Joaquín Torres García: "Constructivo en Gris y Negro con Centro Rojo"
"We exist beyond belief and confirmation …"

As a dedicated non-physicist, I feel great attraction to string theory, a perspective proposing that vibrating strings comprise the fundamental building blocks of this universe. As I understand it, which likely represents a material misunderstanding, under string theory, multiple simultaneous dimensions exist. I'm informed that the math supporting this perspective more or less works, though physical observation, long the gold standard of scientific investigation, cannot confirm it. I feel warmly attracted to this non-confirmation aspect of it because my experience seems to dwell simultaneously in multiple dimensions, and while my sensations fully support the existence of these swirling existences, physical confirmation remains beyond me. I can swear today without misrepresenting my experience that I continue to live in every home I ever inhabited, though I know that I physically left all but one of them behind me, or attempted to. This world would be even more of a mess if I could maintain multiple simultaneously active mailing addresses and the physical sciences would have to reject my MultipleHomeTheory or undermine its whole philosophy. In string theory, the math works. In mine, only personal sensations confirm it.

As we pack to leave this place, I face an impossible choice. I've already liberally painted every cubic centimeter of this place with more than my fingerprints. I've written books while sitting in this very room, sucking inspiration in through the floor and ceiling, and exhaling never-before seen works. Places where such births happen become irrevocably changed, just as the supposed change agent anchors parts of himself everywhere in perpetuity, permanently. I cannot blithely pick up and leave. I will inevitably smear myself along to another room but forever remain tied to this one, spreading myself further while never completely leaving. As I said, my sensations seem to support this occurring, though objective conformation remains lacking. My calculations confirm but, like with string theory, calculations alone can't qualify as confirmation.

Sciences have long suffered from what I might characterize as a disabling confirmation bias which favors four dimensions above all the infinite others. We each experience phenomena which seem to inhabit other dimensions, ones where yardsticks couldn't possibly exist. Most of us live surprising amounts of our time somewhere other than within any physically discernible here. It seems little stretch, then, to consider that we inhabit both/and rather than any more exclusionary either/or space. As I pack to leave, I notice my mind frantically flitting forward and backward, eliciting sensations I exclusively associate with other places and times, and I sense these feelings here, in what passes for now. I was just then walking down a once familiar street that I know for certain has always been physically located two thousand miles from where I'm presently seated. No, I didn't leave. I apparently smeared there.

Some pieces of me remain wherever I say I left. We've scheduled a deep cleaning for this place after we physically vacate it, but no steam cleaning machine has even been capable of completely eradicating evidence of anyone previously inhabiting any place. Science might say it's satisfied with the sanitation, but most of us experience the absence of any deeper cleansing, almost a haunting no exorcism seems capable of eradicating. MultipleHomeTheory strongly suggests that we're each worse than any over-staying houseguest. We become permanent residents of everyplace we say we pass. There's never any effective checking out. We subsequently drag ever-lengthening tails behind us. For balance, we also project our tongues out in front, tasting toward our future, and all of this simultaneously, seemingly unavoidably. We check in then never check out again.

The hassle comes from packing up all the mammon we insist upon owning, each little treasure tied to some tradition or ritual, each a presumed necessity without which we cannot quite believe we could live. We exist beyond belief and confirmation, perhaps only rediscovering this fact when we're moving and intent upon leaving behind some place and some things. I seem to still carry stuff I long ago lost or tried to discard, threads still connecting, much like string theory postulates. I usually seem to live imbedded within a single, easily confirmable dimension set. When I start HeadingHomeward again, I sense that I've already arrived there many times before and that in some unconfirmable sense, I never really left.

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My calendar, firmly imbedded within this dimension, insists that it's already Friday again, and so I must linger a moment or two to reflect upon what I've just dragged myself and my readers through. The exterior painters came this week, sealing off every window until I felt like an exhibit in a bug museum. The kittens seemed to not much like losing their grand views into the outside world, either. A plumber came to install sinks which produced a vast visual improvement though he, too, over-inhabited the place, leaving me temporarily without a spot to inhabit myself. HeadingHomeward, we've already left, now Just Visiting while packing up the place. This week passed by quickly while filled with seemingly interminable moments, simultaneously inhabiting opposing states, MultipleHomes at once, unsurprisingly.

I began my writing week Reprospectively, dredging up past in the present to make sense of whatever might be coming next in Reprospective. "Life, besides simultaneously moving too fast and far too slowly, also seems to exist holographically."

I next catalogued a common experience within our frantic present, missing mealtimes in MistMeals. "Some activities can't seem to sit still long enough to even wolf down a quick sandwich."

My most popular posting this week featured me at my most SoftHearted. "I discovered during that afternoon overflowing with duress that I simply must be my brother's keeper, even if — perhaps especially if— my brother ain't acting all that brotherly, even if he just seems an extra heavy burden."

I then set about explaining my heady experience of Purging. "Purging bestows the power enjoyed by despots throughout the ages."

I extended a hopeful invitation to a spider who'd only ever seen me as her fly in Sleighted. The parlor encounter worked poorly for us both. "I remain uncertain just who's the victim, the spider who seems compelled to victimize or the fly who continually falls prey to the venom."

I described the superpower invading my experience while I've been ShortTiming. "I seem to be seeing this place for the first time again as we bundle up for our exit."

I ended my writing week sliding down snakes and climbing up ladders in Snakes&Ladders. "We should properly ascribe this turn of events to that benevolent God of Randomness playing dice with his universe, and offer whatever thanks he considers appropriate."

Whatever thanks I offer might seem inappropriate here. I'm no mindreader and cannot quite determine what appreciation even a benevolent God of Randomness might welcome, let alone what you, my reader, might. I've noticed that this blog's readership has expanded considerably over recent weeks. This week, at least a hundred of you showed up every day, except for one day when "only" ninety-eight appeared. Like any odd God of Randomness, I guess I'm unsure what to make of this metric. I'll take my advice over his, though, and choose to make only generous interpretations of it. Anything less might do damage to all of us, leaving us feeling Sleighted. Let that lesson at least stick close to me as The Muse and I continue making our exit HeadingHomeward. Thank you again and again for following my random wanderings.

©2021 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #HeadingHomeward, #PureSchmaltz