Quantum Flux and the Nature of “Reality”

Like the old Robin Williams quote, “Reality… What a Concept!”

In our society, there is this concept called REALITY. Except the more science learns about this World, the concept of this thing called “reality” keeps getting called into smaller and smaller bits (quanta is the term if you will). According to the most cutting edge science, “reality” is more and more the Illusion/Maya of the Ancients (who of course knew a lot more on more subtle levels than Modern Man thought they did).

In “reality” there isn’t One Reality to Rule them all, but some Seven Billion Realities happening every second (or even more frequent) every second of every day.  If many of those who are fiercely fighting tooth and nail against any kind of ‘change’ much less “CHANGE” were to realize this, the quanta would hit the fan.

In my ‘reality,’ there is this thing popularly called ADD, and it’s partner/sister diagnosis ADHD. It’s a condition that more and more of our society are becoming subject to (and those mentioned above are railing at the concept of). It’s (depending on the persons and their politics involved) ‘the Government,’ or ‘The Psychiatric Establishment/Drug companies (/conspiracy),’ or, the really popular opinion, ‘just plain bunk.’

In other words… No One Knows. In my knowing, it is a very real set of conditions. But back to that concept of “reality.”

In each of our lives, in every second of every day, we are being bombarded by sensory input or stimuli. It comes in the form (for most) of the Five Senses. We are bombarded by touch, feel (heat, pressure, etc), sight, sound and to a lesser extent (for most of us – the real Foodies excepted here), taste.

In My Reality, ADD is not a ‘can’t pay attention to anything’ condition, but a ‘pays attention to EVERYTHING’ one. I (and all of you Others like me), did not receive the neural chemistry to block out external stimuli to a sufficient extent that we can focus on ‘only one thing.’ This is most often what leads to that other associated condition (to a greater or lesser extent) called Creativity. The Creative takes in external stimuli and outputs Art (or Dance, or…). Paying Attention to Everything is the central core of the Creative. The Creative takes All of the stimuli and coalesces it into their interpretation of ‘reality.’ In ‘reality’ Van Gogh probably did see the “Starry Night” as he painted it. Which brings me to…

In the Greater Reality, there is not just the physical Illusion of ‘reality’ but also the Energy that Created it. That takes ADD to a whole ‘nother level of complication in the already complicated mess of stimuli. For those of us who are even less able to block out External (and internal) stimuli, the constant flow of Energy on the Meta-Physical level ADD’s to what we’re already receiving.

In my head, I hear all of the objections from those of you who think this is careened into Extreme Woo Woo territory, but a number of those probably stopped reading after the Robin Williams quote (if they even decided to come and read this in the first place. And further into the Woo Woo is that I ‘feel’ many of those thoughts in the day to day moving through and amongst the Rest of Humanity.

In conclusion, (everyone giving a ‘lecture’ always says that)… I experience what most people experience, but manage to block out – through daily rituals like going to work and eating at usually highly specific time, watching TV/films and listening to music. You block the Madness out because you can. I can’t. For me, it comes out in Creativity and the constant influx of Ideas BIG and small. It’s always been like this. I work on one Idea and then another one comes crashing/barging into my consciousness in the next instant. This is why the Daily Rituals and I don’t really work. And it makes it hard for me to find someone else who is both similar to/but different enough to make a relationship work with.

In the end, it’s not that I ‘can’t pay attention to anything,’ I’m always paying attention to, and developing/creating Art, from that Everything. It’s not that I ‘can’t focus on one thing and do that well’ as I have Creations in just about every creative form that I can. Some call that “Genius,” others call it “Madness,” and still others call it ‘just an excuse.’ You should be so unlucky.  

Finding “The One”

I still hear people (ok, women mainly) talking about finding “The One” in a relationship sense, and that somehow they will ‘know’ “The One” (or he will them) by instinct. Perhaps when you really are standing in front of “The One” you will know, I want to tell them, but it hasn’t happened to me. Yet.

Now I’ve thought that I had found The One before, several times. Yes. Well, no, I didn’t. Obviously, I’m still single (or rather, single after I thought I’d… Well, you know).

The ‘magical thinking’ is, Once I’ve found The One, all will be well, for the rest of our lives together. It’ll be perfect bliss, and we’ll never look at another person (other than The One) ever again. Perfection, and then ‘happily ever after.’ That’s what we’ve been programmed for. Right?

And then, a few years ago I was introduced to another version of The One. I would go through a lot of other The Ones’ to find out I didn’t know who The One was supposed to be. In other words, all the ‘small stuff’ would have been taken care of and it was time for the ‘Large Stuff’ to hit the fan. You would know you had met The One because… Well, because The Stuff was hitting The Fan.

