L.E.G.A.C.Y. Book One

L.E.G.A.C.Y.
BOOK ONE

© Sean G. O’Leary 2019

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by the fictional addressing of sensitive personal or social issues. This book is not intended as a substitute for the advice of medical or spiritual professionals. The reader should regularly consult an appropriate, recognized professional in matters relating to his/her physical and/or emotional health, particularly with respect to any symptoms that may require diagnosis or attention.

Preface
(1st to 3rd printings.)

My publishers had reservations concerning my unprecedented request that this work be numbered among their non-fiction titles. This in the light of the facts that both the names of individuals are fictitious and the work is penned under a pseudonym. I therefore disclaim these details as being the only fictional content unless expressly communicated otherwise.

Preface
(4th printing, titled “L.E.G.A.C.Y.”)

Anyone with a copy of the 3rd printing may exchange it, at any bookstore licensed to distribute my works, for the 4th (additionally receiving Book Two), without cost. Those copies traded in will be redistributed to various areas of the world that have less established literary infrastructures.

Chapter 1 – One Day, When Moving My Hand

I have always been in awe of the complex beauty embodied in my hands. And I remember as a very small child, admiring them in minute detail for what I subjectively felt, was hours on end.

As an old man, they have lost their consistency of colour and texture, along with the rest of my elderly brown skin. My age is unimportant, but suffice it to say, I am a long-retired high school teacher from days when Science was taught as a single subject. Nevertheless, discoloured and wrinkled, my hands are still a wonder to me.

What most enchanted me as a child was the mysticism of their motion; I couldn’t get over the marvel of my hand moving with such composite dexterity from just the tiniest of thoughts. I remember, even, asking myself the question, “How does this really work?”, though not in those exact words. A question that remained unanswered short of relegation to instinct and mimicry.

As a toddler, I could use my hands in ways for which I had never received any instruction; either directly or by example. I venture to say that this would be found to be true for anyone who remembers being a toddler. Of course, throughout our lives, we receive training for many skills to do with our hands and teach ourselves many more. But before any of that, we are in possession of basic hand motions that represent some very intricate manoeuvres. And that is what captivated my young mind.

Recently, one day, when moving my hand, I again became entranced by the instantaneous and effortless qualities of its motion. I don’t know what triggered the memory of my childish thrall. Did I have too much spare time? Was I reminiscing in lament of my arthritic loss of agility? I honestly don’t know why this train of thought particularly struck me on that specific day. But I noticed my hand while performing some routine motion and re-experienced my innocent awe of the phenomenon.

I took the time to savour the memory, and repetitively re-enacted it. I intended for my hand to move, then applied my best scrutiny to observe the magic of its operation; much as I had done as a child. Without self-conscious regard, I continued this infantile fascination for many hours. My interest in it seemed as fresh and as new as it had during those delightful times in my playpen.

Soon, ever so slightly before the effect, I could somewhat identify the causal factor, meaning my intention for the motion, as being separate from the actual resulting motion. This is not to be confused with a thought about, possibly, moving your finger; in that one may think about moving one’s finger and then reconsider. I’m talking about the actual intention that finally and inescapably results in the motion; not the musings about such.

If you move one finger back and forth, very quickly, you will see what I mean. Count out three or four motions, tapping your thumb with your index finger. As you count, you may recognize the intention as your index finger moves to tap your thumb. Can you also recognize the intention which draws your index finger away from it? There is very little intervening time between the intention and the resulting motion; in fact, you may well argue that there is none. However, I believe it was my repetition of this simple act that brought about the heightened observation as a result of the power of extended focus.

The recognition of this minute intervening time, indicating a separation between the intention and the movement, was a small increase in awareness. Despite being highly internalized, the thought that I might acquire deeper understandings urged me on to continue. Maybe I would finally determine the answer to my fundamental question: “How does this really work?“

I somewhat fancied myself a monk, repeating my mantra, in the form of hand motions. Introspecting for hours on end in search of enlightenment; despite the weariness of my arm and wrist, I did so for many more.

After, yet, a good many additional hours, I noticed that my arm and wrist no longer ached. But more importantly, it seemed to me that the time between the intention of motion and the actual motion decreased; though, I was more than splitting hairs. This new discernment was painstakingly gradual to develop; it was only incipient after more than 8 hours of my mechanical meditations.

I have read that monks can chant for days on end; without food or water and in some cases, with very shallow breathing. Resulting in fantastic feats of decreases in heart rate, hunger control, major reductions of oxygen requirements, and in rare reports, levitation. In comparison to their dedication, my 8 hours or so of devotion was a pittance. I continued my invocations in the hopes that merely approximating their sacred persistence, with respect, might bring further insights.

Indeed, my commitment and perseverance surprised even me; bordering on reverence! Who would imagine that one could repeat a simple hand motion for longer than some minutes without becoming uninspired. Yet, I had been doing this for what constituted a full working day and then had continued on into overtime. Honestly, what I found most motivating was the fact that my observations kept varying. If done for only a few minutes, nothing of note occurs. But after so many hours, I was witnessing startling changes and felt incumbent, almost, to press on. I continued my physical litany.

At around the 12 hour point, I noticed further subtle changes in the character of the motions of my hand; my arm and wrist muscles started becoming less and less involved in the motion. Or, at a very minimum, my mindfulness of that fact was increasing. At first, this confused me. Then I considered that my arm and wrist may have become numb from overuse; but pinching quickly disillusioned me of that idea.

Leaving me with the fantastic notion that the muscles of my arm and wrist were not entirely necessary to my hand’s motion.

This outrageous thought made me question my own sanity. The sciences of Biology and Physics were being assaulted with my “observations“. Church, State and Academia, all, put at odds; none able to accommodate the implications of what I was proposing! In the none too distant past, I would most surely have been locked up for suggesting such a concept; if not put to death for sedition of all society’s respected branches of authority.

I had started this in the early afternoon, so sleep depravity might well be a culprit, playing tricks on my mind. I considered that I should take some sleep and continue this in the morning. I was worried that my spell might be broken with any interruption in my dedication; but I did so anyway, and let myself slumber until I woke up naturally.

In the morning I prepared and ate breakfast. I was entertaining further long hours of my new practice, with minimal intermissions. So I prepared a stack of sandwiches, a number of bottles of water, and stored them all in the refrigerator for quick sustenance throughout the day.

For some hours more I resumed with, what I will now call, my experiment. Surprisingly, I had picked up, very much, where I had left off. I could still move my hand effortlessly, with little or no contribution from my arm and wrist muscles. The recognition of the causal agent suffered no deterioration as a result of sleep.

As I continued, the time between the intention and the motion steadily decreased as did the involvement of my muscles to the effect. Soon, as far as I could tell, I was moving my hand instantaneously on my intent to do so and without any of my muscles performing the act.

Though not contiguous, I had been doing this for approximately 16 hours at this point; and had come to terms with the fact that the ludicrous idea I had entertained the night before was not so ludicrous at all.

I knew I was on to something substantial!

Chapter 2 – Watershed

I felt embarrassed that it took so many hours for the ramifications of my observations to dawn on me. And even then, its full extrapolation hadn’t become clear; as you will see. Nevertheless, my mind went into overdrive at this point; the thought struck me that this could, and should, be applicable to all body motions. I should be able to train myself to walk as effortlessly and tirelessly as I had been moving my hand. Typing on my computer and playing piano with greater ease, also, should not be out of the question.

Tempering my embarrassment were encouraging thoughts that the gradual approach and simple methodology were likely what allowed this watershed of results; instead of drought (or drowning). And with sink-or-swim determination, I took on the task of relearning how to walk.

It took a mere 4 hours to accomplish. Initially, I suffered some scraped shins, stubbed toes and bruised pride. But eventually, I settled into being able to apply this method of motion to the activity of walking. Once I was doing it, I wondered how I could have done it otherwise all my life.

I was certain I had “discovered” the next evolutionary step of humankind! Questions flew in my mind: How was I going to share this with the world? Was I unique in this progression of will? Or, could anybody do it using the same approach as I? If so, would a day be sufficient for anyone or would each require varying amounts of time? What might be the factors monitoring the amount of time one individual to the next may need? If no one else could learn it, would I be diagnosed senile or insane?

I was getting ahead of myself in my fear mitigated excitement. So far, all I had was a subjective experience of “effortless effort”. I would have to determine a way of measuring muscle output to objectively demonstrate what, to the eye, simply appears to be a man walking. On an immediate basis, I would spend the next days perfecting my command over this new found ability. Verify I had hit the apex of my insight into it and that it wouldn’t wane. Finally, I would have to share this wondrous discovery with, at least, my daughter, Val; and, with her agreement, first test my flying questions.

Over the next days, I most definitely increased my skill. And I made an important new observation related to the focus of my mind; the control of which consumed most of my practice. There is a nuance of distinction here that I find difficult to articulate, but important on which to shed differentiating light. So, please bear with me.

For the purpose of explaining this, and for future reference, I propose the following terms:

1. Causal-Motion: Moving under normal circumstances involving an intention to move followed, almost instantly, by the physiological effect, carrying it out.

2. Free-Motion: Motion involving an intention to move resulting in an instantaneous onset of the effect, carried out void of physical contribution.

Causal-Motion of any fashion is perceived as a singular occurrence; the two stages of which are nigh imperceptibly separate. But, they most definitely are separate. On the other hand, Free-Motion has not even the slightest perceptible lag in time between the intention of motion and the onset of it. Here, cause and effect are both, equally and coincidently, circumstances of one’s intent.

With practice, I was sure, any motion could be executed by applying either a Causal or a Free “modifier” at the moment of intention. And herein lies the important nuance of distinction.

For every human I know, any volitional motion requires the intention to do so followed by the inescapable physical exertion of the act so intended. Appearing to the individual as being instantaneous. To tell you that I have been practicing to differentiate and control the impetus of two different methods of motion, when you know of only one, is tantamount to describing word inflections to an individual only familiar with logographic language. It is something you would have to practice until you acquired the sense of it for yourself.

I, next, took on the task of learning to type with Free-Motion. Being from an age of typewriters, my typing speed dramatically increased with the advent of the electric typewriter. And another considerable improvement with the availability of commonplace computers. Applying Free-Motion to this activity resulted in an unprecedented leap in speed and accuracy. The electronics in the wireless keyboard I was using with my computer, I observed, could not faithfully communicate the steady stream of information I was inputting. As I fine tuned my technique, I had to set that keyboard aside and type on the one connected directly to the computer; which responded more reliably.

After typing came the piano. I had not played much in recent years, as arthritis had made my fingers difficult to bend through the full travel of the keys and painful while stretching to span chords. But, my discordant and off-tempo cacophony gradually developed back into the melodious art I had always enjoyed. And though it wasn’t painless, my instinctual, “pain-saving” muscular counter-actions were somehow disengaged under this type of motion. As a result, rhythm and beat were not being impaired by twitching spasms, over which I had no control.

Another added benefit of Free-Motion piano playing was that, for some unknown reason, I was able to fully listen to the music as I performed it. This was unexpected. Usually, while playing, my listening faculty was employed mainly for cueing accuracy. With Free-Motion, that additional overhead was somehow obviated.

As a matter of course, I relearned many of my routine actions using Free-Motion. Washing my body, brushing my teeth and cooking chores, etcetera, all became effortless activities. Almost every body motion benefited. Most profound was the increase in the level of stamina I could engage.

Chapter 3 – Breathless

As the week passed, all my physical motions eventually became faster, more accurate, less painful and less tiring. I took brisk walks through the park and around the neighbourhood; something else I hadn’t done for years. Friends and acquaintances I encountered, invariably, commented on my healthy composure and carriage. I felt 30 years younger, out bustling about. Though, unfortunately, that sentiment did not extend to the mirror; I could scarcely complain for all the benefits my newly developed skills were affording me.

As no small aside, I couldn’t even be sure that I was having direct control via the Somatic or Central Nervous Systems. Obviously, my appendages were moving, but, so tirelessly in that no Nervous System signals were being fired to contract muscles as a result of my Free-Motion intentions. Otherwise, I would surely be experiencing considerable muscle fatigue, were they responsible for executing the pace of mobility I’d been enjoying over the previous week.

This line of thinking prompted even more outlandish thoughts than those that first had set off this adventure! I quickly closed the proverbial stable doors to contain the potential stampede that threatened to trample my steady progress. I was not ready to confront that galloping force, foreshadowed by the ambling sounds on the other side of those doors. And, so, corralled my thoughts back into the pen of the task at hand:

Though my muscles were not aching, commensurate to my physical activities, my breathing was still laboured. Again, not a complaint, simply an observation. My breathing was no more laboured than usual, and had most certainly not deteriorated. If I had exercised the same exertions using Causal-Motion, I would have been on the ground, gasping for air. This observation led me on to experiment further; as I am sure you can now imagine. However, I honestly didn’t know where to start.

Breathing, for the most part, is managed by the Autonomic Nervous System. I wasn’t experienced with any sort of mesmerism, hypnotism or any other practice that interacted with that Nervous System.

My thinking was that my breathing should be able to be “assisted” in a similar manner as my limbs. How might I accomplish that? i.e. make my breathing deep and effortless with what I’d learned thus far.

I apologise in advance for the red herring in which this line of thinking resulted. But please indulge me, for it was this small failure that led to the next fantastic advancement.

The problem lay in the difference between breathing and moving limbs. Generally speaking, one doesn’t have an intention before taking a breath in the same way one does before moving a body part. Though, using Causal-Motion, we may deliberately pull harder or more frequently at our diaphragms; or straighten our backs to expand our chest cavities. Even when winded, the Autonomic Nervous System takes care of diaphragm contraction, regulating both depth and rate; additionally controlling bronchiole aperture.

Still, questions remained: Could I introduce a Free-Motion intention into my Autonomic Nervous System to influence the process of “unattended” breathing? Or, could I use Free-Motion directly on the walls of my lungs to expand and collapse them without involving any Nervous System, diaphragm or back muscles? And could I do either of these to effect a deeper, more oxygenated, breath than accommodated by intervening Causal-Motion or reflexive Autonomic control?

