To Infinity and Beyond: Transcending our Limitations (cont.)
By Nassim Haramein
Yet there was more. My early interest in exploring the more mystical side
of our experience led me to investigate the internal world of meditation, a
world that is in complete reference to the event of consciousness, of a deep
and fundamental self-discovery and exploration of the observer experiencing
this reality. Therefore, it was both an external exploration, in which I could
push the boundary of my influence on the external world (what one could
call the material world), as well as an exploration of how far I could push the
boundary of the internal world to identify the source of the observation. And
to my great surprise, the two seemed to feed back on themselves. For
instance, in those states of "the zone" during peak experiences in sporting
events, nature seemed to be speaking to me beyond the receptor sites of my five senses to a deeper, more profound sense, as in a
unity between my physicality and the physicality of the
world around me. Similarly, in deep meditative states
and moments of rapture, a profound sense of unity with
the material world around and inside of me seemed to
take place. The question then was: what are the
mechanics of the apparent feedback between me, the
observer, and the material world, and is there a medium
that makes the connection between all things possible
in order to produce unification?
In order to answer these questions appropriately, I
had to conduct, on the one hand, an in-depth study of
the physics of our world and, on the other hand, a study
of the mores (the customs and ritual practices) of
various societies that could reveal a deeper
understanding of the relationship between the observer
and the material world. In my mind, both were equally
important, although the task of studying both in
parallel, which encompassed
fields ranging from applied
physics to cosmology and
quantum mechanics as well as
archaeology, psychology and
spirituality,
seemed
insurmountable. Therefore, it
was with great procrastination
and reluctance that I finally
abandoned my professional
careers in the sports industry to
dedicate all of my time and
energy to the studies necessary
in order to begin answering
some of these questions.
These moments often brought on trance-like states in which I would completely lose track of my whereabouts...
This led to a prolonged, isolated period of my life,
when I lived in a van with a bare minimum necessary to
survive, living the simplest life possible in order to
dedicate every second of my day (and many nights) to
the study of these various fields. Still, to this day, I
consider those times as some of the most wonderful,
productive and mystical times of my life. I was
completely free—free of telephones, appointments and
interactions with the outside world. I was completely
free to think whatever I wanted to think, to study
whatever I wanted to study and to move wherever I
wanted to move, as all I had to do was put the key into
the ignition, press on the gas pedal and I was
instantaneously relocating. My home was wherever I
parked, and I was fortunate enough to be in some of the
most beautiful and remarkable natural environments on
our planet. From the alpine meadows of British
Columbia and Alberta, Canada, to the high deserts of
the American Southwest and everything in between, I
spent many months in communion with the natural
world while in deep contemplation of its physics and of
the relationship between this physics and my
observations of it.
I continued a routine of physical activities to balance
the typical 15 to 18 hours a day I spent studying. At the
time, most of my physical activity consisted of rock-
climbing, as I would typically start my morning with a
sunrise climb after some time meditating or I would get
out of the van at sunset for a little fresh air and a quick
multi-pitch climb to get my blood flowing. Since I was
usually alone, these climbs mostly consisted of free solos
(no protective gear) where, once again, I was free from
having to worry about companions and their well-being.
At the fine edge of these experiences, where any
mistake would surely result in the obvious outcome of a
body falling through space being rudely arrested by the
ground, I could get into that zone where, however
extreme the experience of reality was, there was a
complete sense of comfort, a sense of absolute trust, of
harmony with all of nature and complete relaxation—
and that stuff was addictive. I was in love with nature,
and it felt like nature was in love with me.
I distinctly remember moments
when my cheek was glued to the
face of sheer rock-walls, with the
exposure of a few thousand feet
unravelling below me, and I was
gazing at teeny crystals
glistening in the rising Sun and
thinking about the molecules
and atoms and subatomic
particles that make up those
crystals. Where did they begin,
and where did they end? After
all, these crystals I was climbing
were part of a larger crystal, a
large geode called the Earth,
and the Earth was part of a solar system, and the solar
system was part of a galaxy, and the galaxy was part of a
cluster of galaxies, which was most likely part of a
supercluster, and so on. Furthermore, every crystal was
made out of millions and millions of molecules, and
each molecule was made out of atoms, and these atoms
were made out of subatomic particles, and so on. Was
it appropriate to think that the Universe ended
somewhere, whether on the infinitely large scale or on
the infinitely small scale?
These moments often brought on trance-like states in
which I would completely lose track of my whereabouts
and either dive down the rabbit hole into the molecular
structure of these crystals or expand into galactic and
universal structures, imagining and contemplating
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