The Russian philosopher Pyotr Demianovich Ouspensky is regarded in academic and literary circles as one of the most profoundly illuminating thinkers of the twentieth century, perhaps that century’s greatest. In the early 70s, whilst browsing the Philosophy section of a local bookshop, I came across his New Model of the Universe which he wrote in 1914.

 

After I read the book, which incidentally was about the time I read Janov’s The Primal Scream, one thing that struck me was how such a book could have been written the year World War 1 broke out.

 

Whilst people in high places were willingly and wilfully consigning millions of wretched souls to the most awful deaths and living conditions imaginable, here was a man telling the world ‘stop what you are doing and think about it for a moment’

 

Thus began my love affair with all of Ouspensky’s work through his books, his teachings and some of the most profound and enlightening insights that over the years I’ve had the good fortune to read, absorb and digest. It was Ouspensky who introduced me to the idea that the Universe is six dimensional, one having three spatial and three temporal dimensions.

 

This idea provided the foundation for Moments of Truth. It further fired my imagination for The Time Traveller which attempts to describe the mechanics by which the seat of our consciousness could in effect travel back in time and somehow reposition itself inside the mind of our former, earlier self.

 

What I wonder would Ouspensky have made of Y-Bias and Primal Healing?

 

One thing’s for sure, people don’t listen and people don’t see. In a recent edition of the UK’s popular tabloid newspaper The Daily Mirror, a cunningly crafted news item, sandwiched firmly between fifty odd pages of trash and garbage styled news, showed a full page centre spread of the fate of UK soldiers held hostage in Iran. The picture showed the prisoners enjoying reasonably comfortable living conditions including the use of a chess set, but the accompanying text was the worst kind of filthy hate-driven propaganda that would have been injected into the deeply unconscious mind of your average UK reader, leaving him with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that the Iranians are nothing but a bunch of evil scumbags as he quickly moves on to the next article and another piece of useless trivia.

 

This is British Intelligence at work. Move some soldiers into politically muddy waters, make sure they get caught, arrange for some photographs of the prisoners in custody to be taken by the ‘enemy’ (it makes precious little difference what’s actually in the pictures) and then compromise the whole with some carefully chosen hate words and phrases that the entire readership can read or just glance at, dismiss and move on – and there you have it, not so subtle brainwashing.

 

All those UK and other citizens who saw the picture would thus have had a carefully constructed image burnt into their minds as a memory that while it would be quickly forgotten now, would nevertheless act as a catalyst, one to be primed for activation in the future as events gradually unfold in the ongoing saga of the Middle East.

 

In a previous chapter, I wrote that if we knew what consciousness feels like i.e if we could touch it, take hold of it, bring it round to our way of thinking, perhaps we could think up ways of hitching a ride and getting it to take us places. I would now like to explore this idea, figure out what it might mean, and how it could be achieved, if at all.

 

Let’s recap the fundamentals of Y-Bias.

 

At the primary level, ground zero, the stratum that has no lower level, the absolute rock bottom, this is the scale at which the Zero Point interfaces with and first manifests the organisation of ensemble interactions arising within the Physical Vacuum.

 

Out of the limitless pool of primal energy that is the Physical Vacuum, interactions occur between virtual charge ensembles and virtual photons via the Zero Point.

 

All attributes that together constitute the real matter Universe are constantly being constructed and deconstructed from the Physical Vacuum via the Zero Point, as a perpetual cycle of Self Organising Criticality and structural dissipation.

 

If the Physical Vacuum is indeed consciousness, the very same consciousness that directs and governs us as human beings, and if human beings are further distinguished from all other living organisms by our capacity to not only feel consciousness, but also to be able to make sense of it via our prefrontal cortex, ought not then we be able to devise and master techniques that exploit consciousness to our own ends?

 

For it is at the secondary level that the interactions of charge ensembles create time as a separate and distinct dimension with energy density of its own.

 

The premise that time is created above the primary level would suggest that it is neither absolute nor inviolable. If therefore we were somehow able to get beneath it, i.e. to roam unimpeded through consciousness, we could in effect go on a tour of exploration and investigation whilst simultaneously ‘looking up’ at the world so to speak.