I sat on my bed, facing the mirror so I could get a good view of my chest. I tried to will my Autonomic Nervous System to instigate an “involuntary” deep breath; to no effect whatsoever. I tried to will the walls of my lungs to expand, but accomplished no result except to stop breathing altogether. After a short time alternating these attempts, uncharacteristic impatience was rearing its impish little head.

I relaxed and pondered further on the differences between breathing and walking. First: I had a long living experience with deliberately and volitionally moving my limbs. I had no such familiarity with the mechanics of breathing or optimizing oxygenation. Second: for my limb positions, I had sensory feedback, in the form of a variation on the sense of touch, and could perceive every stage through their range of motion. Yet, there are no sensory nerve endings in the flesh of the lungs, as far as I am aware. So, I had no way of knowing to what extent I might be expanding them, short of the effect causing my chest to rise. And absolutely no way to perceive any changes in my bronchioles; the dilation of which would be critical to increasing oxygen intake.

To some degree, I was at an impasse. And, this impasse brought me to a resolution. For now, I would not attempt controlling those parts of my physiology for which I did not have intimate sensory data. This seemed reasonable and the candidates for exclusion were straightforward; being basically those actions managed by the Autonomic Nervous System.

But, what about the physiological attributes that were my senses themselves. Namely touch, sight, sound, smell and taste. I obviously had sensory data for these, but could I apply a variation of Free-Motion to control or engage these aspects of my being? Was I taking my train of thought too far? Or, could this be a new category of phenomenon, labelled “Free-Sensing”, or the more standard term, remote-sensing?

My thinking felt somewhat erratic. The idea of controlling my breathing had hit a dead end. I was now contemplating contradictory ideas of feeling without touching, seeing with my eyes closed, hearing with my ears covered, smelling with my nose plugged and tasting without substance on my tongue. No doubt, the next stop was a home for the senile or worse!

And with that thought, I comically imagined the deterioration of my generally well kept dress and visage. Carted off to an asylum; stripped of my tasteful clothing and outfitted with a single-piece hospital wrap, buttocks exposed; my tidy, contained hair gradually worsening into the wild, unkempt mess of a mad scientist.

Then it happened! An unanticipated breakthrough.

Looking at myself in the mirror, envisioning my comedy, the profile of my hair expanded up and out! It didn’t stand on end, exactly, but it was following my cue in the attempt. My initial reaction was mix of fear and shock. Undoing my tenuous grasp on what part my Autonomic Nervous System was playing, if any. Loosening the doors on my contained, maverick ideas and the horsepower they possessed. At the same time, and in diametric contrast, I could not ignore how absolutely hilarious I looked.

Following through on my audacious advancement, I “Free-Motioned” my hair back to its original distinguished containment. I burst out loud in laughter as it followed my instruction, releasing some of my suppressed tension. Almost as an avoidance from having to evaluate the scope of what I was experiencing; I chuckled at myself in the mirror as I flexed my hair up and down, without the aid of a single scalp muscle. A lazy Sunday afternoon trick that would drop my grandchildren to the floor in giggling fits. And, I worried, drop my daughter’s and her husband’s jaws to the same destination in gasps of horror.

Humorous distractions and untimely concerns aside, this represented progress! However accidental.

Containing my haras of horses, now stretching at the hinges in my mind, had lost pertinence to inevitability. One cannot contain the truth for long, nor hold back the herd of untamed ideas attendant with it. Each one must be broken in, bridled, harnessed together, and resolved to work as a team. The only choice being, which bucking bronco to mount first. Obviously, the best choice would be the most dominant of the group. The one braying the loudest and after whom the others bray in suit. With that thought, I let loose the latch and jumped on the wildest idea of the breakout:

I was moving things with my intention alone. Period.

That I had been initially successful with parts of my body was of no surprise, considering the rapport and familiarity built up over years of intimate operation. I was certain this would extend outward with further practice. My hair represented a middle ground in my thinking. I was not familiar with moving my hair, volitionally, but as soon as I had envisioned it (albeit, in comic relief), I was able to move it with Free-Motion from there on.

My mind was awash with the implications, tributary ideas spilling out, only to vanish in the distance, past unknown horizons. But I knew that I must follow this main stream and navigate my way to the ocean of ability that I was certain awaited me. Fear of these ideas seemed so remote to me at this point, and my reasoning for barring them in, dim at best. I felt excited and powerful, like a 16th century pioneer of the New World, braving deadly rapids in search of new routes to the sea, discovering gold and other treasures along the way.

Chapter 4 – Quiet Adventure

Like any good explorer, provisions and dependable equipment take priority over whatever goal of discovery. With stoic patience, I took stock of what I would need on the journey ahead. The last week or so had mainly been in exercise of my mental focus. I expected much more work would be needed in this vein.

For anyone who has been exposed to any amount of Science Fiction or Fantasy Fiction, you would have very likely encountered something showcasing the subject of telekinesis. Wherein the protagonist invariably reduces a loved one to a mound of gelatine with an inadvertent slighting thought in a moment of anger or resentment. Emotionally scarred for life and holed up in a lead-lined concrete bunker to protect the world from their uncontrollable power; they die a remorseful and lonely death. Truly, I exaggerate and digress, but you get my point. As remote as the possibility of my wielding such power was, I still wanted my scraped shins to represent the worst case of accidental outcome.

Over the next weeks, I read everything I could find on the subject of mental focus. Many references cited exercises and disciplines to improve this faculty. I evaluated these with the best of my scrutiny and practiced those I thought might help. Some of them improved my ability to focus only while practicing the exercises. Others had a more fundamental influence on basic life viewpoints, resulting in a change in the manner I thought about things in general. Those provided more permanent results. And with these improvements under my belt, I continued with my slowly congealing plan.

Next, I needed to more precisely categorize my thinking to differentiate between a pure intention of action and a simple musing of possibility. I needed to be able to identify both and choose between them without a hitch. This proved to be much easier than I had anticipated. As a macrocosmic example, you can muse about reaching for a cup of tea to take a sip; or you can mean to do it and reconsider; or you can intend to do it and do it. In an anti-climatic way, the thing most feared in the classic concept of telekinesis is actually something we generally take for granted.

Not to discount it as unimportant, I examined this closely and drew out the differences between musing, considering and intending. Laid bare their intermingling relationships with obsession, compulsion, determination and procrastination. I practiced recognizing these in myself and influencing them. In short order and in no small part due to the weeks spent studying mental focus, I had a clear understanding, coupled with operational acuity of the nuances of mental inflections required to call upon one or the other of these classes of thought.

Though this was originally intended only as a stepping stone to my overall objectives; I had felt that I had greatly improved myself as a person. I was more decisive and determined. I had better control over petty obsessions and minor compulsions. And, my compassion for life and the living grew and enhanced through this stage of mental preparation. I could have stopped right there and lived out the rest of my years in a productive, capable and much improved manner; with the additional quickness of step and quickness of mind that I now enjoyed. Without regret, however, I forged on; feeling prepared, ready and able to bring about the payoff of my weeks of quiet adventure.

Chapter 5 – Free-Motion

Continuing with a patient stride, I decided to commence with the practical application for which these many weeks of preparation were spent. I would start small, and slowly work my way up to larger objects. So confident was I that I would be successful. I simply had an unshakable certainty, catalyzed by the shock of moving my hair. An ability that, on my last Sunday visit to my daughter Val’s home, I had successfully resisted demonstrating to my grandchildren with laughs, or to her and her husband with horror.

I wanted something small in size and light in weight. Though not so light that a draft may move it. So, I retrieved a straight-pin from my late wife’s sewing basket and laid it on the dark granite breakfast counter. I sat comfortably on a stool with my “test apparatus” at arm’s length. Initially, I would just attempt to move the pin in any way possible. Without strain or worry I tried various mindsets with which to approach this. Mostly, maintaining a similar frame of reference to how I moved my hair. Which, I could feel, inadvertently occurred a few times throughout.

Again, the comedy of the situation started tickling my imagination. A video of this would make for excellent slapstick. I took a few moments to imagine that I would embellish it with an exaggerated, bowel-movement strain on my face, labouring to move the pin with my mind. Not knowing that my hair was rising as I exerted more effort, I would exhibit emoted frustration as I confusedly swatted at my head after imagined, non-existent pests. Then having my hair flop back down in unison with my shoulders, as my expression changed to dejected failure.

Then, on a second “attempt”, I would make my hair slowly raise up, almost to a stand, concurrently graduating my facial expression from worrying concentration to tense, shaking frustration. Finally, disbelieving, open-mouthed shock as the pin actually moved and my hair sprinted up to its final gradation of full standing on end; followed by my jaw being pulled back up as my gaping maw changed to a giddy, mad smile. Now, that could be something for the grandchildren and my Valerie! I could simply beg off any explanations as to how the magic was made. However, that was a project for another day; or possibly, I mused with a smirk, later today.

It took some 2 hours before I could make the pin jitter, on cue. One might expect that I would break out the champagne and caviar, but I knew I would get this far with the skill set I had developed over the last weeks. All measure of celebration would be suspended until I could move that pin with precision and exactitude.

First I needed to learn how to deliberately move it (plus or minus) along each of its x, y, and z axes. Next, I would develop control over the extent of the pin’s motion. Finally, for the last two phases, which might take some considerable practice, I would concentrate on varying speed and mass. Once the first two phases were under my belt, I would consider splurging on some beluga roe. However, I wouldn’t want to be tipsy on champagne while experimenting with the third or fourth phases!

If you have every learned to use a CAD program on a computer, you will be familiar with the process of getting acquainted with manipulating a 3D object on a screen using the 2D motions of a mouse or digitizer. This is true for many of the Point-Of-View games as well; but with a game controller. This is the best analogy I can use to illustrate something similar to the thought processes with which I toyed and honed over the next 6 hours. I say similar because it doesn’t really encompass the full range of motion that a pixelated screen only approximates; and it doesn’t cover the fact that I wasn’t actually limited to thoughts of 2D motions; but it is as close as I can come to illustrating it.

The “mechanics” of my progress aside, after 6 hours of focused practice I could move the pin in any direction, or any combination of them, at will. I had put no attention (or intention) on the speed of the motion; and thankfully, the speed with which it did move, in response to my intentions, happened to be quite manageable. Levitate, roll, squiggle, spin, stand on end and teeter; I could do them all! I was gloriously satisfied with my accomplishments of the day!

But, by now I was both hungry and a little sleepy. I enjoyed an interim celebration which consisted of cooking a late evening meal and savouring it in raucous thoughts of slapstick choreography. Possibly tomorrow I would produce that video. And with peals of the musical laughter of my grandchildren in my heart, I headed off to sleep a sound night. If it was humanly possible that my sleepiness could win over my state of elation.

Chapter 7 – Physics

On the following day, I continued my training. I had decided that it was more important to develop the ability to control the speed of objects before addressing ones of larger mass. Mistakes made hurling a cotton ball across a room would be more forgiving than if it were, say, a piano. Indeed, I chose a cotton ball as my new “test apparatus” and put my attention to the task of learning to control the speed with which I moved it.

It amazes me how I can relay this in such a matter-of-fact manner. It had been well over a month since I had been held rapt with the simple exercise of moving my hand. Now I am capable of moving objects with just my intention to do so. Not only move them, move them in complex and deliberate variations; and equally important, not move them when I so choose.

Transferring my physics oriented understanding of speed over to thought-inflection proved to be very similar to what was required to apply my new abilities to the Cartesian movements I had mastered the day before. But, this didn’t come as a great surprise. These nuances of intention are already employed in the daily routines of operating our bodies. The ability of intending to slowly approach a hot flame or the intention to quickly retract from the same, are somewhat innate. As a result, fine tuning my control over the speed with which I moved the cotton ball took very little time.

I tossed the cotton ball away and practiced moving the straight pin at various speeds, with equally positive results. This seemed all too easy, but I wasn’t going to question the consistent empirical results I had demonstrated so far. I could comfortably and easily control the speed of objects I was moving well within my practical needs. I felt satisfied with my Phase Three progress and was ready to take on larger objects.

Though I genuinely wanted to move the piano, itself, as my arbitrary milestone to signify the completion of my Phase Four, I started with the intention to move one key. This would mark a demonstrable increase in mass over the previous objects used. I picked Middle C and struck it with my intention. It noticeably moved but not through its full travel. I repeated this many times, tweaking and trimming the “speed-inflection” required until I could make the key sound and live up to the instrument’s original name. It took only an hour or so before I could expertly strike the key softly with piano delicacy or quickly with forte. And not much longer, I could tap out a decent rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” with dynamic expression.

If not for my love of music, I would have stopped there and moved on to larger masses; but, of course, I didn’t. I suddenly grew very interested in learning how to split and exert two intentions simultaneously so I could play out the double notes of “Chopsticks”. And this was, again, a small leap that was surprisingly easy to accomplish. No doubt related to the fact that I had already developed such split-intention constructs as a result of playing the piano with more than one finger and with both hands. However, “Chopsticks” was a far stretch from playing chord progressions and melody concurrently. And that is exactly what I set out to learn from that point.

I knew I was taking a tangent to the basic objectives of nurturing and sharpening skills at handling various quantities of mass. But I was utterly enthralled with the prospect of being able to play music on a piano with intention alone! I chose a simple passage from “Ode to Joy” and launched into acquiring the ability to maintain two concurrent threads of intentions, each of which also, at times, involved two or more concurrent intended motions.

The transference of my mechanical piano skills bore through with this new endeavour in intention. Before long I was filling my living room with a centuries old Beethoven masterpiece while sitting, motionless, in front of my piano. I was exhilarated! I was overcome with chest-bursting, powerful emotions. I was smiling with tears in my eyes, my throat was tight and the thought of breathing felt like it was threatening to expel the entirety of my insides, if I were to open my mouth in the attempt. I irrationally feared that imagined pain of unsustainable expressions of joy; surely it would explode out of me and surely take organs and flesh along with it.

How could I return to the routine, procedural activity of measuring and categorizing various mass movements? I had to explore this vein of art to its fullest.

