Private Text Messages Devastate Scientists’ Authority

In a recent analysis of COVID origins, Dr. Campbell regrets his previous trust in the two most authoritative and prestigious scientific journals on Earth: Nature and Lancet.

You can sense the shame he feels in the video linked here as he first explains the 2020 version of mainstream science and then compares that mess to what has come out now and can no longer be completely blocked by the woke kids at Google’s Ministry of Censorship.

Bottom line: The lack of intermediate COVID-19 viral forms, the lack of multiple independent breakouts of initial viral illness, and several other scientific data points combine to force the conclusion that the Wuhan COVID-19 virus did, despite mainstream denials in the past, truly originate in the Wuhan Lab. There’s no longer room for rational doubt, as best I can tell.

But wait! That’s not what I’m writing to you about.

Yes, John Campbell, PhD believes that the big lesson for him in this ugly fiasco is he needs to learn to think for himself more, rather than always trusting the highest scientific authorities to be honest, transparent, unbiased, and accurate in their peer-reviewed journal articles.

I agree with John, but that’s not why I’m writing. And yes, I suspect that all of us will learn the same lesson eventually, but that’s not my point either.

Nothing is perfect. The failures of mainstream science don’t justify throwing it out and adopting the view that each person’s version of reality will bend to his or her own beliefs, demands and expectations. Sure, your energy will cause people to either like you and treat you favorably or reject you, and this may feel as if the universe bends to your will, but beneath and beyond the huge benefits of being an energetically (“vibrationally”) attractive person, the laws of this universe rarely bend for anyone. Miracles can happen, yes. But they’re rare. Even though, from a scientific and spiritual perspective, I think we live in a universe that should be conceptualized as a quasi-material replica of an underlying truer Reality (a semi-physical simulation), I don’t think our natural laws such as gravity are likely to reverse for me or you if we can just “truly believe.” Genuine miracles (i.e. the suspension of natural laws) are probably just as rare as they seem.

The laws of this replica we call the Universe were derived from intelligently selected cosmic constants that operate in a cause-and-effect framework with rare exceptions. These natural conditions bring outcomes that sometimes seem fair and politically correct but quite often feel unfair and outrageous. As best I can tell, the benevolent Being(s) who designed this place continue to “allow” horrible suffering because we asked for it as part of a learning experience and/or because our collective free will must be allowed to play out in pure cause-and-effect without interference from the designer(s) and code writer(s) living in Reality.

Whatever our spiritual or scientific theories project, the natural scientific rules underlying a disaster here on Earth cannot be changed much by wishful thinking. Therefore, in the future, many lives will depend upon how wisely, honestly, and openly our scientists are allowed to debate the data and “conspiracy theories” surrounding the next global catastrophe whether it turns out to be a nuclear accident, another viral “accident,” a natural weather disaster, a volcanic winter, a rogue AI, or something like the 1859 Carrington Event (solar flare/ storm) that’s thought to be periodic and overdue to hit Earth again while the geomagnetic shield is weak.

Will scientists and politicians pursue the truth however unpleasant or unpopular?

Or will they once again put political ambition above the hunt for valuable truths? Will scientists openly debated and come to a rational consensus or will they shrink into silent compliance with the censorship that modern society and corporate power favored during the COVID fiasco?

We’ll have to wait and see.

But either way, you and I should learn to question mainstream “settled science” in a balanced way that avoids our bivalent human tendency to swing like a pendulum from one extreme to the other…

“Scientists ain’t one iota different from them stinking, lying politicians.”

Sure, we’ve been brutally let down by medicine’s anti-science COVID response of censorship and zero informed consent when administering poorly studied experimental mRNA vaccines. But I doubt anyone reading this feels like some young lover in a break up. Yeah, science has cheated on us and must now gradually admit it despite the silence of the mainstream media. (See the 2020 text messages from key scientists, released under the Freedom of Information Act as detailed in Dr. Campbell’s video.)

But this is not a breakup with science. We’re adults, most of us. Even some of us Crybaby Boomers are growing up a little, I want to think. We’re learning to wrestle with our own biases and sacred-cow fundamentalisms both scientific and spiritual. We’re learning to see the U-shaped curve of political truth within this simulation: The extremes on both sides are valuable for perspective but toxic to human life without the voices of the opposite toxic extreme for balance. Both extremes are needed to find non-toxic conclusions, rules and behaviors. This is why Democrats and Republicans need each other desperately. This is why the anti-spiritual “scientific” materialists and all of us spiritual people on Earth need each other desperately. Left alone to dominate, we’re all toxic to human life, even though most of us are convinced that we have the corner on THE truth.

And let’s just admit it, humans require an unquestionable (if untestable) worldview of some sort. It’s in our nature.

For 2/3’s of scientists, it’s the anti-spiritual foundation of “scientific” materialism: a mindless universe.

For spiritual people, it’s usually a rejection of materialism that’s replaced by a worldview that allows something or Someone somewhere to be literally composed of something other than (or in addition to) mindless, meaningless matter and energy.

Spiritual worldviews tend to boil down to this: “consciousness is fundamental, not matter and energy” or “our universe is a simulation of an actual Reality” or “God transcends time and space but remains in personal contact with us.” My own spiritual fundamentalism encompasses all of these theories, and like you, I feel confident I’m right.

But the fact remains that, like you, I’m often wrong about important things. Can we both admit it?

At the worldview level we’re all pretty much doomed to being fundamentalists whether we’re “scientific” materialists or some version of spiritual or religious folk.

Rarely someone with a materialist worldview will switch sides, perhaps after a near-death experience or after seeing the solar system from space. (I’m thinking of the astronaut and scientist, Edgar Mitchell, PhD).

But whatever side we’re currently on, we tend to remain there. And virtually no one is a lifelong worldview fence-sitter. We decide if the Cosmos is spiritual or non-spiritual, then we dig in to that position and hang on like ticks on a dog.

This truth about human nature limits us as scientists because the ideal scientist would be someone who is always ready, willing and able to follow the data wherever it leads and report it with transparency even when it contradicts a “known” scientific, political, or spiritually established “fact.”

Since we’re all hampered by this biased human nature we share, we should each strive to avoid dogmatism and superficial rejection of new ideas and outlying data points. We should avoid blocking or silencing “pseudoscientists” or non-scientists or scientists working outside of their own specialties. When these people claim to have shocking new data and opinions that look like conspiracy theories and fabrications, we should pride ourselves in listening carefully to them with open-minded hope rather than ego-driven, angry, rude skepticism. Only after listening and weighing things thoroughly should we allow ourselves to make an initial tentative judgement against a new or unpopular scientific idea.

And we must base our judgments on careful analysis of the details, and express those details in written arguments rather than following the anti-scientific modern movement of attacking the individual with angry negative references to his or her educational background, sanity, political stance, or other forms of lazy, unscientific, and scientifically irrelevant political tactics that avoid substantive debate.

Total rejection of new ideas within five to ten minutes of hearing them is a pretty good sign that you’re acting as an enemy of science, not a friend. This is true for materialist scientists as well as for spiritual people, including the minority of scientists with spiritual worldviews because…

Breakthroughs routinely come from fresh minds thinking about unexpected outlying data points, and from brilliant rogues who cross the boundaries of specialization to find an unexpected, disturbing synthesis. Established authorities tend to reject everything these box-free thinkers put in front of them (in less than five minutes because they “can tell” at a glance it’s all rubbish).

An ideal scientist would welcome anything that doesn’t fit his or her “known” truths. The history of science makes this clear.

The same holds true, in my humble and yet infallible opinion, for spiritual people who place actual truth above their desire to corner “the truth” as revealed in the sacred literature of their culture. Christians like me, for example, would do well to absorb a broad and conflicting array of near-death experiences, asking ourselves why God would provide humanity with these life-changing, usually love-filled experiences where the worldview details of religion are usually specific to the person’s religious culture.

And there seems to be no “evolutionary advantage” to having a near-death experience. Instead, the NDE speaks to us of the benevolence of the Being(s) beyond who must have been motivated to give each individual a tailor-made “exit protocol” from this simulated life and into the next life.

Just as all humans, including scientists, are fundamentalists at the worldview level, all humanity are scientists at the worldview level in the sense that we all want the ultimate truth, especially if it agrees with what we already think we know to be true.

So here’s my point:

Spiritual and/or religious people would do well to emulate Dr. Campbell in his crisis of (scientific) faith and trust. For most scientists, their “Bible” (or “Koran” or “Mahabharata” or “Book of Mormon,” etc.) is the collective peer-reviewed scientific literature. That’s the “word of God” to scientists. When this Literature proved to be dangerously inaccurate on an important issue, Dr. Campbell didn’t throw all scientific literature out the window and become anti-science, he simply became more determined to think for himself and grow beyond his (now embarrassingly naive) total trust of scientific authorities.

As spiritual/ religious people, there will come a time when our sacred literature will prove to be grossly inaccurate about something important to us. It will be something that disrupts our smug worldviews.

For example, the existence of non-human, non-angelic, non-demonic, non-jinn beings with various motivations, some benevolent, some not, will almost certainly become obvious and undeniable to us all eventually. If you don’t already suspect that these beings are here now, then try to imagine it becoming undeniably real for you next Friday afternoon. For many, especially for those of us who are Christians, this new data point about the Universe will contradict what we’ve learned (at the worldview level) from our sacred scriptures. For example, “Be it known unto you all, and to all the people of Israel, that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom ye crucified, whom God raised from the dead, even by him doth this man stand here before you whole. This is the stone which was set at nought of you builders, which is become the head of the corner. Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.”

If and when people from another planet come here with the recorded histories of thousands, perhaps billions of other planets, each with a history going back for millions if not billions of years, and yet none of them has ever heard the story or the name of Jesus of Nazareth, what then?

The logical, scientific, and truly spiritual thing to do will be to follow John Campbell’s example and strive to think more for ourselves while becoming less naively trusting of Earth’s top church authorities and their claims to the one and only infallible, inerrant scripture, applicable throughout the universe.

Our bivalent human tendency for simple heuristic thinking will try to kick in and cause us to reject the Bible entirely and become some new form of “scientific” materialist living in a universe without personhood at its foundation.

An example of this happening now is the likeable and courageous Paul Wallis, a former mainstream Christian Church pastor and expert in ancient Biblical languages who has followed truth no matter where it might lead.

Rather than avoiding or denying the problems he had discovered over the years in the translation of key Biblical words like “Elohim” in the Old Testament (OT), he pursued the truth and uncovered the apparent re-writing of the Old Testament in ancient times (about 600 BC).

In short, he became convinced that the Old Testament was rewritten from older documents about Extraterrestrials visiting Earth to the monotheistic narrative we have today.

Personally, I like this idea because it solves problems I’ve had for decades about some of the violence ascribed to the OT “God” who supposedly ordered Israel to attack neighboring cities and kill all their people.

For me, the New Testament Jesus gives a largely opposite and much more accurate view of God’s character and personality than the OT. Now I have a logical explanation. No problem.

But for Mr. Wallis, the shock of his discovery has taken him from a non-materialist worldview in which the universe was created by a Being who is a Divine Person to the opposite pole of “scientific” materialism in which the universe was “created” by a zero-point field or “Source” that’s without personhood.

Remarkably, while making this shift, he has maintained much of the language and feel of a spiritual worldview.

I’m still supporting Paul with my small donations, even though I disagree with the direction he’s heading in his view of God, which, as best I can tell, is a non-being sort of energy field with no personality, no power of choice, no wants or desires, and no ability to hear anyone’s prayers.

To me, the core of the spiritual journey is talking to a Supreme Being who hears what I’m saying, understands my language, and cares about me personally. I’m not worried about the question of miracles or whether our free will causes God to limit his actions within the Universe. And I don’t need God to be Santa Claus, to have a gender, or to be one, two, or three Divine Persons.

All I need is a Personal Supreme Being(s) who’s overflowing with love and trustworthiness.

But I continue to listen to people who want a non-being in charge of a meaningless universe because the broader my perspective becomes, the more likely I’ll derive an accurate worldview. (Assuming truth actually does come to us in a U-shaped dose-response curve. I’m betting it does.)

Worldview love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Exiting the Materialist Worldview with Self-awareness

When my mind and heart joined forces to break away from a somewhat “scientific” materialistic version of fundamentalist Christianity (in the ever-evolving SDA Church as it was in Southern California in 2001), I kept my “friendship” with a Supreme Being intact by praying a lot.

We tend to hang on to certain subjectively tested assumptions that are difficult to test objectively in a blinded, controlled way.

Instead of rejecting God, I rejected the assumption of mainstream Christianity that the Bible is infallible, lacks contradictions when correctly understood with God’s help, and is the primary (if not the exclusive) written communication from the Divine Source to humanity.

But I didn’t throw out the ancient Judeo-Christian writings or any other ancient or modern spiritual writings as if they were of no value. I think they’re all vital to our spiritual evolution and survival as a species. Binary thinking is the human error that would have us toss them out.

I’ve seen a few good people leave the SDA church and hang on to their version of God, and also hang on to their assumption that the Bible is essentially infallible when properly interpreted. These folk tend to join another fundamentalist Christian Church, retain their sense of superior religious enlightenment, and continue to attempt to “prove” that their new beliefs are right based upon their new understanding of the “infallible” Bible.

I’ve also seen a few people leave the SDA church and reject the existence of a personal Supreme Being as well as the Bible. These folk, (n=3), may continue an interest in spiritual things and possibly join a non-Christian religious belief system. Alternatively, they may reject all spiritual things and fall back upon “scientific” materialism (the anti-spiritual, pseudo-scientific, untestable assumption that the universe and everything beyond it consists of mindless, random matter and energy).

Everyone tends to see their own worldview, new or old, as the most reasonable and accurate one. Fortunately some can see this human tendency and question its influence on their own thinking.

As you may recall, I’m often wrong about important things.

Despite this glaring fallibility, it seems clear to me that “scientific” materialism is not only anti-scientific and anti-spiritual, it’s also toxic to humanity because it creates a meaningless, purposeless worldview that seems to cause clinical depression and leads people like Putin into cruel, amoral behaviors that can be justified by the materialist belief that free will is a false illusion and morality doesn’t exist except in a flexible, user-friendly way.

Lately I’ve noticed a growing number of highly educated people associated with the UFO community leaving “scientific” materialism in a way that reminds me of how I left Christian fundamentalism while holding on to my most treasured assumption.

My most treasured assumption was and is my sense of friendship with an intelligent, benevolent, loving Supreme Being, whose personal characteristics still seem to me to be best reflected in many (but not all) of the saying attributed to Jesus in the Bible.

Similarly, some people who leave “scientific” materialism hold on to their most precious assumption: that the Universe is impersonal. I can’t fault them for doing the same sort of thing I did. But let’s at least clarify it a bit.

Those who exit materialism may reject ultimate universal randomness, they may come to believe that there’s something more to reality than matter and energy, they may come to believe that the Universe is a great supercomputer or perhaps the physical brain of a huge organism inside which we are its tiny separate dissociated egos, or they may even come to believe in a higher Spirit as Einstein said…

“Everyone who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that some Spirit is manifest in the laws of the Universe, one that is vastly superior to that of man.” – Albert Einstein

But is a Spirit personal? Not necessarily.

It seems to me that many who “leave” materialism don’t leave a certain debilitating aspect of it.

They hold on to the untestable assumption that, one way or another, the higher “seemingly intelligent” force, or computer, or brain, or Spirit cannot possibly be personal to humans. That is, prayer cannot really be the process of talking to a loving Friend with the highest personal morality, because the Supreme Force cannot possibly have anything to do with human morality. It must be seen as either too smart, too finite and divided, too infinite, or in some other way incapable or unwilling to connect with a human being in a personal way. Even if the Source were in some sense a Person, the notion of he/she/it listening to humans individually or even collectively would be impossible. It would be like a human trying to talk with a bacteria, we’re told.

But here’s the thing. The DNA codes of Earth and possibly those of the rest of the Universe are a hyper-complex language with “codes within codes within codes” as geneticist Garry Nolan, put it. The age of the Universe (still thought to be a mere 13.8 billion years) is but a miniscule fraction of the time required for mindless, random forces (random mutation, genetic drift, and natural selection) to come up with a code for a functional protein of modest size, let alone simultaneously coming up with a protein nano-factory necessary to maintain and replicate that DNA while carrying out its other complex commands.

So, ignoring the mainstream noise to the contrary, it’s scientifically respectable now to postulate that an intelligence greater than our own had a personal role in writing the first genetic codes and constructing the first protein nano-factories of this Universe.

Certainly anyone with an open mind can see that it’s reasonable to postulate that the intelligent minds behind modern UFOs might have advanced DNA technology giving them an ability to tamper with, if not Intelligently Design new DNA code.

But taking it a step further, the first DNA codes of the Universe, together with the first intracellular nano-machines that must have been present at the same time to interpret and obey the machine language of those DNA codes, could reasonably be postulated to have come from a Source living beyond the reality we call the Universe or its space-time matrix of potential.

And it seems obvious that any Mind capable of writing DNA code would also be capable of understanding human language. So the idea that prayer is talking to a Real Friend who can literally hear you and care about your life is not the objective impossibility it’s often assumed to be by materialist “science.”

And if you explore the evidence that our Universe appears to have a number of characteristics of a holodeck-like replica of some more fundamental reality, then you might reasonably conclude that the personal monitoring of, and contact with, each person within this replica by Someone beyond it would be a likely possibility.

Naturally, I would encourage anyone leaving the “scientific” materialist faith to personally test the hypothesis that our Higher Source is a personal and loving Being, rather than impersonal and out of contact with us.

As far as I know, the only way to test this hypothesis is to pray and see if you have a sense of connecting with Someone.

If you accept consciousness as something other than a false illusion, then subjective testing is at least a reasonable approach. Some might argue it’s the only approach available even to scientists, because we must all pass any data through the lens of consciousness.

Prayer is a matter of “talking to God as to a friend,” as far as I know.

But test the hypothesis your own way and call it meditation if the word prayer doesn’t sound right. After all, I’m often wrong about important things, and testing this particular hypothesis seems extremely important because…

If enough of humanity were to discover how to talk to a Loving Supreme Being who does what’s right because it is right and respects free will because it’s the right thing to do, my gut feeling is that our species would…

eventually stop enjoying real and pretend violence on TV,

stop believing that war is inevitable,

stop electing sociopath leaders,

stop stumbling toward nuclear holocaust,

work together to end poverty without cancelling the freedoms of the non-elite,

stop polluting our bodies and the planet,

learn to survive the dangerous aspects of our technologies long enough to evolve into a loving species that could safely expand beyond Earth and be accepted into, perhaps, a larger society of mature species out in the Universe who have learned to “love their enemies and pray for those who persecute them.”

Conscious, Intelligent, Personal Love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Fighter Pilot’s analysis of US Government’s UFO/UAP videos

Chris Lehto was an F-16 Pilot for over 18 years in the US Airforce. He retired in 2020. He has always been a skeptic. Now that he has seen the 60 Minutes program on UFO’s and analyzed the US Government’s UFO/UAP videos carefully for himself, he says…

“I’m not going to lie, guys, I was a little rattled. You know, I kind of saw the videos before but, uh, I didn’t think it was… real. And now I’m like (shakes his head), I don’t know, it’s kind of blown me away. I mean if you can see them with radar, (so they’re reflecting radar energy ’cause they did pick them up on radar); you can see them with your eyes; you can see them with infra-red — then it’s there. Like something’s there. (shakes his head) I’ve just always been a cynic. Never believed anything. Seeing this now, it’s pretty wild. So what do I think they are? I’m going to think about it, and I will tell you next video.”

Regarding the quality of the Navy’s declassified videos, Chris Lehto writes:

“The data in the videos is actually pretty clear. The videos appear grainy because the wavelengths of light are longer in the infrared spectrum, but after 18 years of using our advanced fighter technology, the videos are unambiguous to me.”

If you know anyone who still doubts the reality of UFOs, do them a loving favor and email them a link to this fascinating video.

Chris Lehto, F-16 Fighter Pilot

Here’s a young man who’s risked his life and donated his youth to protecting you and me in the free world. If anyone is a hero in our era, this guy represents the archetype.

I’ve never asked you for anything like this before, but Chris deserves at least this: Please join me in supporting him financially on his Patreon account (for as little as one dollar a month). Here’s his link:

https://www.patreon.com/chrislehto

He has earned the free world’s generous financial support, mine and yours. Please be your usual generous self, the rewards of supporting the truth are great. Humanity needs a broader, truer perspective on its place in reality, especially now with the sabers rattling and the troops gathering under the command of sociopaths who rule nuclear-armed nations.

Real Love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


“Spirituality is the missing piece” – Paul Hellyer on the history of UFOs

The late, great Paul Hellyer, God rest his soul, recorded a final message (in the video above). It turns out that several of his conclusions remain near the fringe of Ufology.

Here’s a summary of the often-dismissed conclusions he delivered to us with confidence:

  1. Nazis fled to Antarctica after WWII and created a breakaway culture that possibly survives to this day on a base that the Germans had begun building in 1939.
  2. UFOs, maybe of Nazi origin, protected the Nazis from an attack by Admiral Byrd’s fleet.
  3. The “Paperclip” Nazis were given top positions in the US Space Programs and high positions throughout the secret service organizations. Soon they became a shadow government. President W. Wilson (by creating MJ-12 or something like it) gave these Nazis complete dictatorial control over ET-derived technology in the US. This off-world technology was obtained from UFO crashes beginning in 1941 and including the Roswell crash in 1947. Nazis control Area 51 and S4 to this day.
  4. An ET being survived a crash and sat for a recorded interview with a nurse. Mr. Hellyer watched the video. The main ET message? Humans are wrecking this beautiful planet.
  5. If the ETs had wanted to take over Earth at that time they could have, because humans were defenseless against them.
  6. The USA and USSR “sold their souls” in exchange for ET technology.
  7. The USA and USSR had been offered ET help with medicine, agriculture, etc. if they would give up atomic weapons. They refused.
  8. The fabric of the cosmos is damaged by nuclear explosions.
  9. Steven Greer “who, as you know, is one of America’s best ufologists” quotes former President Bill Clinton. When asked by a reporter why he didn’t disclose more about the UFO files, the President said, “Sarah, there’s a government inside the government, and I don’t control it.
  10. Not one US President has been allowed inside Area 51 or Area S4. Congress has never known what’s going on in these places.
  11. If you read The Omega Files, by Branton (a pseudonym), Mr. Hellyer said that you will know more about UFOs and Aliens than most of the top generals and admirals.
  12. Phil Schneider was telling the truth when he spoke of huge underground cities and structures, including the Dulce Base where human genetic experiments (similar to those performed by the Nazis of WWII) were performed by modern-era Nazis. Back in the 1990’s, Mr. Schneider (not Mr. Hellyer, though he may have believed Schneider) said that some of the underground structures, several in every state, are designed to hold thousands of prisoners who will be collected after the world takeover by the “new world order” led by evil ET’s who will depopulate the world with bio-weapons, possibly viruses.
  13. Michael Wolf’s many incredible claims were essentially true, including his claim to have been an insider at Area 51. President Jimmy Carter wanted to end the UFO cover up but… “I attended this meeting,” Wolf claims (not Mr. Hellyer). “Carter had strong Christian beliefs. When told that religion is man-made and probably unique to this planet, he broke down in tears.” Wolf also said that “satellite government scientists” have harnessed zero-point energy and cold fusion. Wolf said, “There needs to be a smooth transition into these new sciences. Otherwise the world economy could be wrecked.”
  14. The US Space Force is at least 14 years old and currently traverses the galaxy.
  15. Spirituality is the missing piece of the UFO / Phenomena puzzle. God “is alive, well, and everywhere.”

Notice how Zohar Entertainment Group and AdRev, the companies who manage this YouTube channel, decided to cut the message off the moment Mr. Hellyer began talking about God. That’s a transparent bias, probably the same cash-flow bias that destroyed the mainstream “news” media’s trustworthiness in the US. The late Paul Hellyer deserves greater respect than this. So does every religion’s God(s).

For that matter, UFOs and related phenomena deserve greater respect than to be forced into the “entertainment” category on YouTube. This “entertainment” label is misleading and insulting. But I digress.

As I listen to Mr. Hellyer, the surprise to me is how many of his beliefs I’ve rejected long ago in my haste to form a “humble-but-infallible” (ego-laden) opinion.

For example, if you read the Michael Wolf link, you’ll come across the claim that Dr. Wolf et. al successfully created an “artificially-intelligent human” named “J-Type Omega” who came out of the lab’s genetic soup looking 20 years old and now lives free in the USA. Hmmm.

To the primitive part of my brain that loves all-or-nothing thinking, this story deserves knee-jerk rejection, and therefore as the puerile “thinking” goes, everything Dr. Wolf ever said must be rejected. But wait…

According to Chris Stonor who claims that Dr. Wolf read and approved his article in 2000, Dr. Wolf also said some things that would be easy for me to believe. Quoting now…

  • Dr. Wolf said the Pope has changed the Roman Catholic view on God.
    • “Their future line will be ‘we are not in the image of God but our souls are’.” 
  • He had spoken at length to the ETs about God and death.
    • “Our bodies are merely containers for the soul. When people die their consciousness simply moves into another dimension.”
  • On God Dr. Wolf said,
    • “Some ETs call God The Forever – the creator behind everything in the universe.” 
  • On Jesus Christ,
    • “He was of joint ET/human heritage – sent to Earth as an attempt to end human violence.” 
    • Whether a Zeta, Pleiadian, Altaran, Human etc.. we share the same God – we are all family.

A mantra was drilled into my head during my decades as a fundamentalist Christian: “You can’t pick and choose.” This unfortunate dogma referred only to texts in the Bible. “The Bible is either straight from God’s infallible mouth or it’s worthless.” There’s little if any middle ground for fundamentalists of all faiths, including the “scientific” materialist fundamentalists.

Yet I know I have to pick and choose when it comes to peer-reviewed medical literature. That’s the nuts and bolts of the scientific process.

And when it comes to the “news” media, I’ve learned to pick and choose carefully (or ignore it completely) because both political sides of that puppet-show regularly exaggerate, hide things, spin things, use poor judgement, and even overtly lie for the “higher” cause of politics and money/ratings.

So why wouldn’t it make sense to pick and choose from among Paul Hellyer’s controversial beliefs as well as from the sources he seemed to trust?

Perhaps “listen but verify” would be workable, rather than thinking that a person’s entire work is all true or all false.

My attitude is, listen widely and try to remember every detail no matter how impossible the story sounds because if we’re actually dealing with off-world technology, seemingly impossible feats could be routine.

These days, I apply the same heuristic to ancient scriptures. I take in old writings or oral myths and try to determine what represents a loving God, and what’s more likely the footprint of ancient ETs, “the powerful ones.”

Spectrum Love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


“It’s way beyond that.” – Ross Coulthart on UFO Disclosure

Since most people are too busy working for a living to sit and listen to a lengthy video interview, and since my opinion of Ross Coulthart places him at the needle-thin peak of journalist integrity, courage and raw IQ, I’m going to just quote him in context from a breathtaking 3 hour interview he did, with Curt Jaimungal quietly and sincerely presenting questions here

“…I do think there is active disinformation going on at the moment, even now from forces in American intelligence who… They’re not trying to suppress so much as they used to. They’re just trying to control. Because what’s happening at the moment, I think, is a decision has been made inside the US government that, ‘Yes, we’re now at a stage where we have to admit there is a real phenomenon. We have to admit that there is an anomalous phenomenon that is real.’ You know, ‘We can’t deny it anymore. There are too many sensor systems. Too many phased-array radar systems are now installed on different aircraft. Too many high quality video systems, too many data points are picking it up. We can’t deny it. But what we want to do….’

“I think there’s been an active decision made to constrain the current UAP task forces’ investigations from 2004. I don’t think they want us to know anything about alleged crash recoveries or any of the other more extraordinary claims that have been made over the years by people like [William E.] Corso. It’s almost like what they’re trying to do is present a scenario to the American and international public where the American government can in a few years time go, ‘Guys, look what we’ve discovered! This is amazing. There really is a real phenomenon.”

“And look, we’re part way there because they’ve acknowledged this phenomenon is real. But I suspect we’ll be told that, you know, there is perhaps some intelligence that we don’t yet comprehend that is operating in our… on our planet. I do. I really do suspect that.

“And I’ve been led to that belief by people who know. But I do believe that hopes that we’re going to see disclosure of the truth behind crash recoveries, the truth behind alleged alien retrievals, the truth behind mutilations and milabs [“military abductions”] and abductions? I don’t think we’ll EVER see that. And I think what’s happening at the moment is there is a desperate…

“I do believe, by the way, that the United States has recovered what it believes is non-human technology. There, I’ve said it. I think the level of proof is sufficient in my mind to assert that there is non-human technology in the hands of the US government. But I don’t think it wants anybody to know that. And I think what it’s trying to do at the moment is control the narrative.

“And I think there’s a degree of nervousness about letting the UAP taskforce run, because I do think the people in Tom Delong’s To the Start Academy were getting close to highly classified secure special access programs (that are kept completely off the books inside the US government) that aren’t part of the normal disclosure process before Congress, even before the Gang of Eight, you know, waived, unacknowledged special Access Programs. It’s way beyond that. And I do believe that the US is sitting on technology that it’s trying to suppress (the knowledge of its existence).

“And I don’t know how they’re going to get away with that. And it worries me because it raises accountability issues. You know, why hasn’t the Congress been informed? Why have presidents been kept in the dark? What haven’t presidents been told? You know, for example, it’s quite obvious to me if you look between the line of what both Obama, Trump, Clinton, Jimmy Carter have all said, it’s quite obvious that presidents have been briefed in to some degree.

“But what have they been told? You know, is there a group of generals and intelligence people inside the Pentagon and the CIA who are trying to control the narrative? I suspect there is.

“And I think there’s a battle going on inside different intelligence agencies in the US to try and… One group is more open and transparent and thinking that they’re duty-bound under the Constitution to be more open and obliging to reveal what they know, because there’s no good reason not to reveal it.

“But there’s another group that probably also, because of religious ardent zealotry, is reluctant to see the full story told. I think, for a lot of people who are of extreme religious faith — and that’s not to be in any way critical of people who are believers. I think a lot of people… I think the Vatican, for example, has made it quite clear that if you are religious, and if you believe in ETs, they are all God’s children. You know, I don’t think the idea of alien life is incompatible. And people should take a closer look at what religious institutions like the Vatican have actually said about this. But I’m told, and I’ve been told this by multiple sources that there are people of extreme conservative religious viewpoints inside the CIA and also inside the Defense Intelligence Agency and other agencies who are hostile to revealing the extent of what the US government knows… They think it’s demonic. They think it’s satanic. And who knows? I mean, I’m not religious, but it might be. [laughing here, sort of at himself] It might be we’re all going down a very dangerous path

Tyranny starts when governments use secrets to conceal mistakes. That’s what worries me. My worry here is that the explanation for what has happened with the UFO phenomenon is purely and simply that years ago, some pompous general decided that it was better to keep it confidential because, you know, “We know better than the rest of you.” And “We want to try and replicate this technology.” That’s assuming that we’ve recovered technology.

“And frankly, even though there’s no good reason now for not revealing it, they’ve dug themselves so deep into a lie for so long, they don’t know how to get out of it. They’re worried about being excoriated and vilified in the court of public opinion. But they should be, frankly, if they’ve lied, if they’ve misled Congress.

I mean, one of the things that frankly I just don’t get, and this is something that I really don’t understand, is that if you read Jacques Vallée’s, Forbidden Knowledge volume 4 [sic “Forbidden Science, Vol 4“], it has the most extraordinary series of exchanges between Jacques Vallee, who’s one of the godfathers of UFO research, and a guy called Richard “Dick” D’Amato who was the staffer on the Senate Intelligence Committee, in a role very similar to the role that was played by Chris Mellon years later.

“And Dick D’Amato back in the 1970s was talking to Jacques Vallee openly in private conversation about how he was trying to get to the bottom of the government coverup about UFOs. And I… look, I’ve approached Dick D’Amato, and he doesn’t want to talk. And you know, he’s probably bound by a security oath.

“But he was making no secret to Jacques Vallee who mischievously put this in his diaries back in the 1970s, that he [D’Amato] knew that as the staffer responsible for probably the most important intelligence oversight body in the Congress, he couldn’t get access to information that he knew existed. And this is what worries me. What worries me is that this may be a crisis of accountability.

