Author of the Month

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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