But, unwilling to fall short of today’s target, I successfully put my volatile emotions and gushing enthusiasm aside. The ever so prevalent child in my mind was feeling like I had to grudgingly perform chores before being able to go out to play. My adult self was more inclined to put things off for now and take stock of my progress and understandings. I took a moment to evaluate what I was actually doing.

The term “speed” is not quite accurate to express what I had been practicing with Free-Motion. Acceleration would be the more accurate term. I was intending an approximated amount of acceleration into an object for the purpose of bringing it up to a general range of speed or to change its speed. This included intending acceleration opposite to the direction of existing motion to slow it down or stop it. As well as acceleration tangential to its current path of motion for the purpose of changing its direction.

I had not technically addressed the concept of force, though I had obviously engaged its intricate relationship with acceleration and mass. I realized that one couldn’t fully separate the two (speed and mass) as different “Phases”, exactly. They were both important, correlated factors in any motion of any object at any speed.

We don’t deliberately consider these factors when were are moving an arm or a leg, slower or faster. Though, a leg requires more acceleration to move than an arm does, if one is to get it up to a given speed in the same amount of time; this is simply because it represents more mass. The understanding of this is completely integrated into our day-to-day operations within the laws of Physics. Being able to explain it with specific terminology does not have any bearing on the expertness with which we demonstrate our fine operational clarity of these mechanics.

I am not certain if it was my desire to get back to playing piano or if it was the solid progression of skill and understanding that the short amount of playing had built up; whichever it was, I had a fire-breathing purpose to move that piano and be done with it. I simply looked at it and moved it a few centimetres to one side. I regarded it again and moved it back to its original position. The desire to celebrate this major advancement and the accomplishment of my milestone target was completely overpowered by the pull I felt for more piano playing. But, indeed, effortlessly playing the music I loved would more than classify as celebration!

I spent the rest of the day, re-orienting the performance of a few more of my favourite pieces over to Free-Motion. And in the late evening, I tackled the theme from “Swan Lake”. A piece for which my arthritic finger-span was only barely sufficient and which I found progressively more difficult to play in my later years. As I struck the final two chords of that song with the cleanest of intentions, I felt a surge of accomplishment like no other my journey had brought. I had moved the piano in total, and it had certainly, and completely, moved me.

My day was as complete as a first day of summer might have been when I was a young boy. I was hungry, but didn’t know it, tired, but didn’t know it; bloated with adventure and in a stupor with ideas of tomorrow. With my best adult rationality, much like my parents’, food and rest were the prescriptions. In a happy daze, I fed myself, undressed and fell asleep within seconds of touching pillow.

Chapter 8 – The 4th Dimension

I woke up with the feeling: “What did I miss?” I had not considered sleep to have been a waste of time since I was a child. Washing, dressing and eating, all felt like actions designed to interfere with me getting on with my new sun-shining day. But, I performed them as simple background rhythms to the melodious excitement playing in my thoughts.

The next thing I did was to make the slapstick video for my grandchildren. Along with the original scenes I had imagined, I added a vignette at the piano wherein, “unknowingly” to me, my raising hair was coinciding with the intensity of the piece. At a particularly high point of the number, I again “misinterpreted” the sensation on my head for milling pests and attempted to swat them all away. And the song played on in my hair-assisted, flabbergasted awe; sans mains! When editing, I slowly faded to black as my hands gradually stopped swatting. Leaving my arms raised at both sides of my head, hair straight up high, and the most dumbfounded expression I could muster on my face.

I was so excited at the prospect of seeing the two boys watching this (aged 4 and 7). I envisioned them holding their stomachs and slapping each others’ arms to punctuate their uncontrollable laughter. Ever the pragmatist, I considered this to have an additional benefit of surreptitiously introducing the subject I would eventually need to bring up with Val. Hopefully, the comedic value would help temper the shock once I dropped the bomb on her.

But that visit was some days away. I had some loose ends I wanted to address and resolve. The first of which was transposing my typing skills over to “hands-free”. I was getting accomplished at this transference of physical skills over to intentional skills. In less than an hour I had brought it to satisfactory proficiency.

Over the last couple of days I had been mainly engaged in intense exploration of moving physical objects with my intention. I might add here, that this included my limbs and hair as such; having resolved that I was not, in fact, interacting with any Nervous Systems whatsoever. And after having contemplated the physics involved, the day before, new questions of a metaphysical nature were forming in my mind like humming helicopters around the platform of acute awareness.

I still had a muddled jumble of thoughts concerning how this all fit in with my sensory organs; but it didn’t seem so important or pressing at the moment. As lofty as the thought of remote-sensing might be, I left this subject flying in a holding pattern for the time being; with confidence that I would bring it down to earth before too long. Also, I couldn’t help but think that a foray into the metaphysical ramifications of my recent endeavours might light up that landing pad.

If my discoveries regarding motion were, as grandiose as it may sound, the next evolutionary step for humankind, I had a duty to understand the principles involved to the highest degree possible before even remotely considering handing them over to the great minds of our time. My advancements represented a potential rocket ride to new vistas for humankind, of that I had no doubt. And though I had encountered no real dangers thus far, as we all know, a rocket, in simple terms, is a bomb below a payload, pointed at the sky. Which, in the hands of delusional political “giants” often acquires a slightly different concept: a missile pointed at a neighbour.

For now, I would keep things to myself as I circled an alternate concept of motion.

There is a fantastic amount of science built up around the empirical observations of mass moving in three dimensions. Unshakable mathematical formulae exist to express singular and coordinated truths about these phenomena. To put it quaintly, it is all wrapped up with a tidy bow.

Science Fiction writers and some physicists have postulated that space may be able to be “folded” in such a way that a mass can be moved from Point-A to Point-B without having to traverse the intervening distance, nor require the calculated amount of time to arrive. Therefore resulting in anomalies in the formulae that have dependably brought us from the levering of a rock to travelling in outer space.

Many and various terms have come into play in attempts to codify these ideas into a single concept of the 4th dimension. Time being the main attribute assigned to this dimension (or duration) and being singled out as the culprit of aberration in the presence of “folded“ space. And gravity being the force to bring the fold about, with its conveniently mysterious and unknown qualities. But these just represent attempts to fit the triangular peg of three dimensional physics into the round hole opening onto the abyss of the unknown.

The real problem with science is that it has never attempted to include the human phenomena of emotions. Only indifference. And, as Quantum physicists were coming to discover, the human-factor may influence matter in ways we have not explored or deciphered. So, the real 4th dimension is not some aberration of time or folding of space or any other transposition of 3D thinking. The real 4th dimension is BEING.

Evaluating the last few paragraphs, I was tempted to re-write them; as the veiled scathing droppings were not becoming of my general demeanour. However, I decided to leave them as-is. I obviously have a little frustration with the concept and application of Science as practiced and disseminated in this time.

In the process of developing my new abilities, I realized I was BEING the thing I was moving. Now, this definitely bears some elucidation. I had to grudgingly conceded that hammering triangular pegs into round holes might be the only way to initially explain things for which no other language exists.

Possibly more accurately I thought: I was being at, and/or near the thing I was moving. I wasn’t technically being the thing, more like possessing it; but not quite that either. But you can see the temporal and spatial violations here; how can I be “at” a straight-pin and “in” my head at the same “time“; or “at” five different piano keys at the same “time“.

Herein lies the language barrier. The source of which is the diametric opposition created in our education system between all things corporeal and incorporeal. I should know; I’d drove, wide, that chasm into my students with expert illustrations and inarguable rhetoric.

And with that thought, I must confess, I realized the source of my own distain that had leaked out, staining my prose. It was not the scientists bending language who were the real target of my subtle ire. It was, indeed, myself; for having so blindly promulgated, onto my students, the bi-lateral mindset that I had so unthinkingly adopted from my own education.

Though this may appear as a digression from the evaluation of the metaphysical ramifications of what I was experiencing; this realization fell a personal barrier that was holding me back from seeing the full implications of my new abilities. My polarized viewpoints melted away, leaving a bare bed of land on which I could build structures to represent my new knowledge.

Chapter 9 – Metaphysics

Whoever came up with the word “metaphysics” must have had a warped sense of humour coupled with a keen sense of purpose. The prefix “meta” can inflect a wide range of compound meaning, including: above, beyond, below, sharing and within. Yet, the ambiguity of it is apt in that it completely undermines dichotomous classification; the foundation on which our current Sciences are built and within the framework of which they are passed on.

This little prefix, functionally, gives the metaphysical practitioner license to engage a range of phenomena from the empirical to the intuitive. The extremes of which had both played a large part in my discoveries. Empirical, in that my Free-Motion actions had been demonstrably evident in the corporeal world. Intuitive, in that the same intangible thought processes with which I move my body had borne intimately pertinent to their Free-Motion counterparts.

But more to the point: I was abridging the laws of physics to include Free-Motion, yet I had not come near exhausting my exploration of it. Namely:

1. I had not completely dissected the concept of effectively “being” at the same location as the thing over which I was wielding Free-Motion.

2. I had not resolved the disintegrating formulaic relationship between time and distance; in that both were being nullified by my ability to “be” in two places at once.

I had re-learned my body motions for walking, typing and playing piano. I had re-learned, yet a second time, typing and piano, but without my intervening appendages. I had learned to move objects, with intention alone, in any fashion, compliant with the solemn triangle of acceleration, mass and force; transposed over from exertion to intention.

Now I was about to embark on a series of experiments that might relegate these accomplishments to minor stepping stones towards the fantastical concepts that lay ahead. Concepts that were only just forming in my mind, which were laughably absurd under normal circumstances. But in the wake of my inarguable violations of math and physics, they were becoming unavoidably real; and impossible not to follow through on their other-worldly but inevitable conclusions.

If you are feeling the floor dropping out from under you with the constructs of everyday physics following in a vortex of crushing power, then you are getting the scope of what I was broaching and an idea of the precarious precipice over which I was looking. If you are not, then I have miserably failed to portray the shaking that was taking place under the foundations of physical law and the gaping uncertain depths, threatening to swallow them whole.

If you were to discard this work right now, I would understand. It has definitely taken on the flavour of a Science Fiction and Fantasy concoction. Potentially leaving you suspicious of a resolution involving me waking up, only to claim that this was all a dream. But no such anti-climax is being developed here.

Indeed, as far off the Richter scale that these earth-shattering developments represent, the tectonic rearrangement of the ground on which we find stable comfort in the laws of math and physics, had only just begun. Throwing up mountainous structures from the bedrock of metaphysics, that had existed all along, just under the apparently solid surface of the soft earth below our feet.

Chapter 10 – Transcendence

I more closely examined the idea that I was “being” in the same location as the object I was moving; stretching my memory in an attempt to find anything that may approximate a frame of reference with which to compare this tenuous notion. I desperately needed something to bring this far-fetched, faint idea into a more tangible focus. Though I was single-minded in my contemplation of this, I also allowed it to percolate as I enjoyed a cup of tea and a snack in my kitchen. And after not too long a time, I started to remember the details of something that had happened but a handful of times over the course of my adult life. I retired to the living room in thoughts of my younger self.

In the early years of our marriage, my wife had become quite taken by flamenco guitar music. At that time, my main instrument of musical expression was piano, however, I had some small expertise with guitar, mostly playing popular numbers at parties and Sunday afternoon gatherings. With a solid foundation in music theory and young, dexterous hands, it wasn’t long before I could perform some of her simpler favourites. A pleasure I can’t begin to describe as the thoughts of her smiling, loving face dance in front of my mind’s eye. I can almost conjure her physical form on her chair across from me, one leg dangling over the other; her body angled in her chair with her head partly looking over her shoulder in my direction. Truly, there was no pleasure greater than eliciting her smile; it filled my heart with a sense of living right.

A number of times, in this exact setting, I had something akin to an “out-of-body” experience. I don’t know if it was altered perception or what, really. But I experienced an extended moment where I was, for all intent and purposes, completely “there” in her chair with her. It is difficult to describe, but remembering it now, it was like I was a centimetre from her beautiful face, though I was physically across the room, metres away. Or maybe a better description might be that the space between us disappeared. Nonetheless, my subjective awareness was cognizant that I was both in my chair playing guitar and directly in front of her face, admiring the smile that I had imagined putting there.

Now, this may not sound like a scientific discourse aimed at shedding new light on the laws of the universe; but, in actual fact, it was an interim step. The idea of “being” in the same location as the object being moved was the concept being addressed. The type of “motion” involved was different (or nonexistent), yet it was the only thing I could think of that approximated the phenomenon I experienced while moving the pin, the cotton ball, or the piano. Meaning, concurrently “being” somewhere other than inside my head.

Initially, this comparison seemed a little floundering for my general scientific methodology. But I was practicing metaphysical licence. As the thought framework of my normal, Causal-Motion body movements was applicable in concept to my Free-Motion movements; I suspected this transcendent experience might exhibit a similar mindset that may well be applicable, and integral, to that which I wanted to accomplish next.

Now, unfortunately, I will have to throw more balls in the air to accurately relay the sequence of ideas that eventually opened the door to the next major progression in my journey through metaphysics. But I am hopeful that taking you through this path of illumination might spark the same awareness in you, resulting in your successful application of these wonders.

These particular “moments” with my wife were earmarked with a combination of factors only partially under my control; but present each time I remember experiencing it. In each case, I was looking directly at her with bursting admiration; I was performing an ad-lib variation from the score of the tune I was playing; she was smiling directly at me; and I was feeling a powerful love for her. The fundamental characteristics of the experience contained, predominantly; admiration, creativity, and good will. Not ingredients a scientist may stock in their lab.

So, leaving the factor of motion aside for the moment. I was surmising that in order to “be” somewhere else may require one or more of these ingredients in some form or fashion to be successful. A very crude first hypothesis in the attempt at distilling the laws of metaphysics.

I, then, considered any other times I had encountered anything that smacked of transcendence. And thought of another music-related experience which had, also, only happened a handful of times in my life.