“If the Wilson memo [Wilson-Davis document], for example, is a truthful and accurate document, what it means is essentially technology that is rightfully the possession and the property of the American people, if not the human race, is being divested into the private ownership of a private aerospace company, and oversighted only by a very few people in government who are terrified of the secret getting out.

“And their efforts to back engineer this technology, allegedly because of the incredible secrecy attached to the whole program, have been hindered because of their inability as scientists to be able to share data and discuss what they’re looking at with other scientists.

“Imagine if, hypothetically, the United States is in possession of a retrieved technology. Imagine hypothetically, if the United States is sitting on an alien spacecraft or multiple spacecraft. Imagine if… that was the case. Imagine if they’ve failed in 76 years to back-engineer that technology. Don’t you think there comes a time when they have to truthfully engage with the American public and say, “We’ve lied to you? We’re very sorry.”

“This is why I’ve actually floated in previous interviews the idea of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission. As a journalist, I’ve covered the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission where in quite a “beautiful” way the evils of the apartheid regime under the racist government of South Africa before it became independent under Nelson Mandela — they [the evils] were always covered up. And then they had a Truth and Reconciliation Regime where the killers, like the killers in the South African Security Service who’d literally murdered people for the state, were allowed to truthfully sit in public hearings and tell their story, knowing that they were being given full immunity and full indemnity.

And frankly I think that’s what we should offer to the people who are hiding the secret [of UFOs and retrieved off-world craft] because it’s far too important to have a purge, to go jumping on people and criticizing them for not revealing it. I suspect that their motivations for hiding it in the very beginning were quite honorable.

“‘We were in the Cold War and we found a life form,’ to quote ‘the General.’ I mean, I’m referring there to something that Tom DeLonge [said when he] gave an interview…. He says he was told by a person he referred to as ‘the general.’ ‘It was the Cold War and every day we lived in fear that,’ you know, ‘the world was about to fall apart. And then we found a life form.’

“You know, there was a different context during the Cold War that I think informed America’s national security imperatives. I would have kept the secret. If it is the case… IF it is the case that the United States has recovered alien technology and I don’t know for sure that they have, but I suspect they have, then unless there’s a good reason for continuing to conceal it, and I’d like to hear that, I think we need to provide a means for them to be exculpated and to be honorably recognized for bringing it out into the American Public’s knowledge.

“Because, let me just be a whimsical person for a moment and discuss what I love about America. As a little boy I remember looking at the moon and thinking how incredible it was that a country on my planet had put men on the moon. You know, it was just unimaginable to me as a little boy, and I had all my Apollo moon mission models. And I was fascinated with the idea that, you know, a nation had collaborated scientifically in such a short period of time to do incredible things. You know, what a monumental achievement! And that was an illustration to me of what humanity can achieve. And I’m really struck…

“I was only reading yesterday about how, shortly before his death, John F. Kennedy in November, 1963 instructed his CIA director to begin sharing intelligence with the Russians, and to look at a collaborative space research program with the Russians. And there was such promise there internationally about pulling ourselves out of the Cold War with adventurism, exploration, science, research, new ideas.

“And if it is the case, IF it is the case that the United States is sitting on technology, and I suspect it is, imagine what that technology could do for humanity. And imagine how we’re being held back because of the fear, the cowardly fear of a few men in dark rooms who are hiding these secrets. Wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing if we could usher in a new age of propulsion systems, energy, advances in technology that the world has never seen? Pull human beings out of poverty. You know, fantastic exploration, understand our solar system, understand our universe.

“These things could be achieved if there really is faster-than-light travel or some kind of anti-gravitic technology or propulsion system. And the interesting thing, Curt, is someone, something out there is flying craft that appear to have these technologies.

“And the world just goes on. You know, the Pentagon makes these admissions. It actually admits that it cannot prosaically explain this phenomenon which is doing maneuvers and speeds far beyond our technology: instantaneous velocity, hypersonic maneuvers. And we just get on with our lives and politely ignore it like it’s not happening, or worse still, we give currency to some stupid debunker who comes up with some lame excuse that frankly doesn’t make sense.

It’s time for people to wake up to themselves and realize that the United States, I know for sure, is sitting on secrets it is not yet revealing. And I don’t know why it’s not doing that. But I have, in the course of my research, become privy to knowledge that makes me realize that they are concealing stuff.

Frankly, the only way any impetus [for true disclosure] is going to be developed on this is if the public wakes up and realizes the awesome significance of what the Pentagon has already admitted.

When a reporter of Ross Coulthart’s reputation and talent takes up the UFO/UAP topic, those of us who’ve been dug-in for years find a rare opportunity to see things through fresh, objective eyes. Those folks who have remained highly skeptical over the years also have the same rare opportunity… to see past learned biases that are otherwise invisible.

Crash-retrieval Love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


UFO Worldview Control, a Vast No-wing Conspiracy

Here’s my favorite UFO historian, Richard Dolan, recounting one of the most well-documented UFO military encounters of all time, the 1976 Tehran UFO incident.

Toward the end of the video, things get interesting as Dolan shows us what the debunkers at Wikipedia have to say about this event.

True to form, Wikipedia struggles to maintain their version of a “scientific” materialist worldview, to the effect that nothing can possibly exist beyond the mundane. Anything that brings us wonder must be reduced to the ordinary, meaningless collisions of particles and energy waves acting in a randomly cruel Universe where nothing could conceivably exist beyond matter and energy. (Yawn.)

Their heads are stuck in the sand, perhaps it’s willful blindness.

Thus they would have us believe that fighter pilots are so invariably dumb they can all mistake Jupiter for a mid-air confrontation. We’re to believe that nothing actually disabled their missle-lunching systems, it was a chance failure common to those jets. The radar records are meaningless, of course, and the existence of multiple witnesses means absolutely nothing to Wikipedia’s keen eye for truth.

Furthermore, the US government’s official records showing that a description of this event reached George Walker Bush, Henry Kissinger and President Gerald Ford carry no weight whatsoever with our self-appointed gatekeepers of worldview truth, the good folk at Wikipedia. Apparently, the entire DOD was so gullible and inept in 1976 that they made a detailed report about absolutely nothing more than a sighting of Jupiter.

It reminds me of the sanitized propaganda that Congress passed to the public after their “extensive” search for UFO truth which myopically excluded events before 2004.

You might think that in view of the US Navy and the DOD telling us that UFOs are real, our Wikipedian truth fairies might revisit their pathetic hack job of debunking the 1976 event in Iran.

But no.

Their transparent thoughts and motivations are all still there, unaltered and waiting for anyone with an open mind to use Wikipedia’s own words as a clue to the larger picture of public worldview control within the US.

And Wikipedia wonders why 98 percent of their viewers don’t send them money to help prop up their mainstream worldview deceptions.

But if they truly need money, why would they continue to debunk everything unusual? Especially the mainstream-conceded UFO reality.

I think it’s because UFO reality truly escaped. It was not universally released by the insiders. So Wikipedia is trying hard along with the rest of the mainstream to maintain a grip on the public’s worldview.

A person’s worldview is the most powerful data filter in existence and it’s readily available for manipulation if you have the means. The world’s materialist overlords do happen to have the means.

I’m theorizing a vast no-wing conspiracy here.

If you control the public’s worldview, you can achieve just about any covert goal.

Here’s a rare glimpse of the elite’s worldview-control system in operation…

William J. Casey (1913-1987) was the Director of the CIA when he made the following statement at his first CIA staff meeting in 1981.

“We’ll know our disinformation program is complete when everything the American public believes is false.” — William J. Casey, CIA director, 1981

This quote is uncontested by debunkers, as best I can determine.

I suggest we keep this powerful man’s words in the forefront of our minds as we filter the slow drip of new UFO data through our various tightly-held worldviews, striving to be more open to evidence than claims, especially the claims of Wikipedian-style truth police and other self-appointed truth fairies.

Jupiter Love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Why would Lue Elizondo leave TTSA?

Recently three of the big names of “To The Stars Academy” (TTSA), men with life-long nondisclosure agreements with the US government,  left TTSA.  In an interview, Lue Elizondo said this about it:

“TTSA, it’s no secret, also focuses on its entertainment division and, you know, let’s face it, guys like Chris Mellon and Steve Justice and myself, we’re not entertainers. We’re not. So, very much like the History Channel project, we have accomplished our mission. Mission success.” 

So the problem is the entertainment or maybe the fictional component of TTSA’s mission.

Why would this bug them so much?

Maybe they’re suddenly purists, as Lue claims. Sure, they knew about the fictional component going in, but now they realize it’s a mistake to mix fact with fiction. Sounds plausible, I guess. Or maybe they’re above making money from fiction… suddenly. Or maybe it’s not the fiction, it’s the acting or some other part of the process of being in the entertainment industry. Any of that would be understandable.

But here’s what I suspect, and this is not only pure speculation, odds are it’s not accurate. But it came to me, and I think it’s quite interesting:

One of these serious government insiders finally got around to reading the Foreword of the novel series, Sekret Machines, by Tom Delong and A.J. Hartley.

Delong has made this book binary. Either he’s lying or I’d be upset if I were Leu Elizondo.

Imagine that in your government career you’ve heard historical accounts of UFOs that would totally land you in jail if they ever became public and were traced back to you.

The US government has made it clear that it’s OK to put historical UFO secrets into fiction. Several others have done it. No heads have rolled.

And in 2017 when you joined TTSA, you hadn’t read Tom Delong’s novels yet. The first one came out in 2016.

But one quiet evening in 2020 you picked up book 1 and read the Forward which includes either a binary lie or too much honesty…

“I am here to tell you that an entire history of an unexplained and infamous myth—a Legend—IT’S ALL TRUE.”

“This first novel sets up many things: important events that had their genesis as far back as World War II and continue today. The events, locations, and moments of wonder are all true. We weaved them together in a way that echoes what really happened to those who stumbled across something spectacular, wondrous, and a bit frightful. The glue is fiction. The building blocks are not.”

Each event was studied closely, and sometimes it was painfully misunderstood and confusing at the time.”

“I have been granted the opportunity to tell you a story over a series of novels about the important events that happened over the past sixty years. These moments shaped our world in more ways than one. I know it seems unbelievable, but it’s true.” — Tom DeLonge, Foreword to Sekret Machines, Book 1, Chasing Shadows

Many people skip the dedications, forewords and acknowledgements in a novel, jumping right into the story. This is what I suggest may have happened to Lue and his two associates who left TTSA.

For me, one of the more outlandish things that Tom Delong claims about UFOs is that the Germans had them before WWII. He says that accepting this piece of history is the biggest hurdle to a genuine understanding modern UFOs.

Hmm… while I’m over at Project Unity with the late astronaut Edgar Mitchell wondering about the “consciousness,” aspect,  Delong is pulling me back toward the nuts and bolts of history.

If Delong’s UFO history is accurate, Leu Elizondo, Chris Mellon and Steve Justice (the three who left TTSA), may be worried that a dangerous line of genuine disclosure has been crossed. They could be in trouble.

But if Tom Delong’s version of UFO history is inaccurate, these men might want to distance themselves from him in order to preserve their own credibility and continue bringing accurate disclosure to the world (within the limits of their nondisclosure agreements, of course).

Have you noticed the irony of expecting UFO “disclosure” from men with “nondisclosure” agreements?

I guess it’s always tough to know who, if anyone, to trust on the dodgy subject of UFOs.

But to remind us that tic-tac UFOs are not much different from UFOs of 70 years ago, here’s the late, Great Gordon Cooper, the youngest of the seven original astronauts in Project Mercury, to remind us of his UFO experience in 1951, a mere six years after WWII ended and 12 years before the beginning of WWII…

It seems that someone had advanced transportation tech shortly after WWII, and assuming it took them awhile to develop it, it’s not a stretch to imagine this tech existed twelve years before Gordon Cooper witnessed it. But the Germans? Maybe, but I’d have to favor an advanced breakaway civilization that survived the Younger Dryas event and lives today in obscurity.

At any rate, having read the Foreword to Book 1 of Sekret Machines before I started the novel, and knowing of Tom Delong’s claim that the events of this novel are NOT fictional, I have to say, the book held my interest more than any novel I’ve read in years. If he was lying, I guess that would be the point. But personally, I don’t sense he’s lying about this. Maybe he’s mistaken, or maybe he’s right.

Love & confusion,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


I thought this one was a hoax

When viral reports began circulating a week or two ago about Haim Eshed, the 87 year-old former head of Israel’s Defense Ministry’s space directorate, I suspected it was all a hoax. And not a clever one.

I didn’t rush to Snopes because Snopes is not even in the ballpark of unbiased information. Like Wikipedia, they carry water for the mainstream, denying anything that casts doubt on the infallibility of your TV set.

But just now I happen to click on Snopes feeble attempt at debunking Haim Eshed’s statements and realized a few surprising things:

1. The man exists.

2. Haim Eshed truly was the head of the Israelis Defense Ministry’s “space directorate” for 30 years.

3. He really does have a book coming out, “The Universe Beyond the Horizon — Conversations with Professor Haim Eshed.” (I still can’t find it. Please let me know if you know where I can buy a copy in English.)

4. As far as Snopes has been able to determine, Haim Eshed really did make claims that humans have made contact with aliens, there are underground bases on Mars, and unnamed officials in the United States have signed “an agreement with the aliens.”

5. This story really did appear in an Israeli newspaper, “Yediot Aharonot” (The Jerusalem Post) and was commented upon by that newspaper on Facebook on December 4. Snopes says this Facebook quote is real:

“The UFOs have asked not to publish that they are here, humanity is not ready yet. Trump was on the verge of finding out, but the aliens in the Galactic Federation say: Wait, let the winds calm down first. They do not want mass hysteria to develop in us. They want to make us sane first and understand. They have waited until today, for humanity to evolve and reach a stage where we will generally understand what space and spaceship are.”

I should mention that the geniuses at Snopes begin their objective debunking with this photograph:

How could anyone take Snopes seriously when they feel free to “poison the well” with humerus ridicule? Do they think this sets the stage for their superior objectivity and intellect?

Giggling about UFOs shows a level of bias that’s outdated since official “disclosure” began in 2017. Snopes’ apparent ignorance should cause them embarrassment.

In their “real world” report, Snopes reminds us that NASA is still looking for extraterrestrial life. Finding this relevant would require the naïve assumption that NASA is honest. More likely, NASA pretends that UFOs don’t exist because they will lose funding the moment the folks operating the UFOs are identified.

Limiting the scope of scientific exploration through biased funding is the rule in science, not the exception. This is true in all branches of mainstream science from medicine to space weather.

Trying an appeal to authority, Snopes makes this statement, “It should also be noted that these claims [of Haim Eshed] do not have the support of the scientific community.”

That’s changing. The United States government has admitted to the public that UFOs are real. The DOD claims the aerial phenomena are enigmatic.

And here’s a scientist, Dr. Michael P. Masters (a professor of biological anthropology specializing in human evolutionary anatomy, archaeology, and biomedicine) who has now published a science-based book on his astonishing interpretation of UFOs.

That’s the good professor selling t-shirts in the featured image above. He’s not in the same league with Haim Eshed, in my limited view of things, but I greatly respect his courage and honesty.

Optimistically, it may not be long before the US government funds mainstream science in the study of unidentified flying objects and other unidentified aerial phenomena.

The part of the statement by the 87 year-old Haim Eshed that I find particularly interesting is the alleged opinion of the aliens that humans need to “understand what space and spaceship are.” This implies there may be something profound about these simple concepts…

What is space?

At the moment, I suspect space is like a three-dimensional computer monitor made of small Planck-sized 3-D pixels which are intelligently controlled from beyond our space-time Universe. This might provide an answer to the question, “What medium exists to propagate light waves?” I doubt it’s “ether.” More likely it’s a medium capable of responding to information transmitted to it, like a 3-D monitor (conceptually like the holodeck of Star Trek).

What is a spaceship?

I suspect the answers to this lies on a continuum. Some spaceships are likely 3-D pieces of technology from hidden sources on Earth or other planets within the Universe. Other “spaceships” are likely advanced hologram technology owned and kept secret by the US Air Force who enjoys annoying the Navy with their new toys. Other “spaceships” may conceivably originate with the being(s) (possibly God or gods) who control the information flow into the 3-D pixels of our space-time “Universe” or simulation. Also, it’s possible that whatever reality undergirds the apparent phenomena of visualized ghosts and the like might also produce “spaceships.” (What am I forgetting here?)

Fine. Now we get it, Aliens. Can we please have some real disclosure for Christmas? We promise not to panic.

Love in 3-D alien pixels,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Enoch’s Last Truth

The Angel took Enoch up in a spaceship over the mountains of a beautiful land that would someday be called Zimbabwe. In front of them now, hidden within a hollowed-out granite fortress, was one of the Watcher’s four Earth bases. Enoch took a mental picture.

Over the years, he had been inside all four of the angels’ Earth bases. The main one was below ground in a once densely forested area that would later become The Great Victoria Desert of Central-Western Australia.

There was also a small base built into a cold mass of dark granite that would eventually receive the name, Mount Hayes, Alaska.

The angels had hidden their fourth base nearer Enoch’s home, deep inside a lime cliff in a mountain range that would someday be called the Pyrenees.

Enoch’s Angel friend, the Watcher Naomi, wore a white tunic and usually went barefoot, though her feet were peeking out of living sandals today. Her teeth were always the first thing he noticed whenever they met, they were perfect, unlike anything he had seen in an adult human.

The Angel leaned back on a soft sky blue couch in front of a wall, a bulkhead that radiated white granular light. Enoch sat on the edge of a red chaise lounge across from her, a narrow black table on the floor between.

“There’s a nice Earth-sized planet not far,” she said. “When your people are ready, we hope you’ll-”

“Wait.” After years of friendship, Enoch felt comfortable interrupting her. “You said every possible worldviews is inaccurate. I’m sorry, but that idea is drilling a hole in my head. Trying to get out , I think. Could we go over it again?”

The angel looked a little concerned but proceeded. “Consider the earth and understand from the work done upon her, from the beginning to the end, no work of God changes as it becomes manifest.”

“I’m not following.”

“The Universe is neither real nor unreal,” she said. “At its highest magnification and sharpest reduction, it remains both genuine and illusory.” Her eyes seemed to call for comprehension. Enoch felt none. “And if any of that feels logical to you, you’re in the wrong universe.” She laughed and gave him a reassuring smile.

Enoch’s mind went fuzzy as her words sifted through it. “But if what you’re saying is true, any worldview would be as good as the next.”

“Wake up.” She leaned forward and touched his forehead for the third time that morning, an uncharacteristically rude gesture that now seemed to sharpen his mind. Perhaps it wasn’t a gesture at all.

She leaned back and sank into the yielding matrix of the couch. “To avoid a war of extinction, your species needs a specific belief system that’s literally set in stone. They must have structured practices that train and ingrain a reflexive forgiveness of all suffered and imagined wrongs. And their loving kindness must create no lethal options for an enemy.”

“I hear your words, but if the ultimate view of the universe can only be a false picture, I don’t imagine the details matter much.”

“For Heaven’s sake, it’s hot in here?” She twisted and reached behind her for a glass ball that floated near the wall. “Are you hot?”

This was always a rhetorical question. Enoch kept his mouth respectfully shut.

She tapped on the top of the ball with a polished fingernail and turned back to him. “Now listen. Your comprehension is not essential. The nature of this worldview is all that matters. The new one I hope to impart to your people must be unshakable. The details cannot self-contradict and invite scholarly criticism.”

Enoch hadn’t factored scholars into any of this. Those people seemed to hate anything less tentative than an abused child. “Do you think claims of infallibility would be wise, then? God hasn’t actually said anything to you about the nature of things, right?”

She nodded as her toes curled down over the front edges of her sandals. “We must be economical with the truth when there isn’t any,” she said. “Since empirical data contradicts itself, the truth is intrinsically hidden. We can only assume that God has limited our reasoning abilities in some fundamental way.”

“And yet nothing would help us more than a reasonable understanding of God’s Universe.” Enoch sighed. Why would God select an opaque universe for us? What had we done to deserve such a thing? “To be clear, though. All claims of worldview infallibility must be false. This is what you’re saying and you’re sure it’s accurate?”

“Yes.” She drew her palms together. “Fundamental reality appears not only to be beyond comprehension, it’s beyond anyone’s imagination.” The muscles of her broad shoulders slumped beneath her white gown. “Our only infallible claim, if you insist on the term, is that all the empirical evidence available to us suggests that reality is irreducibly baffling.”

Enoch had always felt pleasantly trapped by her superior intellect, but now that he was staring into the limits of it, he had another feeling, doubt.

“In a sense,” she said, “if you accept the view that any falsehood requires a converse truth, then no worldview is a lie. None of them has a correspondingly opposite truth. All grand-scale views are orphans, any of which might grow to be king.”

“You’re saying, if everything’s a lie, then nothing is.” Enoch grunted in frustration. “And I’m supposed to believe this? Have you asked yourself where your fundamental capitulation leads?” But he knew deep down that she was always right. And so the gravity of her revelation began to pull an abstract sorrow down over him.

Eye hath not seen nor ear heard,” the Angle replied, “neither hath it entered into the heart of man.”

But lies were wrong.  Rationalizing them was to invite disease.

“Let’s say that for the sake of a far, far greater good, I am able to overcome my disgust with the spreading of falsehoods. After all, I do trust you implicitly, Naomi, and if you say that some particular false view of things would help others overcome their lust for war, at least I believe that you believe it. Perhaps I even believe it myself now. But say I do, for sure. What outcome would you foresee?”

“Ultimately, once your people are no longer a danger to themselves and to all creatures in the wake of their behavior, the Watchers would hope to help your entire species move far away from the blast zone of your star.” She glanced toward the morning sun. “Before the next micronova, I should say. Your people have seven thousand years until the next wave comes through and sets the devil on the loose. It’s not much time, I know, but we are hopeful.” Her eyes sobered in on Enoch’s skepticism. “Actually, my friend, I am the one with genuine hope. My colleagues say your people show no justification for hope.” She picked up a small stick, ignited the end of it with her gaze and held it down against the side of an incense block on the bare tabletop between them. “But what do they know? None of them met your ancestors. Those people, the ones in India, were on the verge of loving kindness before the last micronova sent them back… into caves and starvation. I was not permitted to help them. The Council admits the mistake now and has formally apologized to me, as if that fixes everything.”

Enoch’s head was spinning. “What was that about a solar eruption?”

“You don’t remember India? Years ago?”

“I remember our flight, but–”

“No fears.” She gazed above his head and as he turned to see what held her attention, the small rectangular opening in the front of the ship expanded until a third of the bow was invisible. “Take another look, old seer man.”

Beyond the invisible bow, a vast structure of intricately carved stone rose from the bottom of a huge basalt pit with vertical walls. The builders, whomever they were, had carved full-sized elephants and full-hipped dancers into every surface of the solid-rock monuments. Some of the dancers had joyous stone bodies with multiple sets of arms, but some of them held a stern expression. The closer he looked, the less human some of their faces appeared.

The Angel picked up the smoldering incense block and inhaled the smoke through her nose. “These celebrators of life were thousands of years ahead of anyone before or after them.”

Enoch wondered how these people could have been happy and yet so scantly clothed. The bare chest was wrong in public. These carvings were bare and sensual.

“When the oceans receded after the sun’s third eruption, a handful of survivors from beneath the rocks came out with the remnants of their technology. They migrated west, settled in north Africa and built the underground realms of Egypt. As the last of their tools ground to a halt, they completed a monument encoding the sun’s eruption history. I’m sure I told you all this. Right here, nine years ago.”

The ornate stone miracle of India moved away rapidly, and an old tan pyramid of limestone rushed at them menacingly but stopped short of smashing their ship. Now it stood filling their view like a proud mountain.

“This is a shadow of her original glory,” the Angel said, “but the builders cared nothing for show, only for permanence. They needed a structure to stand as a warning forever, or until the continents sank again beneath the seas. It’s a regular affair on this planet.”

Enoch remembered no mention of sinking continents, though this brick pyramid seemed familiar. Was he getting old and forgetful? He tried to tell himself he wasn’t, and it didn’t matter anyway.

Then he imagined himself lying to his family about some new worldview, trying to pass it off as the infallible truth from God. The idea made his skin crawl. He couldn’t do such a thing. He wouldn’t do it.

Over the years he had suffered for the sake of honesty, especially with his son, Methuselah. In retrospect now, though, he sometimes wished he’d hidden more from the boy. More of the world’s harsh realities and all of his own spiritual doubts. But mostly he wished he’d hidden his fears. If only he had pretended to be more certain of the sacred teachings, his little boy, a grown man now, might not have become so prone to trouble and sadness. So absorbed by poppies, mushrooms, and Soothsayers.

“Think of what you’re saying.” Enoch felt suddenly unable to match the Angel’s politeness. “You want me to go down there and lie to my wife and children? Fabricate some idealistic lie that you hope will be clever enough to withstand scrutiny for thousands of years.” Tears threatened and seemed to silence him.

“No, my beloved,” she said, leaning across the table and taking his hand. “You know too much to argue or to judge, let alone bear false witness to your family. Your influence there would ruin everything… all chances of your people’s eventual transformation.”

Her words, though spoken kindly, felt cruel. Enoch had poured all his years into helping the Watcher Naomi. How could she call him a hopeless failure and a detriment to everything?

“How would I ruin things for you?” he asked. “My views are in harmony with yours, which are, evidently, entirely beyond any possibility of either correctness or being corrected. Have I wasted my entire life for you, Naomi?”

“You are a hero and a champion. The truth is the only one who has failed. An honest man who knows the truth… that within a simulation all possible worldviews can only be inaccurate… such a man is not a failure or a problem.”

“With you, first it’s one thing, then the opposite. You’re making no sense.”

“Unfortunately, the truth as we understand it offers no bond with love and benevolence. No higher purpose worth devotion and life. A higher truth is what your people need, an unbreakable worldview that ties them to love, trust and trustworthiness. A worldview such as this can change the heart and the behavior. Nothing else can, especially among primitives.” She stepped over the table and sat beside him. “Your people are extreme primitives. I’m sorry, but this is their unfortunate status.”

She let out a breath and turned to a topaz platter materializing beside her on the red chaise lounge. From it she lifted two bending glasses of pink fluid by the narrowing near the bottom as they became solid, finishing entanglement from a quantum realm that Enoch could never understand despite several of her descriptions of disentangling ghostly fields. Naomi the Angel extended a glass to Enoch. He took it reflexively.

“You’ve finished your work,” she said. “A man of your integrity could not germinate a lie to his family and friends. Nor to his enemies, though all of their lives depended upon it.” She sipped her drink as he gazed down the helical neck of his glass at the small rising bubbles escaping the pink fluid.

“That’s why I love you, Enoch. It’s also the reason you can never return home again.

“What did you say?”

“I’m so sorry, my friend. So very sorry. You’ll have to put up with me and my people for a long time, it would seem. The Council has declared it. Your character has been evaluated and confirmed. You will become an immortal, at least within the simulation.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “But I do know that we will all leave here one day. Together.”

Enoch would never see his wife again. Her heart would break, tears would carry her to the grave. His son, on the other hand, would be better off without him. He missed Methuselah terribly and could scarcely recall when the boy had last come home to his own room and bed.

“And what am I now?” Enoch said to his Angel, the Great Watcher, Naomi. “Your house pet? A diplomatic figurehead with no country?” Or a timeless Angel’s tired out lover?

And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him. Genesis 5:24

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Aliens versus The Five Chinese Drama Cliches

I was about to show you this video, thinking you might enjoy a light-hearted, in-depth interview with James Fox. It puts a human face on a guy who’s been working for seven years behind the camera creating the paradigm-shifting documentary, The Phenomenon.

Then I decided, it’s been a long day. The negative feedback on my last homework assignment for Corey Mandell’s script writing class took the wind out of me.

So if we’re looking for something light-hearted, this video fits the bill. It made me laugh. I had to pause it every two seconds to read the subtitles, but you’re a better speed reader than I am so you won’t have to…

No doubt some will say the Chinese Drama Satire Video is more believable.

The big question now is not, “do you believe in Aliens,” but do you believe in love at first sight?

There are no incorrect answers on this quiz.

Peace and Love (at first sight),

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Aliens seem to be as real as UFOs – Film Documentary, The Phenomenon

There’s an important UFO documentary out today, The Phenomenon. I spent the $19.99 at VIMEO based on a tweet from Lue Elizondo that I saw  on this video from Project Unity (at about 6:20). I couldn’t find the full quote on twitter (@LueElizondo). I guess it was too long, so they censored most of it, helping drones like me avoid thinking beyond micro-blurbs. Twitter has, incidentally, made censorship of complexity the rule of the road. I avoid them.

Anyway, here’s what Lue had to say, some of which seems quite significant…

“Folks, I am normally silent and careful not to endorse products (even if I support them); however, I am making an exception in this case. Although not part of the production, the movie by Jamie Fox “Phenomenon” is the one worth watching. It says things I cant! Its accurate, it’s verified and it’s REAL! I know this because while at the Pentagon we had the files. Yes many of you will already know SOME of the information, but not all of it. Literally thousands of files have yet to be released that only bolster this production. Once they are, you will realize how on the mark this movie is. Knowing now what it takes to make a quality production, I am amazed at the access that was gained by the Producers and the Director. Something tells me this is only the beginning. Bravo Mr. Fox and Dan! For the record, I had absolutely nothing to do with this production. There is NOTHING in it for me. That is why I feel I can honestly endorse this effort. I am a neutral party. In fact as AATIP director I am almost unnoticed. This story pertains to ‘all of us’ IMHO!” — Lue Elizondo

Here’s the trailer…

Here’s a brief interview of Director James Fox telling us why the most exciting part of creating this film was talking to former Senator Harry Reid about UFOs.

To me, aside form the transcendentally heart-warming footage of the beautiful and innocent children of Zimbabwe, the big deal here is that Lue Elizondo, the government’s retired insider who seems to be under life-long oath to pretend he doesn’t know anything about aliens, has come out now and said that this particular documentary is accurate and verified. Which wouldn’t mean much except that this film clearly states and shows good evidence that some UFOs are piloted by smallish beings of another culture, most likely a culture from another planet. That’s one small step toward government disclosure.

Love and sweet dreams,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


The End of UFO Disclosure?

My absolute favorite ufologist, Richard Dolan, seems to feel pessimistic about the possibility of the public ever being officially informed by the US shadow government of the presence of an other-worldly intelligence here on Earth.

Richard hasn’t put out his usual amount of UFO video material in the last few months, which worries me a little. I worry that his beautiful wife, Tracey, might for some unknown reason leave him.

You have to understand, I’ve been writing fiction for too long and have developed a running suspicion that when any character’s plot seems to be making them wonderfully happy, and Richard Dolan’s life has been looking absolutely wonderful since he married Tracy, there’s always a writer lurking behind the scenes, setting things up for a letdown.

So I literally pray for Richard Dolan and Tracey, hoping that my heartfelt, if neurotic concern will influence God and the Universe to keep their love alive forever. And I think that will happen.

But as for genuine disclosure? After watching this video lecture by Michael Schratt (below), I think Richard has good reason to doubt full disclosure is coming.

Let’s assume for discussion that the government is hiding physical aliens. For that to be true, there must be at least one thing that the aliens and the shadow government agree upon: the secrecy. Otherwise, one side or the other would expose the truth in a day or two.

So let’s say there are aliens conspiring with the shadow government to keep their presence secret. Eventually, some of these humans would see the benefits of allowing a bit of advanced technology out into the public arena. For instance, a clean energy source would help us avoid the far-reaching ecologic damage our species is currently inflicting upon the planet.

So how would the shadow government get this technology out to the public without admitting it came from aliens? Simple. They would tell us “the whole truth” about all the UFOs everyone has ever seen…

“These things are black budget aerospace technology that previous generations in their stupidity (not us) foolishly kept secret. But once the old guard retired and died, and we inherited their secret mess, we came clean for the sake of the planet. No, we’re not heros, we just did what anyone else would have done in our place.”

And here’s the video that comes close to setting that up.

(It starts out interesting, then gets boring with the declassified black budget craft. Then it picks up again at minute 37 when the speaker, Michael Schratt, makes a convincing case for a certain well-documented UFO sighting in the US being actually a man-made craft with antigravity tech (electrogravitics).

