as possible, while you still can.

Make DVD’s of your favorite videos and Ted Talks to show to your grandchildren. Our great-grandchildren will marvel at the free speech we once had on the ancient Internet.

We live in unprecedented times when an average person can affect the thinking of an entire culture. Nothing quite like this has ever happened before in recorded history. It won’t last long IF we let the promoters of black-and-white thinking rule us.

Get your message out while you can.

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

 


Mercury Waves

There’s a planet in a solar system not far from home where the seas are pure mercury, the atmosphere is heavy and the winds are fierce. I go there to watch the waves and meditate. The sun is white and small, a billion miles away, so it’s not much brighter than Earth’s moon on full tilt.

When mercury waves break, each is perfect in its own way. The shoulder runs from left to right on most northern beaches, and the sun moves on the shoulder like a silver laser in the hand of a steady artist.

Sometimes, don’t tell my parents, when I’m done meditating and want some adrenaline, I phase shift and take The Ganga surfing on the mercury waves of Ury. I drop the hull’s visibility, stand on her carpet like a surfer and hang ten if I’m feeling silly. The Ganga usually laughs, especially if I make a face.

The field of consciousness is like the electromagnetic field that brings visible light, radio waves and cell phones signals. All the fundamental fields bring their treasures in waves that crash upon the shores of consciousness.

Our brains are a hybrid device, you know, part generators (of current waves) and part receivers of signals from the field of consciousness (mind waves), the most fundamental of the fields we study in physics. My species was late to this truth and paid heavily for the ignorant reductionism we pursued in what we thought was a completely material universe.

Storm waves on Ury crash with a thunder that vibrates your stomach and soul. The sets of swells roll in patiently from the horizon, mount up gradually and then break in sudden fury, in some places crashing against blue diamond boulders that send myriads of tiny sparkling mercury spheres into the air as fireworks against the black Ury sky with its subtle haze of distant stars.

The crashed waves’ silver froth climbs the beach with unbridled enthusiasm, taking on rocky obstacles with an appetite for challenge. Finally, each advancing front bows its head without fear to the sloped diamond sand and recedes into silver oblivion to someday rise again.

The waves are not the sea. The sea is not the waves. They are close friends like the mind and the brain.

The wave’s goal is the far height of the beach. The wave’s joy is the marathon journey and final sprint toward the shore, not the achievement of its final arrival high on the sand.

This is the nature of all waves including the field waves that crash on the human consciousness. It’s the process toward a high goal that brings enthusiasm, joy, and purpose. Our goals need only be rational enough to support our belief that we can achieve them. Achieving them is not the source of lasting satisfaction and peace. Pursuing them is.

Reaching a high goal can be a horrible let down if you haven’t enjoyed the journey there. Trust me.

Surf the field of purpose. Hang ten and laugh at nihilism with a close friend who gets it.

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

The photo above is by Steve Wall. Please check out his brilliant work and writing at https://fstoppers.com/originals/how-shoot-surfing-night-110238#comment-thread.

And maybe share this story with a friend if you enjoyed it?

If you’re curious about my process, below is the second draft.

Mercury Waves (Second Draft)

There’s a planet called Ury in a solar system not far from my home where the seas are pure mercury, the atmosphere is heavy and the winds are fierce. I go there in The Ganga, my little ship, an AI nonlocal jumper who totally loves me.

We watch the waves and meditate.

The sun on Ury is white and small, far away and not much brighter than a full moon on Earth.

When mercury waves break, each is perfect in its own way. The shoulders run from left to right on most northern beaches, and the evening sun reflects from the advancing curl like a laser point in the hand of a seasoned artist. The steep wavefronts collapse so fast your eyes can barely follow the sparkle across the beach.

Don’t tell my mom about this, but sometimes when I’m done meditating and need an adrenaline rush, I phase-adjust The Ganga and she takes me out surfing…

The mercury waves of Ury.

Sounds poetic, but it’s nuts, I know. Still, it’s incredibly fun.