This, being different from the previous one, contained many of the same ingredients but in slightly different form. In these cases I was at the piano. I was playing a creative, ad-lib variation on either a piece of my own creation or on a piece that I knew so well as to facilitate improvisation. And, though the circumstances varied somewhat, the phenomenon I experienced was the same in each instance. Which I will attempt to describe.

While playing, I stared to perceive all of the keys on the piano at once. It felt like I was directly over the keys, but all of them, at the same time. Now, I knew that this was not physically possible with vision based on binocular fusion. Simple trigonometry would easily demonstrate that, based on the distance my head was from the center keys, my focal angle could not encompass the keys at both ends. Yet, I could “see” each of my fingers on each of the keys I had engaged, while concurrently “seeing” all the other keys that I may at any moment decide to strike. All of which were in perfect focus. Again, a highly subjective experience, but, nonetheless a real one, to me. And one which I experienced a number of times; each time exhibiting the same transcendent sense of vision.

Analysis of the factors present at these times proved very similar to the previous example. I was being creative in the moment, I was in admiration of the improvisation I was coming up with, and I had both admiration and a sense of good will at the prospect of entertaining my wife, and other souls, with these new variations.

And another ball.

My wife had had some complications while delivering our daughter, Val, and remained in the hospital for a few days of recovery and observation. Our daughter, though more from routine procedure than anything else, was under observation, as well; over precautions related to her three week premature arrival. My wife had not been allowed to breast feed our new child because of co-conspiring blood loss and weakness, which compounded her physical discomfort; additionally aggravating her already severe postpartum. After two sleepless nights and two days by her side, the doctor instructed that I go home, clean, eat and sleep before I became another patient from our small family.

I reluctantly followed the doctor’s advice with assurances that my wife was stably recovering and that I would be contacted immediately if any changes took place. After returning home, showering and eating a large meal, I lay in my bed and envisioned I was putting my body down next to hers in her hospital bed. I fell asleep and had a largely uneventful dream. I was laying by her side, cuddling and humming a simple and comforting, yet unfamiliar, melody for many hours. She neither spoke nor murmured, but simply smiled at me whenever she drifted up out of slumber. I woke some ten hours later, ravenously hungry; I prepared a healthy breakfast and ate it.

Optimistic of her imminent homecoming, I puttered around our apartment, cleaning up the last remnants of our mid-meal departure, three days earlier. I kept thinking of my simple dream; so vivid was the image of her in the hospital bed that I may as well have been there.

After tidying up, I felt a little tired. The 10 hours of sleep and the 2 substantial meals had not revitalized my body to the degree I had expected. I took a moment to sit in my chair in the living room and rest before heading back to her. I visualized the hospital room, this time with deliberation as opposed to dreaming. The comforting melody of last night’s dream was wafting in the background of my thoughts. With a strong desire to be with her, I imagined myself in the maternity suite, by her side.

Suddenly, I could “see” the light from the room’s window, irregular comings-and-goings of staff; and I could even “hear” the mechanical sounds of the IV pump next to her bed, like a faint thumping. Then, a nurse came in with our daughter and assisted my wife to sit up so she could give suck. Even though I hadn’t considered if what I was seeing was real or not; the thought of just the possibility of missing this wonderful event jolted my awareness.

I launched out of the chair, ran out to my car and drove to the hospital at a barely lawful speed. When I arrived and entered her room, there she was, breastfeeding our little girl with a supreme and radiant presence that even the nurse was regarding in motionless awe. My chest was welling with an explosive tightness, I was just able to muster a tight, closed-mouth smile. I didn’t feel confident that my muscles would respond faithfully to any command I might have given them. If I could only keep my mouth from opening, I knew, I’d have a chance at avoiding becoming a blubbering mess, on the floor at the side of her bed.

She turned her head to me, and I had the distinct impression that it was both she and our newborn daughter looking at me. Though the concentration of both little hands and little mouth were obviously engaged in consuming claim over my wife’s teat. She smiled, and I, by the slimmest of threads, hung on to my composure; presenting her with an even tighter lipped smile than before. I felt a wave of emotion from her that threatened to physically topple me; so tangible was it. Like the invisible flows of warmth from a summer sun, putting me on the brink of sun-stroke, yet, irresistibly, I continued to bask in it.

“Darling.”, she started, giving a lightening-fast glance at the nurse; and though I couldn’t elucidate how I knew, I knew she was swearing the nurse to secrecy; as did the nurse. “I know it was against the rules, but having you here in bed with me last night had more strengthening power than any medicine, my love.”, she finished, holding out her free arm, inviting me to come to her.

Tears, literally burst out of my eyes, never touching my cheeks as they landed on my chest. I fell the final steps towards her and nuzzled my face into her bosom. One cheek on her breast and my lips on the forehead of our wonderful new gift of life. My wife’s fingers intermingled in my hair as she pressed my head deeper into her chest; her cheek pressed on my head, adding to the motion. And that little being shifted one of her hands to cup my other cheek and pulled my head closer again. It was as though I was part of the source of her sustenance; with which gesture she graciously communicated that I was important to her.

I was in the presence of love. From one side, a love that had been nurtured over years; that had grown into a thousand little nuances of admiration. From the other, a brand new love from an unknown source; who yet had the power to melt my heart with a small motion of her tiny hand. Then, this miniature representation of the volumes of our love, hummed the unmistakable simple melody of my dreams. I could feel my wife’s face smile in the nap of my hair as small wet drops found their way to my scalp. I could feel the vibrations on her breast and on the forehead of our little girl. Then I could feel soprano vibrations on the other side of my head and I involuntarily joined in to contribute a baritone harmony.

At the time, the fact that aspects of this were in violation to all normal, sensible ideas was completely unimportant. So strong and consuming was this melding of awareness and togetherness. And though I could lounge in the memory of it for hours, I must get back to the reason I am relaying the events of that time.

Up until a month or so ago, I had not had many experiences that defy the general laws of physics. But this one also had some similarities of mindset to the other two examples. Though, creativity, per se, was not present; admiration and good will abounded. Additionally, “remote” sight and sound were present leading up to this experience, together with “being” in another place than my head.

In juggling these factors to see a pattern, against which I might mold my 4th Dimension hypotheses, things were taking a shape I felt I could use. I had isolated out the factors of motion altogether and only included the concept of concurrently “being” in a place other than in my head. And, though, it may not sound either logical or, necessarily, ground-breaking: the following was my new hypotheses:
For an individual to concurrently occupy, or be, in a place other than their body, the purpose of such placement must have a genuine component of both admiration and good-will, within the basis for so doing.

And its corollary:
An individual will not be able to concurrently occupy, or be, in a place other than their body if their purpose for doing so contains components of ill-will and/or distain.

I wished for confirmation that this corollary would prove true. If so, the threat of missile-wielding maniacs wouldn’t continue to suppress my desires to announce my progress to the world.

But, this core hypothesis maintained fundamental in my pursuit of some of the more outrageous metaphysical postulates I had been entertaining.

Chapter 11 – Meta-Motion

At this point in my journey, I felt confident that I had a solid grasp on the direction I was going. As non-scientific as my new hypothesis read, I had a personal certainty that it was metaphysically sound. With the same certainty with which I had first approached moving the pin only days ago, I embarked upon my next experiment.

I mentally prepared myself in alignment with my new metaphysical law of transcendence and the 4th dimension. I laughed at the wording that had come to my mind. Reminding me of a long-winded title that some heavily censored Sci-Fi B-movie might have adopted in the 1950‘s. Or a subsequent modern-day spoof. The tension was killing me, yet my faithfully, gentle heart was providing comic-relief. And I took a moment to chuckle at the exaggerated details that my desperate imagination was throwing up.

Our kindly hero, Jett Power, bringing whatever necessities required to his lair, where he was sheltering, feeding, and protecting a host of families from his dreaded, evil nemesis. Voltron Electron, pulling out his non-existent hair as the supplies, meant to feed his mindless throng of Death Zappers, disappeared before his eyes. “Darn you, Jett Power! Darn you to electrocuting voids!”

I pulled myself out of my hiatus from creativity, which had successfully discharged some of my nervous tension. Laughing at myself always puts me at ease and checks hubris.

I put my focus back on applying my new hypothesis. The way I went about this was to evaluate the evolution of my reasoning and motives throughout the last few days. Where were the points of admiration and good-will coming in? And what were my current components of such? And though these thoughts were so foreign to general scientific concerns, I believe it was for that exact reason that these phenomena had previously not been discovered. Or, certainly, at least, not been published.

Good-will:

Without a doubt, the improvement of the quality of life for my daughter and her family was unequivocally at the top of my drive. I would like to say that the thought that I could contribute to the advancement of all of humankind would be at the top; however, it placed as a high-ranking second; despite the fact that my family numbered among them. Though, after a little more thought, I resolved to maintain a sense of good-will towards the broader target as an underlying theme to my forward progress.

Admiration:

I was in admiration with the succinctness of our operational three dimensional laws. And even more in admiration of the metaphysical ones I was in the process of uncovering. Certainly I admired my family, also myself, and the things I was now capable of doing. In truth, I had admiration for most any human in the personal certainty that the vast majority of us were decent loving beings. And it was that final thought I grabbed onto as the partner in my stable reference points for these vital components of all things transcendent.

With the importance of those two thoughts permeating my awareness, I commenced with my first experiments in the 4th dimension. I laid the straight-pin on the granite breakfast counter and pulled up the stool near it. The very props that had played star roles in my debut comedic masterpiece; that had yet to be premiered.

I looked at the far end of the counter and momentarily considered that I was “there”, then not. I then looked at the pin and mentally “took hold of it”. Then, I considered that I was at the far end of the counter, with the pin. And I was there, then I was not. But the pin was now at its new location.

I evaluated the possibility that the pin moved so fast as to only appear to have materialized at its destination. In other words, normal three dimensional movement as opposed to forth dimensional motion. Even though my mindset was completely different from the first time I moved the pin with Free-Motion.

I turned on the oven light, placed the pin across two rungs of the rack and closed the door. I could see the pin though the oven door window. With the background music of admiration and good-will playing in my heart, I projected myself into the oven, “being” at the pin. I then considered that I was at the far end of the counter, with the pin. Then I was only in my head. The pin most definitely had materialized on the counter.

I’m certain I’ve desensitized you to my milestones of achievement. This represents the largest leap in my adventure so far, but I fear I may be overloading you with fanfare-worthy accomplishments. You can only hear “It is time to celebrate!” so often before it smacks routine. That being said, I was most definitely ready to celebrate, but I felt I was on a roll and many questions were forming in the back of my mind that I wanted to coax forward to their fully worded concerns.

Just to illustrate, to myself, the contrast between this new metaphysical motion and Free-Motion, I applied Free-Motion to the pin and moved it along the counter to directly in front of me. It was obvious, as I had determined some days ago, that Free-Motion followed the three dimensional laws in both its effect and travel. The force impelling the motion, however, did not follow these laws directly. Indirectly, they reflected the same thought patterns we all innately employ to move our bodies or to move objects with our bodies.

This new “motion”, however, was markedly different. There was no similar type of motion for which I was aware. I was successful only after generating a state of mind aswim with good-will and admiration. Both time and distance were being eradicated from the formula of force. The main things similar, aside from the corporeal result, were the facts that the force impelling the motion was coming from me and I was exercising “being” in more than one place at a time.

This called for a new, 3rd term:

3. Meta-Motion: That effect on matter whereby an object’s location is changed without demonstrably travelling the distance from its source location to its destination; nor requiring any perceptible amount of time to do so; nor requiring any physical interaction to accomplish the effect.

The niggling wonderings in the back of my mind had escalated to a quiet storm of questions that had not occurred to me previously. Most of these questions revolved around normal three dimensional phenomena in the presence of Meta-Motion. Specifically:

1. Though the motion itself was not part of our three dimensional framework, the effect of the object’s presence at the destination certainly existed in three dimensions. So, where did one pick up and the other leave off?

2. What was happening with the displacement of air at both the points of departure and arrival? Shouldn’t I be hearing a “pop” or something? Am I taking any air with the object? Could I, if I so intended?

3. What would happen if I intended the destination to be within another piece of matter, such as the counter itself? Would it leave a vacated hole if moved a second time, out of the matter? Would it even maintain it’s form after “melding” within another body of matter?

As with any experiment, the sequence of actions and the components present must be managed in a way that no more than one variable should change from one experiment to the next. This methodology is tried and true for the controlled acquisition of repeatable results; as well as the classification of each variable’s influence on the outcome.

And so, I outlined a series of experiments to answer my questions. Some of which prompted new, smaller questions for which I created variations to resolve. Without dragging you through each detailed action and result pair, I will summarize my findings which represent the principles on which Meta-Motion is based; as I understand it.

Our consideration that an object represents a distinct entity, is applicable to our three and four dimensional actions. This is an innate viewpoint that, thankfully, transfers to both Free-Motion and Meta-Motion. However, if we consider to include, let us say, four cubic centimetres of air around our pin as a part of the overall “object” of our intention, then that air will initially move with the pin as well.

Under Free-Motion, when it arrives at its destination, the air will have simply been displaced along the travel of the object. Under Meta-Motion, two phenomena occur. The air at the source location is evacuated and the vacuum left behind is quickly equalized with atmospheric pressure. The air at the destination is compressed, as twice the amount of air then exists in that four square centimetre space; the air then disperses and the pressure is equalized again.

When employing Meta-Motion, larger objects do create an audible “whoosh” when leaving their original location and an audible “fup” when arriving at their destination. However, they both occur simultaneously.

When one intends to relocate an object to within another, the results are varied based on the density and surface tension qualities of the object being moved and the destination matter involved. But effects similar to air displacement carry over. For the most part, the object maintains its integrity as an individual object no matter where the destination. And when “removed” from the matter of its destination (with Meta-Motion), that matter maintains its original form and density. There is an exception to this related to surface tension, however. If the object being moved is large enough and dense enough to break the surface tensions of the matter of its destination, the destination matter will be compromised (or vice versa). In this manner, I inadvertently produced a crack in my granite counter top when moving a large titanium knife into it.

The fundamentals of three dimensional physics play out for the most part on “disappearing” from source location and on “reappearing” at destination. Generally in the form of lowered pressure and compression respectively. Though two things cannot occupy the same space, two things can be compressed into it.