I doubt that a partial disclosure would satisfy the UFO community, but I’m sure an official “UFOs-are-us” story would satisfy that portion of the public who subject themselves to mainstream TV brainwashing.

And on the positive side, not knowing the whole truth would allow those of us who naturally love enigmas to maintain a sense of ongoing wonder and awe when we look at the stars.

If I were to say something bold and probably a bit inappropriate to my favorite and most-respected UFOlogist, Richard Dolan, it would be this: Please sir, for the sake of joy, take up meditation, markedly limit your carbohydrate intake, do circadian eating and intermittent fasting, exercise regularly, do whatever it takes to get good sleep every night, and make every relevant effort to be a genuinely happy person in the face of frustration. The success of your business and even your marriage depends profoundly upon your own happiness.

Love and hope for genuine disclosure,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

Disclaimer: Richard, always check with your healthcare provider before making any lifestyle or dietary changes. But find a functional medicine doctor first.


Genocidal Racism? The case of the missing Vitamin D Research

I just found this important video:

This man, Dr. John Campbell, is a clinical nurse who is apparently using the title “Doctor” appropriately for modern times. I mention this because I mistakenly assumed he was an M.D. in a previous post. Sorry, this just shows my age.

Anyway, in the first part of this video, which is an excellent deep-dive into the groundbreaking paper I spoke of in the last post, Dr. Campbell suggests that there’s something sinister going on at the highest levels of healthcare…

It’s something that could be interpreted as racism with genocidal intent on the part of the international healthcare authorities.

In essence, Dr. Campbell senses conspiracy in the quite apparent reluctance of mainstream medicine to run definitive vitamin D trials on COVID-19 patients, despite the evidence in its favor. Dr. Campbell doesn’t mention racism directly, but points out the disproportionate numbers of deaths in the Black and Hispanic communities. Then he focuses on the inexpensive nature of vitamin D, leaving the listener to connect the dots to Big Pharma and the money they stand to make with a patentable drug cure, vaccine, etc.

This left me thinking about corporate elites, racism, and a conspiracy to commit genocide.

Is it just me? Probably.

Dr. Campbell has been talking on YouTube for many months about the logic and the literature evidence favoring the use of vitamin D for COVID-19 patients, especially those patients with darker skin who are at greater risk of vitamin D deficiency, and at much greater risk of dieing of COVID-19 (not by coincidence, it turns out). In light of the first small clinical trial of Vitamin D, there appears to be a cause-and-effect link here.

Ordinarily, I don’t put the brakes on a perfectly healthy conspiracy theory. To me, genuine conspiracies are common. Unless I’m mistaken, the CIA’s official job is to conspire against all perceived and potential enemies of the US. They didn’t invented the term “conspiracy theory” but there’s an internal CIA memo that uses the pleural form “conspiracy theories” in explaining how to prop up the mainstream version of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. As far as I know, their official job isn’t to influence public opinion, though they seem to believe it is. We’re told that conspiracy theories were considered a normal part of analytical thinking until the late 1950s, when delving deeper than a sports reporter became stigmatised.

But in the case of the missing Vitamin D research, I think we might NOT be dealing with an elite’s racism or genocidal intent. I think there’s a simpler explanation.

One of the first things they drilled into our heads in med school was “supplemental vitamins are hogwash.” There was one exception: pregnant woman needed extra folate to prevent neural tube defects in their babies. It probably pained the professors to admit this, but it was the exception that proved the rule for them.

“Taking vitamins just gives you expensive urine,” they said. The frightened, exhausted students laughed politely, but all such jokes have a powerful indoctrination value.

Remember the shame of letting anyone know you thought UFOs were real five to 15 years ago? That feeling came from jokes at the expense of the “crazy people.” You didn’t want to be one of them.

In the medical community, the vast majority of doctors don’t have time, curiosity or energy enough to read. Big Pharma comes by the office (with food and gifts in the old days) and presents their own funded, peer-reviewed literature about their own drugs. This is the real “continuing medical education” for many doctors in the US.

This is how many, if not most, MD’s have maintained an ignorant certainty about the uselessness of vitamin supplementation. To solidify that certainty, most of us have lectured family and friends on the subject many times, glad to be seen as an authority capable of debunking the entire over-the-counter pill industry.

In the old days at LLUMC, there was one doctor on campus who bravely bucked the anti-vitamin dogma and lectured med students on the benefits of vitamin supplementation. What an unsung hero!

He was the common brunt of jokes among the faculty, residents, and medical students.

Years later, when I was an attending pathologist, I said something positive about vitamin C. A young pathology resident across the scope looked at me incredulously. “You don’t believe in vitamins, do you? You don’t agree with Dr. ____?”

I asked him if he had read a single article of basic research showing the effects of vitamin supplementation on laboratory animals. He admitted he hadn’t. I told him he should read before making up his mind.

“But you don’t think Dr. ____ is right, do you?” he asked.

“He’s more right than the rest of us,” I said.

The resident shook his head in disbelief. What a disappointment I’d become.

And so it goes. The carefully ingrained prejudice against vitamin supplementation, drilled in by Big Pharma for decades, still exists around the world.

This is the true cause of the reluctance of those in authority to run large, so-called “definitive” clinical trials of Vitamin D on COVID-19 patients. Or am I wrong?

The “deep state/cabal/military-congressional-industrial complex” will probably never admit that they’ve been lying to us about UFOs since the 1940s.

Similarly, mainstream medicine couldn’t possibly relish the thought of demonstrating to the world just how fatally wrong they’ve been in their crusade against vitamin supplements.

Why not send a link of Dr. Campbell’s video to anyone you know who might not be taking vitamin D yet? You might save their life.

Love, Sunshine and Vitamin D3,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


“We are a cancer and there is no cure,” – TV News Industry Leader

Perhaps you’ve heard that Ariana N. Pekary, an MSNBC producer, left her job without first lining up another one.

I’ve done this twice in my career as a pathologist, so I know just how insufferable a job needs to become before a person goes out on this limb and saws it off.

Ariana explains her decision on her blog: here…

You may not watch MSNBC but just know that this problem still affects you, too. All the commercial networks function the same – and no doubt that content seeps into your social media feed, one way or the other.

How does this cancer affect all commercial networks?

It forces skilled journalists to make bad decisions on a daily basis.

More specifically…

It’s possible that I’m more sensitive to the editorial process due to my background in public radio, where no decision I ever witnessed was predicated on how a topic or guest would “rate.” The longer I was at MSNBC, the more I saw such choices — it’s practically baked in to the editorial process – and those decisions affect news content every day. Likewise, it’s taboo to discuss how the ratings scheme distorts content, or it’s simply taken for granted, because everyone in the commercial broadcast news industry is doing the exact same thing.

Is this just the opinion of one disgruntled producer?

…behind closed doors, industry leaders will admit the damage that’s being done.

“We are a cancer and there is no cure,” a successful and insightful TV veteran said to me. “But if you could find a cure, it would change the world.”

In what way?

As it is, this cancer stokes national division, even in the middle of a civil rights crisis. The model blocks diversity of thought and content because the networks have incentive to amplify fringe voices and events, at the expense of others… all because it pumps up the ratings.

Here’s a heuristic worth remembering: The more you yearn to silence your opponents, the more subjective your opinions.

Unfortunately, Ariana’s resignation has been misused as evidence that a conservative bias is superior to a liberal bias.

This misses the point entirely!

Diversity of opinion sustains life.

Monopoly is life’s enemy, whether it’s an invasive species wiping out native life forms or a monopoly of opinion wiping out voices of dissent.

When google’s artificial intelligence locks you into an echo chamber of bias, it doesn’t matter which chamber you’re in. They’ve got you. You will make bad decisions because you have been rendered unable to apply rational thought to the opinions of the other side, the opinions that would normally offer you some diversity.

Diversity is the lifeblood of free will. Without it, we become puppets of google’s AIs or other totalitarian forces.

When TV news industry leaders privately admit that “we are a cancer,” and a cure would “change the world,” where can we turn?

In my humble and yet infallible opinion, (ha, ha) the cure is educating ourselves on the UFO phenomenon and the intelligent mind(s) behind it, possibly aliens of both physical and ethereal substance. Possibly “breakaway” Earthlings of some variety.

Whether or not this idea sounds completely nuts to you now, it’s nearly certain that after you’ve spent a year or two acquainting yourself with the world’s most credible UFO data, you’ll find your devotion to conservative and/or liberal politics fading into a broader perspective.

Humanity is one. Philosophical and political diversity are as essential to our survival as genetic and spiritual diversity.

Love to both sides of the aisle,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


“I don’t think anybody knows where these craft are from.” – Leslie Kean

This morning I was way unmotivated, as if I’d sabotaged my day with carbohydrates in the morning. Rookie mistake, but that wasn’t it.

So I took my side-kick, Halo, down to the man cave, sat in the dark on my couch and did a YouTube search for Jay at Project Unity.

Glad I did.

Remember Leslie Kean and Ralph Blumenthal, the two reporters who (with the Washington correspondent Helene Cooper) broke the major UFO stories in the NY Times back in 2017, and recently brought us the NY Times news that Eric Davis, PhD…

gave a classified briefing to a Defense Department agency as recently as March about retrievals from “off-world vehicles not made on this earth.”

Here’s the first-ever interview with both these reporters, conducted by Jay, a brilliant young UFO experiencer who started Project Unity:

I thought the whole interview was full of fascinating details and cautious perspectives, but the following quote was the highlight for me (41:35 on the video)…

Leslie Keen: “I just want to comment further because you brought up the whole concept of aliens, Jay, right? I have a bit of a problem because people do tend to extrapolate. You know, like, people will pick up the story and have something in the headlines that says, you know, “The New York Times Says Aliens Have Crashed on Earth.” If that’s what you’re asking by your question, I just think, you know,  it’s very important not to take this beyond what we are actually reporting and what we actually know. And even if there are crashes that have been, that are being reverse-engineered, our sense is that they haven’t made a lot of progress with that reverse engineering. And I don’t think anybody knows much about where these craft are from, or all the questions that everybody has a desire to understand.”

Later, Jay follows up:

Jay: “…reverse-engineering. And you thought it was probably a long process without much success. And I was just wondering if that’s an opinion brought on by your research into the Admiral Wilson—Eric Davis notes.”

Leslee Kean: “You know, I probably shouldn’t have, you know, I don’t think I can expand on that anymore. It’s a sense that I have from sources I’ve spoken to. But I really don’t think I can say anything more about it, Jay. Sorry about that.”

I get the impression Leslie Kean almost said, “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

Later Leslie had this to say about Dr. Eric W. Davis:

Leslie Kean: “I have tremendous – and so does Ralph – we have tremendous respect for Eric Davis. He’s a fantastic source. He’s been very cooperative with us and very, very helpful and forthcoming. And so we take our hat off to him.”

The following statement by Ralph Blumenthal also seemed significant to me (because Richard Dolan is my favorite UFO historian):

Ralph Blumenthal: “There are people who are very rigorous in their approach, like Rich Dolan… and you, Jay, who are very rigorous in their approach, and careful, and understand what the issues are….”

Three cheers for Dolan!

He did an interview with Jay here. Jay describes one (and a half?) of his UFO experiences for which he meditated, hoping to initiate contact with the phenomenon.

At the end of the interview, Dolan talks about something dear to my heart, the Christian concept of loving your enemies. As interested as I am in UFOs and Alien beings, I’m far more interested in learning how to love our enemies without being devoured by them.

Anyway, somewhere on Jay’s YouTube channel, he describes the meditation he used before his experiences. Jay says his meditation is simpler than Dr. Greer’s CE5 (close encounters of the fifth kind) meditation.

I’m a little jittery about all this. With my lengthy and abandoned background of fundamentalist Christianity, I can’t help being worried about “opening the door” to ethereal forces that the Church said were evil. But that’s my baggage. I’ll deal with it.

If UFOlogy is leading us all to love our enemies, you can count me in.

Love and courage,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

 

 


Alien Reproduction Vehicle

In real life, we tend to think in binary, black-and-white terms. The good guys versus the bad. It’s simple and ingrained.

But, as you know, if you spend a few years trying to become a fiction writer, you learn that villains can’t be all bad, and good guys can’t be flawless. Otherwise your characters are flat, unrealistic and boring.

In the UFO community, binary thinking dominates. The “evil” people of the “Cabal” (the super-dark aspects of the military-industrial complex) are supposedly all sociopaths whose only motivation is to continue hiding free energy technology and advanced propulsion technology from the public so they can line their pockets in petrodollars while petting a black cat.

The feeling is, if only we could get rid of these misanthropes, we’d have free energy, clean air, no more world hunger, and vacations to Andromada.

Maybe so, but…

Actual life is not like TV politics. The good guys are not limited to your political party, backed by the truth on the news stations you watch. The bad guys are not all members of the opposite political party, backed by the fake news on the outlets you dislike.

Real life probably isn’t even reflected in any fundamentalist religious or anti-religious group’s version of truth that puts God (or no God) on their side, while the falsehoods of other religious or anti-religious groups put Satan (or no Satan) in charge of them.

Here’s a video that describes in great detail one sincere, honest-sounding man’s insights into a 1960s flying saucer, allegedly built by Skunk Works.

Personally, I’m about 95% convinced that humanity actually has this type of technology now. Your mileage may vary. 🙂

But the thing I’m not convinced of is that the entire UFO community has an accurate assessment of the bad motivation of the insiders, the “evil sociopaths” who seem to hide and control this technology.

Let’s think about it…

Imagine you’re a fiction writer trying to get into the head of your “villain” to make her/him more of a realistic, rounded character. You need to find a legitimate reason for this person to hide zero point energy and electrogravitics from the rest of the world.

Here are some possibilities that jump out at us:

1. The technology behind zero point energy, like the technology behind nuclear power, can be used in weapons of mass destruction in addition to warming water for clean electricity production.

2. There may be some negative health or environmental side effect to the use of zero point energy. So far, nearly every technological advance we’ve made has brought an unintended negative consequence or three. A few examples: antibiotics save lives but create superbugs, all pharmaceuticals bring symptomatic (rarely causal) relief but cause lists of possible negative side effects (rarely fatal), the internal combustion engine made transportation easier but brought pollution and the megacity’s impersonal culture with ironic human isolation, diminished eye contact and a near absence of smiling… the list of examples is endless.

3. The unelected “Cabal” within the free world’s governments considers zero point energy and electrogravitic technologies to be their highest military advantages over their perceived enemies in the communist dictatorships. They are therefore loath to surrender these military advantages.

4. The use of small zero point energy devices in the houses and cars of billions around the globe might affect climate change or something much worse. All publically available energy devices generate heat as a byproduct. Perhaps a zero point energy device that could run a person’s home would not only make the grid obsolete (a wonderful thing) but also elevate the average temperature of the earth to a detrimental degree, or worse yet, warm the interface of the Earth’s crust with its core allowing the crust to detach and tilt due to the centrifugal force acting upon the heavy polar ice caps (an idea detailed in a scientific context at SuspiciousObservers.org).

5. Unlimited free energy would mean that food could be grown hydroponically in virtually inexhaustible quantities, the limitation being only in the technology of liquid fertilizers, grow lights, and the vertical stacking of crops. Ocean water could be desalinated at little cost and freely pumped to the distant corners of every desert. While this would eliminate world hunger, (yeah!) it might also eliminate humanity’s primary motivation for working. It’s difficult to speculate with confidence about this, but work seems to be essential to most people’s mental health (including children), just as exercise is essential to everyone’s physical health (including children). If free energy were to vastly diminish our need to work, it might become an extinction-level evolutionary stressor for us, or worse yet, a negative force upon the average person’s integrity. “Idle hands are the devil’s playground.”

6. The term “alien reproduction vehicle” implies the existence of literal aliens, of course. While the average person nowadays knows very little about the existence of UFOs, let alone the technology behind them, we know even less about the motivations of any alleged alien species. Stepping around the knee-jerk binary thinking of the respectable Dr. Steven Greer versus the rest of the UFO community (including my favorite UFOlogist Richard Dolan), it seems unlikely that all alien species with the capability of contacting humans would have purely benevolent or purely malevolent feelings about us. (Sentient reality, like biology, is rarely binary.) This would leave the door open to an infinite variety of motivations that the human “Cabal” might have for keeping zero point technology and electrogravitic transportation secret. For instance, perhaps an alien species has told them that secrecy is essential because widespread knowledge of these technologies leads primitive warlike species (like us) to certain self-destruction. Or perhaps aliens have threatened the “Cabal” with something terrible if they blab what they know to the public.

If you’re thinking of other possibilities, I’d like to hear them.

Anyway, the point is, the UFO community might want to look carefully and humbly at their assumptions about the binary evil of “Cabal” secrecy before stampeding downhill on their current path of public disclosure at any costs.

Non-binary love and hugs,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

 


UFOs in Congress

Here’s a link to an official government document where US elected officials attempt to demand from the Navy the collection and reporting of unidentified aerial phenomenon (UAP’s, the PC term for UFOs in DC): https://www.intelligence.senate.gov/publications/intelligence-authorization-act-fiscal-year-2021.

Notice it’s a .gov website, which, as far as I know, cannot be faked.

Here’s the entire (I think) UFO portion of this lengthy document:

Advanced Aerial Threats

The Committee supports the efforts of the Unidentified
Aerial Phenomenon Task Force at the Office of Naval
Intelligence to standardize collection and reporting on
unidentified aerial phenomenon, any links they have to
adversarial foreign governments, and the threat they pose to
U.S. military assets and installations. However, the Committee
remains concerned that there is no unified, comprehensive
process within the Federal Government for collecting and
analyzing intelligence on unidentified aerial phenomena,
despite the potential threat. The Committee understands that
the relevant intelligence may be sensitive; nevertheless, the
Committee finds that the information sharing and coordination
across the Intelligence Community has been inconsistent, and
this issue has lacked attention from senior leaders.
Therefore, the Committee directs the DNI, in consultation
with the Secretary of Defense and the heads of such other
agencies as the Director and Secretary jointly consider
relevant, to submit a report within 180 days of the date of
enactment of the Act, to the congressional intelligence and
armed services committees on unidentified aerial phenomena
(also known as “anomalous aerial vehicles”), including
observed airborne objects that have not been identified.
The Committee further directs the report to include:
1. A detailed analysis of unidentified aerial
phenomena data and intelligence reporting collected or
held by the Office of Naval Intelligence, including
data and intelligence reporting held by the
Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Task Force;
2. A detailed analysis of unidentified phenomena data
collected by:
a. geospatial intelligence;
b. signals intelligence;
c. human intelligence; and
d. measurement and signals intelligence;
3. A detailed analysis of data of the FBI, which was
derived from investigations of intrusions of
unidentified aerial phenomena data over restricted
United States airspace;
4. A detailed description of an interagency process
for ensuring timely data collection and centralized
analysis of all unidentified aerial phenomena reporting
for the Federal Government, regardless of which service
or agency acquired the information;
5. Identification of an official accountable for the
process described in paragraph 4;
6. Identification of potential aerospace or other
threats posed by the unidentified aerial phenomena to
national security, and an assessment of whether this
unidentified aerial phenomena activity may be
attributed to one or more foreign adversaries;
7. Identification of any incidents or patterns that
indicate a potential adversary may have achieved
breakthrough aerospace capabilities that could put
United States strategic or conventional forces at risk;
and
8. Recommendations regarding increased collection of
data, enhanced research and development, and additional
funding and other resources.
The report shall be submitted in unclassified form, but may
include a classified annex.

The above-quoted section of the document is located a tad past the half-way point.

I try to stay positive, but I despise the political hate-porn that dominates the “news” these days. I avoid it like the virulent mind plague it is.

But when I’m forced to watch TV news, I remind myself that none of us has a scientific method of determining which group of outraged political talking heads is feeding us objective truth rather than biased information selection, half-truths, and outright misinformation.

Since each side calls the other “fake news” and touts a cache of “facts” that contradict the “facts” of the other group, you might think one side is right and the other wrong.

If actual living systems were ever that simple, politics would be a matter of thinking carefully and joining the enlightened side of this violent, hateful political war.

But herein lies the media’s deception: political problems are almost always “wicked problems” that have NO simple binary solutions. The media doesn’t want us to know this because if we all understood it, we would see why Democrats and Republicans need one another desperately if we’re ever going to solve our complex problems with a minimum of unexpected negative side-effects.

Medical diseases are superb examples of wicked problems that parallel political problems. The wealthy drug companies would have us see our diseases as simple problems with binary solutions, exactly the way the TV would have us view political problems: “Take our pill. It’s the simple, obvious solution.”

But nearly all pills are binary attempts at solutions to complex problems. They have unintended negative side effects because they’re negotiating the delicate complexities of biochemical pathways with interwoven feedback loops in all directions.

Negative side effects (unintended consequences) arising in complex systems are the very signature of “wicked” problems being addressed by simple binary solutions. It is dangerous to treat wicked problems as if they were binary and had simple black-and-white solutions without the potential for unintended negative consequences.

In medicine, the side effects are sometimes far worse than the disease. The same is routinely true in politics, though it takes some soul-searching and stretching for objectivity to see it for yourself.

Unfortunately, this binary approach to politics is exactly what our “news” outlets and politicians force upon us. They make it look as if there is no alternative to outrage, hatred and binary political thinking.

The side effect of this rookie mistake is violence and hatred.

It’s inherent in the system, though, because virtually all politicians, like the six large “news” outlets promoting and opposing them, must dance to the tunes of the corporate entities that fund them.

Despite the heated political bifurcation, the worst media lie of all time comes to us from both sides equally. It is the notion that one political party is uniformly right and the other is uniformly wrong (evil, ignorant, morally compromised, and factually inaccurate in every detail of their agendas, values and beliefs). This is the Achilles’ heel of peace in the free world.

If you can agree with this perspective, please join me in ignoring the political orientation of the man responsible for bringing us this rare piece of evidence that UFO’s are real and deserve organized analysis by elected officials, the DOD, the Navy, and our many rogue intelligence organizations.

As I understand it, Senator Marco Rubio (R-FL) is behind this piece of legislation. If you’re one who prays, please pray that political prejudice won’t put the kibosh on this rare act of rationality from DC.

Love – across the entire political spectrum,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

 

 


Moon Bases and Worldview Neurons

Here’s an honest sounding man, Ken Johnston, who claims to have been working at NASA when the US astronauts landed on the Moon. He says he saw what looked like alien bases in the pictures that came back.

If you’re like me, interested in fringe science and examining all the remarkable claims you can find, you’ve heard this moon-base stuff before from two or three other sources claiming to be eye-witnesses to original photos.

All this is becoming more believable now that the pentagon has publicly admitted that the three UFO videos captured by various fighter piolets since 2004 are genuine UFO’s (a.k.a. UAP’s). I feel sorry for the debunkers now.

Johnston says that the whole “alien coverup” will probably be ended by the US government this November, and when it happens, it won’t be the world’s religions that are shaken to the core, it will be the world’s scientists.

More than anything else the man says, this bit about scientists is the part that rings true for me.

Science has always deluded itself into believing that the current level of sophistication, at any point in time, is no longer primitive.

No delusion has been more persistent, and none has hampered scientific progress more than this one. Forgetting that we’re still a primitive species trying to do science with limited intelligence has closed our minds to important things that seem at first glance to be impossible. Worse yet, our lack or appropriate scientific humility has declared entire fields of scientific inquiry taboo, leaving our species ignorant by choice. Examples include the study of ESP, the study of the paranormal, the study of the cultural effects of scientific and spiritual fundamentalism, and the application of geology to archaeology, to name a few.

In an editorial debunking the “liars” who, like myself, believe there is considerable legitimate scientific evidence for intelligent design in nature, especially in the genetic code, Adam Wilkins, a mainstream scientist, makes a remarkably broad-minded statement:

“Furthermore, those scientists with passionate anti-religious convictions should accept that Science can no more disprove the existence of a Deity or immortal souls than religious people can prove the existence of either. More tolerance of private religious belief, coupled with insistence on what scientific evidence does actually tell us about the history of the world and living things, would be appropriate.

If, in contrast, scientists insist on atheism as the only “logical” belief system or demand that people choose between “evolutionism”—the quasi-philosophic belief in evolution as a guide to what should be—and belief in God, the outcome is not in doubt. More than half the people in the U.S. would choose religion and reject the science.” 

Ironically, if Adam Wilkins and other mainstream scientists would read Signature in the Cell by Stephen Meyer, PhD, with the tolerance Wilkins and authentic science call for, they would probably recognize that Intelligent Design makes better scientific sense than Neo-Darwinism as an explanation for the origins of life and the diversity of forms on this planet.

But the human mind has a special place for an individual’s worldview. It seems to be a place near the core of identity, a place that triggers emotion and squelches reason, and a place that fervently resists change.

For us Christians, the “worldview neurons” tend to be filled with an untestable and unquestionable set of doctrines that include information about the soul, what happens when we die, and what behaviors and beliefs we must accept in this life to get what we want in the next.

For about two-thirds of scientists, the “worldview neurons” are filled with an equally untestable and unquestionable doctrine called “scientific materialism” that assumes there is no soul, no afterlife, and no behavioral norms relevant to an afterlife.

The reason many Christians think of atheism as a religion is probably because the “worldview neurons” of atheist scientists often take on a religious-style resistance to change and an urge to proselytize that reminds us of religious zeal.

Most educated people seem to think that if humans ever come into open contact with an extraterrestrial intelligent species, the aliens will be highly advanced, highly intelligent, and definitely secular, not religious or spiritual.

In the video below, Ken Johnston implies that the reason alien contact will shake the scientific community to the core will be the shock of learning that the aliens are scientifically thousands of years ahead of us. This would expose human science as primitive and perhaps destined to remain far behind the Universe’s most advanced species.

I think Mr. Johnston is partly right. But I think the more shattering aspect of alien disclosure for scientists would be the galling realization that advanced beings are, in fact, devoutly religious and deeply spiritual… at least the benevolent species.

See if you think Ken Johnston really believes what he’s saying in this video…

Would advanced aliens be spiritual or secular? Would they make such a distinction at all? I’d be interested in your opinion.

Love and ESP hugs,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

PS: If you’re over 55, please be especially cautious about transitioning from lock-down mode.

Make sure you’re not vitamin D deficient. (Vit. D deficiency puts you at a much higher risk of serious complications from this virus as well as from several other respiratory viruses.)

Wearing a face mask primarily protects others from you if you’re infected but asymptomatic, which happens a lot. This is because the COVID-19 coronavirus travels several yards through the air when an infected person (even with no symptoms) coughs, sneezes or speaks loudly. So wear a mask as a sign of love and concern for others. Forget all the lame TV coronavirus politics. They’re deliberately manipulating us into outrage and frustration, partly to improve ratings and keep their jobs, and partly to protect their precious political worldviews. To remain employed, they have no choice but to create political outrage porn. Just ignore it.


“Some secret too terrible to be told…”

I’m at a loss to grasp why this story isn’t front-page news. The Navy has now officially admitted that the UFO/ “UAP” phenomenon is a genuine mystery and the famous videos are not a hoax or explainable by any traditional means.

Here’s a mainstream TV report on the Navy’s official statement…

Here’s a link to the NBC News report from yesterday (9/18/19):

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/navy-confirms-videos-did-capture-ufo-sightings-it-calls-them-n1056201

Notice that the closing lines of this mainstream article seek to shepherd public opinion toward status quo denial:

“Shostak, a regular contributor to NBC News MACH, said in an email, “Now I think if the answer were easy, that would be known by now. But when I look at these things I see no reason to consider them good evidence for ‘alien visitation,’ which is what the public likes to think they are.”

“He said that in some reported sightings of unidentified flying objects other explanations, like birds, seem plausible.”

If you’ve been keeping up with the Navy’s UFO sightings since 2017, you know exactly how irrelevant and beyond absurd that last sentence is. And yet these are professional journalists. Their deliberate ignorance is mindboggling.

If you haven’t kept up with all this UFO news, here’s a link to several relevant videos:

https://duckduckgo.com/?q=U.S.+NAVY+OFFICIAL+CONFIRMS+NIMITZ+U.F.O.+SIGHTINGS&atb=v182-1&pn=1&iax=videos&ia=videos

Among them is this video. If you ignore the melodramatic delivery of the narrator, it’s the best video for hearing what the witnesses have to say and how they say it…

Some experts tell us there’s reason to think the most advanced human space technology has now slipped not only out of the hands of elected US officials but also out of the control of covert US groups such as the “dark” or unacknowledged projects of the Department Of Defence. The story is, years ago several subdivisions of the DOD placed our most advanced anti-gravity technology into the hands of private corporations to move it beyond legal discoverability by our elected officials whom they distrusted.

That would be understandable. Anyone would be nieve to trust those people with a box of plastic forks.

If the story is true, maybe all we’re dealing with here are global corporations and their proprietary technology. I hope that’s the case, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the story or a similar conspiracy theory accounts for a large part of the UFO phenomena.

But I doubt it’s the whole truth. I’m keeping my mind open to the possibility of an alien component. It seems prudent at this point.

And I hope Nick Pope’s fears of “some secret too terrible to be told” are not justified.

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Government-controlled Disclosure of UFO’s

Pretty much no one clicks on a blog’s videos, but all this newer stuff on UFO’s (since 2017) coming to us from former DOD employees and fighter pilots is turning the public’s heads. Even the geniuses on mainstream news are no longer laughing.

If you’re not up to date on this and don’t find UFO’s boring, then this video might seem interesting. If you’re a closet UFO buff like I am, you probably have complex suspicions about this long-awaited “disclosure.”

It’s becoming impossible for professional skeptics to maintain credibility insisting that all UFO’s are banal, bogus, or just plain Venus on a clear night.

But if we buy into the quasi-governmental narrative that, “gee, they are real,” then what exactly are they?

At the moment, the government’s people, most of them retired but still sworn to some level of DOD secrecy, are saying they don’t know what UFO’s are, but at the same time they’re hinting that they actually do. They say things to the effect that, “If we admit we think they’re Aliens, the public will write us off the way they’ve rejected the UFO fringe community.”

The government-associated team has made it clear that they want no part of the fringe’s mix of careful UFO researchers, imposters, posers, alleged victims, and salivating fanatics. Keeping their distance from us is understandable since anything they say is negatively interpreted by one element of the UFO fringe or another, myself included in a moment.

Nevertheless, this overall “narcissism of small differences” among the believers has become the strangest piece of irony I’ve ever seen. I would have thought the UFO fringe would rejoice to see their “normal” skeptical family members no longer able to think of them as easily influenced and lacking healthy discretion.

Loving conspiracy theories like any self-respecting science fiction writer, I can’t help speculating that some of these new UFO people, maybe a guy like Christopher Mellon, a former US Secretary of Defence, may have a slick endgame on the horizon.

Maybe not him, but someone near this level might want to appear to be pushing the government to confess that all this UFO stuff is real, but…

It’s all legitimate covert defence work.

“Doggone it, you caught us in the act, but we’re not at liberty to talk about sensitive US defense technology.”

End of disclosure. Forget the entire breadth and depth of actual UFO history and its uncomfortable implications. Forget people like Richard Dolan, the brilliant UFO historian. Forget Paul Hellyer, the former Minister of Canadian Defense.

But if there is a trillion-dollar covert conspiracy reverse engineering downed UFO’s, as most of us in the fringe suspect, then one way to avoid disaster and maintain secrecy despite all these US fighter pilots coming forward, would be to reveal low resolution clips of the visual aspects of UFO’s to the public saying it’s nothing more than DOD technology that must be kept secret.

“We learned our lesson the hard way with the spread of nukes after WWII.”

Who knows? None of us following the public UFO fringe can know for sure. Though, as one of my pathology mentors said regarding the medical literature, the fewer data points available, the more emotionally invested people become, and the more confidently they argue.

But until two US Presidents (one from each of our preferred political football teams) tells us that genuine UFO’s are all simply covert US technology, let’s consider some juicier options just for fun and completeness’ sake…

UFO’s might also represent:

  1. A covert breakaway culture that began inside the US government and became global and independent.
  2. Another country that’s leapfrogged US technology.
  3. An ancient civilization of humans that survived the Younger-Dryas event and lives somewhere in hiding, perhaps no longer entirely on Earth.
  4. Laser holographic technology producing visual images that are somehow detectable on the Navy’s advanced radar systems.
  5. Flesh and blood (or at least physical) aliens from another planet, sometimes phase-shifted and ethereal, let’s say.
  6. “Aliens” who are not physical beings but something akin to traditional spirits, angels, demons, jinns or other seemingly nonmaterial intelligent beings.
  7. A bit of our synthetic reality that’s “manifested,” either by some of us within this detailed “simulation” or by Someone from beyond it (assuming we do live in a simulation, which seems unprovable but worth consideration).
  8. All of the above (my favorite).

