transport of matter

Unexpected Behavior of Matter in Conjunction with Human Consciousness (2010) – Dong Shen

This article discusses the experiment in which a small piece of paper was transported out of a plastic vial by the means of human consciousness. The phenomenon of solid matter penetrating solid matter is attributed to a second consciousness state (SCS) that differs from the first, normal consciousness state of everyday thinking. Chinese research has suggested the involvement of a third-eye screen, which is essentially an image of an object created on a virtual “screen” in the middle of the forehead when a practitioner spends about an hour thinking deeply about the object. Psychokinetic (PK) transportation of the paper from the vial requires an image of the paper to be held stably on the screen by the SCS so that the first consciousness state can visualize moving the paper out of the vial; findings suggest that the paper image on the screen is able to receive information from the practitioner.
The methods used in this experiment were derived from Chinese research that began in the 1970s. These early studies were fueled by findings regarding Exceptional Function of the Human Body (EFHB), first seen in a boy who could “read” Chinese characters written on a piece of paper placed next to his ear. Shouliang Chen at Beijing University sought to determine whether or not EFHB was a physiological function of the body, and his studies found numerous other children and adults who were considered to have EHFB. The resulting source of practitioners served to advance research on this topic in a number of other programs.
For this particular experiment, practitioners were recruited from the Fudan University workforce. Individuals were selected to voluntarily undergo ESP and PK training without compensation and were generally 16-22 years old with little education. Results showed that success was often predicted by individuals’ level of mental flexibility and lack of preconception; approximately 60% of participants were successfully trained in ESP, with lower rates for PK success.
In this study, the canister was a standard-sized, opaque black plastic, 35-mm film cartridge container with its cap. A slip of paper 65mm by 90mm had a number written on it before being placed inside the canister. Although the practitioner, a 17-year old male, had no ability to achieve SCS initially, after six months of psychokinetic training, the experiment began. After the practitioner spent two days preparing, the experimenter wrote the number 830 on the paper, folded it four times, then passed it to a second experimenter who placed it inside the canister. The practitioner was seated one meter away from the table and told the paper was inside but not what was written on it.
Approximately forty minutes passed in silence as the practitioner stared intently at the canister. Moments later, the practitioner stated not only that the paper had moved to the floor near the wall, but also that it had the number 830 written on it in blue ink. None of the experimenters described seeing the paper leaving the container or flying across the room, but upon further inspection, there was in fact the very same paper on the ground near the wall, still folded.
The researcher provided the manner in which the practitioner described his experiment as follows, “during the experiment he concentrated on the black catridge container and got it deep in his consciousness while entering into the SCS. Then an image of the container appeared on the third-eye screen located in front of his forehead. He saw the image of the paper in the same way. At the very beginning, the paper image was not stable and not clear. After he focused on the image for a while, it became stable and clear on the screen. The number on the paper could then be easily read, that is, 830 written in blue, even though the paper was folded inside the capped container. When the image of the paper was clear on the screen, he started to use his mind to move the paper out of the container. At a certain point, he “saw” in his mind that the container was empty and saw in the room that the paper was on the floor near the wall.”
This research found that second consciousness state images on the third-eye screen have a number of remarkable qualities. When the practitioner is in the SCS, he can see the folded paper on his third-eye screen, and even has the capability to mentally examine it to determine its parts and characteristics, which was the number 830 in blue ink. Studies have also shown that an individual can focus on a given page of a closed book and read it while the book remains closed. This is possible because the image of the object on the third-eye screen is actively connected with the actual object; merely reading the third-eye screen is simply ESP. Psychokinesis results from the SCS focusing on the image and working with the normal, first consciousness state, which can then instruct the object to move.
According to the author, there are three requirements for psychokinetic activities. The first is that the image of the object actually appears on the third-eye screen. Second, the image on the screen must be stable to ensure it is intimately connected with the real object such as that between an object and its reflection in a mirror. This is achieved by maintaining concentration on the object. Finally, the image receives its “instruction” from the normal, first state of consciousness. When the position of the image on the screen changes, the real object will follow the position change simultaneously, similar to a tunneling process associated with a quantum mechanical wave function. These traits can be trained, with children 8-12 years old and young adults 15-22 years old with limited education showing best results.

happy mother's day

on this sixth sunday of easter, the lessons remind us of the power of love; god's love for his people has brought beauty and light into the world, and all we are asked for in return is an unwavering love and faith in him. although she may be a mere mortal, the gifts of god shine so brightly in my mother. in this week's gospel, john 14:23-29, jesus tells judas, " my peace i give to you. i do not give to you as the world gives. do not let your hearts be.. afraid." as i read these words, i couldn't help but think of my mother, whose capacity for love and compassion constantly amazes me.

in our relationship, my mother has never given to me as the world gives. a year after i was born, she wrote, "you have filled a place within us that we didn’t know was empty...I want you to always know how much I love you and that I’ll always support you and do whatever I can to ensure your happiness." she has never, ever broken that promise. i cry every time i read it (i'm crying a little now) because her love for me has been so dynamic and enveloping, even when i have been perfectly awful. her heart has so much room, it seems, and i know how blessed i am to experience such enveloping love - it feels as if we are physically connected.