I was satisfied that I had established the framework of understanding needed to functionally operate with Meta-Motion. But that was only as it related to inanimate objects. The subject of organic matter was the next and last on my list.

I had spent some days in experimentation, and had called my daughter to beg off on my usual Sunday visit. Both my grandchildren expressed disappointment and I told them I was very sorry, but promised to bring a very funny surprise on my next visit; one that would make them laugh “way” more than tickling. They were exhilarated at the idea; both their mouths formed “O’s” and they slowly turned their heads to look at one another; then screamed in delight. Val shook her head, smiled at me and signed off.

Chapter 12 – Teleportation

At the expense of, again, coming off as a Science/Fantasy-Fiction manufacture; I, yet, must touch on the concept of “teleportation“. Which is basically, what I had been doing with Meta-Motion on objects. Thinking of applying Meta-Motion to living things conjured up images of classic fictional pitfalls on the subject; people with the heads of flies, flies with the heads of people and forays into alternate universes, facing down one’s evil doppelgangers. And not to forget, mounds of gelatinous loved ones.

Honestly, I was sacred at the concept of attempting this on a living organism; and, initially, at a loss as to how I could experiment in this vein. The confidence I had enjoyed throughout my adventure, thus far, took a deep back seat to my fear.

I had to approach this scientifically, yet I was dealing with the stuff of life! No body of science encapsulated the phenomenon of life, as witnessed by the hunt-and-peck failures in psychiatry and mind-altering drug peddler corporations. With the motion of objects, the intuitive fundamentals we use on a day to day basis bore though; I was not so sure I had any frame of reference to transfer over to the motions of the spirit. Or whatever one may call that quality that makes us “alive“. Or even if motion was an applicable concept when dealing with life-force; be it that of a fly or that of a human.

I couldn’t avoid the fact that in order to even experiment, I would have to accept the possibility that I may potentially destroy some life in the process. And there were no guarantees that any results obtained at the expense of “lower” life forms would be applicable to “higher” ones.

Nonetheless, I had to approach this as scientifically as I possibly could. I couldn’t very well give up, having come so far. Genuinely, I felt I was forging the pathway to the next evolutionary step of humankind; and felt the pull of duty in this regard.

I addressed what I did know and did my best to relate it in the framework of “unknowns” about all things living. I knew the concept of an entity-object maintained through Meta-Motion application; objects kept their form and containment. I could postulate that the same would likely be true for a live body; though I suspected that it potentially would not remain alive if compressed into co-habitation with some other matter like my granite counter. What I was still, at that time, unsure of, was if the life force would relocate with the body or not. And, herein lay my shortcomings of spiritual insight.

When I walk across a room, the life force present in me isn’t left behind as a result of relocation. It maintains presence within me throughout. And that holds true for both Causal-Motion and Free-Motion. So, I wondered, wouldn’t the same be true under Meta-Motion? Was the life within me, though not physically quantifiable, still a definitive part of the unit-object that I call “me”?

This seemed like a more productive line of thought, but there was still one major question. A question I had posed to myself many times over my long life. Is there a distinction between the life force that animates my body, as it does any other life form, and the life force from which I derive my identity? At that time, I had to resolve as I had done so many times in my life, that I simply did not know. I shelved the thought for the moment; its unresolved status would not prevent the next logical step in experimentation.

I went down to the storage area of our apartment building and dug out an old microscope that I had stored there. I brought it back to the apartment and cleaned it up. After having eaten some yogurt, I set up a slide with some of my saliva on it. I examined it for bacteria chains, and after much fiddling with the lighting and aperture, I was able to identify life on the slide; at the 1000x limit of the microscope‘s magnification.

I then took the slide and laid it on my counter. I applied Meta-Motion to move it, in total, to another area of the counter. When I returned it to the stage of the microscope, the chains of bacteria were still present, attendant with their, almost imperceptible, but nonetheless present, motions. So, I thought, no blood from the death of populations of yogurt bacteria was on my hands! I chuckled at my metaphoric hyperbole.

I repeated this experiment with other cultures, including water samples from a number of different processed and natural sources. In each case, any teeming life present suffered no observable damage after Meta-Motion had been exercised.

I escalated the life complexity to insects. I placed various insects in one bottle and applied Meta-Motion to move them over to an empty bottle next to it. Locally, outside my building I had found carpenter ants, black ants, centipedes, etc. Though not an insect, I also had gathered a worm. None of them expired from their captive ordeal. I had made it a point to move them only once they were already in motion inside the jar. And, of course, made it a point to observe if they continued moving after having been relocated. In each case, they did, immediately. I returned them to their native habitats once finished.

I purchased a small quantity of tropical fish from a local pet store along with two fishbowls (and fish food) and brought them home. One by one I transferred the fish from one bowl to the other using Meta-Motion. And except for a slight pause in their contiguous swimming, they all survived the relocation unscathed, as far as I could tell. There was something about the relocation within water that shocked or stunned the fishes momentarily. I suspected this had to do with the density of water being so much greater that air. Though, I didn’t know for sure at the time, I was satisfied that they were unharmed. As an added benefit, I now had new pets to add colour and life to my home.

Having no scientific basis on which to choose the next “higher” life form with which to experiment, I arbitrarily decided to choose an animal that had the capacity to display affection. Though this opens the door to potential anthropomorphism, I believe a cat purring and nuzzling to be as close to affection in an animal as one could hope. Theoretically, this may simply be the cat acknowledging a source of sustenance and marking territory with its pheromones. But I was content that it represented a nuance of characteristic that, if still present after Meta-Motion, would be indicative that the animal and its life force had been faithfully carried over.

My late wife had owned two cats over our life together; both of which had lived well into their second decade. So, I certainly had familiarity with co-existing with these animals and caring for them. I didn’t, particularly, want to take on that responsibility at this point in my life, considering I may only have a good decade left myself. But, I couldn’t, in good conscience, obtain a cat without that commitment. So I visited the local pet shelter in search of an older, “friendly“ cat to adopt; i.e. one that I might outlive. After much humming, hawing and hand offering, I chose a spayed, female, calico cat, with orange, tan and black highlights over a white coat. She was estimated to be around eight years of age. Anthropomorphically or otherwise, she displayed what I felt to be interest and curiosity in me. I left with Josie in a cat carrier; as I had called my new feline friend

I swung by the pet store and picked up various cat-maintenance supplies, toys and a second carrier. It took a few days for us to get acclimated to each other in the same living space. I discovered that she had an attraction to music as she gradually decreased her proximity to the piano until she was directly on my lap whenever I played. Sometimes, purring; always nuzzling.

I had placed both carriers on the side table near my bed, at a height from which she could see me if she woke during the night. I alternated the carrier in which I placed her each night so that her smell would rub off in both of them; making them equally safe spaces for her.

During the days, I noticed she had some considerable playfulness in her, but she quickly tired of the Free-Motion and Meta-Motion shenanigans I exerted over her toys. And an interesting observation led me to increase my confidence in my law’s corollary. Once she tired of playing, I could no longer exert Free-Motion or Meta-Motion over her toys for the purpose of playing with her. It was not that she was tired of it, per se, it was that I no longer felt that my actions were contributing to her happiness compared to when she was “enjoying” it.

Though, on one of the days during a particularly playful mood, I did make a second short video of her playing, for my grandchildren; salving my own need for atonement for having missed my visit with them last Sunday. For the end of the video, I sat in my chair, with Josie on my lap, and recorded myself reciting a poem that I had written for her, especially for the video, but also in thanks to her. And of course to bowl over my grandchildren with a finale they wouldn’t forget. I edited the video so that the text of the poem scrolled along the bottom with a bouncing ball, tapping out the metre. If you remember the profusion of Cat Memes and Cat Videos, ubiquitous on the internet around the turn of the millennium, you will appreciate this flight of fun for my grandchildren and family.

Catz Speakz

I learned a little secret
from my cat the other day.
I must forewarn, she adds a ‘z’,
Wherever ‘s’es play.

She said to me, “I have no carez
if you’re blue or mean or happy.
That given chance, I alwayz triez
to jump into your lappy.

“If I can’t right now, or can’t today,
there alwayz iz tomorrowz.
I alwayz knowz and thinkz I can
and never dipz to sorrowz.

“It’z warmthz and comfortz… happinezz,
on which I putz my focuz,
that givez my cat-world mysteryz;
definez my hocuz-pocuz.”

I was so looking forward to visiting Val and her family this Sunday! But I had wiled away some hours on this side project, so it was time I put my focus back onto my own hocus-pocus.

I felt Josie and I had reached a very good rapport with each other and I was ready for the experiment. I had decided to do this late at night, around the time I usually put her to bed. She was purring as I gently placed her in the carrier furthest from the bed and she quickly settled down on the towel I had placed inside. I hummed a piece of music that I had observed she “liked” and very soon, she closed her eyes; her purring motoring on.

Then I teleported her over to the other, empty carrier.

She lazily opened her eyes on arrival and immediately closed them again, on seeing my face just outside. Her purring continued, uninterrupted and though I was elated with the apparent success, I was also slightly anxious for tomorrow, when I would verify that she was completely “herself”.

I put myself to bed with a comforting sense of accomplishment, mixed with pride, gratefulness and a tad of concern. Overall, I would surely have been purring, had I had such an organ. I drifted off to sleep to the soft vibrations coming from my new lab partner.

Chapter 13 – Seeing

The following morning, Friday, I woke up to gentle purring from Josie. I let her out of her carrier and she made a bee-line to the bathroom, where I had set up a litter tray for her. I followed in suit, though I chose the toilet, and laughed at the thought of sharing the bathroom with a cat. Like an old, familiar couple, we did our business and got on with our day. The first order of which was our, thankfully, different cuisines.

Everything seemed in place with Josie’s demeanour. After finishing breakfast and cleanup, I went to the piano and sat down. I turned to regarded her, sitting on her haunches at the far end of the living room. She lazily padded over and lay on the small rug under the piano bench. Her body had followed a straight line between the far end of the living room and the rug, but her head stealthily scanned left, right, up and down as she visually inspected her environment for, I imagined, birds, mice or other prey. Her pace and carriage were too relaxed for it to have been any concern for predators.

After a short amount of my piano playing, she hopped up on my lap and nuzzled into my stomach. Intermittently purring, I noticed, mainly at the start of each song. Except for her “favourite”, through which she purred continuously. After a few more numbers, I laid her on the floor, stood up and went to the kitchen.

She followed, drank some water from her dispenser and hopped up on the chair adjacent to the one I usually occupied. She curled up and commenced cleaning and grooming herself.

Overall, I was satisfied that this was the same cat I had teleported the night before. I made a cup of tea and pondered how I should move forward from here. My next objective was obvious, but the method and factors were not so clear. Moving objects and living entities, completely outside oneself, was one thing. Moving oneself was a another thing altogether.

My lifelong spiritual question, which I had summarily stamped as “unknown” came back to the fore. The first thought that came into my mind was, “In the spirit of its unresolved, potential, duality; I am at least thinking about thinking about it.” I chuckled as I recognized my unfailing tension meter, slapping the pin at the “wry” end of the comic relief dial.

What would it matter if I moved my body and “I” was left behind, at the other end of the room? Couldn’t I simply, just “be” back with my body? If there were, in fact, two different life forces active in me. One would go with my body, as it had with Josie‘s (and the fishes). And, if there was another, separate one, one that comprised my identity; I should be able to just choose to be back with my body.

I was floundering again. I attempted to explain this out to myself.

Performing Free-Motion required “being” at the same location as the object in which I wanted to intend an acceleration. Performing Meta-Motion, required sequentially “being” at two different locations. First, at the source location of the object and a second time, at its destination.

It should be basically the same with my body. But if there was a separation between my animal and individual selves, where would “I” be after my body had moved? Would I be suspended in space at the source location? This might be a different set of circumstances than projecting myself to my wife’s hospital room; I may be effectively blind without the eyes of my body, sitting at the other end of the room. So how would I find my body’s location if I was in the dark?

This brought back a line of investigation that I had abandoned to a holding pattern last week, simply because it did not factor into the experiments I was performing then. Namely, the concept of remote-seeing. And though I had contemplated the other senses, at that time, on an immediate basis, “seeing” was my only concern.

Again, the variables and conditional possibilities were mounting. And, again, my evaluation of what was needed for the next achievement required a preliminary skill. Even though I wasn’t certain I would need it. If the event occurred that there was a difference between the life force I share with any animal and the life force that I identify as “me”; I would, possibly need it. And then, only in the case when, after relocating my own body, “I” was left floating where my body had been. All other permutations would not require remote-seeing.

I felt, then, that before I could confidently attempt teleporting myself, I would need to make sure I had the skill of remote-seeing in case I needed it. So, I outlined a new set of experiments aimed at both developing and verifying this ability.

Technically, verification wasn’t really wanting regarding the act of “being” at another location; as I had been doing that, extensively. Both Free-Motion and Meta-Motion required this capacity. But the phenomena I experienced as “remote-seeing” in my wife’s hospital room was what I wanted to zero-in on.

Considering admiration and good-will to be necessary elements present, I set out to mentally prepare myself to “visit” my daughter’s home at a mealtime today. I would then call her and verify the accuracy of what I had “seen” them consuming.

As a preliminary step, I downloaded an app that output a random number each time the screen was tapped. I faced the screen away from me and tested my “seeing” success rate until it was 100%. I tell you this, again, in such a routine manner. But I started out at 0%, of course. I gradually fine tuned both my mental focus and the “volume” of attention to admiration and good-will in my heart. What I discovered is now a metaphysical fact to me; but wording it for the purpose of relaying it as information may sound a little foreign.

What I discovered was, that to be successful in remote-seeing, one has to be emotionally and, for lack of a better term, philanthropically invested. I couldn’t accomplish it with a lackadaisical or frustrated viewpoint. I had to be in a mindset where performing it was genuinely important to me at that moment, and important for admirable and good reasons. And it took a while to find such a mindset that was genuine and not in any, slightest, way insincere or put-on.