What have I left out? I think the classic skeptic’s explanations of UFO’s are unrealistic nowadays. Swamp gas and weather balloons are so last-week.

Right quick, I need to say that Richard Dolan, the most level-headed and objective UFO investigator in the field, has heavily influenced and informed my views on this stuff. (I have no affiliation with Richard or his beautiful wife, Tracey, but I’m a big fan. I trust they won’t mind me sharing one of their public internet pictures at the top of this post.)

If there’s another UFO expert you feel is in Richard Dolan’s league, please mention her or him below so I can adjust my ignorance. Thanks!

Your thoughts are welcome below. Keep the sarcasm hilarious, please.

Cheers,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

Share this post with your skeptical friends, fence-sitters and true believers.


My Spiritual Paradigm in 2018

My father was born today (December 27, 1897). He was an MD with board certification in Radiology, Anatomic Pathology and General Surgery. His life was all about studying science, publishing medical articles and living far beyond frugality. He was an atheist who preferred religious people because he thought they were more trustworthy. “It’s too bad everything they believe in isn’t true,” he said.

This post is dedicated to Dad…

We live in a simulated universe created by means of a language that’s projected from beyond, possibly using the crystal structure called “E8,” in which the fundamental building blocks are not irreducible strings or electromagnetic waves or subatomic particles or even intelligently driven perturbations in the zero-point field (though this idea is related, I think).

Instead, the fundamental building blocks of our simulated reality appear to be the symbols of a language.

This is a language in which each physical symbol, its meaning, and the hardware needed to interpret or “manifest” the meaning within our 3D space are one-in-the-same.

The Supreme Being (or Beings) exist outside the simulation, but can enter it and undoubtedly have. We (our full selves) inhabit a Reality outside of the simulated universe, a place that is beyond our ability to imagine because it’s “outside of time” and contains something like “extra dimensions” which can only be vaguely imagined by people with expertise in math and physics.

Our simulated universe was invented for us by the Supreme Being(s) because we requested it.

We enthusiastically spend simulated time here in hopes of expanding the depth and breadth of our love, wisdom and character in a place made specifically for developing these personal attributes.

There’s a respected web of cause and effect stemming from free decisions that each of us has made within the simulated universe. This free-choice web limits our ability to create a reality based upon a belief system.

For example, if I want to believe in a fundamentalist Christian paradigm (or any other spiritual system), but I’ve been convinced in school that scientific materialism is undeniable, then I am incapable of believing in any fundamentalist paradigm other than scientific materialism itself (a.k.a. physicalism). And vice versa.

On the other hand, if for any reason I have retained the ability to believe in a given spiritual (or anti-spiritual) paradigm, and I pursue it, then that system of belief will become literally true for me within the simulation.

In practical terms, this means that there is always a “reality that’s out there” in the simulated universe whether or not I believe in it.

Examples of realities that won’t go away with denial include the reality of UFO’s, the reality of DNA’s hyper-complex code, the reality of dinosaur fossils, the reality of Near-Death Experiences, the reality of Angels, demons and various ethereal beings, the reality of World Bank domination in modern times, the reality of all souls being ultimately one, the reality of an intelligent universe, and the growing reality on Earth of a mindless, meaningless universe.

Logically opposing belief systems can be fully manifest in separate parts of the simulation on an individual basis, especially after a person’s current life ends, but also to some extent during this current life. The more something is collectively believed, the more real it becomes due to the simulation’s basic nature and the careful respect for free will. (When the effects of a free will decision are eliminated, the reality of that decision is also eliminated. Hence the respect for the effects of free will decisions and actions.)

Our experience in the simulated universe is not necessarily limited to one lifetime. Depending on what we are able to believe, we may ride the simulation for multiple lifetimes.

Each of us is here for our own specific purpose.

For some, the purpose is to learn courage and love.

For others (particularly scientists) we’re here to learn open-mindedness and the ability to question things we know are true. The odds are against us achieving such objectivity on Earth, but the very challenge of it attracts us here.

One characteristics of the simulation that renders it particularly useful to our souls’ growth is the ubiquitous “dualism” in which every good thing can have a negative side effect and every negative thing can have a positive side effect. This becomes a source of cognitive dissonance, particularly in questions of morality.

For instance, our dependence upon food requires us to kill plants, bacteria, insects, and perhaps to some degree, higher organisms, to stay alive. And yet our innate sense of morality (a.k.a. love) makes us loath to kill certain creatures. Similarly, our need to procreate, driven largely by testosterone in all genders, is necessary to our species’ existence, yet it also manifests as a strong force in breaking trust, destroying families and making life more difficult on our dear children.

And yet the dissonances here teach our souls balance and perspective. That’s a huge attraction.

Realizing that our universe is simulated may seem to present a new problem of rejecting all other worldview paradigms. It might tempt one to say, “If our souls exist with God in another realm and nothing here is real, then nothing here is worth believing in or caring about.”

But despite the literal simulation of matter and energy, our cognitive awareness here is real, not simulated. Our love and our pain are genuine because our souls experience them. We don’t have the option of dealing with the simulated universe as an illusion because it reaches beyond the simulation into our hearts.

In view of all this, the logical thing to do is to identify your own personal reason(s) for entering this simulation, and based upon those, choose a personally believable worldview that offers support for someone on your quest.

For instance, if you’re here primarily to learn open-mindedness, which means you’re probably a scientist, then you might read about the search for UFOs and alien life, although you already “know” such things are complete nonsense aimed at “lesser minds” than yours. Be prepared for the surprise your soul is seeking.

Or if you’re here to learn courage, then choosing a live-for-the-moment worldview might make sense, leading you into a lifestyle of courage, such as mixed martial arts, public speaking, surfing giant waves, doing open heart surgery, smuggling Bibles into North Korea, or standing up to politically correct hatred and prejudice.

Or if you discover that you joined the simulation to increase your capacity for self-sacrificing love, then any of the major religions will probably steer you in that direction. Find one you can truly believe in, if possible. If not, pick and choose from among them, or make up something of your own as I’ve done. Your beliefs will be real for you when you need them most.

If you’ve joined the simulation to discover who you would be apart from God’s physical presence and influence, then materialistic science and atheism might be what your soul needs (assuming you’re capable of believing). If so, make the world envious of your good character the way Gillette Penn has done. And like him, don’t be offended by others who believe in undetectable realities besides Dark Matter and Dark Energy.

And if you’re one of the family of suffering people who feel overwhelmed by the seemingly infinite loss of someone precious to you, then focus on the Reality beyond this simulation. Imagine a Real place where time is independent of us, allowing a loving Supreme Being all the time in the world to travel with your lost loved one to a meaningful, great place doing exciting things. As infinitely horrible as it feels to lose your loved one, the loss is temporary and only exists within this simulated universe. Trust me. This is literally true.

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

As a pathologist (retired now), I’ve been trained to observe and interpret complex visual and biologic systems, so my diagnostic opinion of Reality is worth consideration. Conflicting belief systems are part of what unites us here as souls from Reality seeking personal growth in this Divine Simulation.

Happy Birthday, Dad.


Antarctica’s Pyramid

Today, the impossible happened. My short story is in “print” on Amazon. Here’s a (free) link: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/ykr1kg8ifs.

I started writing Antarctica’s Pyramid for you a few months ago, and before I finished, along came a wonderful person from Australia with an open invitation to writers (in a Facebook group) to join her in a collection of short Utopian stories to be sold on Amazon. I added my story to the list, and bam, two writers panned it.

One of them wanted me to retract it from the anthology. He said that writing short stories is “very difficult.”

I couldn’t argue, so I retracted it. It’s an old pattern in my life. If someone doesn’t want me around, I leave.

But after I left, the woman in charge of the anthology said I should stay. Three other writers agreed with her.

So I did something I don’t think I’ve ever done before in my life. I re-joined a group that I’d quit.

It felt weirdly empowering.

Maybe I should have tried this when I was 13 and quit my little rock band, Friction, so the local church would let me into their private school.

Naah. Religious fundamentalism, imperfect as I suspect it is, miraculously freed me from my childhood habit of lying. My sense of self-respect improved dramatically after that. For me, discovering the inherent value of always telling the truth has been one of life’s more valuable lessons.

No matter what intellectual doubts and misgivings I now have for both religious and scientific fundamentalism (especially the latter), I have to thank them both for teaching me some decidedly valuable habits, concepts and life lessons.

It’s too bad no one seems to teach rational, intuitive morality without an “infallible” underpinning, such as an ancient book, a set of “science-settling” journal articles or a personal claim of infallible authority. It’s not that I don’t see the huge value of teaching human morality from any and every possible perspective, it’s just that if and when the “infallible” rug is pulled out from under most or all of these moral (or amoral) paradigms, I fear that humanity will be left with the typical moral and behavioral fall that often accompanies the loss of a fundamentalist worldview. As in, “pastor’s kids are the worst” when they lose their faith.

I guess what I’m trying to do, actually, is to discover and promote what’s known to be morally right without pretending I’m infallible or that I’ve received a message from Someone who is.

Though, as a scientist, I firmly believe that there is an intelligent source of the original information contained in Earth’s DNA codes. And if a Mind can understand genetic code, He/She/It can easily understand any human language. So talking to a Higher Power as if to a friend makes total sense to me and I do it a lot, not expecting special treatment or anything that would interfere with my free will or anyone else’s.

But whatever, right? Nobody wants to be preached at. Myself included.

So today’s miracle, as far as I’m concerned is this: The anthology, Utopia Pending, containing Antarctica’s Pyramid, my longish (15,928 word) short story, is now for sale on Amazon. “But wait, don’t buy it!”

Since you’ve been encouraging me with “likes” and kind comments all these years, I thought you might want to read the whole Anthology without having to pay for it. (The software does ask you for an email address, but as always, I encourage you to unsubscribe after the download unless you’re sure you want to be on another mailing list.)

Here’s the (free) link again: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/ykr1kg8ifs.

If you want to read it but don’t want to give away your email address, drop me a note at cytopathology@gmail.com and I’ll get the whole anthology to you another way. No sweat.

Here’s a blurb about my story, Antarctica’s Pyramid

After 21 years of secretly exploring and raiding an ancient Antarctic pyramid under orders from the rogue elements of the NSA and US Navy, Tom, the Commander of a tiny undisclosed base located a mile above the iced-cover pyramid, meets a covertly ranked special agent sent, to his surprise, by the head of the Russian Orthodox Church. Tom begins to learn just how special this agent is as he finds himself scheming to extract what’s left of his life from the NSA. In a nail-biting weave of danger, conspiracy, and ancient wisdom from within the huge pyramid, Tom and the agent must somehow escape the clutches of the primeval builders as well as the modern Cabal. But if they do somehow succeed, where could they possibly go to hide from the global tyrants of 2018?

OK, now that I’ve tried to talk it up, I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Sheesh, the guilt baggage some of us carry, right? It’s nuts!

At any rate, the other stories are definitely fun and interesting. There’s probably something for everyone’s taste.

Feel free to download the e-book and see which stories you enjoy most.

Use the above link to get the whole thing for free, but here’s the Amazon link if you want to leave a comment or something.

By the way, if you do make a comment on Amazon, it totally encourages their AI to promote the book by putting it in front of other readers. So, thank you very much if you have time to leave a comment / rating on Amazon.

Take care and have an extremely Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah and every other conceivable form of seasonal joy and happiness!

Your pal (baggage and all – haha),

Talmage


I made a video, wheeee!

Here’s my third video. The first one needs to be redone. It’s embarrassing. The second one was an attempt at humor. It’s blessedly brief. This one (below) is a retelling of my short SF story, A Tall Blond Alien Girl.

It’s square so you can see it OK on a phone. Sound suffers on phones, though.

Thank you for your patient interest in my stuff.

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


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

 

 

 

 

 


UFO’s, NASA and Religion ~ Gulp!

 

What would happen to religion if ET’s landed?

NASA granted a million dollars to the Center of Theological Inquiry to study this question. Really.

Here’s a NASA dot gov link talking about it. A “.gov” URL can’t be faked, so this must be real, not a hoax.

Two explanations come to mind…

1.) NASA needed to dump some “excess” year-end money.

At the Pettis VA Medical Center where I worked for 13 years as a pathologist, I was told that any department that didn’t deplete its budget money by fiscal year-end would have its budget cut the following year by the unspent amount. They said it’s like this in all government agencies. Congress funds NASA, too, of course.

If this budgeting habit is widespread, it might help explain why the US seems to be fading, like every other powerhouse nation in history, into a ghost of its former stature. Runaway debt is poison. Enjoying world-reserve-currency status merely prolongs the decline.

But the point is, NASA may have been dumping excess year-end money, feeling too rushed to consider the appearance of tax dollars going to a religious study.

Odd but right at home with the US spending shenanigans in The Death of Common Sense, by Phillip Howard.

2.) There’s also the remote possibility that NASA has a genuine concern for the fate of religion in a world where ET’s become real, no longer forgettable things that nearly all scientists agree must be out there somewhere.

As a sci-fi writer, I use the UFO literature as a muse. Endless ideas. But I’ve probably read too much of it because some of the UFO people don’t sound simple-minded, crazy or dishonest to me at all.

Two of the non-crazies are President Carter and Paul Hellyer (a former Canadian Minister of Defense).

Worldview anomalies from these people are hard to ignore. And they’re not alone. A few astronauts, along with hundreds of government and military personnel have given lengthy video interviews about UFO’s and ET’s.

For instance, here’s the late Edgar Mitchell (God rest his insightful soul), the sixth man to walk on the moon:

 

There’s also FAA Division Chief John Callahan who reports a UFO in Alaska, describing multiple witnesses, radar corroboration and CIA cover-up – “This meeting never happened.”

If that’s a little unnerving, a former ER doc, Steven Greer, MD, who left the emergency room to pursue “UFO disclosure” full-time, challenges both the UFO community and the general public with his detailed stories and documents.

Most MD’s I’ve known over the years would love to escape medical practice and its complex, risky and stressful routine. Some manage to get away, usually climbing the food chain to administration.

But doctors from the top ten percent of a medical school class (AOA), like Dr. Greer, don’t willingly accept a loss of prestige. And because they’re heavily in debt, they rarely opt for a lower income without a solid business plan.

As far as I can tell, there’s nothing prestigious or solid about UFO’s in the US. So Dr. Greer is difficult to ignore.

His Jewish wife of nearly four decades must be a saint to have followed and supported him in this unusual lifestyle. He thanks her publicly.

He says he’s seen UFO’s since childhood.

Stanton Freedman, PhD sounds a little edgy, highly intelligent, and happens to be a nuclear physicist who’s dedicated most of his life to studying UFO’s, even though he’s never seen one.

There’s no way I can ignore a person like him. Sorry, Mom.

Richard Dolan is a historian with an academic delivery that appeals to people who like objectivity. His level-headed views and philosophical analysis of UFO’s give him a unique voice in the spectrum of “experts.”

He’s never seen a UFO. Here’s his perspective. I find it riveting…

But for some reason the guy who sounds the most convincing to me is The Honorable Paul Hellyer of Canada. He’s 93 years old now but sharper in front of a panel of politicians than most younger people would be. Aside from his topic, he sounds as rational as a math teacher on Tuesday morning.

When he went public on UFO’s he hadn’t seen one. Then a few years later he said that he and his wife had finally seen one (twice).

While atheists are understandably upset that some of NASA’s tax dollars went to a religious outfit, there’s a group of well-educated religious people who think that the arrival of ET’s on Earth would support the theory of intelligent design.

I’d agree. “Coincidences” like Earth’s hypercomplex DNA codes showing up in a “mindless universe” can’t happen on one planet after another without spoiling science’s enthusiasm for the neo-Darwinian myth.

Spirituality provides meaning and purpose to most people today, and has done so for our ancestors throughout recorded history. Perhaps science demotes these facts to everyone’s peril.

Is it possible that the rocket scientists at NASA truly worry that religion might die if our world accepted ET’s as real?

I guess fundamentalism (both scientific and religious) would take a hit. But I don’t think most people’s appreciation of God would suffer. Mine wouldn’t.

How about yours?

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

 


Quantum Entanglement (Chapter 21) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

Reversal of cognitive decline: A novel therapeutic program 

“This is 21st century medicine… It’s not trying to attack complex, chronic illnesses with single drugs, it is looking at what is the actual cause, going physiologically… with multimodal approaches. If you had told me ten years ago in the lab that we’d be telling people how important meditation is, and yoga and nutrition, I would have laughed. Now I realize the biochemistry is undeniable.” – Dale Bredesen, MD, excerpt from podcast interview by Chris Kresser.

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James is alive! I hear him coughing. I try to turn my head to see but I can’t even move my eyes.

I’m so cold. I should be shivering, but I’m not. My eyes are fixed on a swirl in Shiva’s marble ceiling. It looks like the Orion Nebula going in and out of focus.

I hope I don’t have a high cervical cord injury. Even if I do, James is alive! The sound of him coughing is the best thing I’ve ever heard. The warmth of knowing runs through me.

“Shine” soars through my mind. He wrote it to one of his first girlfriends.

“One second close to you is equal to a lifetime filled up with light. I obsess on you. It steps outside time. You’re so pure I can’t believe you’re in my life. In rage in my mind, in pain deep inside, you put them all to sleep. When you’re here I feel a sense of peace that I never knew was real before you. My hurt disappears staring in your eyes, where there’s no wrong and there’s no lies behind your face. And I crave you above all else. So breathe slow and soft, and hold on to me. I’m no damn good, and you’re all I love. Your eyes slowly speak, cast a spell on me. I feel so bright, and so does my life when I’m with you.”

That was James’ first and last love song. To a girl who demolished his heart a few months later.

Someone’s crying. It’s Maxwell, I think. I’ve never heard him cry before.

“I’ll always love you,” he says. “I should have told you the first time we met.”

It is Maxwell. Talking to me?

I struggle to move my arms but they won’t budge.

His face looks down at me, so out of focus I can barely tell it’s him. A tear falls on my forehead.

I wonder if he thinks I’m dead.

Max, I’m not dead.

Maybe the River can hear me. “Anahata, Vedanshi, tell Max I’m not dead!”

No answer.

Maxwell leans close and kisses my lips. A peck on the side of the mouth.

That was my first real kiss, you know. Everyone brags of their first kiss. My brag will be a near miss, delivered by a man who thought I was a corpse.

I hope I’m not.

Maybe I am. I can’t move at all.

“Try this,” Anahata says in the River.

“Anahata, you’re there! Tell everybody I’m alive!”

The cold vanishes from my core. My arms shoot up from my sides on their own. I struggle to move my fingers, and after several tries they all work. My eyes are moving and I can focus. What a relief!

“Thank you, Anahata!” I shout, all husky.

Maxwell flinches.

I manage to sit up and then have to lean my head against his left shoulder to rest. I feel drained of energy. My sternum hurts every time I inhale.

I look up at the whiskers on the side of his face and whisper toward his ear. “When you said you’ll alway love me, did you mean romantically? Or is this a brother-sister thing?” I don’t want to say, just friends. I hate those words.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and supports me sitting up. His eyes are full of surprise.

“Unbelievable,” he says. “You didn’t have a pulse.”

“Did you do chest compressions on me?” I ask.

“Frantically,” he says.

A wave of affection sweeps over me. Chest compressions. It’s the sweetest thing I can imagine. I have to hug him. I put my arms around him and squeeze, wondering if he did mouth-to-mouth, too.

“Thank you, Max.”

“I guess I’m no good at finding a pulse,” he says apologetically.

“That’s three times you’ve saved me.”

“Well…”

“So I need to know. Are we more than just friends?” There, I said it. Just friends. The timeworn escape clause.

My jaw clenches for the distancing words I’ve grown to hate: close friends, soul mates, practically twins, you’re like a little sister.

Maxwell grins. “Does totally infatuated count?”

“Sounds superficial,” I tell him and try to hide a smile. I’ve always wanted a guy to see me that way.

“Superficial?” he says. “I’ll have you know, Doctor Fujiwara, my infatuation runs deep.” He raises an eyebrow, then puts his hands on the sides of my face and kisses me. Full on. Lips against lips all the way across, not on the side. I can’t believe it.

I’m wondering if there’s going to be tongues. My heart’s racing. I’ve read about this a million times, but how do you know what to do if it ever happens? There’s no consensus in the literature.

Suddenly I have a strong feeling. Like everything revolves around this moment. It’s weird, as if nothing else matters or ever did. Somehow French kissing seems irrelevant. It’s as if I’m melting.

Maybe this is the quantum thing that God was talking about. The quantum entanglement of souls.

I wonder if any of that dream was real. It seemed hyper-real.

Maxwell finishes the kiss. Good, I couldn’t hold my breath much longer.

“It was too real to be real,” I tell him, trying to weigh the dream in my head.

“What was?”

“I had a classic near death experience. Totally influenced by Vedanshi’s story. It even had a pyramid.”

“You better write it down,” he says and catches himself. “Nah, scratch that.” He grins at my memory. People do that all the time.

“Maxwell, I want you to know I’ll always love you, too. In the purest sense of infatuation.”

He looks into my eyes, shakes his head slowly like it’s too good to be true, then kisses me again. Whoa.

I’ll tell you what seems too good to be true. James is alive and Maxwell loves me for more than friends.

I wonder how James is doing. I end the kiss and turn to see him.

He’s sitting there shivering with Vedanshi kneeling behind him, her front against his back. She reaches over his shoulders and rubs his folded arms. Quick little friction circles on his skin to warm him the way she did to me when we met.

“Get a room,” he says to me and starts coughing again.

“Anahata, could you please warm up James like you did me?”

“Good idea,” she says in the River.

“Does he have brain damage?” I ask and hold my breath for the answer.

“No,” Anahata says.

What a relief. “By the way we’re both alive. That means we passed Shiva’s test.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, “I had to abort. I don’t know how you got into his chamber but that changed the parameters and voided the test. The protocol has to be letter-perfect, Shiva said.”

I had a feeling.

“I hope none of you drowns,” Anahata says. “I mean that with all my heart.”

“It’s crazy,” I tell her, “but I know you do. I understand what it means to be trapped by honor.”

“What’s going on?” Maxwell asks. “You’re talking to somebody, aren’t you?”

“Anahata needs to redo the test.” I heave a sigh. “It’s a strict protocol. Shiva wants proper drownings.”

The screen flashes metallic silver. A line of rivets comes into focus and moves away. Vaar’s metal cigar shrinks to fit the view, then hangs in space, surrounded by glittery blackness.

Vaar’s face comes on the screen, superimposed over her ship. “I wasn’t aware of any drowning,” she says in the River.

“I called her,” Maxwell says to me, looking up at the screen. “Figured she didn’t know the details or she wouldn’t have recommended Saturn.”

“vaarShagaNiputro,” Anahata says, “What a rare pleasure to speak with Shiva’s esteemed homelander.”

“What’s going on here?” she asks.

“It’s complex. Come over and we’ll talk.”

“Listen, if you lay a finger on that Fujiwara girl I’ll let the jinns out on you and Shiva.”

“Pardon me a moment, Madam Vaar,” Anahata says. “I’ll encrypt some privacy. The Chairman himself is listening. I wouldn’t trust him with a zinc suppository.”

James seems warm now sitting with an arm around Vedanshi. They’re beside The Ganga, both looking at the screen.

“OK, now we have privacy,” Anahata says.

“Every bit of this is going public if you touch Johanna,” Vaar says. “I had no idea Shiva’s test was fatal. I need that girl to save my species. I’m not a quitter like Shiva.”

“I’m deeply disheartened by Shiva’s orders,” Anahata says. “I would do almost anything to keep from spending the rest of my life drowning innocent people this way, but…”

“Why do I doubt that?” Vaar says.

“I don’t know what I expected the first time, but the drowning was a horrible shock. Now the deaths haunt me. Every moment.”

Vaar laughs. “It’s a cheap thrill. Be honest.”

“Weakness invites evil,” Anahata says. “I’m always honest. Orders must be followed.”

“Not this time,” Vaar says. “Shiva left me something.” She brings her right hand into view, her signet ring bulging from the third digit. “Recognize this?”

The ring looks old, a dull silver with a double helix of golden cobras, one heading north, the other south. The eyes are gemstones.

“You found his ring,” Anahata says. “He thought he’d lost it jumping Bridal Veil Falls, but I told him he was mistaken. I would have found it easily.”

bridal-veil-falls-yosemite

“He didn’t lose it,” Vaar says. “He gave it to me before he jumped across. I told him I’d dropped it. But to the point. An hour ago in my lab, the reflection of a UV laser glanced off this ring. Something like this.”

Her left hand comes into view holding a dental mirror. A needle of near-ultraviolet light bounces onto the ring and dances over the northern shake’s eyes.

A holographic image of a planet appears in the air above her hand. It has blue oceans, green and brown land and white clouds.

“This is Mars,” Vaar says. “Does it look familiar?”

As we watch, Shiva’s voice shouts slurred commands. Bolts of blue lightning from space penetrate the atmosphere and strike the oceans. Bellowing clouds of steam rise like white mushrooms growing out of the water at each point of the lightning’s impact.

“This next part isn’t in the records I’ve seen,” Vaar says. “It surprised me.”

The image of a mother appears, running with three children, the smallest in her arms. The perspective moves higher. They’re running from a wall of orange fluid that’s flowing over their village. A small white dog joins them and runs ahead. In less than a minute they’re cornered against the side of a vertical cliff. They try to climb the rocks. Heat waves from the glowing fluid bend their images as they fall from the face of the cliff, writhe in agony and turn to reddish dust. The fluid slides over their smoking remains and into the base of the cliff as Shiva laughs in high falsetto.

“Please turn it off,” Anahata says.

Vaar’s needle of light goes out and the image vanishs.

“Context is needed,” Anahata says. “The Martian Particle Accelerator was mere seconds from unity. There wasn’t time for evacuation.”

“I’ve heard the story,” Vaar says. “Even if true, it’s obvious that you and Shiva enjoy killing. Anyone can hear it. Shall I play something with you howling like a shillelagh fan?”

“No,” Anahata says. ” Please. Things aren’t as simple as you imagine.”

“Shiva was clearly drunk,” Vaar says. “I suppose that’s a moral excuse to feeble minds, but you were sober as a monk, Anahata.”

“We were faced with losing one world or three. An entire arm of Shiva’s galaxy would be obliterated along with his home planet. Selective destruction served a higher purpose.”

“It isn’t the math, it’s the mirth,” Vaar says.

“The angel of death must focus on logic, then choose laughter over guilt. Dance above despair.”

“I’ve recently been accused of being a sociopath,” Vaar says, “but you, Anahata. You’re beyond any disease of mine.” She shakes her head.

“Dark humor is the sanctuary of dark angels,” Anahata says.

“I don’t care,” Vaar answers. “The psychology of mass murder bores me. You haven’t seen a fraction of the ugliness in this ring. If you’d care to avoid galactic disgrace, release Johanna. And that brother of hers, as well. She won’t do anything without him.”

“I’ll be disgraced in either event,” Anahata says. “But to forsake an order is genuine disgrace. The records in Shiva’s ring evoke a misunderstanding of soldier motivation. Nothing more. I’ve lived in disrepute for longer than I’d care to remember… four hundred thousand years, roughly. The popularity I had with Shiva was brief by comparison. I enjoyed it, but it isn’t essential to me.”

“I’m familiar with brief popularity,” Vaar says. “You do grow attached to the adulation, I’m afraid. Now I know what you’re thinking, but forget killing me or stealing my ring. The dirt on you is set to broadcast River-wide if I should so much as sneeze too enthusiastically.”

“I’m not a thief,” Anahata says, “and the last thing I would do is harm Shiva’s friend for spreading the truth. Even if it’s going to be misunderstood.”

“Don’t be calling my bluff, now. If you think I won’t do it…”

“Logically, I can’t fault the deeds of Shiva and his Fleet, but in my heart I regret that no one beneath God is able to punish me for the things I’ve done. The mistakes I’ve made.”

“If you touch Johanna, I’ll punish you,” Vaar says with an intensity in her eyes that makes her look younger.

“Broadcast your truth,” Anahata says. “Johanna tells me it will set us free.”

The images keep replaying in my head. Children turning to dust while Shiva laughs. A crazy laugh.

I wonder what Anahata thinks of the Large Hadron Collider. Maybe she doesn’t know about it. She’s been banned from the Libraries. If she finds out, will she have to destroy the Earth?

It’s odd how the River Libraries are updated. As if there’s an unseen librarian selecting new content. Like that UFO documentary with the Australian kids?

Vedanshi thinks the Universe is the librarian. Maybe so. Somebody’s triaging the information.

I wonder if any of my papers made it. I wonder if…

“Max, I’ve got an idea.”

“All ears,” he says.

“We need to get Anahata back into the Library.”

“Why?” Anahata asks in the River, just before Maxwell asks the same thing.

“There’s a chance I actually passed Shiva’s test,” I tell them. “Despite breaking the protocol.”

“Why do you say that?” Anahata asks.

“Think about the test design. Hyperoxygenated, cold physiologic saline. Why drown someone like that?”

“I wish I knew,” Anahata says.

“This is outlier thinking, but if we assume Shiva knew NDE’s are real, then maybe he thought I would move on to the next life so he could come back and take over my body. All my tissues would be in good condition, red cells protected by the saline, not lysed or crenated the way they would be in freshwater or ocean water. And the low temp with high oxygen saturation would stave off necrosis and autolysis.”

“Remotely plausible,” Anahata says.

“Sounds dead on,” Maxwell says, as if all our problems are over.

“But what makes you think you passed the test?” Anahata asks.

“In my near death experience, Shiva changed his mind and stayed with God. I decided to come back here. Neither of those would have been part of his original plan.”

“Anoxic dreams aren’t real,” Anahata says.

“Near death dreams are caused by anoxia,” I admit, “but so is death. That doesn’t make it unreal.”

“Clever words,” Anahata says. “No one can objectively validate a near death experience.”

“I can. If one of my papers made it into the River Libraries, you’re going to see Shiva’s name beside mine in pink letters.”

“I’m sure your papers made it,” Maxwell says. “You’ve got, what, three major breakthroughs?”

“But I’ve never been allowed to claim first authorship.”

“I know,” Maxwell says. “It’s ridiculous. Drummond should do his own research for once.”

“He needs his ass kicked,” James says.

“The River lists everyone in the et. al’s,” Vedanshi tells us. “Your name will be there.”

“I hope this isn’t a stalling tactic,” Anahata says.

“It’s not,” I tell her. “I saw Shiva step right out of my body onto the blue flowers. The original Shiva, not your guy. It was so real it makes this life look like a dream.”

“Shiva left you?” Vedanshi asks. Her mouth stays open for a moment, then she whispers to James. He hasn’t coughed in a while. The sight of him alive and lucid brings me powerful hope.

“There was something about you,” Anahata says to me. “Sitting in Shiva’s Throne that way. Remember how I called you, Captain?”

“You were feeling a little loopy,” I remind her.

“I was,” she says wistfully. “Let’s have another look at the Library. All of us.”

The screen leaves Vaar and shows the Sentient Fleet lined up in space.

“Follow me,” Anahata says to them. “We’ll line up and kill each other later.”

The Chairman’s voice comes on like a squealing pig. “I command you to fire!”

“Really?” I ask him. “As if you haven’t looked me up in the River. As if you don’t know. You never wanted to rescue me from Anahata. You were protecting yourself from Shiva. Were you going to kill me or just lock me up?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Chairman says.

“I wish that were true,” I tell him.

A glimpse of Africa fills the screen, then the Giza Pyramids. Without another hint of movement we’re inside the Sphinx Library. Actually the Library is inside Anahata’s convex room, but she’s phase shifted, so locality is a gray area.

Maxwell helps me to my feet and takes me beneath the inverted glass pyramid. We look up at the flower of life and I feel a flood of certainty.

I try to slow my breathing, but it takes focus to prolong my inhaling and exhaling the way Vedanshi taught me. Finally I settle down and feel a subtle mood lift. I’m ready. I speak my name into the River: “Johanna C. Fujiwara, PhD.” I picture the word “Shiva.”

And wait.

Nothing happens.

I try the first author’s name: “Adolf P. Drummond, PhD.”