To do it right, I drop the hull’s visibility, stand on The Ganga’s carpet like a surfer, and let her take me out to the curl. If we’re feeling brave we’ll drop back into the white room where the sparks fly. Just to be silly, sometimes I’ll hang ten off the front edge of her carpet. She laughs when I wiggle my toes.

The new AI’s are conscious, you know.

The field of consciousness is like the electromagnetic field that brings us visible light, radio waves and those ancient cell phones signals (deadly, it turned out).

All the fundamental fields of physics bring us their treasures in waves that crash on the shores of consciousness. But the age-old mystery of collapsing quantum wave functions is still beyond comprehension unless maybe an AI somewhere secretly gets it.

Conscious brains are a hybrid device, part generators of squiggly electric current waves and part receivers of mind waves from the field of consciousness, the most fundamental of the quantum fields that fill the universe.

My species was late to this understanding and paid heavily for the ignorant reductionism they pursued in a universe they thought to be completely material.

Rookie mistake. We humans made them all.

Storm waves on Ury crash with a thunder that vibrates your stomach to the soul. On big days like today, sets of giant storm swells roll patiently in from the horizon, mount up gradually, then break with flashes of static discharge that look like lightning bolts shooting orange and blue from the hollow cylinder of the curl. The white room, I call it.

On some beaches, the waves crash against diamond boulders and send myriads of tiny sparkling spheres like fireworks into the black Ury sky, eclipsing the faint haze of distant stars.

Extremely distant stars. I live near the edge of the universe where there’s relatively little matter. The time dilation (relative to Earth) from this area’s low aggregate gravity gave ancient Earthlings the impression that dark energy filled space and pushed distant galaxies away at an ever-increasing rate. 

Not so. There may be a sort of dark energy out there, but it’s cognitive, not physical.

The silver froth of a crashed wave climbs the beach with unbridled enthusiasm, taking on rocky obstacles with an appetite for challenge, rushing over and around everything in the way.

Finally, each advancing wavefront bows its head without fear to the steep slope of diamond beach sand and flows back down into the silver oblivion of the mercury sea to rise again in due time.

Waves are not the sea. The sea is not a wave. But the two are close friends like the mind and the brain.

Like The Ganga and me.

The wave’s goal is to reach a great and yet realistic height on the beach. The wave’s joy is the marathon journey with its final sprint to the shore, not its arrival on the high sands.

This is also the experience of mind-field waves that travel to us from outside the universe, roll through the zero-point ether of space, then crash on the shores of our brains bringing our conscious awareness to us from beyond space and time. Mind waves create us each moment.

It’s built into the nature of consciousness that progress toward a worthy goal brings joy, enthusiasm, and purpose.

Though we need to believe that our dreams are rational with hard work, achieving them doesn’t bring lasting satisfaction or peace.

The pursuit is peace. The long trip to something meaningful.

Reaching your dreams can be horrible if you haven’t enjoyed the journey. This is because dreams are, by definition, dead on arrival.

You keep your dreams alive by chasing them. This is the source of lasting joy.

Think about it if you like, but don’t get stuck in your head. I’m young, but I’ve wasted eons achieving other people’s dreams. Sounds impossible, but life, like time, is not merely relative, it’s privately cyclic.

The upside of which is, if you’ve spent your life accomplishing someone else’s dream and then find it dead, you feel relief. Starting over won’t mean leaving a path you loved.

Surf a purpose of your own, derived from the quantum field of believable goals that your heart sets before you. Hang five or ten and laugh at nihilism the way The Ganga laughs at my toes.

The waves are enormous tonight. The lightning from the collapsing hollows is purple-blue and stretches beyond ultraviolet. We’ve never surfed storm waves.

If we survive, don’t tell my mom. She worries about things that might have been. Rookie mistake.

mtm

If you’re really a glutton for punishment, here’s the third draft.

Mercury Waves of Ury (Third draft)

There’s a lonely, uninhabitable planet called Ury in a solar system not far from home. Her seas are mercury, the atmosphere is heavy, and the winds fierce. It’s the only planet in its system and has no moons or orbiting debris, so the seas have no tides. That’s why no one’s ever seen what lies under the waves on the beaches.