Truth be told, this line of experimentation had a profound effect on me. Like a closed-loop, positive-feedback amplifier; deliberately nurturing these thoughts kept increasing the serenity with which I regarded my endeavours, life and the world in general. The more serene I felt about life, the more powerful my emotional investment was in contributing to it. And if it wasn’t for my respect for basic social boundaries, I’d have been out hugging every person, dog, cat, tree and flower I encountered. Even that thought, from the paradisiacal composure I had generated, was much less a concern of looking mad and much more a concern for inadvertently assaulting the comfortable realities of my fellows.

Josie was definitely responding to the change, her purring was almost continuous and if she wasn’t nuzzling in my lap she was hard-rubbing her jowls on my legs. I had spent the better portion of the day with this and was batting a thousand with the number generator app. It was time to visit the people I loved the most in this world.

I picked up Josie and returned to the living room. I sat down on my chair with her in my lap and closed my eyes. I put my attention on my darling daughter, her two wonderful children and her devoted husband. And with deep and genuine purpose for doing this, “I” arrived in their home.

My grandchildren were trading vegetables across their plates. The younger one, I knew, had not yet acquired the taste for collard greens and the older, gladly sacrificed his carrots for the extra serving. Even after the trade, I could see they were both eying each other’s plates to ensure they had comparable portions. My daughter and her husband were mainly eating and talking to each other, but regularly engaging their boys. They were drinking a 2017 Chianti, I could see from the bottle on the table. I could not make out what they were saying. Everything sounded somewhat murmured, but that was of no concern.

Josie had started kneading her claws into my lap and my attention snapped back to my home and the scratching life form on my lap. The recognition of the key operating principle in remote-seeing was so clear to me that I knew I didn’t have a need to experiment further. I knew that as long as I could bring myself to that wonderful and genuine state of mind, this faculty would be available to me. I considered that if something unhappy or difficult happened in my life, then I might not be able to obtain this serene composure easily, or at all. And so be it; I might have to wait some hours or days, as the case may be, until I had desensitized from or resolved some troubling issue.

As comfortably certain as I was of their menu this evening, I waited half an hour or so before contacting them. They were all in the living room when I called. The youngest came into view and punched his older brother in the arm, announcing, “I told you it was Grandpa!“ Through many inquiries aimed at me, as to the nature of my surprise this Sunday, demands to see my new pets, and much, thoroughly enjoyed, small-talk and banter, I verified everything I had seen on my “visit” there at suppertime. I promised them all I would definitely be there, the day after tomorrow, and expressed how much I was looking forward to it. I added that I now had two surprises for the boys, then bid them all a goodnight.

Val asked me to hold on and took the call, privately, to another room. “Are you alright, Dad? Nothing has happened with your health, has it?“, she inquired. “No,” I assured her, “I am absolutely fine. I’m really looking forward to seeing you all on Sunday.”

“Have you been thinking about Mom?” she asked with concern. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she added. “Well, yes and no.”, I replied, equivocally, “I’m not sad or anything. I feel particularly calm today after experimenting with some new mental exercises.”, I approximated the truth. “Plus, I have Josie keeping me company at home now. And, I really can‘t wait to see the boys‘ reactions to my surprises. Honestly, Val, I‘ve never been better.” A social hyperbole that couldn’t have been truer.

“Okay, Dad. You just seem a little quieter than usual, that’s all.” she said, putting her concerns to rest. “I thought the boys had completely forgotten about your surprise, but they wouldn’t shut up about it at supper this evening. Any hints you want to give me so I can torture them a little?” she asked. “No,”, I said, “but nice try Kitten.” I chuckled to her. “All my love and I’ll see you all on Sunday.” I signed off. “Love you Dad.” she ended.

During the call, Josie had been on my lap, looking up at me. I realized that she hadn’t had much experience with me talking and it had piqued her curiosity. Her purring engine had been on high idle throughout the call. “Do you like the sound of my voice?”, I asked in my melodious and naturally deep voice. Her unmoving face and posture betrayed no reaction, but her purring kicked into a slightly higher gear and I interpreted that as a “Yes!”.

I thought about my late wife and how she had talked to her cats. She always addressed them as she would any person; with interest and respect. I remembered also that she always talked to our daughter in the same way, even as an infant. Never with pedantic baby-talk or diminutive slant, always granting full intelligence, as a peer. I decided to adopt her wisdom, smiling at the thought that years after her passing, she was still able to influence me in a positive manner.

“Let’s get something to eat, Josie.” I said to the cat. Laying her down on the floor and heading for the kitchen. She followed me with her head tilted in a way that one eye might see where she was going and the other might continue to regard me. I set out a small bowl of milk next to her water and food dispensers. “That’s for dessert, but you choose to have it before or after; as you like.“ I said to Josie. Her small body prancing a figure-eight around my ankles, throughout. I hummed a little passage from the “Nutcracker Suite” which always conjured images of Val, prancing on tip-toes with a decidedly feline gait, in time with the tune as I played it for her. How proud her face had been when she first learned to play it herself!

I prepared a meal for myself and ate it. Josie had finished her milk and now sat on the chair adjacent to me, licking her chops. I followed suit and cleaned up after the meal. “Let’s call it an early night, shall we?” I optioned her, and headed to the bedroom to change into pyjamas. Surprisingly, she followed me, even to the bathroom, as I prepared to retire. Finally, she hopped into the carrier closest to me as I laid in bed. I heard her fiddling with the hinges and interpreted this as an attempt to close its door. I leaned over and gradually started to close it, watching her reaction as I did. She settled down a little deeper in her den and I latched it.

In such a state of serenity, every action seems important and carries with it a sense of rightness coupled with validation. Everything seems to have a reason, and one’s certainty of that is unaffected by the fact that many of these reasons are not at all obvious or visible, or even necessarily existent. I felt an unusually strong feeling of gratefulness for Josie’s presence and her interested demeanour. Indeed, I had a warm feeling of honour for her gracious company. “Goodnight Josie. And thank you for being here with me.” I said. I closed my eyes and took a moment to “be” at the fishbowl and bid them a goodnight with continued welcome.

Chapter 14 – Being

Today had the character of “Saturday” like an old friend I hadn’t seen for ages. A tangible, specific feeling, but as impossible to quantify as the effect one personality has on another. Gratefulness had taken front and center stage in my mindset accompanied with a light, springy playfulness. Feeding my small group of animals felt like grand gestures of benevolence and humility. Josie followed me around, uncharacteristically kitten-like; or puppy-like if I wanted to stretch it slightly. Even the fish, I observed, in dyslexic fun, were flappily happening as I regarded their forms with admiration, and dare I push it, love.

I was feeling a powerful sense of pride; as far removed from hubris as endowment is from supplication. I was excited and confident about the next step in my experimentation. I had a healthy impatience about visiting family tomorrow. I was disproportionately thankful for my new pets. My thoughts were all ringing clear and distinct, as the individual bells of a cathedral array. Pealing harmonic chords of good-will and admiration. Yesterday’s meditations had drove piles of these into the bedrock of my soul, on which I stood like stilts; scanning the vista of endless possibilities.

As I moved around the apartment, walking with Free-Motion assistance; I would transition into Free-Motion gliding. Like I was on a conveyor belt, winding through my home. Causing Josie to have to pick up her pace at times. Whenever I stopped gliding, she seemed overjoyed with the spectacle and rolled over on her back, swatting an imaginary hand away from her tummy. I obliged her fantasy and tickled her belly each time.

I believed I was in the perfect frame of mind to attempt teleporting myself. I sat in my chair and regarded my wife’s across the room. Josie sat on her haunches at my feet, looking up at me. I put my hand out and said, “Stay.”, though I didn’t assume she was following my intent, she simply sat down on one hip and started grooming herself. Intermittently looking up at me.

I regarded my destination and then considered myself as a unit-whole. After envisioning how I wanted to arrive in my wife’s chair, I applied Meta-Motion with that intention.

My body arrived at its destination intact. “I” however, was still hovering over my chair. Fantastically, the cat still regarded me, off-an-on, as though she knew “I” was still there. I “looked” at my body on the other side of the room. It’s placement in the chair was exactly as I had intended and I could, thankfully, see my chest rising and falling as it breathed.

I considered the idea that I could apply Free-Motion to move it without necessitating my return to it. And I did so, raising its hands like a puppet‘s. I stood it up and sat it back down. I could not see through its eyes nor feel the sensations of motion within it. As a result, my body was slightly askew in the chair, now.

Josie had finished her grooming ritual and was sitting up on her haunches again; fantastically, she was still looking up at my chair, despite the fact that my body was on the other side of the room. I made my hands clap with Free-Motion, which alerted Josie to its presence; she turned to look at it and turned back to looking at my “empty” chair; on which she then jumped up.

The novelty of what I was experiencing overshadowed the landmark resolution of my long unanswered question regarding the life force or forces comprising my being. This most certainly verified, for me, that the life force animating my body’s basic, live, functionality was separate from that life force with which I identified as “me” and, as I now realized, my memories, likes, dislikes and personality in general. On top of this, “I” was clearly the source of the power instigating Free-Motion and Meta-Motion actions. Indeed, as a slightly macabre thought, I considered that I had effectively just acquired a new pet, my body!

Through all my preparations and planning, there was one ability that I hadn’t fully resolved that I might need to acquire, learn or develop. And its importance crept up on me, slowly, like house lights after a show. What do I need to know about returning to my body? Will just the intention to do so be intuitively sufficient to accomplish the act? Or, was there some special ability I needed? What if I was unable to return, ever again? No longer able to see through my eyes, feel with my hands, hear with my ears, taste with my tongue.

Amid the my bubbly surf of good-will, admiration, serenity and love that rhythmically beat seaboard at my soul today, these black oil-spills of fear made landfall. And as they stained the clean sands at the beachhead of my awareness, I opened my eyes and was seeing through my body again. Josie was now looking in my direction, from my chair across the room. She jumped down, padded over and hopped up in my lap.

I hadn’t had the opportunity to learn how to return deliberately on this first attempt at teleportation. Though I certainly learned the part fear played in it. And, possibly, I considered, other negative emotions would likely have the same effect; though I was not sure. I also learned the fact that there was, most definitely, an intuitive ability to return; though I understood none the details of this intangible tether. It was more of an involuntary reaction than anything else. And one more thing, at the expense of stating the obvious, I was relieved that there was no threat of being marooned outside my body; with the added caveat, I assumed: so long as it was still alive. Though, I was not sure of that either. Still, I needed to learn the ability to deliberately return to my unattended body and any sub-abilities that may require.

As I had been puppeteering my body from across the room, I had a jetsam of a thought that had quickly sunk under my slick, dark fear. Now, it had lapped in to shore. I had considered, for an infinitesimal moment, that I might as easily occupy Josie’s body as re-occupy my own. I followed this line of thinking as I stroked Josie’s soft coat. It surfaced feelings that I might be violating her space and put into question whether or not she had a similar duality of life forces in operation within her. Whether she did or did not, how would I handle the intimate perceptions and instinctual drives, for example of her, say, killing a mouse while present with her. Would I instantly return to my own body as soon as I experienced some, self-interpreted, negative emotion? Or if I got a whiff of her fear of potential predators?

As my mind is wont to do, these thoughts fanned out to extrapolated lines covering the permutations embodied in the variables at play. And so, methodically, I outlined a new plan of experimentation from where I had thought would have been the summit of achievement.

My drive for clarification in no way depreciated what I had achieved, not in the slightest; I had successfully moved myself, body and soul, from one point in space to another, instantaneously. I had done so with without electronic, mechanical, or otherwise physical, apparatus or device. This was a vaulting leap for humankind that resolved fundamental metaphysical questions posed and evaluated by scientists and spiritualists throughout the millennia of our long history.

Anthropologically, if I was re-discovering long lost abilities inherent in our species, it might explain the very late development of the physical sciences in our eras of evolution as intelligent beings. What need of levers and pulleys when one can simply move an object anywhere one chooses? What need of vehicles of any sort when one can be anywhere one wishes? What need of writing in a world shared among beings with nothing but admiration and good-will flowing through their spiritual veins?

It also might shed light on the rise of Egyptian and Incan pyramids, or the more recent massive rock structures of Easter Island and Stonehenge; as having been created and placed during a renaissance of these abilities that died off again for lack of dissemination. That being possibly for either educational, environmental, or covetous reasons.

The day was young, and though I wasn’t going to re-write any history volumes this morning, I was certainly going to master returning to my body with deliberation. And, if I had time, entreat Josie to allow me to “be” in her body in an effort to garner the unprecedented experience of perceiving life through a cat’s eyes. But whether I accomplished that, or not, today; neither wild horses nor cats would keep me away from my bright, laughing grandchildren or my loving daughter and her husband, tomorrow.

Chapter 15 – Control

My unfounded fear had dispersed in the fresh currents of the potential for further discovery. I had a late morning snack as Josie nibbled at her feeder and lapped at her water. I found it uncharacteristic of a cat to follow my eating patterns. It was much more of a dog trait but had a similar pack-bonding effect on me. I liked it! And in the spirit of healthy pet-anthropomorphism, I chuckled to myself that as any good lab partner knows, you eat when the scientist eats or you’ll hazard missing the discoveries.

I went back to the living room and sat in my chair. Josie, again, took up at my feet and commenced post-meal cleaning and grooming. I moved my body over to my wife’s chair with Meta-Motion and regarded it, relaxed. I considered “being” over there with/at/in it, as I had been doing with Free-Motion and Meta-Motion over the last months, and I was “there“. Now seeing my chair across the room with Josie, on the floor in front of it, busy combing her fur with her coarse tongue.

But I was still not seeing through my body’s eyes; I was simply remote-sensing from near my wife‘s chair. I calmly considered that I would need a new thought-inflection to intend a re-connection between the life force that represented myself and that which drove my body. I knew it was sufficiently intuitive in that it had occurred without my thinking about it under the stress of fear. But I didn’t want to invoke it under those circumstances. I wanted to understand it so as to be reproducible.

