Thinking on the Other Side of Zero

Alan Joseph Oliver

Description

Have you ever felt someone's eyes on the back of your
head? Or perhaps you may have known who was on the phone, even before you lifted the receiver. Science calls these moments of knowing anomalies. If an anomaly cannot be measured it does not exist so far as science is concerned. I wonder how science measures a mind.
Whenever I feel someone's eyes boring into the back of my head I ask myself if the brain can transmit information, and given the measurements carried out on the brain I have concluded that the answer lies elsewhere. All of the evidence points to mind being non-local, and what that means can be more than you have bargained for.
For a start it means that mind exists outside of time and space, and points to the likelihood that conscious awareness can exist beyond the body: even beyond this particular life. And since mind exercises the faculty of memory, its content must also be outside of time and space.
This last point was particularly helpful to the people who sought my assistance as a healer when they were facing death. My anomaly was always able to make some real contribution to them, and I hope it does the same for you.

Sujets

• Biography
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris AU
• Date de parution: 08 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669888024
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

THINKING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF ZERO
An Intuitive Philosophy of Mind, Memory and Reality
ALAN JOSEPH OLIVER

Copyright © 2022 by Alan Joseph Oliver.
 
Library of Congress Control Number:
2022907740
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-8804-8

Softcover
978-1-6698-8803-1

eBook
978-1-6698-8802-4
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
 
 
Rev. date: 03/02/2023
 
 
 
 
 
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CONTENTS
Preface
Acknowledgements
Foreword
Introduction
Alan’s Hypothesis
 
Chapter 1 Patanjali, Bohm and Sheldrake
Chapter 2 The Yoga model of reality
Chapter 3 Wholeness and Entanglement
Chapter 4 Co-emergent entities
Chapter 5 Awareness
Chapter 6 The Holomovement
Chapter 7 Consciousness
Chapter 8 Where Patanjali and science meet
Chapter 9 Non-Local Consciousness
Chapter 10 The relationship of space and matter
Chapter 11 Putting it all together
 