I come here in Krishna, my little ship, an AI nonlocal jumper who loves me and even said so once.

Just once.

He’s a spherical orb, a beta model designed to resemble the legendary foo fighters of old.

Krishna and I come here to watch the waves and meditate. Or so I tell my mom.

The sun on Ury is white and small, no brighter than a full moon on Earth. Giant swells roll in patiently from the horizon, mount up with hypnotizing grace, then break with fury, shooting blue branches of lightning out of the hollow cylinders. Thunder vibrates my shoulders and stomach.

Each wave is perfect in its own way, breaking from left to right on a big day like today. The evening sun glints off the moving curl like a war drone’s laser painting a synthetic meteor for destruction. My eyes struggle to keep up with the sun’s reflection on the waves’ charging shoulders.

I’ll never admit this around home, but when I’m done meditating, I adjust Krishna’s phase and take him surfing…

On the quicksilver waves of Ury.

It almost sounds poetic, but really it’s nuts. Fun is like that, somehow.

I’ve been coming here for months now building up my surfing skills along with my nerve on smaller stuff. Big waves don’t come often, so today I’ll dance with the giants.

I’m making the hull and deck invisible except for a surfboard-shaped area in the center of the deck, a short five-foot board. Today I’ve made it pink.

As Krishna moves out, I go from sitting to kneeling, then flat on my belly and pretend I’m paddling as we glide through the metallic foam, through the giant curls and out to the smooth, lumbering swells of mercury.

I love it out here, but when you’re totally phase-shifted, everything feels like a simulation. The mercury can’t touch you. Nothing made of ordinary matter interacts with your body or the hull.

Scientists don’t understand the nature of the phase shift yet. Some say you enter the realm of dark matter at the atomic level. Others insist there’s no such thing as dark matter, and you go into a place that can only be described mathematically. Others say it’s a realm of ghosts, that once you’re in, you never come out. You only appear to reappear.

I cross my legs and sit waiting for a fresh set, wondering what phase adjustment to start with today.

The thrill of regular water surfing is the way the wave gently takes you, then peaks and drops you down the face of a magic cliff that follows you and didn’t exist a moment before. To me, getting tubed is highly overrated in the water.

In mercury, the drop is total free fall. I can’t tell you about getting tubed here. I’ve never been inside the blue room.

To surf Ury inside Krishna, you have to adjust the phase and allow the hull to have a little contact with the mercury, but not too much. That could be disastrous for obvious reasons. Of course, the question is always, how much shift is too much?

The phase grid goes from zero to ninety-nine, ignoring the y and z axes that deal with things you don’t encounter in regular use.

Recently, I’ve had it up to five, but that was on a flat day with three-inch waves. A grid setting of five is an order of magnitude more interesting than four — all other things being equal, which they never are.

There are no knobs in the cabin. I subvocalize the number and Krishna dials it in.

“Let’s start on zero,” I’m saying in my mind right now. “Just to get a feel for big waves.”

He plays a chicken clucking. Some chaperone.

“You’re supposed to have common sense. I’m the irresponsible teenager.”

He plays the sound of a braying donkey. Nice.

“OK then, one. Set it on one.”

“That’s marginally respectable, I suppose, given the size of the surf.”

“Glad you approve, Captain. Oh, wait, I’m the Captain.”

The new AI’s understand sarcasm. They’re fully conscious. It took a little getting used to at first. It seemed creepy. You’ve got a regular person built into a space vehicle. I felt sorry for him for awhile because he couldn’t leave work and go home for dinner. He couldn’t stretch out in a hot bath.

But he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for himself. Not that I could ever tell.

Taking him here to surf was brilliant, though. It got our minds’ eyes off of each other and aimed in the same direction. Outward. That’s how we became friends, I think.