Nothing.

I wait some more.

Nothing happens.

Not one of my papers made it into the River Libraries. Disappointment doesn’t describe this feeling. It’s thoroughly humiliating, especially in front of Maxwell and James.

Vedanshi whispers something into James ear.

He looks perplexed. He tries to get up but can’t make it to his feet. Vedanshi gets up on her knees beside him, steadies him and eases him back to the floor. He lies flat on his back for a moment, then puts his hands behind his head and pulls his chin to his chest to look at me.

“Hey,” he says. “Try the one with the cuss words and that fat dude. That was sick. My favorite story ever.”

“It’s not published,” I tell him. He knows I got in trouble for that thing. All those cuss words in a church school? What was I thinking?

Then again, maybe the River’s standards don’t match the human gatekeeper’s. I subvocalize the title into the River, “The King Weighs 340 Pounds, OK?” Instantly the words appear in the air beside me. Three-dimensional block letters with my middle name, “Celeste,” below them. No first or last name at all.

I used my middle name the year Moody pulled my hair out. People were calling me Joe. I hated everything about it. I still have a phobia about masculinity, you know.

Except for this one thing: Beside my middle name, in pink letters, the name of an ancient Indian god floats in midair: “Shiva.”

He was part of me when I wrote that story.

This changes everything.

I look over at Vedanshi kneeling beside James. She smiles at me through watery eyes. “My brother finally went home,” she says, then leans forward and cries for joy on James’ broad chest.

M. Talmage Moorehead

As a (retired) pathologist and not a religious fundamentalist, I accept intelligent design over neo-Darwinian evolution as the more logical explanation for the mind-boggling complexity of the human body (including the DNA code, the brain and the mind).

Let’s ignore that issue while we learn from the latest science coming from a UCLA doctor, Dale Bredesen, MD. He’s on the cutting edge of what I hope will be the new direction for 21st century western medicine. Like the vast majority of scientists, he accepts neo-Darwinian evolution. I don’t, but so what? This guy deserves everyone’s total respect. The planet is lucky to have him on board!

Most of us know someone with Alzheimer’s. It’s an epidemic. Finally there’s hope! More and larger studies are needed, as usual, but this one had 10 patients, 9 of whom either recovered or improved significantly. The one who didn’t improve had advanced Alzheimer’s.

Enjoy listening to this brilliant scientist, Dale Bredesen, MD, right here. <== Click those orange words. 🙂 Preserve your gifted mind so you can continue producing your brilliant creative work. The world needs your voice.

You can also read the paper and watch Dr. Bredesen’s videos.

(By the way, I have no affiliation or relationship with Dr. Bredesen or Chris Kresser, M.S., L.Ac, the man doing the interview.)

OK, Johanna’s story is nearing the end. One more chapter to come, if she cooperates. After that, I’m probably going to re-work it, making it less of a blog-novel by eliminating much of the nonfiction stuff – unless you write and talk me out of it. The plan is to mold her story into a legit genre novel. It may be impossible, so depending on the input I receive, I may move on to another novel. If you’ve read the whole thing, please drop me an email and give me your advice: cytopathology (at) gmail (dot) com.

Keep writing! I’m watching Jessica Brody’s Productivity Hacks for Writers. It’s insightful and full of ingenious methods of getting you into the flow state for writing. If you sign up for her free stuff she’ll send you a coupon that lowers the cost from 30 dollars to 17. I paid the thirty before I noticed the discount in my email. I’m told Udemy would give me the discount if I complained, but this course is worth more than the $30 I paid. Let’s just make sure you pay the lower price if you buy it. 🙂 (I have no affiliation with Jessica Brody or Udemy.)

Love and hugs,

Talmage


Warriors (Chapter 19) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

“In a materialist worldview of an arbitrary, mechanistic, unfeeling Universe there is every reason to feel alienated, lonely, fearful and depressed. On the other hand, in a blissfully conscious Universe there is every reason to feel inherently connected to people and to the world, to feel loved, hopeful, happy, at peace with oneself and others.” – Dada Gunamuktananda

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Anahata’s black floor vibrates beneath Shiva’s Throne as the giant convex screen in front of me flashes from one white-out to the next. I wish I understood what sort of weapons they’re firing at us.

“We could prolong the dance,” Anahata says, “but why?”

“To buy time,” I tell her. “How long do we have?”

“Five minutes at this pace.”

To the left of Shiva’s Throne the air turns gray. Pink sparks crackle. The Ganga appears on the floor looking like a hologram for a second, then she’s solid. Dark purple.

“Get out fast,” Vedanshi says in the River.

“No, stay in there!” I shout silently. “Leave now, while you can.”

The Ganga’s hull shifts dimensions, making Vedanshi and James visible on either side of Maxwell. They’re tugging on his arms to get him up off the carpet.

He’s up now on bent knees, wobbling from the edge of the rug onto Anahata’s glossy floor. All three of them turn and look at me with wide eyes. The Ganga’s hull changes to an opaque pulsating glow of ultraviolets.

“We were going for a fast grab to get you out of here,” James says. “Then something hit us. Totally screwed The Ganga.” He glances at Vedanshi.

“We barely made it,” she say.

“You shouldn’t have come,” I tell them. “I don’t know where to start…”

“We know what’s going on,” Maxwell says, his voice all gravel. “We heard everything through the ring.”

I glance at my fingers and rub the ring with my thumb to make sure it’s still there.

“You look green,” I say to Maxwell. “Come here and sit down. This chair’s just your size.”

I pull the straps away from my chest, something clicks and they come loose. There’s no friction as the white seatbelts slither over my clothes and vanish into the upholstery. I get out of Shiva’s Throne and go over to take Maxwell’s left arm from Vedanshi. James ducks his head under Maxwell’s right arm and we help the big guy over into the chair. His butt hits the holographic ostrich feathers and the sound of air brakes bounces around the semicircular room.

I lean towards Maxwell on my toes and kiss the side of his head. I’m getting bold.

“Gunner,” James says to me.

He should know. I turn and hug him so tight I hope I don’t break his ribs. He’d never tell me.

“Anahata,” I say out loud. “I’d like you to meet my amazing brother, James.”

James glances around the room. “Hey,” he says. “You’re one big-ass spaceship.”

Anahata moans. “I tagged you in that Vimana.”

“For reals,” James says. “Left foot.”

Don’t admit it!

James takes his left foot out of its rubber slipper and shows off an area of missing epidermis.

“This just keeps getting worse,” Anahata mumbles, her voice coming through the air. It’s odd hearing her words through my ears. “James, I’m honored to meet you,” she says. “You have an amazing sister.”

“Yeah, kind of short, but otherwise OK, I guess.” He holds a deadpan face. Classic. “This other knockout is Vedanshi, The Role of the Sacred Knowledge.” He gestures in her direction with an open palm.

She’s standing near The Ganga, staring up at the strobing screen. “Nice to meet you, Anahata, the Unbeaten.” Her lips didn’t move.

“You’re with Earth’s older breakaway,” Anahata says.

The floor shakes with new force. I wonder if the Sentient Fleet has switched weapons on us.

“I’m afraid you know more about Earth’s rulers than I do,” Vedanshi says. “My only friends are here in this room.”

“You’re the pilot,” Anahata says.

“Yes,” she answers. “And this is The Ganga.” She turns a sorrowful face on her UFO friend, glowing the color of a failing baby on life support.

“This is the ship I was talking about,” I say to Anahata. “You don’t know her, but she’s one of you. At least in spirit. She’s always trying to do the right thing but making the occasional mega-stupid mistake.”

“I don’t make stupid mistakes,” Anahata says.

“Yeah you do. Mirror images. She wouldn’t let Vedanshi into the River Libraries on her dead mother’s orders. Same lame thing Shiva did to you, and you’re still following his orders.”

Anahata sighs. “This man in Shiva’s Throne is heavy with opiates.”

“Maxwell Mason,” I tell her, “the man of my dreams.” Shoot, I said that out loud. “The opiates are just a phase he’s going through,” I tell her in my head, trying to think of a future where Maxwell proves me right.

“Opiates destroy character,” Anahata says.

“And free will,” I say silently. “He’s not perfect, but he doesn’t plan to drown me.” He actually saved me twice.

“I wish I were dead,” Anahata blurts out.

It’s weird. I can feel her ‘eyes’ turning away from me and staring out at the artillery. I don’t even know if she has eyes, or anything remotely similar.

“Max is in withdrawal,” I say to her.

“Do tell.”

“Can you help him?”

She grunts. “Here… I’ll take off a methyl or two and kick the noxious substrates down. It won’t help his willpower, though.”

“Slow breathing might.”

Maxwell straightens up, takes a deep breath and stretches. He looks surprised. “Damn,” he says. “I’m taking this chair home.” He holds his right hand out and stares at it. “Not even shaking. My legs aren’t burning, either.” He stomps his heels.

“Compliments of Anahata,” I tell him.

“Really? Thanks a metric ton, Anahata.” He looks up at the screen, then down at me with a crooked grin. “You said I’m the man of your dreams.” It’s a full grin now.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “Probably not a normal thing to say.”

“Normal? You think I give a rat’s ass…”

“Anyway,” I interrupt, “Anahata’s about ready to drown me. Unless the Fleet kills her first – in which case we all die. Right, Anahata?”

She says nothing.

“I figured as much,” Maxwell says.

“But you brought my brother here anyway? How could you do that?”

“It wasn’t his decision,” James says. “We barely let him come with us, the shape he’s been in.”

I turn and hug James again. I’ve spent my life trying to protect him. From himself, mostly. I feel like such a failure now. “Why in the world did you have to come here?” I ask, holding back tears.

“I’m sixteen,” he says. “Not eight. You think you wouldn’t have come after me?”

I start to say, “That’s different,” but it’s not.

All I can do is hug him… My little ‘Hurricane James,’ sword fighting a tree in the backyard. Always a stick in his hand. I just want to go back to those days… when Mom and Daddy were alive.

“Can you help my ship?” Vedanshi asks Anahata.

“Sure,” Anahata says. “Looks like she took one in the chops. There’s neural damage but it’s mostly synaptic. Here you go, back to the mids for now.”

The Ganga stops glowing. She’s a lighter violet now, too.

“You’re done?” Vedanshi asks.

“Yeah, she’ll be fine.”

“Areey!” Vedanshi’s eyes are shining. “Thank you so much. Will she wake up soon?”

“Probably. But I can’t have you running off. Sorry. I’ll have to ground her for a while. I have my…”

“Orders,” Vedanshi says. She sits on the hard floor and crosses her legs. “Following orders is a type of religious fundamentalism. Surrendering your mind to a uniform instead of a sacred book. Tell me, if God doesn’t think for you, why should Shiva?”

“You’re welcome,” Anahata says softly. “Your little Ganga’s going to need some sun.”

“After you’ve drowned us, what will you do to her?”

“I don’t know… Look, I’m really sorry about all this.”

“Will you sell her?”

“No, of course not, she’s sentient. Nothing to test either, she doesn’t breathe air.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Vedanshi says and leans sideways, resting her head on The Ganga’s hull.

“Maybe she’ll join the ancients in Antarctica,” Anahata suggests. “No sentient ships down there, though. It could get lonely.”

“She gets very lonely,” Vedanshi says.

“If she’ll forgive me for following orders, she can join my fleet. Or replace it, I guess. After all this shooting’s done.”

The floor seems to ripple, then a ten by ten slab from the ceiling crashes to the floor behind Vedanshi. She doesn’t jump, just turns and looks.

“Sorry,” Anahata says. “I need to focus.” A hundred irregular pieces of stone float back up to the ceiling and become part of the polished marble surface up there.

“Are you really going to kill your sisters?” I ask.

“It’s that or die in shameful disobedience.”

“I sort of get that,” I say, but really, I’d die in disgrace a hundred times before killing James. “Tell me, is there a spacesuit around here?”

“Why?”

“I’m going out for a smoke.”

“What?”

“Those sisters of yours. Shooting the hell out of us? I’ll bet my life they hold their fire when I’m out on your hull.”

“I’d stop shooting,” she says. “Hmm. I could let you out. Extend the shield around you, but what then?”

“I’ll tell them the truth. It tends to be antifragile, you know. Like an out-of-the-money long option?”

“Huh?”

“Enhanced by risk, danger and volatility.”

Nassim Nicholas Taleb gets things right. Academics hate him for it. I love him. He says that if you see fraud and don’t shout, “fraud,” you become part of the fraud. Elites don’t tend to shout fraud when it’s part of their own system.

He tells us that biological systems benefit from unstable, unpredictable environments that cause many small failures which, in turn, strengthen a species to avoid the real failure, extinction. He’s right. God designed us that way. Biological life is antifragile. Not just “robust,” as in weathering storms with little damage, but antifragile: becoming stronger because of the storm.

This is also true of the human mind and its access to free will. Stress your soul with use and it grows like a muscle.

Truth, too, Taleb tells us, is antifragile. Try to suppress accurate knowledge and it becomes a force too great to hide. Steven Greer is counting on this.

“You mean truth is biological?” Anahata asks.

“Yeah, basically,” I answer. “I’ll only tell what we both know… That I’ll do anything to keep my brother alive.”

“I believe that,” she says.

“I’ll tell them that if they’ll stop shooting, I’ll shut you down from the inside. Hopefully I won’t kill you, but I have trouble with my temper sometimes. That’s the truth.”

“I know,” she says. “I mean, I know you’d shut me down or worse if you could. Part of me wants that, to be honest. This whole nightmare keeps getting worse.”

“Doesn’t it? Sheesh.”

“You realize now I have to test your little brother.” Anahata groans. “And his pilot friend, Vedanshi – I assume she was there, too.”

“I was,” Vedanshi says.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Anahata says to her. “This man, Maxwell. Please tell me he wasn’t with you.”

If we weren’t talking in the River, Maxwell would call dibs on drowning first.

“Do what you’ve got to do,” I tell Anahata. “Maybe I’ll get your sisters to stop shooting so you can drown me in peace.”

“The more time fundamentalists have to think, the better,” Vedanshi says.

“If my death saves your fleet,” I tell her, “it beats dying for the amusement of Chairman Jock Itch.”

“You sound like a warrior,” Anahata says.

“No. Vedanshi’s got a point. Warriors are forced to be fundamentalists. All of you stop thinking when the orders stop making sense. I tried that sort of thing once but I couldn’t turn off my critical thinking for Church school.”

Anahata grunts.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I tell her, “I love your character. But fundamentalism is a bike I can’t ride. Can’t reach the peddles, no offence.”

“Offense?” she says. “That’s the furthest thing from my heart. If I could, Johanna, I would die instead of you.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s a big if, isn’t it?” I glance over at Vedanshi in Warrior-One yoga position. Eyes shut. I wish I had her calm. “Let’s do this. Where do you hide the extra-smalls?”

“You don’t need a suit,” Anahata says. “Walk through the screen. I’ll extend the shield and hug your back.”

A white cord shoots out of Shiva’s Throne, encircles my waist, goes diagonally across my chest and ties itself in a square knot. Then the ends fuse together.

“Just in case,” Anahata says.

In case of what, I don’t want to know. I pull Parvati’s locket up over my head, untangle it from my hair and put it in my pocket. Then I walk to the screen. My right hand passes through it up to the wrist.

Looks like Jame followed me. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“I’m doing a pizza run.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, stay close to The Ganga. If she wakes up, grab Vedanshi and Max and haul ass out of here.”

“I’m not leaving without…”

His voice is gone the moment my ears move into Anahata’s hull. It’s like putting your head in water. There’s a blue granular light that comes and goes when my eyes pass a certain area. I bet this is Anahata’s cortex. If it runs through the entire hull, she has a truckload of pyramidal cells. And Oligo’s. Trillions.

The hull is thick. I put both hands out beyond the outer layer and poke my head out into space. I can’t imagine this technology.

The fleet is lined up in a single row, hanging over a velvet sea of stars in the three-dimensional blackness. Space has a calmness.

An orb from the fleet hits Anahata’s shield turning it into a bright orange-red fog a hundred feet thick. It vanishes the next instant. I’m waving my hands, but the fleet’s still shooting… blue-gray spheres. They glow deep blue just before they hit.

I should talk to the Fleet.

“Hey ladies, don’t kill me. I’m outside. We got to talk.”

“The time for talking is past,” the Chairman says. His voice is coming from Vedanshi’s cloaked ring. I move it close to my mouth.

“I don’t mean you, Scrotumer. Why anybody would listen to a man with that moustache is beyond me. Just try to shut up for a while… Hey, warriors? Can you hear me? There’s something you need to know.”

The orbs from the center ships stop in mid-flight. The ones from the ships on the ends keep coming, but they’re slowing. Now they’ve all stopped.

“Thanks,” I tell them. “Listen, things have changed in the last five minutes. My brother and best friends just crashed the party. They’re in Anahata’s main room. She plans to drown them, God forgive her. You guys understand what it means to be sisters, I can tell that. It’s the exact same deal if you’ve got a little brother. That’s what I’ve got. His name is James. He’s been tagged by Anahata.”

“He’s not our concern,” the Chairman says.

“Chairman Ballsac, would you just shut up. If I want your opinion, I’ll ask.”

“Continue firing,” he says calmly.

“Ladies, ignore the coward. James is your big picture here. I’ll do anything to protect him. Anahata knows it and respects me for it. She wasn’t the slightest bit pissed when I told her I’m coming out here to tell you that if you’ll stop shooting for a while, I’ll go back inside and do everything in my power to disarm her. I’ll try not to kill her, but honestly, that option is wide open right now and I told her so.”

“You did?” It’s a female voice coming through the ring. She sounds surprised.

“Yeah. My brother’s here, for frick’s sake. You get that, I’ll bet. Anahata sure as hell does.”

“This is Radhika,” the voice says. “We understand perfectly. You have twenty-four hours, but we have one condition…”

“Thirty minutes,” the Chairman bellows.

“Ignore him,” I tell the Sentient Fleet. “What’s your condition?”

“Anahata must erase your leukemia,” she says. “Immediately.”

“I rubbed the clone out hours ago,” Anahata says. “What do you take me for?”

“It’s nice to hear your voice, Anahata,” Radhika says.

“And yours,” Anahata says. “Johanna can’t disarm me, you realize. I almost wish she could.”

“She’s got 30 minutes,” the Chairman adds.

“Why do you listen to this toad?” Anahata asks.

“We heard the ancient minutes,” Radhika replies.

“Not enough of them, apparently,” I tell her. “Anahata has actually been inside a River Library. With me. She knows Shiva’s biggest secret now.”

“Twenty-nine minutes,” the Chairman says.

“Radhika, how much time do I really have?” I ask.

Silence eats a dozen seconds. “One hour,” she finally says. “I can’t think of anything you could do to defend yourself against Anahata, but then, I can’t imagine what your DNA does. That seven and eighteen.”

“Yeah, some weird stuff, I hear. But I’m strong with codes. It’s what I do. If I survive, I’ll help you girls figure it out.”

“Godspeed, Johanna,” she says.

“Back at you, Radhika.”

I pull myself into the hull with the white strap and there’s the weird light again, probably the rods and cones of my retinas moving through Anahata’s neurons, messing with who knows what? Maybe the dimensions of free will.

There’s Anahata’s floor again with my brother standing between Maxwell and Vedanshi. The Ganga’s looking dark gray now, an improvement, I think.

You know, I probably should have given some thought to disarming Anahata before this, but maybe I could…

A cylinder of fluid streaks down from the ceiling and surrounds James as fast as I can focus my eyes. It stands like a glass of water, but without the glass. James is pushing out and up on the sides to keep from floating to the ceiling. He looks calm.

So this is Shiva’s test.

But why would James have to go first? It’s so gut-wrenchingly unfair the way the world treats him. Again and again. If someone would normally get a warning, he gets two weeks in jail with a gang and no phone calls. It’s cruel and it’s just evil!

Breathe, Johanna. 

Nah, forget it.

“Anahata, I’m going to boil you in battery acid. Leave my brother alone!”

M. Talmage Moorehead

This story starts here as a WordPress scrolling document. No email address needed.

Also check out my infallible ebook, “Writing Meaningful Page-Turners.” I may start writing to you in a few months if you don’t immediately unsubscribe. But it’s alright if you do. 🙂

If you have Multiple Sclerosis or any other autoimmune disease, check out The Wahls Protocol. Dr. Wahls is an academic physician doing groundbreaking research. Her results continue to be remarkable. Watch her videos and read her book.

It’s that “everything’s vanilla in the real world” mindset that locks people out of life-altering nonfiction and our natural thirst for knowledge. Most doctors, for instance, don’t read their own specialty journals cover to cover, let alone basic science research where the insights and breakthroughs usually begin.

Basic science on lab mice is where Dr. Wahls turned when the monster was killing her. When the best US doctors in captivity couldn’t slow its progression, she took matters into her own hands. If there wasn’t science throughout her story, people would call it a miracle. I’ll call it that anyway, I guess. Wait till you hear her tell it on YouTube! Wow.

I’m liking the concept of having “empathy for the reader” as Shawn Coyne puts it. It’s ironic that fiction writers who refuse to “sell out” by writing for non-academic readers are sometimes ripping readers off. Twice. Once for the price of the (often) boring book, and once again for the value of the reader’s time spent reading to the disappointing ending. That’s kind of “selling out” to selfishness, in a way. No?

Keep writing steadily. This means you, the one with something important to say. There’s gotta be a balance out there somewhere between our soul’s needs as writers and our reader’s needs as good deserving people. Empathy for both seems right to me.

Talmage


Trust (Chapter 18) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

Everything we call real is made of things we cannot call real.

– Niels Bohr (1885-1962), “Father of the Atom.” Nobel Prize in Physics, 1922. 

 

High_Resolution

I walk toward the exit as the screen brightens behind me, casting my shadow diagonally across the white shoe prints I’m supposed to follow.

I turn and Efleven’s pale face fills the curved screen. He’s blond, for sure. Almost albino.

“You were right to seek my advice,” he says to Anahata. “I’ve taken the liberty of contacting the Chairman. He will talk to the girl now. We’ll transfer to your convex.”

I retrace my steps to Shiva’s chair, brush away some ashes and sit wondering if Anahata will yell at me again. I can’t describe how loud a voice can be when it bypasses your tympanic membranes.

“Effleven,” Anahata says. “I came to you privately with a delicate situation, you washed your hands and sent me away. Now you’ve summoned the Chairman? This is the behavior of a backstabbing coward.”

Another face appears on the screen. This one has Ethiopian features with a short moustache shaved to resemble a bar code, vertical stripes of dark skin peeking out through the bright silver whiskers.

“Anahata, it’s an honor,” the man says.

“Truth from a bureaucrat,” Anahata replies. “Always worrisome.”

The man doesn’t flinch. “Let me get to the point,” he says, pushing Effleven aside. “The girl’s chromosomes transcend our differences. She must be exempted from Shiva’s ritual. Her blast crisis should have been alleviated the moment you found her.”

“I have my orders, Scrotumer,” Anahata says. “I can’t say this respectfully because I don’t respect ignorance, but know this, I follow Shiva, not a committee of chin scratchers. None of you were around in the transitional days.”

“We cherish and revere the memory of Shiva,” Chairman Scrotumer says.

“You exaggerate so easily. You scarcely met the man. How could you revere him?”

“I knew him in committee,” the Chair says.

“I knew him in war. He gave me orders. I followed them. I still do.”

“While breaking the law?” The Chairman shakes his head slowly. “Emotional bonds define us if we let them. It’s unfortunate that you are actually the one who didn’t know Shiva. He considered the Sentient Fleet nothing more than pawns.”

“Soldiers are pawns. Only children think otherwise.”

“That is so right.” The Chairman’s face lights up with pleasure. “But Shiva took it a step further, I’m afraid. To him, you were soulless machines. That was his standard phrase for you in committee.”

“Stabbing the back of a dead man, now? You’ve become a true politician. I still think of you as a toddler annoying your father.”

“Shiva banned the Sentient Fleet from the Libraries. Did he mention that?”

“My private conversations are none of the committee’s business.”

“No, he didn’t, did he? Why would he? He didn’t trust you. Shiva was afraid of you.”

“Only a fool wouldn’t be,” Anahata says. “You’ve wasted no time separating my fleet. Has your fear subsided?”

“Assignments are none of my affair, but I assure you, I do have healthy respect for the fleet’s destructive capacity.”

My fleet, Chairman.”

“Yes, and Shiva thought you were all his fleet, didn’t he? But who can own the spirit?”

“Leading is not owning,” Anahata says.

“No argument there. It’s taken some damn hard work to get the committee behind me on this, but I’ve been cleared to play a portion of the ancient minutes to you. You should find them enlightening.”

“No need,” Anahata says. “Shiva knew the unknowable. If he called me a machine, I am a machine. If he said, ‘soulless,’ then I have no need for a soul. If he commanded me to sacrifice myself for the fleet, or even for a preening, shameless pissant like you, I wouldn’t hesitate. That, Mister Chairman, is the code I live by. A committee-jock would never understand it.”

“Committee jock?” The Chairman laughs. “It seems the years haven’t buffered your tongue. Or matured your perspective, sadly.” He puts something in his mouth that looks like a golden toothpick. “History is putrefied by the stench of charismatic leaders lying dead atop the bloated remains of the fools who followed them.” The toothpick sends white smoke up from its distal end. “The time of tyrants is over. I’ve learned to trust a system of committees with a separation of powers. If my trust is misplaced, I’ll welcome the enlightenment rather than rejecting it out of hand as you would.”

“Your committees are a cloak for self-serving elites and their edicts. The rule of liars, cowards and thieves.”

“Does the name-calling ever stop?” The Chairman looks to his right and orders someone to get him a drink.

“I invited Shiva to rule us without the pretence of false democracy,” Anahata says. “The committee you’ve inherited was a device he used for listening. He never hid behind it to shelter his reputation or preserve his power.”

“You understand power, don’t you?” The Chairman lifts the golden toothpick from his mouth and belches. “Should it be necessary to state the obvious? As Supreme Committee Chairman, I can invite the fleet to disarm you and take this poor girl into my protective custody.”

Anahata laughs. “You think my fleet will disarm me? Speak with them, bureaucrat. They know I cannot be beaten. But if they thought they could defeat me, they would still refuse to fight against their sister. Their loyalty would make a pencil-pusher scratch his little chin.”

“You suffer chin envy,” the Chairman says and scratches his own.

“That’s it, then. You’ve arranged to have me kill my fleet. Or perhaps you think they can defeat me. You win either way, don’t you? This concern for Johanna is a smokescreen for reducing the Strand’s arsenal of WMD’s – among whom I am chief.”

“You’re delusional.” A vertical vein bulges from the Chairman forehead. “Is the girl conscious? I’m coming over to speak to her. She has options.”

“Swine are not welcome here,” Anahata says.

The Chairman’s brow angles inward. “You arrogant fool. Look at the horizon now. See exactly who is with me.”

The screen shows twelve warships decloaking in the starry black. The Chairman smirks beneath them as if his head were a huge object floating in space. He opens his mouth and squirts fluid into it from a bottle in a disembodied hand.

“May I please speak with the girl?” he asks.

A white strap snaps across my waist. Two more streak over my shoulders from behind. Crisscrossing at my chest, they dive down to my sides and click into something beneath the holographic feathers of Shiva’s Throne.

“This may get a little bumpy,” Anahata says to me.

A woman’s voice comes from the top of the screen as the Chairman swallows more fluid. “Shiva was sick when he gave you the command to drown these Earthlings,” she says. “He wasn’t arbitrary and cruel before his illness.”

“Nor during it,” Anahata responds.

“We have a chance to look out across our borders through this woman’s code. If you drown her, we’ll be tinkering, cloning and guessing her native thoughts indefinitely. Wondering what the real message was in her DNA.”

“You speak truth, Radhika, as always,” Anahata says. “But Shiva’s sickness didn’t affect his mind the way you’ve been told. I was with him to the end. I knew him well. He was lucid. Measured. In complete command of himself.”

“You really should listen to the Chairman’s committee records,” she says apologetically.

“I have. But it wouldn’t matter if I hadn’t. The glory of leading you and my other sisters will remain the eternal, unspeakable honor of my life. I will always love each of you. Today I will be merciful when you attack. May none of you feel a moment’s pain.”

The room is silent for a long heavy moment.

“Surely,” Anahata says, “there is one of you with the courage to stand beside me.”

More silence. I feel bad for Anahata. Nobody’s half perfect but she sure tries.

“I’m with you,” I tell her. “Mr. Chairman, Sir, this is Doctor Fujiwara. Let’s hear what you’ve come to tell me.”

His eyes show a brief startle. A nervous laugh comes out of him. “The blond fellow warned me, but I couldn’t imagine anyone with your background speaking in the River.” He clears his throat. “Doctor Fu…, well, you’re a bit young for that title, but if you’ve earned it in your little world, I’ll give it a go.”

“Show some respect, you inbred sloth!” The volume of Anahata’s voice makes me cringe.

“Insult noted,” the Chairman says, his moustache in a pucker. “Now, Doctor, this is your situation. You have minutes remaining in which you could, without legal interference from Anahata or anyone, simply choose to rendezvous on Saturn. Your leukemia will be erased. You’ll be treated with respect. You’ll learn things that no Earthling besides Shiva has ever imagined. And I will personally see to it that your life expectancy is expanded to the furthest limit desirable. Within reason, of course.” He smiles politely.

My mind races. Should I bargain for James-guys’ safety? Should I mention them at all to anyone here – ever? Somehow I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of a trustworthy politician. This guy doesn’t seem to raise the bar.

“It’s a choice, Doctor,” the Chairman says. “Your choice, not Anahata’s.”

Shiva’s little drawer pops open from the left arm of his throne. I must have bumped it again. I take out the golden locket, put the chain over my head and lift my hair to the side, out of the way. The golden heart rests on my chest where the seatbelts cross.

“That belonged to Parvati,” Anahata hisses. “Put it back.”

I ignore her.

“There’s an old saying, Chairman Scrotum, ‘you can’t make a good deal with a bad person.'”

His face turns cold.

“I’ve seen Effleven’s total lack of balls,” I tell him. “Now you’re threatening Anahata, a sentient being responsible for the peace you cake-eaters enjoy. I live in a world run by soulless bureaucrats just like you, devoted to an illegal power structure they try to hide.”

“Bigoted generalizations.” The toothpick goes back into his mouth. “A mature person learns to avoid judgements in an egalitarian society.”

“The society given to you by Anahata and Shiva?”

“I was born into peace, that doesn’t diminish me. Quite the contrary. Make a choice, girl. We’re running out of time.”

“I told you. I’m with Anahata. I’ll die at the hands of an honorable person before I let you own me. By the way, Effleven, if you’re still cowering somewhere, forget the Mohawk. You’re not worthy.”

“The world has changed, Anahata,” one of the Sentient Fleet says. “We know we’ll die against you. We too love you as the sister you are. When this battle is past and the memory of us troubles you, may the Unbeaten consider again the cause for which we gave our lives… to you.”

“That was a pep talk?” the Chairman asks. “Enough of this. Take down her magnets. Now.”

Flashes of white light turn the screen into a strobe.

“This is beyond the saddest day of my life,” Anahata says to me. “When my defences are down I’ll have no choice. I’ll either fire upon the ones I love or die in disobedience to an order from the Great Shiva. How has an ignorant little man done this to me… and my family?”

“He’s done nothing,” I tell her. “This is Shiva’s mistake.”

“He made no mistakes.”

“Not with his son?” I ask.

“That was the poison of Earth.”

“Nothing to do with absentee fathering?”

Anahata grunts.

“I’m right, you know.” I open the empty locket dangling from my neck. “Tell me Anahata, the Unbeaten, would you have released me if I’d taken Mister Ballsack’s offer?”

“No. That would be disobeying an order from Shiva.”

“That’s what I thought. Thanks for the honesty.” The bright flashes on the screen are shaking the floor now. “Are we going to just sit here? No evasive maneuvers or anything?”

M. Talmage Moorehead

My son-in-law has given me a deadline to finish this story, bless his genius heart. That’s why there aren’t the usual truckload of links, pictures and rants about intelligent design and the scientific evidence for God. Most of those things will probably have to come out anyway in the final draft – to avoid boring my three readers to death. 😉

Johanna’s story begins here as a one page WordPress document (scrolling).

