Our Collective, Expectation Driven Reality

I'll get the "pseudo-science" out of the way now so Skeptics can respond directly rather than read the entire post. This idea leans very heavily upon studies done with perception of electrons, and that is essentially the only evidence but I think it's rather good evidence. Basically when scientists try to predict the path or spin of particles, they discover their expectations were deciding both the path and spin. In other words until they observed the electron it was literally exhibiting all possible outcomes. Perception caused one outcome to manifest rather than the others. At this level of observation, particles take on the characteristics that we most expect them to. Imagine using a Guess and Check table for observing particles, only your first guess was always right because the particles had no right answer until one was provided for them. Feel free to sigh and roll your eyes if you think I'm misinforming people on the conclusions reached with these studies. To me it seems undeniable that our expectations have a direct effect on reality. This line people have conjured up between mind and body (imagination and material) is illusory. Like just about everything else in the universe, it exists on a spectrum.

The problem with solipsism is it invokes the idea that one mind is in control of everything, this mind is solid and non-fractional. The Hindu form is much more appealing to logic: One single mind has divided into every droplet of disconnected awareness. But enough with theology. Accepting the postulate that mind, energy and mass are all basically the same, one can begin to see the connection between what is manifest and what is possible. And between what is imaginable and what is possible. Consider the idea that every expectation in the world creates for itself a possible future and as long as that future does not get impeded by other, more powerfully expected futures, it will manifest. Now you understand the war of expectations. Our expectations compete as they are pulled ever closer to the present moment. When you desire something, you are creating a force that both pulls it in and pushes it away. The pushing away force is stemmed from your clinging to this desire. Your fear of an outcome outside of this desire in fact empowers these other outcomes and makes them more likely. In much the same way when you fear something, you are creating a force which is both pulling and pushing. To exercise one's power over expectations, one must accept all possible outcomes and fear none.

Your expectations are directly affected by your mood. If you are angry, for instance, you'll have some ego-driven energy to feed off but this, in turn, empowers aggression and makes violence a more likely outcome, handing victory over to those who prefer aggression (such as police. In other words never get angry at a cop or you'll make him stronger). If you want your expectations to be stronger than others, you must focus on inner peace and non-being. Non-being is the greatest source of energy.

Books like The Secret can be misleading because they tell you anything you imagine is possible, you just have to believe in it hard enough. This is false, believing in things really hard does not make them more possible if you're too attached to the outcome. It will make you frustrated, though, and less likely to believe your expectations hold any real power. Keep the Collective Reality in mind. If your expectations are to manifest, they must agree with the overwhelming collective expectation. In other words it's a lot easier for a telekinetic to do his thing if he's surrounded by a room full of people that believe in telekinesis. Cynics literally dull the universe. Your expectations of people can also influence the way they behave. By expecting people to behave a certain way, you are providing for them an intuitive compulsion to behave that way. While it is necessary to accept what is, it is also necessary to keep in mind the best possible result. When dealing with people in controversial circumstances (such as being stopped by a police officer) its far easier to expect the other party to behave immaturely or in an undesirable way than it is to expect them to behave positively. However, by keeping these positive expectations in mind without being attached to their outcomes, you are actually providing intuitions for the people around you to behave better and with more compassion.

Hence the greatest weapon is compassion. In fact, if our enemies are corruption, greed, ignorance, apathy, oppression and violence then compassion is our only weapon. Acting from any other emotion (rage, pleasure, boredom) and you have already lost, or even worse you've become a foot soldier for what you're fighting against.

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It is golden fingers wrapping against my skull, grazing and clawing its pretty pink nails. It is stripping me wet and throbbing. It is bellowing like wind, it is god damned awful. It is so tingling. So livid and living and alive and lovely and I die in its grace. I die like ribbons floundering in a gust of wind. Like an ice-dance erupt in fire and split down the middle, and a demon emerging ripped in proud muscles, torn like ambition and cowering in the face of its majestic opposite. So massive and powerful and ferocious, and yet useless as a rusty old heap of monumental pieces chained and growling from its post in the junkyard. So ugly and worthless and creative and burning.

And dying for the reason itself. To be able to. Because that is all we can do. But we can do it in so many different ways. We can do it long or real quick like a shadow black envelope or a dull, murky lake collecting in its place. And always there. And I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop needing it. I can't stop yearning it. Not death, oh no not death every stupid driver is in my cautious gaze and every weapon pointed the right way. Not a physical one anyways. But what can truly be lost? My memories exist in the same way they could. Nothing I really need would die. Just this illustrious, bleeding suffering in the back of my mind. I choose to kill that thing.

I crave it. That shadow. I crave for it to stop haunting me. So come at me, I say, and I expect nothing but what you are. Come at me, demon. You are and you are. And I... will find the God again when this needful thing ceases. Me and the illustrious void together in lovely harmony. Shadow as my friend. The tiger walks the same path as me, and though we find ourselves at odds with each other from time to time I fuel this flame with my nourishing guts. I collect the grounded things, the left-overs, the forgottens. And me and my people pitch these bits for our trolleys and truck them to the furnace, our tiger.

And he burns them all to void. New beginnings then rise from their remains. What was void is now ashy, silky soil. My team and I then water and ponder and blow empathic little kisses against this nasty manure until it grows.

It grows so lovely, and the loveliness shows as our little hearts dance at colors indescribable to us who only know blackness. And we pray so hard that our creations be strong and sturdy and always as pure as they were then.

And we protect what we made with our friends. Though the leeches and the weather plunder at our treasure, we build shelters for these things and work so hard to keep them clean. Though they dampen and they stain and willow in the sun rays we build walls and detergents and washers and gates.

And we protect what we made from our friends, those tarnishing blades they call trust. To plunder and sulk and you know that they must at least get a gripe of what you hold hidden. Bare and then thin and groping like mad at the blackness, looking so hard for a shard of what used to be pure and delicate and colorful.

...

But it's all over, now, isn't it? We didn't even make anything here at all, as far as the earth knows. And I see a family of little creatures below me collecting the dust and feeding it to their mothers. Beating their little hearts in pride for something they don't understand at all.

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This is a nonsense feeling. Like dripping molten rubber, absolutely stale in smell but rich in texture. That meal so delicious in festering bacteria only eskimos dare call it a delicacy. That richness like solidity, like salt and fleshy membrane. And ounces of it, too. Drippling a stream of unsettling goo. Oozy eggwax, it founds a pool in my mind's sewer drains and gathers up into a growth. And settles longer, still, growing roots. Reaching further out into parts of me even I don't dare explore. And there it truly feasts, and buries its feet so deep in me I can't hope to pull it out less I remove every chunk of my insides with it.

And so I do, bit by bit I chewed and grit against it with my canine teeth until I'm scraped hollow. And when that day comes that I've licked every reachable corner clean, I shall await the boiling. And I hope to sizzle well, to not give way to easy thinking nor needful clinging but to boil with perfect meaning and finally be the seeing. Finally see the being.

This is what my mind finds in that nonsense It's entangling, unsettling and far too enchanting too ignore. It's gentle darkness is so unspoken that everything within me calls out in utterance. I am alive only because something like death exists. I have projections only because it presents its lovely canvas for me. Only in darkness can light exist. Only in silence can we find noise. Only through hollowness do we know fullness.

Every single thought, no matter how pure and beautiful, is an act of rebellion against death and God.