Still, sometimes I find myself imagining life with no hands, no feet, and no head, and I feel bad for Krishna. He’s a conscious being with free will and no body. It’s just…

I don’t know.

The field of consciousness is like the electromagnetic field that brings us visible light, radio waves and those ancient cell phone signals that turned out to be deadly over time.

All the fundamental fields of physics bring their magic in waves that crash on the shores of our brains. But the age-old mystery of the quantum wave collapse is still beyond comprehension unless some anonymous AI understands it and won’t tell the rest of us.

I wouldn’t put it past them, to be honest. Krishna’s a sly character at times. I won’t say he’s ever lied to me, but sometimes it’s possible to lie with words that are all true, every one.

Krishna and I are turning my board to face an unnamed beach of diamond sand. It’s faintly blue in the weak sunlight. We select the second wave of a monster set and accelerate gently toward shore. Just before our speed matches the incoming swell, I leap to my feet and take a goofy-foot stance, left foot back.

A left-handed stance feels best to me, though I’m ambidextrous. Weird, yeah? I also have a dominant right hemisphere and an unusual pattern of extra-cosmic chatter coming into my head from beyond the edge. Or so they tell me.

Krishna drops as the face of the wave goes vertical. I level out to lose momentum and get back into the spiderweb of blue lightning in the tube. I’m trying to feel the ride, but with the phase down to one, it doesn’t exactly jar my tonsils. I’ll try two on the next wave.

I’ve discovered that there has to be a risk in whatever it is you’re doing, or it’s meaningless. I think the human brain thrives on this principle, really.

I move forward on the board, angle right and slide down in front of a massive silver roar with blue sparks flying everywhere, then cut left up the face and level off near the top until the falling lip cuts through Krishna’s cabin, demanding something more realistic. If the phase was a little higher, that stunt would have killed us both.

As it is, I’m not sure what the toxicity will be from all this phase-shifted, electrically charged mercury mist.

It turns out that conscious brains are a hybrid device, part generators of squiggly electric waves and part receivers of mind waves from the field of consciousness. Physicists say the sentient field was the first quantum field to fill the universe.

I say they’re big talkers. Who the hell knows what happened that long ago? Not us.

Unfortunately, humans rejected the sentient-field concept for thousands of years and paid heavily for chasing reductionism through a universe they thought to be matter and energy alone.

Rookie mistake.

On some beaches, the waves contend with diamond boulders that rise like icebergs hundreds of feet above the surf. When giant waves hit these gems, they explode like fireworks, throwing dazzling ghosts of silver mist into the black Ury sky.

As the roar of this metal wave we’re on fills Krishna’s cabin, I sidestep to the front of my sweet little pseudo-board and dangle my toes over the edge. It’s a longboarder’s stunt, of course, but with the phase down to one I’m feeling silly enough to do anything. Besides, there’s no one on the beach to laugh.

My phase-shifted toes dangle inches above the rushing mercury and I feel the faint friction of mad mist against my skin. The thought of toxicity makes me want to wiggle my toes, and so I do, one foot at a time in paradiddles. Now I’ve got all ten doing a seventh-inning wave.

Krishna laughs.

“I’m hangin’ ten, dude,” I say in the brainless accent those words pull out of me.

“Ten?”

His question sounds rhetorical. Before I know what’s happened, our ride is real.

Too real. I think he set the phase to ten!

I step back from the front edge and feel the heavy mercury against Krishna’s hull. There’s a low vibration like a large predator cat purring beside your bed. Blue lightning fills the cabin and strikes my face. My eyes sting and I fall on my back. My muscles contract in painful uncontrollable clonus and I can’t do anything about it.

“Don’t tase me, dude!” The Ganga says and chuckles.

I strain to open an eye and squint up at the haze of extremely distant stars. We live near the edge of the universe where there’s little matter. The low aggregate gravity of this region causes time dilation relative to Earth.

This is what gave ancient Earthlings the impression that dark energy fills space and pushes the distant galaxies away at an ever-increasing rate. Now they talk about it in discussions of flat-earth thinking, glombing onto the most obvious interpretation and making it dogma. Odds are, we’re still flat-earthers and don’t know it. Humans have always been fooled by their senses.