I thought about how I had felt after returning to my body the first time and quickly recognized that I had experienced a relieving sense of safety and security. And before I had any chance to follow that line of thinking down, I was back behind my eyes. A very touchy trigger, I thought.

After a few more reversals across the room, I successfully isolated the inflection needed to re-occupy my unattended body. Ultimately, it wasn’t really safety and security that were the operating principles, nor fear for that matter, it was the strong sense of affinity and familiarity that my body represented to me and which I could gradually call up to instigate my re-entry.

Of note to me was the fact that the act of re-entry itself was never gradual. The approach I had worked out was, but the event, itself, was always an instantaneous snap, once my feelings of kinship reached a certain threshold. I further noted that this may or may not be the case for every person nor, possibly, for me as time practicing produced more experience and insight. At that time, I was completely satisfied with my ability to control this phenomenon.

The corollary of this ability was, also, not difficult to master. All I had to do, now, was to engage myself with a willing heart, to volitionally relinquish my familiar body/home-base and I was separate from it again. This being quite a different thought-inflection to the one I employed to “be” at/near an object for the purpose of moving it. In those cases, “I” was “being” in two places at once; so, never leaving my body. When separating from my body, on the other hand, “I” was only intending to be in one place; outside of my body.

It should be said, here, as a reminder, that the feelings of admiration and good-will sang their song in the background throughout today’s endeavours. Except when being overpowered with the short jolt of fear that pulled me back into my body. The importance of this thematic mindset represented the backbone of every Free-Motion or Meta-Motion action and down through to every application of transcendent or metaphysical skill involved.

It was mid-afternoon and I went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Josie followed close behind and lapped at her water. “I’m going to sit for a moment and assess my plans for the rest of the day.”, I said to her as she jumped up on the adjacent chair, licking her chops of water drops. I reached over and stroked her head and back. She performed some perfunctory grooming of her paws as a diva may inspect their finger nails. But, she generally maintained her attention on me as I sipped my tea. I still felt honoured by her interest.

“Would you allow me to use your body for an experiment?” I asked her. Though, not so far out there that I expected an answer, one would have been nice. I reached over and gently scratched under her jowls and she leaned into it for added friction. “I want to attempt to control your body.”, I said as I lifted one of her paws up and down a few times. She offered no resistance to my motions and continued to regard me with her honouring interest. I slowly drew my hand back and applied Free-Motion to move the same paw. “Sort of like this.”, I said to her, warmly. She seemed, surprisingly, unaffected by this commandeering of her paw. I brought both my hands over to her and ruffled her jowls. “Thank you for letting me do that.”, I acknowledged her.

Though I wasn’t controlling her body in the way I was wanting to accomplish, I was getting more comfortable with the thought that it might not bother her if I did. And, I considered that moving parts of her with Free-Motion might be an acceptable way to increase a physical rapport with her as a gradual acclimation to the concept; for both of us.

I brought my hands back to her jowls and slowly moved her head from side to side. “This is with my hands.” I said. Then I took my hands away a few centimetres to each side and moved her head with Free-Motion at the same pace, “And this is with Free-Motion.”, I continued. I did this for a few more minutes, with another paw, her tail, etc. and throughout she appeared unperturbed by my gentle puppeteering.

I picked her up and sat her in my lap. “Thank you very much for letting me do that.” I said to her as I petted and ruffled her profusely. She rubbed her jowls into my stomach with considerable force and purred loudly. I anthropomorphically chose to interpret this as an indication that she didn’t mind and extended it to include a tacit consent for further experimentation. I burst out laughing at myself. So generous was I with her communications! She continued to purr and nuzzle into me and I reciprocated with further jowl scratching and fur caressing.

After a few more minutes of our mutual bonding; I picked her up off my lap and placed her on the floor. I sipped the last of my tea and headed for the living room. “Let’s try something new, now, shall we?” I entreated as she followed me out of the kitchen.

I sat on the rug in the center of the room with the hopes that she would join me there; which she did. My thinking was that I didn’t want her up on a chair or on my lap where I might cause her to fall if I was successful at occupying her body but floundered at controlling it. This way, if I did cause her to fall or stumble, the distance to the floor would be minimal. “Though I don’t have your express agreement, I want to thank you in advance for letting me try this.”, I said with gratitude.

I realized again that she very often started up her purring at the sound of my voice. Having a deep voice, she might be interpreting it as my form of the same, I thought, or leaped, as the case may be. But as insightful as this realization might have been, I quickly dawned on me that I would not be able to talk, once out of my body. As attempts to do so earlier today produced nothing but grunts, if anything at all. So, comforting her with my voice was not an option.

I stood up and turned on the sound system. I scrolled though my music library until I found her favourite piece and put it on repeat. I looked down at her and slowly adjusted the volume until I thought I could perceive a reaction of recognition from her. In line with my thinking related to my deep voice, this number had a very low register chord progression running through it and I considered that might be why she liked it so much.

I retrieved a pillow from my chair, sat back on the floor next to her, then lay down on my back. She immediately hopped up on my chest, closed her eyes and continued purring, slowly kneading my chest with her front paws. Not ideal, I thought, but still a minor distance to the floor. I wondered if she was aware that her claws had startled me before, as now they didn’t seem to be engaged with her kneading.

“I’m going to attempt this now.”, I said to her as I ruffled her jowls. Her uninterrupted purring relayed no change in sentiment, which I summarily graced as consent.

I moved out of my body, easily. My first thought was to “place” myself near the top of her head; but I was concerned that in the event that she could, somehow, perceive my presence there, it might trigger the hairs on the back of her neck and possibly upset her comfortable, purring composure. So I placed myself directly next to the large gland near her jaw. Though I couldn’t technically “hear” her purring, I could perceive it as a faint rumble, which continued.

I thought about the method I had used to re-enter my own body and did my best to increase my familiarity and affinity with hers. I admired the large muscles of her hind legs and acknowledged their power in relation to her overall light weight. I envisioned how wonderful it was to have such power available and entreated her sharing that with me.

I pictured how regal she looked at times when she sat on her haunches and regarded me. I thought of her clean white teeth and acknowledged her caring for them so well. I imagined seeing through her eyes with crystal clear focus over a long depth of field, with total control over pupil dilation and resulting excellent night vision.

I intended, or projected, feelings of taking care of her body with respect and added assurances of exiting in the event of discomfort. I considered I could “be” this cat. I could accept the animal urges and enjoy the simple routines of survival and those of interaction with other life forms.

I thought of an intensity of feeling from rubbing my jowls into a “loved” one. I considered the comfortable stasis of idling my purring engine as its gentle waves washed though my cat body. I thought of the satisfaction felt at undoing a knot from my fur with my prickly tongue.

I stretched my comfort zone to include coitus down to the orgasmic-scale ovulation as stimulated by a tom’s barbed penetration. I languished in the growth of new life in my tummy, enjoyed my increased appetite and bore the pains of delivery.

I added a nuance of thought as though I was “remembering” these things. Though I knew I wasn’t, I mustered the feeling in a deep wash of sympathetic identification. I imagined laying my cat body on my side and welcoming my litter to suckle. Though slightly painful, I was swimming with happy hopes of their survival. I conjured an identity for each kitten, one at a time, admiring the wonder of their individuality and intensely wishing them a good life.

And I was in!

Chapter 16 – Sensing

The purring was a raucous, thumping, vibrating din! Yet, I could hear traffic for, distinguishably, five blocks over. As I sat on the chest of my human body I could both hear and feel the rhythmic thump of its heart. I could hear its breathing as a crashing surf interspersed with high pitched whistles. I could hear another whistle coming from the bathroom toilet and yet another from the bedroom window. I felt my ears, independently wiggle in a rhythmic pattern, synched with my kneading, sending me these sounds accompanied with their location information, each in little packet of uniqueness. All easily discernable over the thunderous purring.

And the smells! Stifling comes nowhere near describing the thick cloud of sensory information, blanketing my awareness. I could smell my wife’s unmistakable perfume wafting from her chair; though I hadn’t smelled it, myself, for many years. I could smell both of our previous cats on the rug but would be hard put to explain how I recognized the ownership. The tea remnants at the bottom of my cup in the kitchen; the garbage, a cacophony of cross smells; the cat food; the chlorinated water; the fish food; the fish water; the litter box in the bathroom; and my own body odour from my sheets in the bedroom; all coming in similar geo-located packets. And, those just to name a few!

I had a super-sense of symmetry almost down to the orientation of individual fur follicles. There was an unfamiliar yet, overwhelmingly powerful sense of physical stance, stability and balance. The volume of information coming from this foreign super-sense was impossible to ignore and a pure wonder to behold. I could perceive the rhythm of my kneading paws and minute counter movements that re-adjusted balance in counterpoint. I dared not intend any motion of my own for concern that I might easily over or under compensate my interpretation of this enormous stream of data.

I did open my eyes, though, and regarded my human face in front of me. The colours were markedly subdued and everything seemed a little too bright. The contrast was still striking and the detail was intense. I could distinguish pores in my face from ancient peach fuzz and gaping holes from old ingrown hairs that had long since been extracted. I didn’t know how I might influence my pupil dilation to turn the lights down but I decided to only monitor sensory input on this “visit” and refrain from interacting further; I closed them again. My super-sense even output micro-corrections on this tiny change in body state!

I experienced her memories; though they weren’t in the form of “pictures” or “videos“ in the same way that I have them. I’m not even sure how I determined that these “perceptions” had memory content, except that I was certain that was true; they were distinguishably different from everything else I was perceiving. They seemed to be thrown up in relationship to the current sensory circumstances, as they all had connecting threads to that. This memory component was demonstrably lower in volume than the input from the commotion of her sense organs.

An important observation surfaced as I sat there on my chest, kneading and purring. I felt absolutely no emotional-type cat feelings associated with these memories (or the senses, for that matter); assuming I would have recognized such if they had occurred and/or existed. But I felt nothing that I could qualify as emotional.

I could feel urges that had the same feel to me as I might have remembering a time when I was, say, hungry; as an example. But not the same as when I am actually hungry. I suspected the lack of emotional-type feelings might be influencing the pragmatic overtones I was experiencing, associated with these urges. There was a decided sense of orderliness and rationality to them. It was as if she was operating on a simple, but permeating, formula whereby 1 memory plus 3 pieces of collaborating sensory information equalled 1 urge. The urges’ intensity seemed consistent in that they all appeared as equally important. Again, lack of emotional content, or my inability to perceive such, might account for this uniformity of bearing. Her urges, like her memories, represented another very quiet thread of awareness compared to her front-and-center, voluminous and “loud” sense data.

I decided to sit unobtrusively and observe further. I lay there in awe of the tempest of intelligence informing me of my surroundings and the current state of my cat body. Most of it familiar in structure but not in volume. Some of it, like the acute sense of balance, I had never before experienced anything similar. I hoped I could suffer the onslaught long enough for her to take a walk from my chest on her own volition. That way I could at least experience her in motion from an observational viewpoint and learn a little before attempting it myself.

I wish I had encountered a more glamorous premise under which I first experienced walking as a cat. But for the sake of Meta-Science, I humbly endured it. And, as comic-relief; I offer a disclaimer, in appropriately barbed legalese (not to be confused with, inappropriately barbed legalese, which reads oxymoronic):

The following contains explicit descriptions of bodily functions that may be offensive to some readers. It is suggested here, that children under the age of 2 years should be accompanied by a reading companion of at least 4 years of age; but under all circumstances, minimally potty trained. Please be advised of this graphic content and proceed according to your own sensibilities. The author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any flatulence or other bodily evacuations deemed as having been caused, triggered or in any way influenced by the reading of this material.

Josie definitely wanted to relieve herself. I perceived the subtle urge, but I didn’t recognise it as being for this purpose. It was the sensory information that gave it away. I could feel the unmistakable pressure of full bowels, along with a recognizable sensation of the involuntary dilation of my colon; attendant with a deliberate contraction of my anus. That complicated urge had no connection to what I have ever felt on recognizing an intent to go to the bathroom; but the senses told the full story.

This condition remained for some minutes before I jumped down off my chest. Technically, Josie jumped down, I was simply a passenger. So, the use of first-person pronouns may be a little presumptuous or confusing in my descriptions here; but, suffice it to say that she was performing the motions and we were both experiencing all the urges and sensory input.

I might add here that, while in Josie’s body, I had detected no incidence of flatulence from my human body; I believe a cat’s sense of smell to warrant as defensible proof! In addition, later, after returning to my body, I detected no signs of any form of bodily evacuation. So, if experiencing the content just described produced no “accidents” in the writer‘s body, I effect to dispel concerns that the reading of it might cause any untoward bodily reactions in the reader‘s. Whatsoever.

Chapter 17 – Moving

The jump!

The disjointed, marching-band clamour of sensory data was abruptly halted before I even moved from my sitting position on my body’s chest. Then a symphony began when a single stream from my super-sense sharply appeared, in volume, sounding a single complex chord, in chorus, as though from separate instruments of the same type; communicating my exact position, orientation, weight distribution, muscle state, surface hardness, etcetera, ad-minutia. This all in the nanosecond before my eyes were opened.

I actually felt my pupils’ dilation mechanism relax, then hold firm again! Effectively contracting my pupils’ aperture. The excessive brightness of the room regulated down as the contrast in my field of vision fantastically sharpened and my depth of field increased, bringing everything I could see into crisp focus. Dust motes, moving in the air, had individual shapes like snowflakes; each of which I could identify as unique, and in detail.

In one smooth motion, accompanied with new chords from my super-sense, I stood up and turned to face the floor. These new chords rose and fell over top of the original ones that continued its stream of stasis information.

The pile of the rug appeared as one might see a wooded area from a mountain ledge; each standing thread, a tree with faint, bristly branches; I could see glimpses of the warp as one might see the floor of the forest. Food crumbs, broken fingernail bits, miniscule plastic shavings, toothpick chips and all sorts of small unrecognizable particles were strewn throughout; in defiance of both human eyes and regular vacuuming. From the tips of the weave to the flat of the warp, and the range of things in between, all were equally in focus.