my mother is filled with such beauty, and she transmits a sense of inner peace and love in every interaction with the world. when i watch her, i see it clearly and tangibly. i marvel at its constancy and its untiring, unyielding, and unrelenting presence and think of god. last week, we were told to love one another, and that this love would be the true marker of our faith in god and his son. in my opinion, this loving relationship is trust in the innate perfection of god's creations, or more simply, faith in the essential goodness in people or things. even in the most trying moments, i have seen my mother draw from some beautiful inner strength that i can only hope to find.

so yes, i have faith in god, but i also have faith in my mother. the vibrance of her radiating love is a living reminder that we were all created in the likeness of god, and that the peace offered through love for god, jesus, and each other most certainly exists. my mother embodies what we, as christians, strive to become, and is simply the best person i have ever known. the strength of her intrinsic love has carried me through times when i could not find any love in and for myself. saying thank you is not an adequate show of gratitude for such powerful gifts. to truly honor my mother, i must open my own heart to the love i have been offered, but even more, to the love i can offer. my mother has taught me that love is endlessly renewing, perhaps like nothing else in this world, and thus, to have love is to have the world.

i love you, mom.

haus of bird

inbox

soup
whiskey orange juice
grapefruits death no.
I’m saying
that’s all I had planned for later I think
I’m forgetting

to do what I said I would and
I need to try to keep with it
so I don’t think I will see you
no kate dawson’s creek I told you

think carrie
just left were like half an hour away ookey
I can’t pretend
that youre only my friend

when youre holding
my body tight we still on for tomorrow
HURRYUH we need to set a start time yes ma’am
in the meantime blind

pig afraid not love
s’okay went with megan
s’all good ran home to pee how
does one order drinks

at an American bar tomorrow
would you like to go
get fnc or should I
have them waiting for you

at my place okie doke what was it eh fuck
fuck I’m high
close before meeting
and I don’t think
it was straight
weed na ddrive me to allway
eq q 4:00 Friday dr beye
yes please yes double

please I’m in getting-up
process now yesm whr
u today nearly there yeah
fine where in aa
ooops
where in aa WELL


YOU DON’T KNOW DO YOU BECAUSE I WAS TALKIN WITH SOMEONE ELSE the first time okay sarry nuuh
sdiff
oh u didn’t lock the front door
and bass’s chair got rained on
of course ehhhh what is it
what is it what is it

what is it um yes it will be
is that comment yr way
of telling me that you will be going
to the party
sux 4 u
come over come over hah no
I got good shit now buuuuut
so you’ll be fun you mean
smoking this joint with clara now to take a break from smoking so
I shouldn’t SMOke even MORe after that oh yeah I see
gtg kate
yo can we
return bottles otherwise I only have 3$
we r staying inside til u call whr we meeting u
dinner’s all over
but I think
I’m staying in tonight

where is my mind

no, i haven't been listening to too much of the pixies.

it's been at least six months, but more likely over a year. it isn't necessarily just my mind that is missing, rather, it might be my self. at least my sense of self, i suppose. i've described a schism that has wrenched apart who i want to be and who i have become through my actions. the cohesive element is my constant desire to be good, nice, respectable, honest in my movements. unfortunately, this underlying hypothetical essence of self is constantly disrupted by the poor choices i make (in situational haste and shortsightedness), leaving me feeling destructive and dangerous and generally unfit for human interaction. perhaps i would be better off if i didn't expect or want to be a good person in that the regret and grief i load upon myself - i can't even pretend anymore that my bad behavior is accidental - destroys me constantly, and yet, i still hold out the tiniest wet match hope that i will step up and away. i seemingly always choose situations that enable me to act stupidly but moreso manipulatively and i know when i'm doing it and i know how i will feel afterwards but i yield to some yet to distinguished force and feel momentarily good but constantly false. there is nothing that feels worse than not knowing why i lack the discipline to stop, except the fact that i have lost all concept of who i am anymore. blaming mental illness feels trite at this point. even being on meds for every emotion and sensation didn't enforce any sort of identity, and so i am left wondering if i either have some growing up to do or have some fatal character flaw. i have been in therapy for five years now. i have been on meds for four. what the hell do i have to show for it? am i not trying hard enough? have i not met the right person? what is wrong with me? most likely i am making poor choices.

sometimes when you disobey your body, your body disobeys you

the best thing i have written in college:
http://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0AaxAzGo3CISTZGZnZDJtbjhfOGcyY3Q3cWdz&hl=en

other things:

↔↔↔
sublimation

asleep and alone,
the quandary between
both snow and ice
as solids is resolved
by a mutual eagerness
to fill lungs as water.
schematic alterations
become coastline interjections
as the silhouette smell
of pennies clenched
in pocket fistfuls
attest that this
house could use
some utensils.
incisors gleam in
shields of useful moments,
and build solidarity
through emptying
the lost and found
-
underwater blind spots are
pinky toe pinching sneakers,
dental floss suicide,
the day’s news,
a remainder in
side-hand smudges
transferred onto
more personal business.
-
I never dreamed,
and instead laid
unconscious in bed -
should versus could versus want:
could becomes want,
but want is seldom should,
and could and should
rarely align
-
do-it-for-yourself and
sever the corpus collosum
with pruning shears you
find in the garage, but
wd-40 the blades first so
it is a single snip, not
a series of teething perforations –
it is impossible to nest
when everything
is so shiny.
↔↔↔