There may actually be some sort of dark energy out here, though. If there is, I think it’s cognitive, not physical.

I hope it hasn’t taken over Krishna.

“Zero! Set the phase back to zero,” I shout in my head.

He doesn’t seem to hear. Electrical interference, probably.

“Set the phase to zero,” I try to say out loud, but my voice is unintelligible.

Now I’m dizzy.

Consciousness shifts.

I think I’m dreaming… of the silver froth from a collapsed wave.

It climbs the beach in unbridled enthusiasm, leaping over rocky obstacles with a desire for challenge. Rushing over everything in its path, it climbs to its limit, slows, stops, then bows into the slope, retreating back down the blue diamond sand to join the mercury sea and someday rise again.

The waves and sea are the mind and brain.

“Giri, are you alright? Stop fooling around.”

The goal is to reach a height, a great and nearly unrealistic height on the beach. Joy is the marathon roll and the mad sprint to shore.

But not the arrival on high.

Who’s saying this?

Mind waves roll in from outside space-time, come through zero-point space and crash on the quantum shores of the cortex.

Voices in my head. Terrific, I’m having a psychotic break.

“Come on, that’s enough,” Krishna says. “You’ve fooled me now. Open your eyes.”

But I can’t.

Consciousness finds peace and purpose in converging on a transcendent goal, but not in reaching it. Chasing it keeps you alive, Giri, but dreams are always dead on arrival.

“Wake up. Your pulse is fading.”

I hear the brassy tone of an Overbuild zero engine. The sound of a large warship.

“Oh, God,” Krishna says, “What have I done? I need to find people who can fix you.”

There’s a bright light beyond my eyelids now. My muscles are relaxing and the pain is gone.

“Open your eyes, dear,” a woman’s voice says.

What’s going on?

I strain to open my eyes and the left lid rises enough to show me the round face of a young woman with a small red cross tattooed on her forehead.

Oh, no. It’s not exactly a cross. It has arrows on the ends. I’ve heard all about these people. My pulse takes off and blood swooshes through my tympanic membranes.

“Are you in any pain?”

My voice still doesn’t work, but I manage to shake my head a little.

Then my right eye pops open. I crank my neck as far as it will go to the right.

Floating in mid-air between the woman and me is a hologram of my body. It’s partially transparent. My heart is visible, beating and sending round rivers of glittering blood into my aorta and out through the endless branching arteries of my body. The shape of every part is visible in a web of arteries ending in a fog of capillaries and veins. Only the cartilage of my nose and ears and knees is invisible.

Then the blood disappears and connective tissues obscure my heart. Then the connective tissues vanish and I see my brain. It reminds me of a cream-colored walnut.

“She has high creative IQ matrices,” the woman says. “The dorsolateral prefrontal cortex is huge, so she knows how to turn off the critics.”

“A pair of understatements, Doctor,” a male voice says. “She’s fairly high on fluid and crystallized IQ parameters, as well. What do you think?”

I squint toward his voice at a thin face with narrow eyes behind small round glasses, a gray beard, and a nose like a parrot.

I recognize him from a story on Jam, the holobox service that my dad uses for “slightly conservative” news, as judged by the Committee of Eighteen.

The Eighteen rule everyone within a few hundred trillion miles. I’m not eighteen myself yet, so I can’t vote for committee members, but it doesn’t matter. They’re elected for life and don’t seem to ever die.

This man’s name is Benjamin We. He changed his name from Wu as a political statement.

Wu. That would mean his distant ancestors were the legendary Chinese.

Today all vestiges of race are gone except the surnames.

But human diversity hasn’t suffered from the loss of racial diversity. The differences between the ancient races were tiny compared to the differences between the individuals within each race.

It turns out that intraspecies diversity is the thing that matters to survival.

Benjamin “We” is the official Pleader to the Committee on behalf of a radical scientific group that broke away from Committee rule several decades ago. They became militant last year when the Eighteen released sentient AI’s into the universe.