When I met The Woman who was to become Wife Number One, I had heard about her from the woman I was living with at the time (an Ex who was ‘just’ a friend at that time). I knew a lot about This Woman, and then I heard her drive up in her van and went out to meet her. She had turned off the Van and was sitting there listening to Our Favorite Song. Yes, it couldn’t get much more The One-ish than that, right? (“Song to the Last Whale” by CSN)

I ‘knew’ that she was The One (at least for then). We tumbled into a relationship, and then into the ‘deeper commitment,’ and then (a year and a half later) The Divorce. This was The One, Part One.

More than a few years later (and several The One’s later), I met The One, Part Two. I knew she was not the most stable One I had known, (and I had known a few Unstable One’s in between Part One and her, to become Part Two). I knew from the start that there would be more Stuff hitting The Fan, but I fell in love anyway; the whole “Love Conquers All” thing (except that it didn’t).

So when I hear Women talking about The One, I One-der. What do they think The One is going to look like? “Hey Mr. Fantasy/play us a tune…” (once again revealing my age). How many The Ones’ have They been through, I wonder?

Now, please understand, I would love for The One to walk into my life. But based on the model of The One as precursor to The Stuff Hitting The Fan (with the other The One’s I’ve met and fell in love with), I kind of wonder if I should be looking that intently for her. A few years ago, disillusioned in life and love, I began to think in terms of the un-magical thinking of “I’m not looking for Ms. Right, I’m looking for a good fantasy.”

Oh, I still have my fantasies of finding The One, but until she presents herself, I’m working along the lines of looking for The One in the transpersonal sense, and not worrying about the relational sense. Working on working, and finding on the career level allowing me to afford The One on the personal level when I can afford to afford The Luxuries that most Modern Women seem to deem The Requirements of The Relationship of Their Dreams.

Until then, it’s a good thing I have many things on my various to-do lists besides “I Do.” I’ve already been in the Stuff Hitting The Fan phase too many other times. I look around me and see many possibilities for The One, but no One has stepped in front of me with the accompanying Song denoting This Is Her. There are many wonderful Possibilities around me but not, (as of yet), The One. As far as I can see, there is The Work (for now) until given/proven otherwise.

"Practicing"

From the new collection "Dreams, Desires, And Dead Ends" All Rights Reserved. 
©2012 Robert Alan Chappell Reproduction in part or in whole of this work constitutes property theft and will be prosecuted. 


You just never know what some of the homeless around the city are thinking about.  Some of them when I walk by are just repeating numbers, others are carrying on 'conversations' with people you and I don't see, but they obviously do.

One of them that I usually find at the bus stop that I use to catch the bus to work, Thomas, always has his arms outstretched and pressing himself up against the chain link fence.  I occasionally feed him, and at other times just give him spare change.

I'd meant to ask him what it is he's doing, spread eagled as he is against the chains everyday.  So I finally just decided to ask him.

"Practicing learning how to fly," he said, with all the due seriousness of the mentally ill focusing on whatever they focus on.

Ok, I thought, with one of those, 'Right!?' sort of sounds in my head that I hear people use when they hear something totally crazy.  He just wants to fly.  That's all. "Good luck on that," I told him.

Without opening his eyes, he tells me quite graciously, "Thank you.  I'll let you know when I do." Right?!  I think.  But instead, I say, "Ok," and continue on my way.  "Have a good day."

And he does.

And I go off to work.  I'm an account by day, a drinker and carouser by night and weekend.  It's not exactly what you'd call a fulfilling life, but it's what I've gotten used to.  I do it pretty much the same way I have since I graduated from college.

Of course I take a break from it every now and then by going on periodic vacations, where I switch up counting by day and carousing by night, with carousing by day and dancing and finding a different hotter number to digitate with each night.  It's a rough life, and I hadn't really thought much about it until I'd began talking with Thomas (when he wasn't practicing flying, that is).

He's about my age I found out, except that his life took a rather strange turn during college.  He went from being a mathematician thinking lofty thoughts about numbers, to having a little too intense of a trip on some psychotropic substance he ingested at a party and thinking about flying.  His life had been pretty much the same since too, except different.  Very different.

That night when I got off the bus, Thomas wasn't where he usually was this time of night — namely, up against the chains of his existence.  I didn't think about it for more than a few minutes before I wandered off in the direction of home.  I just figured he had wandered off somewhere as well, having come on a new thought.
Except that he wasn't there the next morning as I walked up.  This made me start worrying, as I hoped that he hadn't been roughed up in the night and might not be lying close to death somewhere.

So I began calling his name.  I was surprised when he answered.  I looked around me trying to figure out where his voice was calling from and couldn't see him.

Finally I heard, "Up here!" and looked up to see that he was indeed flying.  At about a hundred feet or so.