↔↔↔
begotten, not made

you arrived in
a short circuit
of time that had
occupied the place
beneath the lines
of my face. my
teeth had grown
whiter and thinner
in your disappearing
half-life.
the neatness of
your cuticles
disarmed my pupils
into narrowing.
a gun held
to the temple
ignites circles
of candles.
inhales taste loudly
of hasty justifications in
the form of prayer.
our father,
who artfully wore
a silk necktie
over the hollow of his throat,
knew when to come
and when to be done.
let’s go let’s go let’s
go now into the world
with pieces
of imprinted love
remembered
with fingers to forehead.
punishment is
scar tissue rolled between
thumb and pointer
while begging for
time to pass and
stay the same in
a single pulse
of blood.
let us pray.
↔↔↔

↔↔↔
slow dancing

I’d like to honk, just a single
beep, a bell for service brought
warmly to a halt in the continuation of
the ringing finger’s downward path.
it is almost Christmas. the mall has
looked the same since thanksgiving
and this day ten years ago. you are
unquietly miserable. your parents and
fourteen zen vegetarians will be hungry.
I had to leave when I realized you
were just realizing that gluten
made meat-like texture. roald dahl
appeared. the brick of frozen
soy protein seemed a potential
blunt weapon and if we expected
nutrition from violence we
would eat bleeding steaks. I
would be dead. you
would get off. no one
would be hungry.
in stepping lightly,
we knew how malleable a
fuck could be. the refractions
seemed always
inward. double sided.
being caught watching might
be worse than being caught.
like a flesh eating virus,
I never felt dirtier. rap once
on the window, hard. the yard
will clear. after the funeral we
didn’t stay to talk. I couldn’t feel
the carillon’s grief chattering
in between your ribs but I heard it
in your eyebrows. I will keep my
eyes on your elbow to ensure
firm contact. everyone likes a last
minute triumph. except the referee.
he would prefer to remain intact and
to make it home at a reasonable
hour. teachers feel the same way,
but fewer arrows, bigger target.
good lord somersaults hurt
and I have never done a single
cartwheel unless my friends
have been lying to me. it can be
hard to keep track of the sun.
perhaps I’ve always had something
lodged between my teeth. physical
contact does not ensure toughness
in locations other than the pads of
hands and feet. sometimes discipline is
as simple as a short whistle through
buck teeth. ears perk despite
best efforts to remain flatly ignorant.
in bed you thrash like drowning
but I never try to wake you
for fear of drowning in tandem.
absolute measures lose value in
unconsciousness. the comparison
of pain in nightmares to drug-
induced hibernation is beyond me.
maybe dreams are better than
real life. the clanging in my head
seems to subside with the
parking lot panic. their mania is
seasonal. yours is not. our mattress
doesn’t even have the heart to
creak when we lay down anymore.
my grandmother still says my
name like cashmere and roast
beast but I wonder what is left of
her lungs. I shake my clothes off
before I come back in, as if her cancer
is more infectious than yours.
when we talk about next weekend,
I worry about genetics. it has never
been comforting. for months I
have planned it. tomorrow I will
win the lottery. that will be that.
you will still be you. I will still be
me. we will not be we. when I go to
make my claim, I will not turn off
the alarm before I open
the back door so that
you will look up. as
you watch me carrying
the garbage out to the curb, there
will be no uncertainty that
it will be my wave goodbye
and the last favor
I ever do for you.
↔↔↔

barely bothered

my posts have been sporadic, at best. i apologize. the cause itself is complex, i suppose.

to be honest, i can't write anything.

perhaps it is the post trauma of all the car accidents.

perhaps it is the dosage and combination of my plethora of meds.

regardless, something needs to change.

in pieces - Psalm 18: 5-6; 16; 19

the cords of death entangled me;
the torrents of destruction
overwhelmed me.
the cords of the grave coiled
around me.
in my distress I called to the
Lord;
I cried to my God for help.
from his temple he heard my voice;
my cry came before him, into his
ears…
he reached down from on high and
took hold of me;
he drew me out of my deep waters.
he rescued me…from my foes who
were too strong for me.
he brought me out into a spacious
place;
he rescued me because he delighted
in me.

and my come to jesus continues to be justified. it is almost scary how exactly parallel this psalm is.

the car is going to flip (cords of death)
we are going very fast (torrents of destruction)
we could all die (cords of grave)
dear god, please don't let us flip (cry
dear god, please let us stop flipping(for
dear god, please let us land on our wheels(help)
thank god it has stopped (he heard my voice)
thank god the doors open (took hold of me)
thank god i am alive (drew me out and rescued me)
thank god for giving me another chance (delighted in me)