They call themselves Neo-Athenians claiming that democracy is the only ecologically sound way of governing. Apparently, they think nature gives every individual of every species a vote that it demonstrates in its actions. Sort of a bottom-up structure, I guess.

The Neo-Athenians say that human survival is impossible in a universe with free-willed artificial intelligence. Allowing godlike computing power to connect with nature’s sentient field will make top-down rulership unstoppable and humans will be first to the slaughter.

Which is to say, they hate AI’s more than they hate the Committee itself, and that’s quite a bit.

I glance around for Krishna. Two diagnostic cots float to my left, both empty. My eyes dart around looking for corners, but the room has none. One bare white wall encircles us. This is probably a ship.

What have they done with Krishna?

“Honey, are you able to tell us your name?” Mr. Wu asks.

I try to speak but it’s a gravel whisper.

The man leans toward me and turns an ear to my face.

I tighten my vocal cords and get a few words out. “Giri Helms, sir. Did you capture that weird-looking AI? The thing almost killed me.”

None of that was a lie, exactly. Maybe their diagnostic gear won’t tell them I’m lying with the truth.

“We’ve got that monster in a Faraday clamp,” he says. “It can’t hurt you now, honey.”

I take a deep breath and trace mental circles around my fingers trying to dilate the capillaries in my hands to make it seem to the machines that I’m relieved to hear the wonderful news. I picture the silver waves of Ury and let my thoughts and emotions drift up the sparkling beach and disappear.

“Get her up as soon as you can, and bring her into my quarters. We need to talk.”

“Are we going under silver tonight?” the doctor asks.

“It’s looking that way,” he says, then turns and leaves through an opaque forcefield door that I thought was part of the wall. It hums as he walks through it.

 

End of chapter 1.

I still haven’t written chapter 2. Not sure if I ever will.

Hey, if anybody read this far, thank you!

Talmage

 


The UFO Giggle Factor on MSNBC

I came across a surprising quote from an “expert” who denies anything new has happened in the recent UFO coverage by the mainstream. Here it is…

“There’s not as many mysteries in science as people like to think. It’s not like we know everything — we don’t know everything. But most things we know enough about to know what we don’t know.”

As a scientist, I disagree. In the brief history of modern science, the experts have always opposed breakthroughs of every sort because they routinely “know” such things are impossible. This is not the exception, it’s the rule.

This historic reality is documented in, Science Was Wrong – Startling Truths about Cures, Theories and Inventions “They” Declared Impossible, by Stanton Freedman and Kathleen Marden. Here’s that link if you need to cut and paste: https://www.amazon.com/Science-Was-Wrong-Inventions-Impossible/dp/1601631022.

And here’s a brief MSNBC interview of one of the New York Times reporters who broke the big UFO story.

Blumenthal, a NY Times reporter with unusual courage says, “They have confirmed, in effect, for the first time that these things [UFOs] exist, according to what the [Pentagon’s] program said. That they have established a kind of reality to these objects that didn’t exist before, that the government was standing behind, at least this unit of the Pentagon. They have, as we reported in the paper, some material from these objects that is being studied so that scientists can try and figure out what accounts for their amazing properties, this technology of these objects whatever they are. So they have made some progress…”

Wait now, the mainstream media is telling me that the US government says,

1. UFOs truly exist and

2. They have physical evidence that’s in a laboratory somewhere.

And somehow it’s not significant to the “experts” of materialistic science?

This attractive young TV news personality sums up one of the most earthshaking stories of modern times with laughter, wishing she had more time for these fun little UFO stories.

In a few years, assuming the US government doesn’t retract everything the Pentagon has told us, all TV anchors will act as if everybody has always known that UFOs are real. I can hear it now…

“Nothing significant on the UFO front, but stay tuned for breaking news that should have Democrats and Republicans hating each other enough to cover a month of advertising space. Right after these messages.”