 

Of course, pondering what the word ‘we’ actually might refer, and what the mechanics for undertaking just such a journey might be, is for the time being little more than idly thrusting our imaginations into the world of speculation and romance.

 

We do however, have memories.

 

A critical period in my life… and that’s when it happened. Out of the blue. No warning. No sign. No indicator. I walked up to the window, rattled the latch and discovered it open. I am pulling up the window, and as I raise my leg to negotiate the ledge, so it hits me. A voice, ethereal and without any apparent source, says you are never going to forget this moment. As clear as if someone standing behind me had uttered these very words in my ear.

 

Ever since then, I have carried around in my head a snapshot – what we might also call a fleeting memory -  of that moment in time which happened early one morning in the summer of 1966 when I returned to my University student house, realised I’d mislead my key, whereupon I walked round to the back to see if I could get in another way.

 

I thought about that moment the other night. The snapshot -  a Janovian imprint perhaps – is of me climbing through the opening. It is however not a memory of what I was looking at; rather, it was as if someone stepped out of me, moved back ten feet or so, and then took a photograph of a person – me – climbing through the window, which is the image I retain in my head.

 

If I peer closer into my mind and then play the memory, it is as if my mind’s eye steps into the picture and it is then that the memory becomes a faithful reproduction of what I am actually looking at – which is the dining room that gradually recedes from view as I walk from the window and into the hallway. This would be a fragment of a scene played in forward time.

 

On further scrutiny, I become aware that the snapshot would appear to be located in a slightly different part of my mind to the memory itself, for when I play the memory recording, its position in my mind appears to be slightly different to the position occupied by the snapshot, as if several different areas of the mind are at work.

 

And there is a slightly different feel to the snapshot compared to the memory playback. Though neither is sufficiently real enough for me to be convinced that I am actually playing back a real memory; it is as if my mind is constructing the most likely duplicate or imitation of the real and actual image and which is consequently lacking in sound and other senses – a far cry from a reliving of the actual memory sequence.

 

Living life at any particular moment in time is made up of two components: (i) the impressions occasioned by our five senses (the conscious component), and (ii) the unconscious component that we are not aware of, but which of necessity figures crucially in our state of mind at any particular moment in time, and which bears heavily on the quality or otherwise of the conscious component, and is why we can occasionally have no memory of certain events that, for example, involved heavy consumption of alcohol.

 

I ask myself the question – what precisely is the memory snapshot, why that particular one and not a snapshot of, say, a minute before or a minute later?

 

The memory snapshot could potentially mark a specific moment in time – a node, a marker, a buoy that figures in The Time Traveller.  From that point, the memory itself can be played back, either in forward or reverse time depending on which way we would want to go. Or perhaps rather than the memory being played, it remains stationary, inert and fixed whilst something else moves through an otherwise static sequence – consciousness – that picks up and energises not only the visible image, but also sound, any touch or taste that might be relevant, as well as the imprint of buried Pain that we appear to be forever carrying around inside us.

 

In The Healing Centre, I make reference to the technique of indirect addressing that modern day digital processors and computer languages use to access other memory locations. Perhaps memory snapshots are indirect reference pointers to real memory sequences that, like files stored on a computer disk, are stored as total entities but stored in remote locations and can only be accessed via reference pointers.

 

Our minds must be full of memory snapshots or instances in our lives that have a particular relevance. Latch on to any one of them, and indirect addressing gets us straight into the memory sequences they point to.

 

There may be some good reasons why the hippocampus is not fully developed until we reach the age of three or thereabouts. There may be good reasons why it is crucial that the route to primal pain needs to be approached slowly and in historically regressive sequence.

 

Perhaps the three year period between birth and a fully functioning hippocampus is no accident and is what really distinguishes us from other living creatures. In those three years, the infant knows the world as it really is through feelings and emotions, and to have that knowledge so early on in life compromised by thoughts, ideas and language would perhaps in a peculiar way signify a retrograde step in the evolutionary process.