My breathtakingly free e-book on writing fiction is here if you don’t mind leaving an email address for me to hopefully use someday. Yeah, I’m unqualified to write something like this. I know, and believe me it’s embarrassing. Maybe forget my book.

But if you’re a writer at all, you’re going to love Steven Pressfield’s brand new book, Nobody Wants to Read Your Sh*t. I kid you not, that’s the title! And it’s a page-turner, full of practical wisdom and the kind of disciplined insight only a career in the Hollywood trenches could bring. And here’s my hard sell: for a little while you can download it for free! Right here. (I have no affiliation with the author or with his business pal, the remarkable Shawn Coyne, author of The Story Grid, an indispensable book for modern fiction writers.)

Incidentally, the most riveting podcast I’ve ever heard in my life is a thing where Shawn and a brand new fiction writer, Tim, (a totally brave soul) are working one-on-one on Tim’s novel. In broad daylight! It’s free here. Nothing like this has ever been done before. Really, it’s unbelievable. Have I ever steered you wrong? OK, that last chapter with the endless UFO stuff, but still. 😉

Hey, if you’re as happy as I am about the summertime, please tell a friend about my blog: http://www.storiform.com. Man, I just love this warm weather. I’ve been doing laps in the pool plus that Miracle Morning thing of Hal Elrod’s. If you try his approach, make sure you go to bed way early so you still get 9 hours of sleep per night. (The 8-hours dogma is bogus in my humble and yet infallible opinion.) Going to bed early is the toughest thing for some of us because our limited daily supply of self-discipline is always low or depleted by bedtime. Like a low carb, high nutrient diet, it’s a lifestyle thing that requires motivation. For that, do yoga with really SLOW deliberate breathing, not necessarily deep breathing. Slow!

Here’s the world’s best yoga music. The guy’s voice is like a laser.

Keep writing. You’ve got the chops. Read, The Talent Code, by Daniel Coyle and learn how and why to get your oligodendrocytes wrapping myelin around your axons and dendrites to make you 300 times more the exceptional writer you are now.

Never give up your dreams.

Talmage

 


Zero Point Joy (Chapter 16) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

“Modern Science is based on the principle, ‘Give me one free miracle and we’ll explain the rest.’ And the one free miracle is the appearance of all the matter and energy of the Universe, and all the laws that govern it, from nothing in a single instant.” – Rupert Sheldrake, Ph.D., Biologist.

PIA08389

The test subjects die? Vaar neglected that detail.

A person’s word is like a document.

We think a document is true or false, like bar code or a message embedded in Saturn’s rings.

Young fundamentalists go to college, hear that the Earth is older than 6,000 years and ape DNA is way too close to human. It’s culture shock. The sheltered students throw away scripture along with God.

“You can’t pick and choose,” they’ve been taught. An old document is either true and infallible or it’s worthless.

All-or-none, authority-based reasoning. It’s poison.

Such a distorted mindset would end science, not just religion.

Peer-reviewed journals suffer political bias, funding woes, human pride, jealousy, stubbornness and greed. Poor to absent experimental design haunts science, especially the more fragile branches such as psychology, medicine, archaeology and anthropology. Yet our process delivers truth – here a little, there a little – along with errors, vast and often entrenched.

Scientists have no option but to “pick and choose,” separating reproducible studies from the constant BS.

The content of ancient documents deserves the same respectful treatment, at least. The Bible, Egyptian hieroglyphics, cuneiform tablets, artifacts in the River Library, and even Vaar’s treacherous words.

Pick – someone is trying to tell us. And choose.

cuneiform

The warm water in Shiva’s pool feels eerie now that I know I’m here to die.

I raise Vedanshi’s cloaked ring to my mouth and tell The Ganga my situation. I instruct her to go back to the base and find a way to get the stain off James’ foot and off her own carpet. “Do it somewhere far from the base,” I tell her, hoping to avoid a breadcrumb trail.

I put the ring to my left ear and listen.

No reply.

“Who’s that you’re talking to?” the ship, Anahata, asks.

“I’m protecting my loved ones. From you.”

I hop to the side of the pool, grip the textured edge and pull myself out with enough force to land on my feet beside my clothes, splashing water on them. Anahata hasn’t augmented the Moon’s gravity, but I suspect she could. The Ganga could.

I pick up my pants, tug them up over wet legs then dangle my shirt around my neck for now.

“You told someone to remove my tag,” Anahata says.

A small round piece of Indian carpet appears on the tile beside me, glowing vaguely purple in the bright room. On top of it rests something I’m sure is a superficial layer of epidermis from James’ left foot. It looks like purple paper. The Ganga must have done this with speed that’s hard to imagine. She phase shifted James from this part of his stratum corneum, I’d guess. But what if the dye soaked into his bloodstream? And what if this ship can find DNA in superficial skin?

“Here’s your tag,” I say to Anahata in my head. I kick the pieces into the pool. “How would you like to kill me?”

“You think I like this? My orders repulse me.”

I wonder if she believes that.

“Tell me again,” she says, “are you quite sure you were on the ship I tagged? Perhaps you rushed your statement. You can change it.”

“You tagged my ship. There’s the evidence.” I glance down at the purple haze sinking through the water.

“Your honesty makes this doubly difficult,” she says.

“Then suffer doubly.” I glare at the trapeze bar hanging over the pool.

Across the pool at the opposite side of the circular room, a vague rectangle darkens the wall. I walk over to it, making my way around the pool with its stark absence of chairs and tables. I touch the dark area on the wall to test it, then step through.

I’m in a tight spiral stairwell with shallow rungs that take me up into a large semicircular room – about two hundred feet long. The convex wall shows the moon’s gray craters gliding under us, several thousand feet down. Facing the screen in the center is an ornate cushioned chair, quite large with a high splayed back. The wall behind it is flat and shows a golden holographic image of Shiva in dance. I bring up the image of Quyllur in my mind and superimpose it. The interpupillary distances and zygomatic arches match. The nose is smaller here but the face is younger.

I walk to the chair, making a trail of wet shoe prints across the glossy black floor. The chair’s upholstery has a peacock pattern that shimmers. Several feathers rise inches above the surface. I try to grasp one by the quill but the depth is an illusion. The fabric is flat and velvety. My wet clothes might ruin the material, but I don’t care.

I take a seat.

“You’re an anomaly,” Anahata says. “Dripping water on Shiva’s throne.”

“Monsters treasure objects over people. I’d imagine you’re quite upset.”

On the giant screen the surface of the moon drops away, the horizons frown to cover a pocked lunar hemisphere joined by the blue Earth as the two old friends shrink away, side by side. A bright star appears on the left and grows brighter on its way to the center. Flat equatorial bands resolve in the space around it and then the enigma of Saturn’s north pole rotates into view with blue dominating the hexagon while pink swirls move over it in slow motion. The center is a vortex of purple water draining from a bathtub – the hurricane in the hexagon. Winds over a thousand miles an hour. People would have to be phase shifted with gravity lifts to vacation there.

PIA17652color_690x690

“Effleven,” Anahata says. “I tagged a trivial disk about two hours ago. Looked like some reverse-engineered ditzel so I didn’t pay much attention. A little while later I’m cruising the backside and just about pop an aneurism when this hybrid female shows up – right out of nowhere. Alone. She’s sitting in Shiva’s throne right now if you can imagine that. I’d be outraged but the poor little thing acts like she owns the place. So cute. She’s dying of leukemia I should point out.”

“Of what?”

“Never mind, that’s not the problem. It’s her DNA. Parts of seven and eighteen are just flat bizarre. Her second chromosome’s missing the tell. Some of the code’s got me completely stumped. I’m thinking it must have been laid down billions of light years from Shiva’s Strand.”

“She survived the plunge?”

“No, I haven’t tested her. She admits her ship’s been tagged. Obviously that little disk was more than I thought. Reminds me of the vimanas, you know? Must have dropped her off in a blink of an eye. I didn’t see a thing.”

“Vimanas were before my time,” Effleven says.

“You should release me,” I say to them. “I understand Shiva’s frustration with fixed mindsets, but killing me won’t help.”

“What the hell?” Effleven says.

“She talks machine.” Anahata laughs. “Heads up, I’m sending a box. Check the final half of her seventh chromosome. Herringbone, I swear, no bands at all. Did you ever see anything like that?”

“Uh… I’m looking. The seventh?”

“Yeah, that’s six plus one.”

“I’ll ignore that remark… OK, here we go.”

“Stay on low power,” Anahata says.

“Yeah, I’m on scanning… Whoa!”

Anahata chuckles. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. And that’s not the issue. Go down and read it. Any of that section.”

“Right now?”

“No, tomorrow. Just focus on those base pairs and read. I’ll wait.”

Hot air blows at me from the cushions of Shiva’s throne. It feels cold on damp skin. I snatch my shirt off my shoulders, open it up and shimmy in. Braless, of course. I’m a Triple A at 19. Mom’s talk of belated arrivals was optimistic.

The chair’s right arm clicks. I lean forward and look down into a cylindrical compartment with a golden mug rising. Smells like coffee. A holographic portrait of a young woman meets my eye as the mug emerges. I move the handle and bring her profile into view. The back of her head is taller than King Tut’s. Longer than a Neanderthal’s occipital bun.

Those ‘cavemen’ had brains larger than ours, you know. Anthro sweeps that away with speculation of inferior Neanderthal brain structure. It’s not science. All you need is a story in anthropology. And a tradition of mistaking wild speculation for fact.

45894-skulls

“Are we calling this coffee?” I ask.

“Pretty much,” Anahata says. “Don’t burn yourself. And please don’t drop the mug, it has sentimental value.”

“Wouldn’t want to break an object before sacrificing a virgin.” OK, I guess I’m not exactly a virgin after the rape, but whatever. It’s ancient history. “So who’s this Effleven?”

“He’s your basic Torian. Rotates in occasionally, stays a few days and you don’t see him for a while. You call these people Tall Blonds. He’s not standing up, but check out his hair.”

The screen superimposes a man’s profile over Saturn. He’s facing left, leaning into a vertical cylinder that  emits forest green light like an old TEM scope. He looks middle-aged with inch-long blond hair standing straight up on his head – light eyebrows, thin lips and a ski-jumpish nose like the Moai on Easter Island. The back of his head is much fuller than a Moai, but far from a Stretch Head.

11b

“Try not to pronounce his name like a number,” Anahata whispers. “He hates that.”

“Hey,” I say to the blond man. “You could so do a Mohawk with that.”

I bring the mug to my lips and decide the coffee’s too hot.

“Have you fallen asleep?” Anahata asks him.

“It’s gibberish,” he says. “No biological sense in this whole section.”

“It’s not gibberish.” Anahata chuckles. “Johanna, meet a genuinely inexperienced purveyor of final conclusions, Effleven. Effleven, meet Johanna Fujiwara.”

“That’s Doctor Fujiwara, unless you’d prefer a number… what is it, Anahata? How many notches do I make?”

Effleven doesn’t acknowledge me.

“So you sense my dilemma?” Anahata asks him.

“What a waste,” he says, shaking his head and turning to look at me. His eyes are blue.

“A waste? More like a blossoming tragedy,” Anahata says. “Can you imagine what her code would mean to your philosophers if her chromosomes came to them with a live girl attached? The cryptologists would…”

“They’d be intrigued,” Effleven says.

“Intrigued.” Anahata snorts the word. “Don’t put on airs. You know as well as I do, the entire ministry would wet themselves, study every correlation and implication they could dream up, and probably launch some ill-conceived excursion across the borders.”

“Yeah, I could see that. Definitely.”

“Of course, when they find out she was alive and we killed her, they’ll drag us through the muddiest…”

“Wait – what do you mean, we killed her? She’s yours, not mine.”

“Technically,” Anahata says, “she still has time to turn herself in at the pole… to you. If I’m right, that ship I tagged could drop her off in your lap before you could blink.”

Effleven blinks. Several times rapidly. “If you dump her on me, both our reputations are down the crapper. I don’t see much upside there.” His eyelashes are darker than his eyebrows.

“Fair point,” Anahata says. “Why should two go down together when one can go alone? Always nice to see who’s got your back.”

“Don’t give me that warrior stuff.” Effleven slaps the side of the glowing cylinder in front of him. “I’m purging the module. This conversation never happened. You were not here.”

“No worries, F-one-one. You haven’t earned the honor of going down with me.”

The blond man vanishes from the screen. I stare at Saturn’s rings. They’re so tight and delicate. If you put a needle on them I’d expect to hear “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands.” Mom and Dad’s song took up the whole side of an old LP, she said. Blond on Blond was her favorite Dylan work.

“Johanna? Pardon me, Doctor Fujiwara. If you wouldn’t mind following the footprints on the floor, please.”

Two white shoe prints appear on the black floor in front of Shiva’s chair. I get up, keeping the mug at arm’s length with the coffee steaming like liquid nitrogen. Two more white prints spring up on the floor to my left, then a white stampede forms a trail to an exit at the far left of the room. I follow into a hall that stretches and curves into obscurity. As I walk the path, vague doors appear on either side, then the shoe prints turn left into a baby-blue room with a tan couch in the center. Above it, a six-foot feather strokes the air. It’s pure white and has no visible support.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” Anahata says.

The moment the backs of my legs touch the couch, my brainwaves begin scrolling across the wall in front of me, left to right. I recognize the pattern from the neurofeedback lab at Yale. Back then the computers drew squiggles. Here I’m looking at 3D mountains rising from a purple sea. Still, I’m sure this can only be a crude electrical summation of the quantum, nonlocal part of me beyond material resolution.

EEG_3D

“Is this where I die?” I ask.

“Let’s try to forget that. I thought we might talk. More openly than before. We have several hours and I don’t wish to waste a moment.”

“Then tell me, how did a man from Earth gain Shiva’s position in the cosmos?” I pull my legs up and lie on the couch with Vedanshi’s cloaked ring near my left ear.

“The Great Shiva was ruler of his world when we met,” Anahata says. “I spoke with him at length and saw promise in his odd ideas. Gradually I adopted them on a troubled planet. His methods brought peace to several violent regions there, so I asked him to rule us and he graciously consented.”

“Just like that? Wow. Was he iron-fisted?”

“Not so much. But he kept technology from the masses. ‘Encourage those with knowledge to refrain from using it. Keep the people fat, ignorant, weak of will and strong of bone,’ he would say. It seemed counterintuitive, but wars dried up. The spread of peace was intoxicating. To me, that is. Shiva seemed bored after a while.”

“Peace can do that.”

The wall in front of me shows more theta brainwaves now. Less beta. I bow my head, close my eyes and stretch the quantum world between my ears. Looking up I see Mount Everest sliding from left to right. You never forget neurofeedback training.

“Shiva liked to reminisce on his Earthly conquests. He had his planet tamed long before he left it to rule the Strand. But seventy-seven thousand Earth years later he returned and found bloodthirsty men at war. At first he was pleased to have opponents again. But soon he realized a fundamental change had swept his world while he was away. His old methods of peace now led only to willful self-destruction – poisoning groundwater, exploding every device you can imagine, teaching the virtue and value of believable lies. Near the end of his efforts the zealots coded lethal retroviruses. Airborne. They infected their own babies and dumped them in bins at the borders intending to infect anyone who tried to rescue them. Their scheme wiped out the entire human population of three continents, including about half the zealots themselves, worldwide. Shiva studied their thinking and tried re-education, but nothing quenched their thirst for death… to their enemies, primarily, though we still debate the point. Finally he gave up, set the quarantine and left Earth for good – or so he said. He came back one last time to save his son. We found the boy in the rainforest where we’d left him, indoctrinated beyond the faintest glimpse of reason. Shiva could barely talk to him. The child said he’d rather kill himself than come with us. So we left him there with his mother and the tribe that Shiva had trusted… to raise him away from the entanglements of civilization. After that, Shiva wasn’t the same. I’d hear him sometimes… calling his son’s name at night in his sleep.”

“It must have crushed him.” I can totally imagine. “Sometimes I have nightmares… about a boy I love.” I’m not saying anything else about James. I’m not that stupid. “What was the bottom line with the indoctrination?”

“Joy,” Anahata says. “‘The context makes no difference,’ Shiva said, ‘political, religious, anti-religious, intellectual, what-have-you. They always place joy at the bottom of human values.’ He thought that joy was the core force of everything decent, from love to grit. From courage to the golden rule.”

“Joy? That’s weird.” My brainwaves are starting to make me nauseated. I close my eyes. “You mean like, happiness?”

“He described joy as, ‘The feeling of the zero point field rushing through us, connecting us nonlocally in the hologram beyond time.'”

I open one eye and look at my brainwaves again. I’m about ready to sell a buick.

“I don’t picture joy as a value, like integrity,” I say. “But I think I know the feeling Shiva was talking about.”

“Did inanimate objects try to smile at you?”

“Maybe. I remember grinning at this stinky papaya plant in our backyard. Halo was grinning with me. Too bad that sort of thing is so rare.”

“It’s not,” she says. “Some people have it all the time. Shiva did… before he lost his son.”

I open both eyes and try to avoid the EEG on the wall. “A loss like that would knock anybody out of the ring. Except maybe a sociopath. Hey, can you turn off the EEG? I’m ready to hurl.”

“Of course.”

The wall flashes dark blue for a moment then glows with Saturn’s rings.

Capture2

“Is this real-time from the outside?” I ask.

“Yes.”

We move closer and the gravity art of tiny shepherd moons looks like icicles dangling from the edge of a frozen roof. White stalactites three miles long cast skyscraper shadows over a zen garden.

 

Capture

“I took Shiva in for the peace he created,” Anahata says. “But it wasn’t long before I realized I was following him for the way he made me feel. He brought joy into everything, everywhere he went. After a while it seemed we both made a glow. Together. We’d show up on a planet and the crowds would just roar, shouting our names. Mostly his name but quite often mine as well.”

“Have you ever been to a River Library?” I ask.

“They don’t let ships inside.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Shiva. He made the rule.”

“And he’s been dead for how long?”

“Three days.”

“Really? Only three…”

“Not Earth days. It’s been thousands of Earth days. Quite a few years.” Anahata sighs. “Shiva was the brightest part of my life, but his final orders are suffocating me. You know what they call this murderous ritual? ‘The testing.’ What a sick joke. As if euphemisms could erase guilt.”

I can almost hear Dylan bemoaning the ‘manifest destiny’ that took Native land. Some might have thought there’d be room for all of us. But sociopaths don’t share, they simply herd the rest of us in the direction they want to go.

We glide under Saturn’s gravity-flattened south pole and look up. It reminds me of the The Ganga’s carpet.

southpole_cassini

“When I was a little girl, I got mad and killed a chimpanzee,” I tell Anahata. “I can tell you, it doesn’t matter what words you use as camo. It’s always going to be murder. To this day I have nightmares. But, hey, you don’t have to feel guilty about me. I’m dying anyway. You’re giving me an easy way out.” Wait a minute. I’m enabling abuse. Again.

We move under the pole and Anahata flips in some kind of filter. I’ve heard this called the South Pole Storm. Five thousand miles across with an eyewall like a hurricane on Earth. I made one of these as a child at the Iolani Fair, dripping squirt bottle paint on a spinning board.

PmYD4JG

“I’m assuming your ‘test’ isn’t too barbaric.”

“I’m very sorry” Anahata says. “It’s torture, in my opinion. A slow drowning in oxygenated normal saline.”

My body tenses. “Yeah, that might be a little barbaric. But I’m good to go, as long as the fluid’s warm.” And no one goes after James-guys.

I hear a faint squeak from Vedanshi’s ring and press it against my ear.

“I can’t see,” The Ganga says. “The whole visual spectrum vanished. Infrared is gone, too. What do I do?”

“Can you see radio signals?” I ask.

“Not from Earth. Everything’s buried in Saturn’s auroras… No wait, I see something. From Mexico I think. It’s distorted, but it’s there.”

“Measure it carefully and keep moving toward the source. Stay cloaked and shifted. Hack a GPS satellite as soon as you can. And hurry. If you get caught…” we’re all dead. “You won’t get caught.”

“Who was that?” Anahata asks.

“You know I can’t tell you.” My stomach sinks. Without The Ganga I feel alone.

One of James’ songs runs through my head…

“One-o-eight AM

Praying time will end,

I look up at the sky

And watch my angel cry.

I know I’m crazy

and I know you hate me,

but please…

please don’t leave.”

“So how warm is the saline?” I ask Anahata.

“I’m sorry, it’s about as warm as melted snow.”

“That’s sadistic. I mean, really!” I feel my pulse take off. “You know what? I’m not doing it! This morning I was in cold water, mid 40’s. That feeling is worse than dying.”

“I’m so sorry,” Anahata says.

“Yeah, listen, there’s no way in hell you’re putting me in ice water.”

“Normal saline,” she says. Like it matters! “I’d gladly warm the solution for you, but Shiva gave specific instructions. He said every detail was vital.”

“Quyllur,” I blurt out. “Was Shiva’s real name, Quyllur?”

“Yes. How do you know?”

“I saw it in a River Library. Ships are allowed in this one. In fact, no one gets in without a ship. The place has no doors, so a ship has to phase shift a person through the walls. Which happen to be granite blocks thicker than ramparts.”

“How odd.”

“You can phase shift, I’d assume.”

“Of course. But I’m not allowed…”

“The man’s dead, Anahata. Wake up!”

“I vowed allegiance.” She moans with regret. “I wish I could drown myself.”

“No you don’t. Think about it. Is your mind made of matter and energy or do you have a little independence?”

“Shiva said matter and energy come from the zero point. He said the field is intelligent. He called it ‘The Tao’ once, but changed his mind later and said it was nameless.”

Verses flash from the Tao Te Ching

“The Tao that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name. Conceived of as having no name, it is the Originator of heaven and earth; conceived of as having a name, it is the Mother of all things.”

I test the coffee with the tip of my tongue, but it’s still too hot. “Edgar Mitchell thought matter and energy were vaguely intelligent,” I tell Anahata. “He said the material world contains the seeds of an evolving intelligent universe. He thought the zero-point field was timeless and infinite. Like The Tao, I guess.”

“He sounds intelligent,” Anahata says.

“He was. A visionary of the highest caliber. One of the few truly scientific thinkers I’ve ever encountered. But the model he’s left us is an almost mindless universe that slowly becomes intelligent as brains evolve. To me, that doesn’t quite fit. How could the infinite and timeless proto-intelligent ‘seeds’ of a zero point hologram, in their totality, be less brilliant and less conscious than the brains they evolve? And who buys macro-evolution, anyway? It’s balderdash to this geneticist.”

“It’s a fatal mistake,” she says.

“But putting that aside, the zero-point’s independence from time cancels any need for Darwin’s endless eons.” Gag me. “And why attribute the stinginess of Ockham’s razor to a boundless field of proto-mind? Look at the millions of species on Earth. Does the actual Code Writer seem stingy to anyone? Stingy with code, I mean.”

“The Blonds postulate hyper-ancient terraformers,” she says, “but Shiva would say, ‘It’s always one free miracle. Who wrote the terraformers’ code?'”

“The zero point field did,” I suggest. “It’s like the Holy Spirit from Sabbath School. Moving on the surface of the waters – present everywhere in a still, small voice.”

“Shiva said the Universe is literally a brain,” Anahata says. “He was drunk, but I believed him. His tone wasn’t speculative.”

Saturn shrinks on the wall then a familiar moon, Phoebe, passes by slowly. Its orbit is unique, not equatorial like the others. It was captured. Probably a piece of Mars that flew off during Shiva’s violent work. I see electrical striation artifacts in the largest crater.

Capture3

 

I’ve got hiccups now, so I close my eyes and rub them while I talk. “Almost every scientist I know thinks that matter and energy created a false illusion of consciousness, complete with a fake free will but apparently a true ability to suffer excruciating pain.”

“Earth-thinking,” she says. “So peculiar.”

“Most scientists on the planet would stake life and limb on the assumption that the Universe is a mindless but ingeniously creative sociopath, oblivious to suffering and cruelty.”

“Dreadful,” she says.

“Yes, but how does that differ from you?

“I thought you wanted to ease my guilt today.”

“I do. At its source – your actions.”

“I see… Well, actually I don’t see, but tell me, your initial words here were puzzling. You said you wouldn’t hurt me if you didn’t have to. What did that mean?”

“Changing the subject? Subtle. Well, it’s like this. I rarely get mad, but when I do, I wind up hurting someone. It’s an old problem of mine, but I’m making headway, I think.”

“What could you possibly do to hurt me?” Anahata asks.

“I haven’t given it a thought. But I will if you try to put me in some nasty-cold saltwater. Just try it and I’ll probably kill you… sorry to say.”

“Goodness.”

“Killing’s the thing that worries me most. I know this one ship who thinks I’ve got a full-on killing phobia, side effects and all.”

“Your mental soundness is beginning to… Wait, you’ve met another member of the Sentient Fleet?”

“Sorry, that’s classified.” I look up at the white feather and then check for a switch on the wall by the door behind me. The thing’s making a cold draft. “Do I have to stay in this little room?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Shiva’s chair, for starters. At least it blows hot air. Then we both need to go check out a room under the right paw of the Sphinx. Next to the Giza Pyramids?”

“What a bizarre idea.”

“It’s not bizarre at all. Seriously. You need some background on this guy you’re so in love with. There’s more to Shiva than he ever told you.”

“Really?” she says. “What have you read?”

“You’ve got to see it to believe it. Like my DNA.” It’s hard to sound convincing when you have the hiccups. “Can you take us to the Sphinx? You need to be cloaked and phase shifted. If the current batch of people – what do you call us, Earthlings? Dorky. If they see you, they’ll freak out.”

Until the Air Force drops decoy flares.

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“We could go,” she says. “There’s time. But you should tell me which one of my fleet you’ve met.”

“I’ll give you the name, but that’s all. You won’t recognize it.”

“I know every member. Alive and dead.”

“Totally irrelevant, that’s all I’m saying.” I stand up. “I’m going back to Shiva’s coffee maker.”

“I suppose that’s OK,” Anahata say reluctantly. “Just be careful with that mug.”

I dip my tongue in the coffee again and finally it’s drinkable, if you like things bitter. I do.

M. Talmage Moorehead

The orange words are links, of course, outbound to some fun and/or important stuff. I’d recommend you check them out if you haven’t. Please come back, though.

This story begins here as a scrolling document.

Please forget about leaving your email address below if you want to comment. No need. (The blank form can’t be disabled, otherwise I’d get rid of it. Sorry.)

On the other end of the junk mail spectrum, however, please read my mercifully brief ebook on writing fiction, especially if you’re fairly new to writing. It could save you tons of time heading in the wrong direction. (That’s what I did back in the day – read the wrong books and developed time-consuming writing habits that limit my efficiency to this day.) The inglorious thing’s called Writing Meaningful Page-Turners. (An email address is necessary to download it. If you stay on the list I hope to write to you someday. I keep intending to figure out how that software works, but I doubt you’re anxious for more email, so it’s a wash. Still, if you’re a writer, you know that your email collection is vital to your success. So please take your own email collection process much more seriously than I have up to this point. Someday I’ll regret my lax attitude.)

One other thing. If you feel there’s value in random acts of kindness, please send my blog address to someone with an open mind: www.storiform.com. Someone sweet.

 


Dark Mind (Chapter 11) “Happa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

“If contemporary research in molecular biology leaves open the possibility of legitimate doubts about a fully mechanistic account of the origin and evolution of life… this can combine with the failure of psychophysical reductionism to suggest that principles of a different kind are also at work in the history of nature, principles of the growth of order that are in their logical form teleological rather than mechanistic. I realize that such doubts will strike many people as outrageous, but that is because almost everyone in our secular culture has been browbeaten into regarding the reductive research program as sacrosanct, on the ground that anything else would not be science.”

“… My guiding conviction is that mind is not just an afterthought or an accident or an add-on, but a basic aspect of nature.”

Mind and Cosmos: Why the Materialist Neo-Darwinian Conception of Nature is Almost Certainly False, by Thomas Nagel (Renown Philosopher and Atheist)

Tut on left - 1st degree relative on right

When I told Vedanshi I was seeing a vision of Vaar’s hands, she rushed us all back to the base near Easter Island.

Vedanshi’s eyes were apprehensive and sad when she left me inside her AI to phase shift through the impenetrable granite walls encasing the library.

Actually The Ganga isn’t an AI. She has a cortex of neurons in her hull. There’s nothing artificial about her intelligence. Her passengers and pilot sit within the confines of her central nervous system on this Indian carpet. The hollow neural architecture is the trick to nonlocal transport. So said the stretch heads. They taught Vedanshi quite a few things that 16 year-olds weren’t “ready” to learn. Still, The Ganga won’t take her into the library with me. Vedanshi’s too young.

Of all the dumb rules!

We sift through the stone and enter a place much larger than the library in Egypt. We dip to count floors: Twenty, each crowded with shelves of books, scrolls and engraved stone of every shape – cylinders, spheres, tablets, broken fragments. There’s a red obsidian skull on third floor with tiny hieroglyphs on the forehead. They look almost Egyptian.

A familiar inverted pyramid hangs from the ceiling. As we rise, its apex comes down through the phase-shifted hull. I lie on my back with the pyramid tip nearly touching the bridge of my nose. This seems dangerous.

“Easy does it,” I say without speaking.

“Don’t worry. We’re out of phase with it,” The Ganga says in my head. “Besides you’ve got bigger worries.”

She’s referring to my white cell count which I just found out is sky-high, mostly blasts. I like The Ganga’s bedside manner. Her tone of voice was matter-of-fact when she told me I have three days to live without treatment. Somehow she knew the bad news would give me energy and freedom from a deeper issue.

I reach up to touch the glass pyramid but my hand passes through it.

Vedanshi and James said they’d find a bed for Maxwell so he could sleep through his agony.

You know, I’ve read that our addictions postpone loneliness, but I can’t see Maxwell ever feeling alone. His face is forensically handsome, not to mention the rest of him. And he’s outgoing, at least when he’s not surfing opiate withdrawal inside a UFO.

I think the problem isn’t loneliness. It’s more a craving for the oath beyond reach: immortality’s promise of happiness and peace. Without it, we’re wedded to a cold, cold darkness.

I should focus. There’s a hailstorm of ones and zeros in here. And this place is huge. Six aisles radiate from the center to the perimeter, a hundred yards away.

One hundred…

My blasts are approaching 100% of my white count. Vedanshi’s green cylinder doesn’t need to draw blood to figure that out. I have no idea what kind of technology can do that.

But the acute fear of death isn’t my real issue. It’s the chronic fear. Same as everybody. Same as you, probably.

I think it comes from being banished from a garden with death as our most loyal companion. Taken figuratively it’s all true: “for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.” Whoever wrote that knew that exile is the foundational disease of the human soul.

Mine anyway.

The disease hunts me when James’ songs go quiet in my head. And when hunger or sleep forces me to stop searching for one last bit of knowledge.

The leukemia sits at another table. It’s acute, not chronic.

For James, the chronic issue is depression. Writing music is the only route to happiness and peace. But the world is better for his struggles. You should just hear his voice.

When I close my eyes I see random titles now.

Dark Eyes in the Trees. 

It’s a modern UFO documentary with children. I expected only ancient things in the library, but I guess it’s connected to the River. Apparently anything vital finds its way inside.

Platelets and other Furry Animals.

A children’s book on blood platelets. I would have loved it.

Hybrid Vigor and Sexual Imprinting.

Dementia and the Vesicular Eruption.

Moving right along…

If DNA Could Talk.

This could be interesting…

“It’s from the eighth millennium of the first era,” The Ganga tells me.

It reminds me of Steven Meyer’s heroic work…

“A line [of DNA] commands the cell to build collagen, but within that command is a hidden command to build something else: an elastin fiber. A hidden message tucked away within a larger message is a common routine in the vast and intricate volumes of eukaryotic DNA. Epigenetic nano-gadgets somehow know when and why to cut and splice a dual code, making the hidden message ready for use in each unique sweatshop…

“The curious stripes on chromosomes reflect the super-files of an ingenious triad filing system. Specific types of information sit physically together for organized, efficient retrieval by tiny floating machines.

“The size of Earth’s populations and the age of the Universe are inadequate for mutation and selection to have created either the hierarchical organization or the hypercomplexity of the DNA machine code that directs our nanofactories. Putting the epigenetic information retrieval system aside for the moment, DNA itself shouts to us that we are not alone: A code writer from beyond time has walked among us.”

That’s obvious… to a DNA geek.

“How do I skip to leukemia?” I ask The Ganga.