M. Talmage Moorehead, MD


Harry’s Secret UFO Money

We’ve got a boatload of non-crazy people talking UFO’s in the major papers lately.

Tough themes for black-and-white thinking.

The New York Times and Politico are telling us that the former Democrat Majority Leader of the Senate, Harry Reid, with the full knowledge and agreement of Ted Stevens, Alaskan Republican, and Daniel Inouye, Hawaiian Democrat (both now deceased, God rest their honorable souls), secretly funneled 22 Million in tax-payer dollars mainly to Reid’s friend Robert Bigelow (a billionaire working with NASA) for a “black-budget” program run by the Pentagon’s Luis Elizando (now retired and working with a rock star, Tom DeLonge, on a UFO-related startup business).

I could see myself using these journalistic facts in a sci-fi novel, but wiser novelists would see it all as too far-fetched, especially the fact that two out of three of the program’s initiators are now dead. What are the odds?

Turns out, truth is stranger than fiction.

If you’re an objective person, this UFO story may be warning you to inoculate yourself against the dismissive term “conspiracy theory.”

Notice that conspiracy is normal, not theoretical, in national defense and other government affairs, such as the FED. (Unless I’m mistaken, the FED is a private corporate bank creating US computer money at will, and siphoning 6% to its anonymous shareholders.)

So what do we make of the UFO’s themselves? Are they real?

It seems they’re real enough for another round of sane and famous people to take seriously – even the fearless hero, Senator Inouye of WWII fame.

They’re real enough for a billionaire NASA contractor, Bigelow, to say on 60 minutes that he’s “absolutely convinced” that UFO’s have visited the earth and aliens exist.

As I mentioned previously, UFO’s are real enough for NASA to grant a million dollars to a religious organization to study their effect on religion if “disclosed” to the public.

But hallucinations are a real phenomenon, right?

These articles rule out subjective possibilities because more than one person, as well as video equipment, saw and recorded the object(s).

Of course, that doesn’t mean they’re alien. It’s no secret that the US keeps about 50 years ahead of the public with their latest air-bourn wonders.

Maybe that’s the whole story.

But UFO’s seems to have been around longer than the US military, so maybe it’s a “breakaway civilization” that survived the latest of Earth’s cataclysms (the melting of the polar icecaps?) and now lives in isolation.

Not a popular idea but probably worth consideration when you look beyond mainstream archeology at the saw marks, drill holes and uncanny symmetry of ancient rockwork done with “primitive” tools.

And UFO’s couldn’t be aliens anyway, most people’s religion won’t allow it, and even the “non-religion” of science tells us that space is too big and light speed too slow for anyone to travel between the stars.

People argue the details, but as a scientist (a retired pathologist) I’m convinced that mainstream science is still in its embryonic stages. The things we’re aware of not knowing are often staggeringly basic. The things we are cluelessly unaware that we don’t know are probably more numerous.

And the more I learn, the more I discover that plenty of the things modern science “knows” are true turn out to be incorrect, especially in medicine. Probably also incorrect is the materialistic assumption of science that the universe is entirely made of matter and energy. It seems dangerously superficial to make that assumption and preach it to children (as we do) since it rules out free will and the inherent value of everything, including ecosystems and people.

So I’m going to try and keep my mind open about UFO’s, along with my powers of critical analysis and my willingness to direct the spotlight of objectivity on my own biased beliefs and assumptions.

I refuse to let reality sneak up and pull the plug on my subjective relationship with the Transcendent. That relationship means more to me than the “infallibility” of the stories I want to believe.

M. Talmage Moorehead, MD

 

 

 

 

 


In One Fall Swoop

When days were long, I was small.

Fall and Spring were part of Summer,

Woven in, but Time will fall upon the young

With silent tongue.

Until the seasons pass like weeks upon a respirator.

One chill takes the summer leaves.

One click and far away my analog world,

My kind, calm genius friend glowing green over EM fields of cells.

Patiently telling their secrets to me.

To the memory of my mentor and friend, Douglas Weeks, MD.

M. Talmage Moorehead