 

It is as if the evolutionary God is saying: ‘hang on a minute, we know you can think, we know you can talk, but never forget you are first and foremost feeling creatures who have always survived in the past on instinct alone, and therefore, in order that any flaws in the feeling process can be addressed, to enable any defects to be located and identified so that healing and repair can be applied to get them back to an even keel, the properties of accessible memory and intelligence that you possess must initially take a back seat to what must come first.

 

Taking the analogy that our memory snapshots are indirect reference pointers to real memory sequences, these snapshots will only point us as far as our third year if it is true that the hippocampus is not able to record memory before then.

 

Indirect addressing is the mechanism by which second generation computer languages access the contents of remote memory locations via a known local address that contains the address of the remote memory location. It is appropriate to also think of the organisation of human memory in the same way that folders and directories are used to access files that are stored on a hard disk, for we could never find what we are looking for without them. Well we could, but it would take specialised tools and knowledge. Human designed search engines such as Google identify addresses of relevant web pages using no more than a single word or phrase. A keyword in other words.

 

 In the human baby’s psyche, keywords would be facial expressions of the alien kind, angry tones, absence, no response. How does one conceptualise absence? Absence of what?

Plenty of feeling of the heart pounding variety. The adolescent in you sees a girl you like, you desperately want to talk to her, but there’s that lurking fear -  suppose she doesn’t want to talk to you – the great fear of rejection and with it the impending destruction of your entire world that you have taken so long to carefully and skilfully mould around your pitiful, hopeless and hapless self, and that you hope to God she won’t cotton on to until it is too late.

 

I sense that getting to the bare bones is going to take more than even this writer has the capacity to fathom. You do it at your own peril Son!

 

I am a little boy of perhaps 4 years old, my little sister perhaps 18 months. I can see her clearly because we are in the bath together having fun and games. Daddy has just walked in, he is smiling and saying nice things to us as he gets down on his knees and proceeds to wash my sister with flannel and soap.

 

Mummy walks in. I turn to face her, but she does not acknowledge me. Instead, she rummages in the airing cupboard that is next to the bath looking for something, a towel perhaps. I catch her facial expression. She appears disgruntled, as if something is playing on her mind. I turn to Daddy and notice he is attending to us as if my mother is not there.

 

I sense a battle raging between my parents -  a battle of supremacy perhaps in which the prize is the hearts and minds of us children. She thinks she is losing out and she doesn’t like it. If only she knew what a smile at times like this might have done to my overall sense of well being, and which would have guaranteed and set in concrete my undying love and loyalty.

 

A smile then would have said ‘it’s ok to be loved by mummy and daddy at the same time.’

 

But she leaves the bathroom in a huff and I am none too sure what to make of it. Then, as if to confirm my worst fears, my father gives me one of those ‘knowing looks’ and all of a sudden, bath time is not so great as when it started out.

 

Perhaps her position in her own family was supplanted when her younger baby brother came along. A girl who would then be forced to spend the rest of her life trying to please her parents, and which would forever act as a fatal and permanent distraction to her carrying out the demands placed on her own role as mother which should have been loving, uncomplicated and simple. My, how the absence of a smile at times like this can screw up a person’s life for ever.

 

How to win my mother’s approval? That is the great question I have constantly sought answers to throughout my life, and to this day, even though she’s been dead now for many years, still I feel that I singularly failed to gain her inner approval, for something always appeared to prevent her from opening up and thereby providing her with the wherewithal to confide in me.

 

I know it was there when I was born, but as soon as my baby sister came along marked a subtle change in family relationships.

 

Now, if my father had any kind of intelligence, he would have done well to stop what he is doing, go up to his wife, give her a gentle kiss on the back of her neck, tell her he loves her, and persuade her to join in the bath time. In his way, he would have overridden the feelings he knew she felt about her own father, while at the same time giving her ample opportunity to reaffirm her love for her own children.

 

Simple to write, but this is mind control of the devilish variety, since you can’t tell where it might lead. Had my father at that moment carried out the above and stepped into her deep subconscious, there’s no telling what a simple act of love given in unexpected circumstances might not have unleashed. For all I know, he may well have tried something similar at other times, but with a totally undesirable outcome, so he took the course that I remember and which I have written about