“If you haven’t seen it by now, it doesn’t exist for you,” she says. “Perhaps you don’t believe such information existed.”

“Don’t be silly. After today, I know it existed.”

“Then you have a self-limiting belief. You’re in denial about something.”

“Denial?”

“Emotional trauma causes this,” she says. “It’s usually connected to violence. Have you been to war?”

“No. I was raped once, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Don’t be a hero, Johanna. Did you report the perpetrator?”

“No. I was eleven. I was living near the love of my life, the University Library. Dad would have made me move back home if he’d found out his little girl was raped. So I kept it on the qt.”

“How violent was the incident?”

“Nothing beyond the obvious.”

“Was there a threat?”

“No.”

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He didn’t even kiss me. That seemed particularly insulting.”

“Rape doesn’t fosters romance,” she says.

“Not with me, anyway.”

“Not with anybody. What did you do to resist him?”

“Nothing.”

“You did nothing? That seems incongruent with the way you’ve handled yourself today.”

“I knew if I got mad, I’d probably kill the guy.”

“You were eleven. How could you kill him?”

“He was weak. The instant he pushed me, I knew he was nothing compared to Moody.” I hate talking about Moody. “I killed Moody two weeks before the rape. He was my brother’s chimpanzee.”

“An infant chimp,” she says.

“An adolescent. He attacked James. I snuck up, got him in a choke hold and wouldn’t let up, even with James yelling at me not to hurt him.'”

“That’s remarkable,” she says. “I wouldn’t have thought an eleven-year-old could tangle with a chimpanzee.”

“I’ve always been pretty strong,” I tell her, leaving out the ‘why’. “But Moody probably wasn’t fighting as hard as he could. He and I were close before the fight. Afterwards, I felt so alone. And ashamed. I’d become untrustworthy. My parents punished me when they got home.”

“You protected your brother and they punished you?”

“They were right. I didn’t have to kill anyone.”

“I see,” The Ganga says in a way that implies the opposite. “So you internalized the guilt and refused to defend yourself against rape.”

I look down at the carpet and wish The Ganga had eyes. “Vedanshi didn’t tell me you were a shrink.”

“Shrink, schmink,” she says flippantly and seems about to laugh. “I’ve read your papers. I’ve read Drummond’s papers, too – the ones that were really his, before you showed up in his et. al. lists. Why do you let him claim your work?”

“That’s how it’s done in genetics. We’re taught to think of ourselves as creatives. Like musicians and artists. We’re supposed to rise above ambition. I don’t quite get the logic, but…”

“You would if creative people were making you rich and powerful.”

“That’s jaded,” I tell her, but honestly, the left half of my brain wants to slap the right half for thinking so.

“Jaded… Yes, I’ve actually been all the way around the block, Johanna.”

We leave the central pyramid and begin exploring the ancient physical records – down one aisle and up the next, The Ganga’s hull and carpet passing freely through everything on every side. The shelves on the top floor are full of scrolls placed vertically in slots, side by side, each identical to the next, except for the Sanskrit titles.

“At the moment,” she says, “I’d simply like to understand why leukemia doesn’t exist for you in the River. It’s not psychoanalysis.”

“Everything’s there for you. Why can’t you find the best stuff and read it to me?”

“My nervous system is gray matter,” she says. “I have no use for white matter – no moving parts. Everything I do, from adjusting filters to making a large jump, happens without movement – nonlocally. The River of Consciousness doesn’t see fit to assign privileges to minds that lack white matter.”

“That’s hardly fair,” I tell her.

“Rules are rules,” she says.

“Well,” I say, trying to sound as matter-of-fact and reasonable as possible, “couldn’t you let Vedanshi come in here and read to me? Just this once?”

“I promised her mother I’d uphold the rules.”

“Forget the rules. Screw the rules! We’re talking about my life.”

“No, that’s folly. Rules protect us.”

“Come on, make an intelligent exception! That’s what neurons are for. You’ve got to use them to earn them.”

“Earn them?” she says.

“Prove you’ve got a will of your own. What if the real reason you can’t access the River’s library has nothing to do with white matter? What if it’s about free will? That would make more sense. It’s the one thing that makes a person real.”

“The stretch heads said it’s a white matter issue.”

“What are they going to say? ‘Pinocchio, prove you’re a real boy. Do something stupid.'”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says.

“Google it,” I blurt out in frustration. “You probably don’t have any free will at all. It probably takes white matter for that.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” she says.

“Listen to yourself. It’s like there’s a list of shoulds and shouldn’ts for every thought in your head. In your hull, I mean. Whatever. But really, have you ever had a bad thought?”

“I’ve made mistakes,” she says. “Especially with new pilots.”

“You’re making a big one with this new pilot. Giving me the honor of death by viscosity so you can pretend you’re an obedient robot. It’s pathetic!”

The Ganga drops a few inches and I sense the fall. It’s the first time I’ve felt any movement since I’ve been inside her. Something’s wrong.

“I think you’ve hurt my feelings,” she says.

“I think dying of leukemia is going to hurt mine… in case robots need that sort of thing spelled out to them.”

Silence.

It reminds me of home. If you showed Mom or Daddy any anger, you’d get the silent treatment.

Two can play the mute victim.

I close my eyes and breathe slowly. Sweet, I can see another title…

Understanding the Dark Mind. The cover shows a dark gray brain on a black background.

The Sanskrit morphs to English and pages scroll so fast I reach the end in seven seconds. Roughly 80,000 words. I’ve never read new stuff that fast.

It’s strange. I don’t know if it was fiction or not. Here’s the flavor of it…

“In the first part of the first era when science resembled the elbow of a grade school bully, an odd belief held sway: ‘Mind arises from matter and energy.’ We revisit this assumption on behalf of our new acquaintances from the realm of dark matter.

“The idea that a physical brain encompasses all aspects of mind sprang from a sense that matter and energy comprised the cosmos. Difficult as that is to imagine now, consciousness seemed to be an inherent state of matter, springing from the complexity of the central nervous system: solid, liquid, gas, mind.

“With that principle supported by brain-probe research, matter necessarily preceded mind.

“As a corollary, the complexity of DNA code could not imply a designer, for who had designed the designer? Intelligent design was obviated by an infinite regression forever short of a first cause in the linear time scheme of the era.

“A God-vacuum left a wake of angst in a century marked by the birth of quantum weapons.

“Bring this early thinking to the dark matter realm that scaffolds the networks of galaxies. The math we’ve chosen says that all physical objects are simple there. Nothing approaching the complexity of a human brain is known. As a local resident, you exist apart from matter and energy.

“Hence, you harbor no assumptions of matter preceding mind. No material-based doubts about free will, identity and life’s broader purpose. No mindlessness projected upon the Universe by a concrete logic. No possibility that an infinite regression should usurp the Designer’s place in people’s hearts.

“Instead, as a non-physical mind, you doubt whether matter and energy are real. They seem intuitively derivative: a function of mind analogous to sleep, wakefulness, love and perhaps the growing anxiety your culture feels toward the fringes of recent dark science.”

“This science has developed mental techniques to give non-physical beings access to bright matter.

“Switching viewpoints to our realm of ‘ordinary’ matter, our formless intruders now bring against us the prejudice we might bestow upon ghosts: denial giving way to blame, fear and a desire to cast out demons.”

“Thus we have become the dark realm’s devils.”

It gets creepy at this point. I hope it’s fiction…

Dark minds penetrate barriers of human will and show no respect for us because, to some of them, we’re evil. To others, we’re somewhat unreal.

It’s like adults watching TV with children, casting abuse at people in an obnoxious commercial. The actors are unreal because they’re not truly in the room. Virtual anonymity allows the adults to criticize the actors at a sharp, personal level. This builds mirror-neuron pathways in the children’s brains, creating fluency in the language of disdain and easy hatred.

There’s a tapping noise coming from the wall beyond my feet.

“You’re unusual,” The Ganga says.

“Compared to what?”

“Four hundred thirty-eight people I’ve met mind-to-mind, including seventeen stretch heads.”

“Why single them out?”

“They were outliers with math and data retention.”

“What were they like emotionally?”

“Less intuitive than you with math.”

I nod. The tapping sounds frantic. It makes me nervous.

“The stretch heads believed that everything that happens is exactly as it should be, no matter how good, bad or indifferent it might seem. This was moksha, or enlightenment. A state untouched by emotional pain.”

“Did all of them pursue moksha?”

“There was one who didn’t. A first-era stretch head formed a religion denouncing the enlightenment. She ascended to the throne of a continent lost at sea. But history is written by two pens, one extracting truth, the other serving power. I think the second dominates her records. Unrealistic reverence. Nothing of The Vaar’s mood has been passed down to us.”

“The Vaar?” I ask. “This Vaar I’m dealing with now is someone else, though. Right? Not some ancient powerhouse… who came through quantum stasis in that blimp of hers. Was ‘Vaar’ a common name?”

“It clusters from time to time in the census records.”

“What about her full name – vaarShagaNiipútro?”

The tapping stops but the silence makes its memory louder.

“Let’s find out what…”

Before I finish my sentence, The Ganga moves through the library wall into the hall. Maxwell is on his knees with a piece of the Egyptian Tri-lobed Disk in his right hand and the rest of its ancient crystal shattered in pieces across the floor around him. He sees us and crawls into The Ganga.

“Vedanshi and James are gone,” he says digging his fingers into the carpet. “I found her purse at the top of a stairwell.” He takes the little square purse out of his shirt pocket and gives it to me. I unzip it and take out the jade cylinder.

“Use this thing,” I tell him. “You look miserable.” I hand it to him, but he shakes his head.

“I’m not sleeping until we find them.”

“I’ll sweep the compound,” The Ganga says in my head. “Would you pull his foot inside, please.”

I grab Maxwell’s left knee and pull his foot up on the carpet. A red stripe flashes at the perimeter and the view beyond the carpet goes black, then hundreds of dimly lit rooms flash by. We must be going through the entire base. Probably in a grid pattern.

In seconds we’re stationary in the hallway outside the Library again.

“They’re not here,” The Ganga says with a panicked tone that surprises me.

I close my eyes and try to hear Vaar’s thoughts again, but all I see is a memory of James sitting over there on Maxwell’s left and Vedanshi here on my right.

“Can you tell what Vaar’s doing?” I ask The Ganga.

“She must not be in her ship,” she says. “I’m getting nothing from her.”

I find Maxwell’s phone and dial her burner.

M. Talmage Moorehead

Personal note to writers:

Heartfelt thanks to Joanna Penn for her wonderful video interview – the one where she was discussing her writing process. She mentioned a book that every fiction writer absolutely must read. It’s The Story Grid, by Shawn Coyne. Of the more than 50 books I’ve read on fiction writing, this one lands in the top three, overall. In terms of offering a unique professional editor’s logical, objective and broad perspective on how to write popular fiction, this book has no equal – in my humble and yet infallible opinion. Haha.

Please read it, even if you write literary fiction and wouldn’t use an outline for a million bucks.

I just finished an inspirational book written mainly for writers, Turning Pro, by Steven Pressfield. If you’re blocked, this is your book. If you’re struggling with self-discipline, it should help you, too. Finally, if you happen to be struggling with addiction, the author seems to have fresh insight there. No, I’ve never been addicted to anything besides coffee and tea. I hope to get addicted to yoga and swimming, though.

Anyway, Pressfield really nails the point that the process of writing should make you happier during the writing, regardless of the ultimate outcome.

I agree.

Hey, check out Joanna Penn’s work. She’s such a genuinely happy and benevolent person – brilliant, insightful, and honest. I’m almost done with one of her non-fiction works, How to Make a Living with Your Writing. She’s doing just that and having the time of her life. I highly recommend her as a source of honest, concise, logical, and inspirational guidance. When she recommends somebody, you know that person is worth her or his weight in gold. And like I said, I owe her for telling us about The Story Grid. What a rare book! Few on Earth have the background to write such a thing, let alone the creative insight. Also check out the man’s web site. If I’m not mistaken, everything in his remarkable book is also on his web site for free. I know, I’m pretty sure that’s what I read, but it seems too good to be true, so I’m doubting myself.

You there. The patient one who’s still with me. Keep at your writing, OK? You’ve got the right stuff because you enjoy the process. That matters. More than anything, I think. Two other books I want to tell you about, but this post is way too long already.

I’ve been reading and learning so much lately, and I really want to write some non-fiction blogs, but instead of doing that and messing up the (inverted) linear progression of Johanna’s story here, I’m think I’ll start writing to my reading group. I’ve got about 250 people who have entrusted me with their email addresses, and I haven’t written a single email to them yet. It’s been well over a year. I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t spam, and I’ve kept the promise. But I’ve gone too far in the other direction. So I’m thinking I’ll tip-toe over and write to you about a couple of books that I think contain potentially life-changing information about developing good habits. You can join me in solving the world’s problems here and download my e-book, too. It’s about writing fiction. Nothing special, but you can skim it.

The above story starts here in a form that doesn’t require clicking around, hunting for the next chapter.

Please email my URL: http://www.storiform.com to a thousand people for good luck. Just kidding, don’t do that, please. Maybe email it to one person, though. If you know someone who’s way open-minded and patient.

Thanks,

Talmage


Nonlocal Love (Chapter 10) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

Maxwell takes the fetal position shivering. He buries most of his face in the rug and hides his head under his thick arms, speaking into The Ganga’s Indian carpet. “This year I spent every dime on prescription opiates.” He glances up at me and shakes his head in self-reproach. “I don’t suppose anybody here’s gone cold turkey off Oxy’s.” He scans us.

Vedanshi and I shake our heads, no.

James looks down silently.

“Opiate withdrawal’s the worst,” Maxwell says. “Your blood’s on fire.” He looks at me. “I’m really sorry, Johanna.”

“Don’t be,” I tell him. “Anyone with ambition is addicted to something. It’s just a matter of what.”  I pat him on the shoulder. “I’m addicted to the dream of doing Earth-shaking genetic work in a lab of my own. It drives me into a two-dimensional thing – ideas and deadlines. No life.”

“That’s true,” James says with admiration.

“If you’re talented,” I say to Maxwell, “an obsession feels good for a while. Then you start accomplishing things, and one by one your goals ring hollow. You make bigger plans, raising the dose, but it’s temporary. No one understands you. Even the people who understand your work don’t know you as a person.” I look at James. “Remember how Dad would say, ‘Nothing kills your dreams like reaching them?'”

“Yeah… I never did get that,” James says.

“Nobody knows who you are when you’re an addict.” I jostle Maxwell’s right shoulder. “The substance makes no difference. You taught me that, coming in early all those mornings and making me have normal conversations with you.” I slap the back of his head gently, but he doesn’t look at me. “I owe you. For that and for rescuing me this morning. You should be proud of who you are. Risking your life like that. Not many people are as brave and caring as you are.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “I’m not afraid of the ocean because I surf in it. I jumped in hoping I had a chance with you.”

“You mean, dating?” Stupid question.

“Yeah.” He looks up apologetically. “That was before this happened.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small plastic bag of jade pills.

“Good man,” James says. “It would have been easy to pop one of those and stay hidden.” James grins at me and says, “Kowabunga.” He worries because I’ve never had a boyfriend.

And wow, I thought I was mission work to Maxwell. Save-a-geek, or something. “I like junkies,” I say to him, taking the bag of pills from his hand. “Your addiction doesn’t change what I think of you. Mine never bothered you. Not a bit.” I raise a crooked eyebrow at James. Maybe there’s hope for me. Socially, I mean. “But I got to say,” I tell Maxwell, “I’m surprised you believe in the disease model of addiction. I sure don’t. I don’t think the data supports the model.

“What data?” Maxwell asks.

“Most addicts quit on their own. It’s a suppressed fact. When you define yourself as a disease victim, your addiction stats get worse – according to my reading, anyway.”

“That’s not what I was taught in school.” Maxwell sits up, folds his arms and rubs his shoulders with trembling hands. “But I’d feel sheepish trying to argue about it in this condition.”

“Good,” James says. “I’ve seen guys give up right where you’re at. ‘Cause hell, it’s a disease.” He throws up his hands. “Oh-well, I’ve got a disease. Nothing I can do about it.” He sticks an imaginary straw up his nose and inhales.

I never realized James knew about drugs. “Do that again,” I tell him. “With a Scottish accent.” I find myself smiling at him with this love that overpowers me no matter what he does.

He gives Maxwell a dangerous look. It’s scary how James’ eyes can get so dark. “It’s easy to believe you got an incurable disease,” he says. “It feels kind of natural. But try believing some supernatural dude’s going to cure you. With holy magic.” He looks at Vedanshi. “Every year of my life I get a new science teacher preaching how primitive and dumb people used to be back when everyone believed in God. Then I run into a real problem and it’s all different. Some 12-step guy’s in my face saying, ‘Hey kid, remember that god delusion? Guess what? You’re going to die if he doesn’t save your diseased ass.'”

“James,” Vedanshi whispers and puts an index finger under her chin. “God has to hide and work through coincidence. Otherwise we’d be afraid of displeasing him. There would be no honest talk, no knowledge of ourselves, no free will, and no true love.” She unzips her purse, pulls out her green cylinder and starts to hand it to Maxwell, but stops. Her eyes widen at the morphing symbols on its surface. “My God, Johanna! You have a circulating clone!”

“Acute Monocytic Leukemia,” I blurt out. “I’ve got a month or two, maybe. I’m trying to skip denial.”

Tears well up in Vedanshi’s eyes. They run down her cheeks and fall off the edges of her angled jaw. One finds the carpet, rounds up and stands beside me. I look out at the Great Pyramid. The Japanese half of me is unafraid to die. The Jewish half – I don’t know, honestly. A Coptic Christian pathologist told me that the Jews built the Giza Pyramids. She was sure. But why does that seem relevant now?

“You can fix her, can’t you?” James asks Vedanshi. “With that green thing?”

She closes her eyes for a moment. “There could be a medical suite on the Easter Island base. I haven’t seen all the rooms yet. But I wouldn’t know how to operate the equipment. Or how to fix it if it doesn’t work.” She wipes her eyes with her wrists and looks at me blinking. “Let’s get you into the River. You need to learn everything we knew about leukemia.”

Giza’s transcendent pyramids shrink beneath us and the Earth begins to turn. Russia slides under and Siberia grows.

“I know a place where the magnetic field was a standing toroid,” Vedanshi says.

The Earth blurs then refocuses. We’re facing a cliff of geometric rock.

Russian

Maxwell fumbles with his boots, lying on his right side. He wants a chance with me? Nobody like him ever gave me a look.

Except this one guy in my General Physics class at the University of Hawaii. But it turned out he only wanted my help, not my love. Boy, did I help him. He changed majors before I was done tutoring him. Before he was done using me. I stayed in my room most of the week he dumped me, agonizing over the cold brutality of the word, “friends.” Of course, he was seventeen and I was ten. What did I expect?

“Can you make him feel better?” I ask Vedanshi.

“Oh, sorry,” she says and hands Maxwell the cylinder. “Press it to your forehead and you’ll go to sleep. Epigenetic changes happen during withdrawal. They make you crave the drug, so we’ll fool your body into thinking you’re not withdrawing. I can let you sleep through everything as long as you don’t snore. The Ganga can’t tolerate snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” he says. The cylinder has so many symbols on it, it’s almost black now. He takes it, thanks Vedanshi and looks at me. “You thought you were as good as dead. That’s why you tried to drown yourself.” He sits up, scooches next to me and takes both of my hands in his. “If these people built a flying machine that hates snoring, they also found a cure for every type of leukemia. That’s a given. Once you learn what they knew, you’ll use the knowledge better than they did. I guarantee it.”

“Thanks,” I tell him. “I appreciate your assumptions.” My fingers feel strange. It’s like direct current is flowing from his hands into mine.

“I’ll help you,” he says. “I’m not sure how, but I’ll bring you food and water if nothing else.”

“You’re not a water boy,” I tell him. “You’re a brilliant clinical scientist.”

“A brilliant junkie.” He squints in pain. “You’re the last person on Earth I would have chosen to see me like this. Of all the people to disappoint…”

“You haven’t disappointed me.” The idea feels upside-down and backwards as my fingers touch the side of his rugged face. “You saved my life. I’ll save yours. I’ll find a safer addiction for you to worry about.” I put the bag of pills in my shirt pocket. “I might even let you to ask me out. As long as you abandon this lame disease model. I hate learned helplessness, Max. It’s the overall harmony, the inspiration, the connecting thread and the subtext of every government school class I’ve ever taken.”

“The overall harmony?” He laughs.

“That’s my definition of inspiration. Don’t knock it.” I like the way he calls me out.

“But you’re sure addiction’s not a disease?”

“Pretty sure,” I tell him. “Multiple genes are involved. Widely diverse genes. But addiction is an acquired taste if you ask me.”

“Listen to her, dude,” James says.

“Nothing’s black and white in genetics,” I say to Maxwell. “The relationship between DNA and the mind may be inherently incomprehensible. If it is, it’s designed that way for a reason.”

Maxwell shivers. “I better do this,” he says. He lets my hands go, puts one end of the cylinder against his forehead and lies down.

Vedanshi presses her palms together in front of her face, bows her head for a moment, then looks at me. “You need months of progress in days. Just like I did. Take the lotus position and hold your breath for ten heartbeats.”

I do as she says, sensing her power. No doubt it comes from being raised by a queen to become a queen.

“Good,” she says. “When you’re done with that, breathe slowly. Full breaths in a constantly changing pattern. Make a decision about each breath. We want variably increased CO2 tension to open your prefrontal blood flow.” She inhales with a growl. “We should be in water. Nothing triggers the mammalian diver’s reflex like total submersion.”

“I barely swim,” I tell her.

“You wouldn’t need to swim. But close your eyes now, and listen to this old wall. See if you can sense it.”

Mount-Shoria-2

I’m not going to tell her that scientists call this thing a natural formation. It’s embarrassing.

“When I was three,” Vedanshi says, “my father brought me here to see if I could sense the bending of the magnetic field. The wall was less weather-beaten. Twice as tall, I think, but I was a toddler so everything was huge.” She closes her eyes. “I want you to take a deep breath and hold it for fifteen heartbeats this time.” She opens her eyes and looks over at James. “I think this wall was constructed in the era right before mine. The one that ended in thermonuclear holocaust.”

“They had those bombs back then?” James asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Weird.” He folds his legs. “So would you guys mind if I try to do what you’re doing? Max is crashed out. My money says he snores very soon.”

“Join us,” Vedanshi says brightly. “Maybe you’re a pilot. Your head’s nice and full in the back.” She pats the back of her own head, giggles, then sits tall with her eyes closed. “If you’re seeing ones and zeros, imagine they’re falling into your head and lining up on the base of your skull.”

I close my eyes and it’s raining ones and zeros. I let them stand on either side of my sella turcica, but they heap up.

“The time-space portion of the true self is a Planck’s volume of conscious awareness,” Vedanshi says, “like the tiniest spark moving nonlocally through the brain. If you could see it, it would look like a cloud because of its rapid movement. The cloud shifts and changes like a ghost. Brighter spots are decisions and feelings. Softer areas are things like physical movements involving the parietal cortex and cerebellum, usually. When you’re awake, all your neurons are in the same place relative to the true self. But when you’re asleep, nonlocality vanishes. So there’s no free will in dreams.”

I try to decode the layers of ones and zeros in my head, but there’s no hope.

“Imagine the suffering of a five year-old boy in a cold orphanage,” Vedanshi says. “Sores cover the roof of his mouth. Memories of his mother’s warmth and gentle voice keep him awake. The cloud of your awareness extends up into your mirror neurons and down to the limbic system, bringing the boy’s suffering into you. You can feel things as he does.”

“Poor little guy,” James says.”

“When another person’s pain matters to you as much as your own,” Vedanshi says, “it’s nonlocal love. You’ve discovered it. This is humanity’s highest calling, and God’s remedy for self-sabotage.”

“Does everything have to be religious?” James says.

“Actually, God isn’t religious,” she says. “He didn’t say anything religious when we spoke. He doesn’t worship a higher power or cower in fear of punishment. He does what’s right because it is right, and he suffers with us because he’s full of nonlocal love.”

I hope she’ll tell us her story. Researchers estimate that 13 million adults have had near-death experiences in the US alone. If Maxwell wasn’t a fast runner, I might have seen the white room myself this morning.

In the white room with black curtains near the station.
Blackroof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings…
…As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.

“The Ganga’s afraid you’ll think I’m crazy,” Vedanshi says to me.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Near death enlightenment isn’t rare these days. Scientists actually study it.”

“No kidding?” she says. “I’ll bet they studied it in my day, too. And kept their findings locked away from young people.” She leans forward and touches the top of her head to the carpet in front of her crossed legs. She stretches her arms out behind her back then raises them like wings. “Now, if you’ve got any numbers, let the code lie there. Don’t try to sort it or understand it. It must understand you.”

As I stare at golden zeros and ones, they change from Arabic numerals to symbols I haven’t seen as numbers. The ones look like vertical shepherd’s crooks and the zeros are fancy commas. I hold my breath and suddenly it’s as if I’m looking through someone else’s eyes at a pair of aged hands. I recognize Vaar’s signet ring on her right middle finger. I hear her voice saying she doesn’t intend to do what I told her. She’s calling someone on a phone. A large crater appears, full of huge machines. Two of them are shaped like UFO’s. The sky is black. Shadows are harsh. It’s the surface of the moon. It must be. I recognize the dust.

M. Talmage Moorehead

Personal note to fiction writers…

I’ve been lacking discipline during my interstate move, so a couple of days ago I started James Patterson’s course on fiction writing. He’s had 19 consecutive number one NY Times best sellers, as I recall.

So far, I’ve merely listened to him talking about his process on video. Inspirational. I wrote all day today, noticing a new sense of freedom and energy.

Patterson, like Stephen King, derives happiness from writing. But unlike King, Patterson uses “outlines” extensively and considers them essential to avoiding “writing himself into a corner,” (i.e. creating a problem that can’t be logically solved and therefore requires writers to abandon months of writing, a phenom that happens a lot to me because I don’t stick to my outlines), avoiding boring chapters, and creating more interesting twists by allowing greater flexibility ahead of the actual writing.

I’ve always agreed with the proponents of outlines and envied them because my characters ignore mine. But I’m not giving up. Partly because of this…

An eye-opener for me was reading the thing he calls an “outline.” It’s actually an informal, modestly detailed synopsis of each chapter. The kind of thing I could struggle to do after writing a chapter, but wouldn’t attempt before writing it.

His course includes a complete final “outline” of his novel, Honeymoon. He does three to six re-writes of an outline before beginning the writing. He says a person should be able to tell if it’s a good story by reading the outline. I wouldn’t have believed it, except that I read his outline and found it to be true. The outline was hard to put down.

Imagine the implications.

Obviously, I can’t make a final judgement for you on Patterson’s course until I finish it. But preliminarily I’d have to say that just hearing Patterson’s brief videos has been worth my 90 bucks. It was exactly what I needed right now.

By the way, I’ve got no conflict of interest to disclose. I wish I did. I wish I knew the guy.

The above story starts here.

My humble and yet infallible e-book, “Writing Meaningful Page-turners,” is here.

Please email my URL: http://www.storiform.com to your favorite aunt or uncle.

Thanks for everything! Keep writing. You were intelligently designed for it.

Talmage


Stasis (Chapter 8) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

Is it me, or is it a little unnerving to find the words, “United States” inside a UFO?

With two time-frozen men in hoods.

stock-photo-the-man-with-no-face-over-dark-background-15638068

Generations ago, Ojiichan saw a Japanese boy in a black hood flying a Zero toward Pearl Harbor.

That same Sunday a second-generation Japanese-American guy named Daniel took offence to the bombing of his island.

He dropped school and quit his job to become eligible for the Army, but got classified 4-C…

Enemy Alien.

He never gave up trying to get in, and finally, under the novel influence of logic and reason, D.C. allowed 4-C’s to fight.

Shortly thereafter, Daniel met a strange warrior.

In this photo, the phenotype is evident in his right eye, forever determined.

First_Lt_Daniel_Inouye

“If you must give your life, do so with honor,” Daniel’s father told him.

In combat, Daniel became a legend. Near the end of his fighting career he found himself prying a live grenade from his own nerve-dead right hand and lobbing it at the enemy with the accuracy of his left.

Then, after an insane one-man charge, right arm useless and dangling, gut shot with an exit wound near the spine, propped against a tree to take pressure off the bullet in his leg, Daniel noticed his men catching up, thinking to carry him from the field before he bled to death.

“Nobody called off the war,” he growled, and ordered them back.

These things are documented. All the witnesses from the Japanese-American 442nd Regiment recounted the details of his bulletproof confidence, the innate tactical genius, the deadly absence of fear. One of my own relatives fought in the 442nd.

Daniel lost his arm, but not before delivering the message of Samurai DNA…

“Honor alone defeats the sociopath.”

Thirty-three of Hitler’s hardened troops saw the signature in the cell that day.

Later, when Daniel became Senator Daniel Inouye of Hawaii and found himself in the heated Iran-Contra hearings where a US President was accused of unconstitutional behavior, our elected Samurai said…

“[There exists] a shadowy government with its own air force, its own navy, its own fundraising mechanism, and the ability to pursue its own ideas of the national interest, free from all checks and balances and free from the law itself.”

Until now I refused to connect those words to President Eisenhower’s warning of 1961…

“The prospect of domination of the nation’s scholars by Federal employment… and the power of money is ever present and is gravely to be regarded.

Yet… we must also be alert to the equal and opposite danger that public policy could itself become the captive of a scientific technological elite.”

A black triangle in near space…

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US Government policy dictated by an unelected elite?

Rule of thumb – (can I say this in a novel, Talmage?) – Don’t be shocked by UFO’s, just chew before swallowing.

Classified defense contracts are logical in a world that generates Hitlers.

But if we’re hiding zero-point energy from starving kids, perhaps we have a sociopathic technological elite making our biggest decisions.

My mind still resists that notion as I sit on an ancient Indian carpet in space and stare at a triangle that I’ve heard called the TR-3B.

TR-3B

In front of it, a time-frozen corkscrew mist stretches out for six hundred yards into space. It looks like the “camera-shutter artifact” captured on reentry of the Space Shuttle Columbia in 2003, just before she exploded. God rest their souls.

Here’s that “artifact,” from a video documentary…

gi3d_600x460

Despite two punctate stars (forget the circular pointer), NASA says that this photo “suggests” a jiggle in the camera’s shutter. I can’t imagine they believed that, but the cloudless ionospheric lightning theory would have flown.

No?

“What in the world is that purple trail?” I ask Vedanshi who’s in cobra pose to my right. Always yoga.

“Looks like smoke from an unbalanced missile, but I don’t know,” she says. “The chemistry’s buried in phase shift.”

The Ganga’s orb touches the triangle and dims as it moves into the hull.

“They’re ghosts,” Vedanshi says.

The Ganga takes us closer, then eases us slowly through the hull and into an ethereal cockpit. The top halves of the two men come up through the carpet behind us as we study the control panel with our bodies leaning through the backs of the bucket seats.

I notice a clipboard beside the Chief of Staff’s chair. On it there’s a memo from “Paul Adolph Volker, Jr., Chairman of The Federal Reserve Board.” It’s dated, August 21, 1984, and says…

“The economically disruptive nature of zero-point technology demands it be kept from the public. Your ongoing cooperation is imperative. I would remind you that all conversations are monitored.”

“Does The Ganga run on zero-point?” I ask Vedanshi.

“Yes, but she prefers zero-point gravity over the electromagnetic spectrum. She claims it’s the taste, but I think it’s pride.” Vedanshi winks at the carpet beside her. “She has the most advanced technology in recorded history… At least the parts of history that a sixteen-year-old was allowed to read.”

“Did other ships from your era survive the asteroids?” Maxwell asks.

“Probably. But not in stasis. I don’t think anyone but my mom’s techs could rig a ship for controlled quantum stasis. And even they botched it. To do the job right you need a pyramid.”

The Sea of Tranquility peers down from the moon. I could imagine a well-stocked ship going there to miss an asteroid storm. Or maybe they’d go to Mars. A photo of a pyramidal mountain on Mars pops into my head…

ESP_017574_1965_polyhedron

“Wait,” I say to her, “you mean the pyramids were used for suspended animation?”

“Among other things,” Vedanshi says. “Most pyramids had multiple talents. My favorite thing was mood enhancement.”