Glossary
References
PREFACE
I want to preface this book with my reasons for what follows. For some time, I have held the view that everyone takes thinking for granted; not deliberately, but because every moment of our lives involves thinking the process itself passes unnoticed. This view evolved during the years I spent assisting people coming to grips with serious illness. One lady in particular, Emma Gray, had breast cancer. In all I spent eight years with Emma as she confronted the disease and the treatments involved.
Over that time, we found that what Emma needed most was some certainty about what might lie ahead. For my part, I was a listener and sounding board for her questions. I have noticed that most of us hold some form of belief about what the reality on the other side of death might be, and within those beliefs is the implied message that faith conquers all.
In 1988 Emma had completed her chemotherapy and radiation treatment. She entered a period of remission and was able to resume her job and her part-time acting in a Shakespearean theatre company. Her time was shared with mundane office work and acting, and unfortunately the remission was shorter that she had hoped. This time the cancer was back in earnest.
One day she greeted me with a copy of Deepak Chopra’s Quan- tum Hea ling7 and offered it to me as the solution for her dilemma. When I asked what exactly she thought was the message in that book she mumbled something about a magical ‘gap’ in reality that held great promise for people in similar situations. I read the book and found it interesting; the gap raised more questions that it had answers for, and I thought it was a clever gimmick. Thinking on the other side of Zero
For Emma that message fell far short so far as satisfying the question was concerned, and while the gap sounded like it held a promise there was no practical way to realise that implied promise. Our discussions took on a life of their own as I sought some clarity about this gap. Eventually I gave up and sought answers in Bevan Reid’s papers and the subsequent discussions I had with him. I related these to Emma and suggested that we try meditation as a way to ease some of her mental turmoil. While she didn’t have the patience to meditate for herself, we found that my meditative state was somehow communicated to Emma, and she was able to experience an acceptance of her circumstance that had not been available otherwise.
What led me to delve a little into the Yoga Sutras was the way that when I had put her into my stillness, some of her artistic traits seemed to be absorbed by me. I didn’t suddenly start to become an actor or anything like that. It was simply the case that after a day locked in conversation with Emma I would go home and feel driven to write poetry which reflected those conversations. I am not one who does poetry, and this was a bit of a surprise for me.
I had seen her about once a week for most of the time, and when the cancer intruded into a welcomed period of remission around the beginning of 1990 the visits became more frequent. Early the following year Emma was admitted to a Palliative Care Hospice where she was able to receive excellent treatment in a caring environment. Every evening I would find her sitting up in bed, with her eyes fixed on the oxygen gauge on the fixture be- side her. I sat with her through every night of those short months and spent most of that time putting her into my state of stillness.
On my last visit she greeted me with this declaration, “Alan, “I’m getting married!”
When I asked who she was going to marry she replied triumphantly, “I’m going to marry Emma!”
Then she settled down amongst the pillows, waiting for me to help her be still.
The following evening at work I had a call from the palliative care hospital, informing me that Emma had just died. As I sat down to think about her that same drive to write a poem appeared, and this is what I wrote.
True friend
A thief in the ni ght? Never!
Death is the gentlest friend,
Easing the pain as only can on e
Who knows you
For who you really are.
So maybe our conversations provided the result she sought. I still am unsure if the words, true friend, were the title of the poem or addressed to me. They came out before the remainder of the poem. I will have to ask Emma that question in another lifetime.
Reflecting on the thousands of conversations we had over that time I realised that what we had discussed most of all was the mind, and the part of us we call “me”. Central to this “me” was thought, mind, why I think what I think, why Emma thought what she had thought, and a myriad of questions about consciousness. What I had been able to give Emma was some confidence that it was entirely possible that awareness persists after death.
I make no claims to having any profound answers, methods or theories about any of what follows. The material is simply my own musing about reality, and the questions arising from my personal search for personal answers, first on Emma’s behalf and later for my own. Our discussions inevitably led to faith and religion, with my answers having their basis in Yoga and the science I had gleaned from my discussions with Bevan Reid. In the process I questioned much of religion and science; not to prove anything but to show Emma where the questions had led me.
It is quite likely that you will have reached different conclusions to mine, and I hope you will develop an appreciation of that difference. The distinctions we make about events, thought, feelings and even people reflect our own personal definition. They are neither right nor wrong, none are better or worse; we are simply different. If you can accept these differences as Emma did then life can indeed be beautiful.
So please be aware that what I have written is an open and honest reflection of a human process that we happen to call thinking. I’m sure birds, bees and even monkeys like us all do it; there is nothing original about any of my thoughts. I think there is a fundamental code of consciousness which evokes thoughts against any given circumstance or event. The person having that thought decodes it against her/his parameters, whether they are cultural, beliefs, ideologies or reward and punishment systems.
Modern medicine tells us to ‘use it or lose it’ as an exhortation to exercise. Now, at the age of 70, this seems to me to be directed at the memory and cognitive functions. This book is intended therefore as your mental gymnasium. At your first try it might seem all too hard; Emma would advise you to keep going.
You will not learn anything new; that isn’t the point. What I hope you will gain is a clear recognition of our individual differences, and to cherish them.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I want to acknowledge Dr Bevan Reid, my friend, confidante, and mentor for almost twenty years. Over that time his generosity and counsel have been invaluable to me as I sought to come to terms with questions of existence. What was remarkable over that period was the fact that we had never met face-to-face, and it has only been at this end of my searching that we did finally meet to discuss the completed work. Bevan was always there to bounce ideas back and forth as I wrote the first two books, and with his encouragement I continued into this book. His own research into cancer has provided me with the science behind my thinking, and without this help I would still be looking for how to begin rather than at the end point.
I want to thank my editor, Theresa Janssen, who volunteered her services quite out of the blue. As one who had very little experience in writing and being aware of the lack of an editor for my earlier books, I accepted her offer with gratitude. The subject matter is unusual to say the least, and the fact that Theresa was prepared to tackle the task of editing it is a measure of her natural generosity.
My thanks to Brian O’Connor, linguist