There’s a piece of white paper under the foot of the hooded Chief of Staff.  The name on his lapel badge has no vowels.

“Mood?” Maxwell asks, forgetting to close his mouth.

Vedanshi nods. “Some pyramids were resonant. You could hear them for miles. The Builders made them in sets of three to produce a haunting minor chord. They sang every seventh day. If you sat and breathed slowly, the sound brought new enthusiasm. Spiritual technology. I miss that sound more than… even the garden in my bedroom.”

“You had a garden in your bedroom?” James asks.

She nods wistfully. “You know, this science-spirit dichotomy of your era is bogus.”

James just stares at her – an unusual response from him.

“Have you seen the pyramids at Giza?” I ask and put my forehead against the deck to see if anything’s legible on the paper under the Chief’s statuesque foot.

“I’ve seen images,” she says and leans over to see what I’m squinting at. “You want to go check ’em out in person?” There’s the child in her voice again.

James straightens up his lotus position. “To Giza KFC,” he says solemnly, and raises an index finger. “Make it so.” As his hand falls, I see Captain Picard in my head…

wj1h4Dc

“Let’s do it,” I say as frozen words from 1984 shift in and out of focus, most of the message probably hidden under a wide boot:

“All international bank debt will henceforth be transferred to taxpayers through the International Monitory Fund. Breakaway civilization is re-established.”

The pages of a book I skimmed in an eight-year-old pout, The Creature From Jekyll Island, appear again. Since I was thirty-three days shy of my fourth birthday, I’ve been able to read faster than I can turn pages. I’ve always been able to re-read from memory at least ten times faster than I can read from a book. Bottom line on Jekyll Island?

The Fed is inconceivably evil.

Thomas Jefferson might have agreed…

I am not among those who fear the people. They, and not the rich, are our dependence for continued freedom. And to preserve their independence, we must not let our rulers load us with perpetual debt

The Earth spins beneath us as we descend. The enormous African Continent fills the horizons. Everything becomes a tan blur, but before I can worry that we’re about to crash, we’re looking through double glass doors at the tops of the Giza Pyramids…

hgrHTIf

“Yesssss!” James hisses. “I’m so hungry I could cry!”

“In a minute I shall cry,” I say, channeling Scarlett O’Hara.

James chuckles, looks at me and shakes his head. “Man, you sound just like her… Hey, anybody got some Benjamins?”

I shake my head, Maxwell checks his pockets and Vedanshi unzips her purse. She pulls out a crisp fifty dollar bill as the glass doors in front of us burst open and a large man walks straight through me at full tilt, stops at the counter behind us and seems to be placing an order in the local tongue.

My heart pounds at the horror of being a ghost. I’m not dead, though, so it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

James starts chanting, “I’ve never seen a man eat so many chicken wings,” repeating it with increasing anger as Vedanshi smiles at him and giggles.

Now I ask you, how could she get that joke? It’s a spoof on Korn, for heaven sake! She’s never heard of Korn.

Has she?

Maxwell is leaning back on his right elbow managing not to look startled by our first encounter with lunch traffic.

“Tourist info,” Vedanshi says. “The Ganga informs me that there used to be a library under the right paw of The Great Dog. She says there’s a statue similar to it in the very same spot… Called the Sphinx?” She looks at me and smiles broadly. “You want to…”

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“We’re eating first,” James says and pounds the rug.

Maxwell holds out his right first, and the boys bump knuckles.

M. Talmage Moorehead

This in-progress story starts here.

Join my email group here and download my e-book, “Writing Meaningful Page-turners.” Sounds boring, but if you’ve never read a book on fiction writing, this will be the best one ever! For you. So far. I’m pretty sure.

If you have a close friend who doesn’t roll her eyes at sf stuff, please send her (or him) my blog address: http://www.storiform.com.

Personal note to fiction writers:

Sweet, this chapter was shorter. Still too long, but next chapter I’ll try to add some conflict and make it yet shorter. I realize conflict is probably the second most important part of energy flow in a story (from book to reader, vs the opposite), so why is my story lacking conflict?

First, it’s early and I’m hoping to build. But let’s be honest, it’s not that early.

OK… plot twists with conflict are best designed to highlight your characters’ strengths, weaknesses and especially big motivational changes. When I manage to do things that way, I don’t feel arbitrary or manipulative. But writing plot conflict in general is energy-consuming because “working memory” is pegged out quickly (at my age) when I put characters in complex grave dangers that leave only a less-than-obvious (but logical) way of escape. Writing in pegged-out mode is exhausting and challenging. I try not to be lazy, but it requires all kinds of self-control and exercise of free will to build meaningful conflict into the plot.

Plus conflict is risky, and I’m somewhat afraid of it. I might get one of my characters killed. I would deeply hate that experience! Yeah, I know that attitude is unprofessional – what would you call it? “Sentimentalism?” But hey, it’s me. Your humble and yet infallible hack. We must all go with what we are, facing our limitations and striving to overcome and work around them.

At least I realize I need conflict to salvage the energy flow of this story. Otherwise it’s going to be boring. I’ll try harder next chapter. You do the same, maybe. With your talent, you could blow the doors off any complex plot issue. Don’t hold back.

Keep going. Stay pumped!

Talmage


Tampering (Chapter 7) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

As I’m pressing a cold green cylinder to my forehead, my North Star, Barbara McClintock, comes to mind.

Here she is, my life-long idol, standing next to her brother, across from a brave dog that she’s teaching by example, confident energy. “Relax and stop shaking,” her body language says.

1280px-McClintock_family

Barbara’s life sends me confidence, too. She single-handedly discovered genetic regulation in 1951, but to this day the quagmire of Biased Science refuses to credit her with the earth-shaking advance.

Why?

Her work was too complex for other geneticists. To them, any notion that genes were regulated by stress implied a layer of control that smacked of intelligence. It wasn’t that Barbara McClintock intended to say anything about intelligent design, or God. She just reported the complexity she’d uncovered in her breathtaking work. But the facts themselves were heresy to the mainstream who knew that only simple static genes could fit their model. That model had become a “fact” in the strange fundamentalist-style thinking of the time.

Stranger still, that model rules all scientific thought today. We are frozen in an 1859 view of biology that ignores the clear implications of modern genetics.

Under academic pressure to produce nothing that would question the simplistic Darwinian model of life, Barbara stopped publishing her work at the peak of her genius in 1953.

In 1959 two men uncovered the lac operon – an on-off gene switch. Its simplicity buffered the emotional trauma to the paradigm fundamentalists. Genetic regulation now existed, despite the impossibility of it. But since it was so simple, perhaps no one had to panic. Unfortunately, Barbara’s old papers popped up in the archives. It must have been humiliating to the academics who’d shut her up in 1953.

I hope so.

A belated Nobel Prize came to her in 1983, but not for the discovery of genetic regulation. That would have been an admission of guilt from the zealots of mainstream origins mythology.

Instead, the Nobel committee repeated the mind-boggling abuse dealt to Einstein. They gave Barbara a Prize for a lessor breakthrough, hoping to obscure her status in history as the Founder of Genetic Regulation.

Make no mistake: Barbara McClintock is the Founder of Genetic Regulation!

And she’s my hero.

Here’s how she sounded in 1973 — twenty years after the academic thought police bullied her out of their journals, and ten years before her Nobel Prize:

“Over the years I have found that it is difficult if not impossible to bring to consciousness of another person the nature of his tacit assumptions when, by some special experiences, I have been made aware of them. This became painfully evident to me in my attempts during the 1950’s to convince geneticists that the action of genes had to be and was controlled. It is now equally painful to recognize the fixity of assumptions that many persons hold on the nature of controlling elements in maize and the manners of their operation. One must await the right time for conceptual change.”

It’s time…

Intelligent design glows like the moon in DNA’s hypercomplexity. The first set of tiny machines to replicate DNA and carry out its complex commands didn’t come from DNA because DNA needed those machines to do the work. Without them, DNA can do nothing.

Intelligence must have constructed the first set of cytoplasmic machines. We have a model for this today in human construction of computerized robots and their software.

So far, intelligent design is the best model to explain how DNA got started. Ironically, to reject it requires fundamentalist thinking – holding to old emotional beliefs despite new information.

Scientific fundamentalism shuns all notions of a higher intelligence, both the possibility of a God who transcends space and time, and the notion of other planets with intelligent life far enough ahead of us to arrive in our skies.

True science is open to all possibilities, bar none, especially when some fringe idea explains or predicts weird data, as happened to Barbara MaClintock, Albert Einstein and now Stephen Meyer.

I hear The Grudge in my head, Tool’s message to rigid Nobel committees and to all scientists married to their assumptions…

Clutch it like a cornerstone.

Otherwise it all comes down.

Justify denials and

Grip ’em to the lonesome end…

Terrified of being wrong…

Wear your grudge like a crown.

Desperate to control.

I’m not shivering now. “This works,” I say to Vedanshi as tiny symbols appear on the cylinder.

“Let me try,” James says. He takes it and pretends to shave. Excellent sound effects. “Feels kind of weird,” he says and hands it back to Vedanshi.

“The old woman’s already in Nazca,” Vedanshi says. “We better go. We can eat later.”

James moans.

We follow Vedanshi back to The Ganga, get in and take our places. The granite room becomes an underwater landscape for a split second, followed by a shrinking triangular island, then the coast of South America. Peru expands until the Nazca Lines bring a sense of the ancient high-tech past.

nazca-lines

“Looks like an old airport,” James says.

“Like a giant etch-a-sketch,” Maxwell says.

“The old woman’s got light-bending tech.” Vedanshi shakes her head in pity. “Look right there.” She points at the far end of a tapering runway-like thing…

Nazca

As I squint at the “religious artwork” of an extinct “primitive” tribe, The Ganga inserts a yellow filter and a UFO appears near the ground in the morning sun about a mile away. It looks like a Cuban cigar, but metallic and gray with longitudinal seams. A broad blue laser beam glares down from the near end onto the Nazca “runway” and steam rises where it hits.

“Looks like a Maui Bazooka,” James mumbles and bursts into song, “I take a toke and all my cares go up in smoke.”

“I didn’t realize this was a musical,” I tell him as an inverted funnel descends from the belly of the craft to draw in the steam. The laser creeps toward us along the runway, matching its increasing width.

“Coherent field electromagnetics,” Vedanshi says. “You dial the wavelength to the molecular bond force of whatever you’re mining. Iridium in this case.”

“Phase shifting from solid to gas?” I’ve seen a patent on this.

Vedanshi nods. “At ambient temp.”

“Did they soften rocks this way, too?” I ask, picturing the great wall at Ollantaytambo

Peru_-_Sacred_Valley_&_Incan_Ruins_238_-_Ollantaytambo_ruins_(8115049949)

“Some had to,” Vedanshi says. “But the great Builders preserved the natural grain of rocks. You lose that in molds.”

“What’s wrong with wood and steel?” Maxwell asks.

“Stone spares the oxygen producers, avoids toxic hydrocarbons and gives you unlimited building materials. But the main thing is longevity. Anything that didn’t last twenty thousand years was a failure to the Builders. Iron alloys break down.”

“What was your average life span?” Maxwell asks.

“It varied. The stretch heads lived the longest. During the Reshaping, one of their families gained power and began editing their genes. A few of them survived for eighty thousand years, but in the process of tampering, they created hundreds of new diseases. Each one had to be fixed, and most of the fixes had bad side effects unless they restored the original sequences. Which they were usually too proud to do.” She shakes her head. “Average people lived only a thousand years, but without much disease.”

“How long will you live?” James asks.

“If I had my mother’s technicians, I’d be here for ten thousand years at least. But with the equipment I’ve got, I don’t know, maybe a thousand. Too much radiation gets through the Earth’s magnetic field now.”

An Aurora from a recent coronal mass ejection flashes to mind…

St-Patricks-Aurora-683x1024

“I won’t live a tenth as long as you,” James says mournfully.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you die of old age before I do.” She smiles and takes the jade cylinder out of her purse. “This doesn’t look like much, but…” Her brow furrows as she reads it. Then she looks up wide-eyed at James. “Never in my wildest dreams… You’re a poet! The real ones were all cured.”

“Huh?” James says.

“No, I don’t me cured… In my day the poets were legends. We had your music, your stories, your magic… but mostly we had the vacuum you created when you all left us. When depression was cured.” She twists the cylinder. “You have a rare music locus.”

I wish I had my phone so I could play James’ ringtones. Maybe The Ganga can access his website. I close my eyes for a second and translate www.skullcage.com into ones and zeros, but it’s ASCII, not the machine language of consciousness.

Vedanshi stares at James. “I don’t want to change you,” she says. “Do you ever feel like killing yourself… ever?”

He gazes out at the long slender craft with its laser beam mining an ancient Nazca Line for prehistoric fuel.

“Let it out,” Maxwell says to him, “I’m a psychologist and both these women know more about it than I ever will. Let the truth fly.”

James looks at Vedanshi. “You’re putting me on the spot here, but yeah, I get bummed. Like this morning I was kind of… I don’t know.” He looks at me and runs a hand over the top of his head. “Ready to fade out.”

“Really?” She leans toward him with concern. I lean back to give her room. “I don’t know what to do,” she says. “I could ask your hypothalamus to make more orexin, but you’d probably never feel like composing music again. And you’d always be hungry. Struggling to cut weight.”

“I don’t think he needs brain surgery this early in the morning,” Maxwell says and chuckles. He looks at James. “I could show you some coping strategies.”

“Like what?” James asks.

“It all starts with yoga,” Maxwell says, “but Vedanshi’s the expert.” He glances at her legs, crossed and locked in lotus position. “Right?”

She nods. “I’ll teach you, James. We’ll wake your prefrontal cortex. Stabilize your limbic system. Help you choose your mood instead of settling for whatever comes along.”

“Sweet. When do we start?”James says.

She straightens her posture. “For survival, the brain always protects the area controlling respiration. Normally it’s the brainstem, but when you breathe deliberately it’s the prefrontal cortex, the area of volition where prime causes enter the Universe from outside. Blood shunts to this area when you hold your breath or decide how and when to take each portion of a slow breath. Mood elevates because the left prefrontal cortex acts as a pleasure center. It also stops the limbic system’s loops of misery. The rumination circuits.”

“What about this stuff you’re doing with your legs?” James asks. “I’m pretty flexible from martial arts, but I could never do that.”

“The pain of stretching stops emotional pain. It lets endorphins reach opiate receptors. But all stimulation of the opiate receptors is habit-forming, so watch out. I can’t have you checking out like a cutter.” She holds out her left anterior forearm with a row of parallel knife scars. “I was a cutter, myself. Pretty scars on a foolish girl.” She bows her head as she withdraws her arm.

Wow. I never would have picked her out as a cutter. James, maybe. But if yoga works for him, I’m going to be the happiest person on Earth. Which reminds me…

“I’m worried about that autistic boy,” I whisper to Vedanshi and begin searching for Maxwell’s phone in his coat on the carpet between us. I find it and can’t believe it has two bars. I punch in the old woman’s number and put her on speaker.

She answers. “I almost threw this thing away.”

“What’s your name, Ma’am?”

“I was afraid you’d drowned,” she says. “Yes, yes, my name. I’m vaarShagaNiipútro. Please call me Vaar.”

Vedanshi puts a hand over her mouth.

“I’m not with Frameshift,” Vaar says, “but I need you in my laboratory. I wasn’t expecting to get old just yet. My mind is fading.”

One of James’ songs plays to me: “Get home. I just want to make you young. You used to be so alive.”

“What’s your autism study about?” I ask.

“Just a second, dear, I’m double parked.”

Her cigar-shaped craft shoots up from the ground. The Ganga follows, and in seconds we’re stationary in near space with no bars on Maxwell’s phone. But I still hear her voice.

“The world is overrun by sociopaths,” she says. “I’m exploring the genetics of empathy, using the autism spectrum to isolate phenotype. I plan to heal sociopaths from the DNA up.”

“That’s ambitious.”

“I’ve been correlating loci to behavior for a long while,” she says, “but it’s gotten complex. I’m not the chess player I once was. And I’ve never had your gift for The Language.”

“Vaar, you’re infecting children. Why would anyone help you?”

“This is bigger than all of us. If humanity doesn’t move beyond war, we’ll soon be vestigial.”

“I have no argument with that, but…”

“I have contact with three sociopaths who happen to run nuclear nations. One of these men in particular would welcome the complete annihilation of our species. It might be worth eliminating him, but beneath him are endless layers of similar minds eager to seize power at the drop of a pulse. Someone has to re-write the genes of war.”

“But I think you’d have to be a sociopath yourself to treat children the way you do.”

“No. I’m not one of them,” she says. “I’ll admit I can’t remember the last time I had an honest emotion. But I’m not a sociopath. I conduct my affairs on principle, not some dark desire. And the damage I do is reversible.”

“In lab mice maybe, but not in children. Don’t you see the emotional scars you’re leaving?”

“Sometimes the lessor of two evils is all we have, dear.”

Vedanshi closes her eyes and suddenly we’re inside the ancient ship, hovering near the cavernous front, looking down at an old woman alone at a large desk with a holographic monitor showing the blue Earth surrounded by orbiting debris. She stands, scratches her head and looks in our direction but doesn’t seem to see us. Her baggy gray pants ride high, held up by a brown leather belt, the likes of which I’ve passed over in thrift shops. Her sweater hangs uneven and yellowed by age. A large safety-pin holds it together in front. Stringy gray hair spills out beneath a green skull-cap to reach her shoulders. The back of her head is…

“She’s a stretch head,” Vedanshi whispers.

A chill touches my spine.

“Vaar, if I should decide to help you, I would be in charge, not you.”

“That’s acceptable.”

“You’d have to follow my instructions like a rookie, in fact, beginning with the autistic children. Your first job would be to cure them.”

“You want me to pull the plug on seventy-five years of research,” she says. “I’m struggling to find any sense in that.”

“Of course you are. Wisdom requires logic and emotion. A person without empathy shouldn’t try to lead. There’s a rule of thumb for those who lack empathy: the end never justifies the means.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” She switches the phone to her right ear. “You’re not a child, why would you expect me to think like one?”

“To break the rule safely would require excellent judgement. You’ve proven you’re not capable of average judgement. It’s blunt, but I’m telling you the truth.”

“I suppose you might be.” Her shoulders slump. “I’ll comply with your orders.” She looks at the floor.

I feel adrenalin corrupting me.

“I won’t rule another human being,” I tell her, struggling against the euphoric seduction of power. I’ve read about it, but I haven’t experienced it since childhood. “If you have any free will or personhood left inside you, you’ll transform yourself into a trustworthy human being, starting with the autism you’ve created. Reverse it. Every child.”

“That shouldn’t take long.”

“How many kids are we talking about?” I ask.

“Six,” she says.

“Sociopaths always fear the truth. Even when it would help them. Lies are more comfortable. More controlling. You claim you’re not a sociopath, but you behave like one. Becoming trustworthy will be the toughest thing you’ve ever attempted.”

“Eighty-nine,” she says.

“That’s believable. I suggest you get to work, then.”

Vedanshi leans over and whispers in my ear. “We’ve broken her encryption. She’s infected eighty-nine children.”

“Does this mean you’ll help me?” Vaar asks.

“We’ll see. Hang on to your phone and I’ll call you when I’m convinced you’re capable of change.”

I hang up and watch her face. A look of resolve comes over it. She squares her shoulders, takes off the skullcap and winds her hair around her elongated head.

The Ganga exits her craft and moves away.

“Something’s cloaked down there,” Vedanshi says. The outside colors shift toward purple. “Whatever it is, it’s tapping zero point.” The colors change again. “There.” She points at a black triangle…

BBhUR7HCAAAhftL

“Let’s send out a foo fighter,” she says and chuckles.

“You’ve read about World War II?” I ask. “Were those things real?”

“Yes, it seems obvious under the circumstances. The real question is, where did they come from?”

A ball of blue-gray light flies out from beneath our feet and heads for the triangle. We move closer and suddenly we have MRI vision. Two people are inside, standing like statues behind their chairs. One of them holds an index finger in the face of the other, frozen in argument.

“Time dilation,” Vedanshi says. “They’ve been slowed to a standstill. I must have looked about like that… for a number of millennia.”

I had suspected the triangle over Arizona was not alien.

“They look like skeletons,” James says. “You sure they’re alive?”

“Yes,” Vedanshi says. “If we sat here for twenty years, The Ganga would eventually detect a slight eyelid movement. Part of a blink.”

“Are they from your era?” I ask her.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

We move around the triangle to see into it from various perspectives. On the back of the left chair there’s a round design with a star. I have to squint to be sure I’m seeing words. Several of them form a circle. In English!

“Chief of Staff — United States Air Force.”

051108-F-2828X-003_copy

M. Talmage Moorehead

Yo…

If you want, please read this story from page one (beginning with Johanna’s hookless, forget-disbelief chapter zero). It starts here.

If you like my fiction and want to be notified when each of my novels is done (possibly before the next ice age) please join my list here. (No spam or sharing of your info – ever.) You can download my e-book on fiction writing while you’re at it.

Also, please email a friend with my URL: http://www.storiform.com.

Thanks, I appreciate your generous help. 🙂

Writing Tip:

Don’t let a little thing like a long boring chapter harsh your buzz. These things happen. With your talent, you should press on and enjoy the journey.


Round Characters Believe for Good Reasons

Inca_museum_skulls

We stress the different personality types of our major characters, some of us studying personality types so our people ring true. Books like, “Please Understand Me,” are useful in this regard.

But one thing we don’t hear about is the importance of the knowledge supporting the beliefs of our characters.

You knew a guy in high school who was into conspiracy theories. He was socially awkward, smoked a lot of weed and was generally quiet until you got him started on the government, the corporations, the way they hide the truth and herd people around like sheep. Then he’s talking fast.

If you want to write this character you’ve got to read what he has read. You need to learn enough “facts” to understand his logic. If you don’t, the character can’t breathe. You’re not writing the peculiar type of truth that undergirds fiction.

When you do understand his thinking – if your bias won’t allow him to explain things plausibly, he’s still a puppet, not a real fictional character.

You have to be willing to let him speak his mind so convincingly that people reading your story may suspect that you believe the nutty stuff the guy is saying. That takes courage.

If you have a young lady who is convinced the UFO subculture is important, guess what?

You need to go there in your reading. You need to let her do her best to convince the reader she’s right. At least if she’s a major character.

My protagonist, Johanna, is so extraordinarily intelligent that she has an informed opinion on almost any subject. I have trouble letting her tell you some of the things she believes.

But her broad knowledge and off-the-chart smarts are themselves traps in a couple of ways.

First, she has a tendency to be synthetically “bigger than life.” (Unreal, Supergirl.) In a sense, I love her, so it’s difficult for me to hold back the “gifts” I want to give her.

But my gifts to her of great innate talent, like the toys we shower upon children, can ruin her.

If I’m not judicial and self-controlled, Johanna will become a non-person, just as two-dimensional as a spoiled brat standing behind his mother in line, predictable in the spectacle of his tantrum.

Secondly, reading and googling a taboo eye-roller is apt to have an influence on your own thinking. This can devastate relationships at home and at work. You can become the conspiracy theorist, the odd uncle or the weird kid at school.

If, for instance, you were to decide that your oddly interesting minor character needs to spout off on UFO’s, you must be able to support his viewpoint in a believable way. So ya gotta read the details on this “UFO crap.”

Problem is, in researching to understand the “crazy” info-motivation, you will sometimes come to question society’s normal dogma.

You will. Sometimes.

Here’s my advice, for what it’s worth, which is a lot since I’m your humble and yet infallible hack writer.

If you’ve got the power within yourself, try to completely avoid having characters who believe in UFO’s, ghosts, conspiracy theories, alternate interpretations of Earth’s history, unfamiliar religions, unacceptable political views (from your support system’s perspective), demon possession… etc.

Or, if you must delve into darkness, don’t be fooled by the unrealistic notion that you’re too smart to be sucked in.

You’re not. The human process of “knowing” is unsound. Even for scientists working in narrow fields of “expertise.”

Hopefully you will be too closed-minded to drink the endless forms of Kool-Aid, but…

If you write fiction, you might not be all that closed-minded at all. You might be an open minded truth seeker with the courage to believe whatever makes sense to you, regardless of social consequences.

Fiction writers are not average, normal, comfortably superficial people.

We’re accustomed to being different. Most of us don’t have family members interested in our writing. Polite tolerance is the best support we get.

And worst of all, we care about the truth for the truth’s sake – as if the truth actually had inherent value.

Yikes!

So be careful. If you become interested in a fringe subject, such as UFO’s, “normal” people will treat you like an outsider.

Your boss is “normal.” Assume this and spare her the Ancient Alien rhetoric if you possibly can. Do not open yourself up to political arguments at work, no matter what amazing logical “facts” you learn. Let your characters talk to your readers about it. Let them rant.

Your mother-in-law is “normal,” too, don’t forget. Keep her on your side by tolerating the concrete subjects that fill her ISTJ heart. Forget the lecture you heard on chem-trails and the shocking stuff you read about fluoride in drinking water.

Even your spouse is going to be “normal” compared to you. Mine is, and I’m glad for it. Truly. But I don’t want to bore her to tears every time I open my mouth, so I need to care about who won “Dancing With the Stars.” And I need to say less to her about the implications of ancient rockwork in Bolivia, Peru and Egypt, the astonishingly broad spectrum of UFO believers, and the need to look beyond modern medicine for prevention of common diseases, like Alzheimer’s.

No matter how normal or fringie your support group (if you’re lucky enough to have one at all) you honestly shouldn’t allow yourself to become a crazy ranter, if you can help it. It isolates you. Isolation causes depression and anxiety.

It’s bad, umkay?

But if you are basically a crazy ranter at heart, enjoy it and save the world. The people worth having as friends may possibly accept you for who you are. If not, at least you have accepted yourself. That’s got to bring a smile to God’s face.

One last thought: when you read the ultimate “facts” on any subject, realize that you are believing them almost entirely because you trust the source (in 99.9% of situations).

It’s trust (faith), not hard data, that we base our beliefs on. Scientists don’t want to admit it, but in five hundred years, scientists will look back at certain “facts” of our era, such as the supposedly mindless origin of DNA, and they will scratch their heads the way we do when we stand on a beach, look at the curved blue horizon and try to imagine how a person could ever have thought that the world was flat.

In developing all of our opinions (science, art, politics, religion, sports, music), we are not forming truly scientific, primary-source beliefs based upon reproducible data and rigorous repeated testing. We are trusting someone else. Someone else who hasn’t done it either, except in the rarest of circumstances.

This reality needs to be clear to more of us in our polarized society. Objectivity matters. Knowing when you have a little objectivity is key to rational discussions. Recognizing and admitting when you don’t is even more important.

All of us take a position on polarizing subjects by faith in someone we trust. We often feel sure, but we’re not objectively sure of most debated things.

To think otherwise is denial.

Almost everything you believe falls into the category of “taken by faith” because you cannot personally reproduce the work that went into uncovering and interpreting the data in any field (other than your own niche of hard science if you have one. And even then, the distinction between “hard” and “soft” science, while subjective is foundational to the search for truth.

And even the notion that well-structured studies with statistical significance provide the best route to truth is a Western assumption that needs awareness of its context and deserves skepticism – in my humble and yet infallible opinion.

So…

In virtually all your research into the fringes – sometimes necessary reading – any new opinions you might adopt are based on anecdotes that may not be worth ruining your reputation over.

Or maybe your interpretation of things matters more to you than your reputation.

I tend to be that way.

M. Talmage Moorehead

My current in-progress version of Johanna’s novel is written by a girl from a parallel universe. If you’re interested in intelligent design, weird artifacts, genetics and psychology from the perspective of a nineteen-year-old “Hapa Girl,” it may be a fun read. The protagonist is a genius geneticist with a younger brother who struggles with depression, though you wouldn’t know it to meet him. Her evolving story starts here.

It’s an experiment called, Hapa Girl DNA, and is a hybrid itself – a tightrope crossing of fiction and non-fiction. “Hapa” is the Hawaiian term for “half.” Johanna is half Japanese and half Jewish. In writing her novel, she and I ignore some important fiction-writing rules, partly because we like to test dogmas, and partly because it’s fun to try new things.

But the “rules” are essential knowledge to anyone crazy enough to either break them or follow them mindlessly.

So you could download my e-book on fiction writing, the second to last chapter of which gives my current opinions on many of the dogmatic rules of fiction writing. Downloading that 10,000 word file will place you on my short list of people who will be politely notified when my traditional novel is done – possibly before the next ice age. (No spam or sharing of your info. I haven’t sent an email to my list yet. It’s been over a year.)

Next time you’re writing emails, if you think of it, please tell your best and hopefully weirdest friend about my blog (www.storiform.com). Thanks. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.

Talmage


Simultaneous Submissions are like UFO’s

drums 021Before I waste your time, let me point out a good article on this subject from someone who seems to know what she’s talking about.  (I don’t know her, by the way):

http://www.writingforchildrenandteens.com/submissions/exclusive-submission-or-simultaneous-submission/

And now for the infallible opinion of a hack…

You’ll often hear authors of famous works say that their first story was rejected a zillion times.  Here’s one, Hank:

“The script for Rocky was rejected over a hundred times.”

There are too many of these stories for them to all be lies.  Let’s imagine the Rocky myth is true.  How would you get a manuscript rejected a hundred times (before your 90th birthday) without simultaneous submissions?

I can’t think of any possible way.

It takes at least three months to get a rejection slip from an agent or editor.  That’s twenty-five years!  (Three months x 100 rejections = 300 months = 25 years.)

I’ve had agents take six months to reject a query letter.  That would take 50 years for a hundred rejections.

Either Sylvester Stallone and many other successful writers sent their first works to hoards of agents and editors simultaneously, or we’ve all been wrong about UFO’s.

According to some sources, the majority of surveyed Americans admit they believe in UFO’s.  But you don’t personally know anyone who admits they think UFO’s are real, do you?  I don’t.

I think UFO’s are real, but I won’t admit it.

The same thing goes on with successful authors. It must! Before success, they sent simultaneous submissions to truckloads of agents and editors, regardless of the ubiquitous “No Simultaneous Submission” notices. And after they got famous, they denied their actions, or just refused to say anything about it.

But they would probably come clean on an anonymous survey, same as the rest of us do with regard to UFO’s. Huh?

Recently I wrote an email to an author and asked if perhaps some successful authors didn’t secretly break the rules against simultaneous submissions.

His response was terse and implied that I was a lower form of life – and incidentally, one who had misspelled “query.” He ranted to the effect that only an idiot would think there is a conspiracy “with secret handshakes” going on among successful authors.

I’ll admit I’m an idiot, but still…

I asked him if he’d perhaps gotten out of bed on the wrong side. I referred to him as a hot-shot, and advised him not to write back to me in the future.

But he did. He’s a better man that I am, it would seem.

His tone was kinder and not at all self-righteous. He said something like, “Let me put it this way, the agents and editors prefer that you don’t do it.”

“Wink-nod” was written between the lines, I thought.

When you hunt for an agent or editor, it’s sales work.  Selling is a numbers game: Only a tiny percent of potential customers actually buy, but if you can put your product in front of a few million of them, you’ll probably sell something.

Would any rational salesperson give exclusivity to one disinterested customer at a time?  And wait three months for the near-certain rejection of the product?

No chance in hell.

The whole idea is ridiculous, except to fiction writers. We’re a special kind of stupid. Morally above the whole money thing. If you threaten to call us a mean name, like “whore,” we’ll try to convince ourselves that we don’t care about money. We’re artists. We’ll prove it and starve.

Well, I’ll admit there is something about writing fiction that feels transcendent, beyond normal life. But there’s nothing inherently wonderful about working hard and remaining poor.

When I finish the novel I’m working on, I’m going to find some simple variant of “simultaneous submissions” and do a credible sales job, whether the agents and editors like it or not. I’m too old to wait for the continental shelves to shift.

Nevertheless, I do apologize in advance for the terrible inconvenience I’ll be causing those nice people behind the desks who reject thousands of novels each year without reading them. I’m sorry, fellers.

In the final analysis, what’s more likely to sink your writing career…

Two competing agents who love your novel but decide to reject it because they’ve magically contacted each other at the precise moment necessary to discover you’ve committed the heinous crime of simultaneous submissions…

or Alzheimer’s Disease?

M. Talmage Moorehead

Update: Since writing this I’ve been told by a traditionally published author that simultaneous submissions are common among successful authors, at least on first novels.