The volume of perceptions and sensory information, coupled with the time required to describe them might be misleading as to the speed with which this was all happening. Possibly an exaggeration, but in an effort to portray the severity of speed, I subjectively felt a maximum of 1/10th of a second had passed from the time when the barrage of “normal” perceptual information was muted, just before my eyes were opened, to the point when I was standing on my chest, looking at the rug.

Then I jumped to the floor.

The finest song of glory, grace and power sang through every nerve in my cat body. I was aware of every current of air that passed every strand of fur over the complete surface of my skin. Sending me instantaneously interpreted notes from thousands of perfectly tuned violins culminating in an intricately harmonized melody of total understanding. My super-sense trumpeted in cadence as each thread of melody from my fur resolved to a complementary expression of body position and flight direction. Swift, exact and expertly gauged muscle adjustments and motions represented a solo baseline, performed during my descent from chest to floor.

Suddenly, I could tell that I was a fraction of a centimetre from the floor; that each of my paws were that exact same distance from touchdown; that each of my paw-pads were perfectly angled to the floor; and that each of my four main leg joints were rightly bent. I could tell my distribution of weight was favouring my stronger hind legs.

I inherently understood the exact speed I had accumulated as a result of the acceleration of gravity, subtracting the slight up-push of my initial jump. Factoring in the distance I had travelled down and the surface area I presented in resistance to the air through which I was travelling; and even its density at this altitude of elevation. I had a crystal clear sense of the angle of trajectory and speed with which my cat body was moving towards landing.

Though I was receiving an understanding of the physics involved in everything that was happening, it was not coming to me in the form of standard formulae and categorized variables. It was an instinctual understanding of all the factors introduced and at play. Indescribably clear and comprehensive.

A nanosecond before contact, everything muted again; except for the continuous, soprano chords telling me of my current, “static” body position and circumstances. Then the cymbals crashed and the trumpets blared as I hit the floor, adding impact and additional super-sense balance information to the, ever changing, position melody. Then a deeper thread came in, telling of the feedback from strong strokes of muscle control to minimize impact strain. While rills of concurrent higher pitches told of micro-adjustments in composure down to my toes.

I was filled with an awe that escapes the scope of any superlatives I might add, in any number. I was a passenger on a vessel in a foreign province. I knew that I was only getting a portion of the full story being told by the driver, as details of the passage were being imparted in their native dialect. The volumes of understanding, even under these circumstances, were, yet, overwhelmingly insightful.

Though, at that time, I hadn’t had the chance to evaluate that awe. The din from all her other senses abruptly reappeared as Josie, immediately on landing, started walking. I put my full attention into gleaning as much information as I could about it.

The walk!

Unceremonious functional ballet. That would be the short, concise encapsulation of the experience of walking in Josie. Whereas the jump had been all business; walking was an informal dance of precision, grace and form, with an added practical purpose, overlaid with a playful saunter. A rolling, seamless glide that betrayed none of the exactitude with which it was being executed.

From a functional perspective, my super-sense was harking all nuance of the potential and variation of sway in balance caused by raising each foot; like a full soprano brass section. A tenor section, in the same sense, was providing the details of the position and influence of each vertebra in my spine. The guiding melody was my overall balance and the answering tenor was the straightness of my spine. A third, deeper feedback of exerted muscular control told me that the spine was being maintained in a straight arrow, pointing to my destination, and maintaining its exact distance from the floor, no matter the positions of the limbs at any given moment. The limbs and joints simply rolled around the anchor of its stable reference.

As the functional movement played on, it was overlaid with the playful cadence of sensory information that transposed into her decidedly graceful, feline canter. And though this had a tenor “feel” to it as well as the spine thread; they had largely different melodies. Nonetheless, the rhythm on which there were set was inextricably synchronised with each other and my super-sense.

The shoulders and hips were instrumental in raising the paws off the ground; much more than the bending of joints. This contributed to the rolling swagger that formed the baseline of her overall motion. However, the swagger was tamed to a glide by the influence of the ballet-like movements of her limbs and paws. The swing of each leg was slow to launch and fast to travel. Each step was quickly, tip-toe landed with the pad following in a slow compression to full flat; translating impact to caress.

Like an optical illusion, when viewed from one angle, you see one thing and from a different angle, you see another. From one perspective you see a bobbing, bouncing shuffle one might see in a child, happily idling across a field, with nowhere in particular to go. From another, a ballet dancer, their unmoving spine gliding across the floor with the leg motions too quick to decipher; their feats of athletic physics, recognizably highly complex but too perceptibly indiscernible to call anything else but art.

And through all of this extensive attention to detail, control and symphonic coordination; her head gimballed free of everything else and with its own beat and melody. Like a seasoned jazz saxophonist, dropped in the middle of an orchestra. Their rills, blasts and screams somehow seeming perfect to the moment of the music they threatened to drown out; yet, completely unfathomable as to why, even to the most experienced musical ear. Then she arrived to the bathroom.

The … !

I will spare you the details of the rest of my short jaunt to the litter tray with Josie and I‘ll pick back up on top of my chest where she returned after cleaning herself. … I think I remember her cleaning herself.

After a few seconds back on my chest, she started purring and kneading again. And soon, her eyes closed, and she sat quietly with me and my body. I intended warm and voluminous thanks to her, though there was no indication that my sentiments arrived. I considered my willingness to leave this wonderful experience within her, awash in gratitude for having had the opportunity.

And I was out; remote-sensing my body with Josie on my chest. I was momentarily gripped by the observation that remote-seeing kicked in immediately on relinquishing my connection to her. I was welcoming the idea of returning to my comfortable, familiar, personal space. I was also looking forward to vocally and physically expressing thanks to her; whether she understood it or not.

I quickly snapped back into my body. When I opened my eyes, Josie was calmly staring directly at me. Though it seemed like I had spent the whole day occupying her body, by the appearance of light dusk outside; it had only been, maybe, an hour or so.

“Thank you so very much.”, I blubbered out as the emotional scope of the experience hit me. “You were so accommodat…”, and my throat hitched. I scrubbed her jowls, petted her fur, tickled her tummy and gently hugged her into my chest; all in expression of thanks to her. Thinking that she “liked” the sound of my voice, I substituted my failing words with a low soft rumble from the back of my throat; approximating a sympathetic purr. She definitely “liked” this as she rubbed her face against my neck, close to the source of the sound. I picked her up, kissed her on the forehead and placed her on the floor. I stood up, tossed the pillow back onto my chair and turned off the sound system. I managed, “Let’s eat.”, and headed to the kitchen. Characteristically, for her, though still amazing to me, she padded along beside me.

I prepared a quick suppertime meal from leftovers and ate it while Josie fed herself. I can’t explain why, but every time I thought about what I had just experienced, tears formed in my eyes; attendant with surges of thankful emotions directed towards Josie. The days, weeks and, now, months of my journey from the fascination with my hand motions to occupying a cat’s body felt both unreal and overwhelmingly real at the same time.

I tried to sit quietly after supper, still in vacillations of emotions and thankfulness over my progressions. Yet, I hadn’t even processed the fantastic offshoots of thought, borne from today’s adventures. Josie’s routines seemed unaffected as she sat on the adjacent chair, cleaning her paws and face.

Anticipation rose in my heart as I considered visiting my family tomorrow. I had my completed videos copied to my handheld and all ready for tomorrow.

I decided to spend the rest of the evening writing an account of my experiences with Josie today, while they were still fresh in my mind. I set up my computer on the breakfast counter and described the day’s wonders with the view that I would most certainly write a book about all the events of the previous two months of my life. Three or four hours later, I was satisfied I had relayed today’s events to the best of my literary ability. I had also outlined the basic layout for this work and completed writing about most of the events of the previous day as well.

I closed down my computer and headed to bed. Josie had already retired to the carrier closest to me. I washed, changed into pyjamas and slid comfortably into bed. I reached over to Josie’s carrier, closed, and latch her door. Then I flipped the light switch off, with Free-Motion.

Chapter 18 – Family

Unlike the character of Saturday, which I often pass by, un-noticed, as I stroll through a week, Sunday never fails to catch my eye. It’s a day for spiritual concerns and family. But, for all its predictable, familiar and dependable comforts, it has always, also, been a day for answering the hard question of life. Such a mixture of joy and responsibility filled my heart this morning as I opened my eyes.

I had to tell Val about what I’d been doing. I have to talk to someone besides Josie and the Fishes! I laughed to myself as I considered, yet another video with that title would be fun to make. I made a mental note to devise a plot for it.

My daughter, absolutely, deserved to know. I could think of no one for whom I could more wish to acquire the abilities I had been evolving. My grandchildren and her husband, Terrance, also. How was I going to go about this? The slapstick videos now seemed a weak ice-breaker considering the scope and depth of my discoveries. Though, the videos had their own merit aside from the double-duty I had imposed on them. I was glad to have the distraction of thinking about my laughing grandchildren.

I got up from bed and looked in on Josie, who was still sleeping. I quietly unlatched the door to her carrier but left it closed. After washing, I fed the fishes and topped up Josie’s dispensers. I made myself a pot of coffee, as I usually do on Sundays, and prepared a healthy breakfast. The smells, I suspected, woke the cat, who showed up in the kitchen, obviously hungry.

“You will be debuting today in a production of The Great, Wolfgang von Magnificent!”, I informed her. Her food was much more important than her acting career to illicit a response. “It will premier in a matinee at Valance House this afternoon.”, I continued (“Valance” being what my late wife and I, teasingly, called Val and Terrance when they first start seeing each other, as teenagers in the 1990‘s.). “Say nothing if you wish that I collect and spend your royalties.”, I joked. “I’ll take your crunching as a response, saying, ‘As long as you continue to feed and love me, I’m fine with that.’ – Excellent!”, I confirmed. Considering that Wolfgang’s talent-agent negotiating skills were second to none!

I sat down and ate my breakfast, quietly. My thoughts turned back to Val. I have always had my, generally, good sense to guide me; so I would play it by ear and find the best time and method to broach this subject with her. I knew I could depend on myself to act when the conditions were favourable. I decided that today would be the day and that I would successfully pick my moment to discuss my recent endeavours with her.

Just making the decision about this, lifted some of the “heavy-question” weight from my Sunday morning.

“I’m going to leave you on your own today.”, I told Josie. “So keep the place clean, please. And don‘t eat the fishes.” I went to the sound system and pulled up a play list of piano pieces that included her favourite; and put it on repeat. It would provide some hours before restarting at the top again.

When I came back to the kitchen, she was on her chair, cleaning and grooming. I cleaned up after breakfast and poured the last cup of coffee. I sat and enjoyed it as she finished up her grooming. I tapped my lap as an invitation to her. She hopped over, purring and nuzzling as I scratched and caressed. “Thank you again for your help yesterday.”, I said. “Hopefully, you’ll get a chance to meet my family soon, when I have them over next.”, I said, excitedly.

When she had settled down, I opened my lap and let her slip to my chair, then I got up from it, leaving her there. She curled up and commenced a new grooming session. “I’m going to get ready, now, and leave.” I informed her, and walked off to the bathroom to do some final grooming myself.

I headed out shortly after and drove to Val’s. I always knocked on her door, despite her assurances that it was unnecessary. I could hear the short, quick steps of a child and figured it was the 4 year old, Turner. The door opened to a staggered arrangement of smiling faces.

“Grandpa!”, Turner squealed as he threw the door away from himself and launched from inside the doorway where he stood. He struck my chest softly as his outstretched arms wrapped around my neck. I was amazed he had covered the distance with his little body and little leg muscles, and so little impact. I wrapped my arms around him, “Gotcha!” I said hugging him as tight as I could short of breaking bones.

“Turrrrrr-nurrrrrrr!”, Val called, as one might admonish a puppy, “I asked you not to do that, honey.” she finished. She was in the kitchen, which I could see down the short hallway to the left of the stairs that faced the door. An uncharacteristic domestic stereotype for a high-power lawyer; apron donned and dishtowel in hand.

Terrence stood to my right, in the doorway that led to the living room. Also in an apron and with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder; a big, genuine, welcoming smile that up-turned the outside corners of his eyes. He was one of those people who could completely fill a room with a disarming ease, despite his massive frame. I was sure his employees at his construction firm admired and respected him; and possibly with a healthy smidgen of fear. “Hi Dad.” he boomed.

Hunter, must have been directly behind Turner when the door was opened and now stood holding it, which he had caught, I assumed, after having been flung open by Turner. His head was turned back to face his mother, tilted, and I suspected he was giving her some admonishing look for calling out his little brother. That boy exhibited a scary level of insightful maturity for a 7 year old; and an admirable amount of care and love for his younger brother. He turned back to me and waved his arm in welcome with a warm smile, strikingly like his father’s. He was already tall for his age and had a large physical presence for such a young boy. “Hi, Grandpa. Come on in.”, he invited.

“Yes, come on in.”, his father agreed, with his deep silky voice that carried from ones ears, directly to ones bones. I have always admired the gentle power that emanated from Terrance. I could see the same, growing in Hunter.

Over the few seconds that had transpired, Val had made her way from the kitchen, up the hallway. “Sorry, Dad. Turn…”, she started to apologize for Turner. Hunter shot her a quick look, tilting his head again, and she answered him soundlessly, “Sorry.”, she lipped; they had obviously had many conversations about limiting Turner’s physical exuberance which had eventually condensed down to mannerisms and lip-reading. I looked at Terrance, to see if he was weighing in. He met my gaze with his huge hands, out-turned in the universal, “I’m staying out of it.” message.

Turner pulled his face out from my neck, placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed the upper portion of his body away from me so he could see my face clearly. “Where are they?”, Turner asked. I feigned ignorance, “What are you talking about?” He rolled his eyes, disbelieving. “You knowww.” he said, adding the few “w’s” at the end for emphasis. “The surprises!” he squealed as he shot an open-mouthed smile at his brother who reciprocated with affectionate mimicry.

“Oh, them. Yes, I have them with me and I am very excited about showing them to everyone.” I said, raising one eyebrow, simply for the entertainment of watching him attempt it, as he usually did. The end result of which was him raising both eyebrows and sharply turning his head so I could only see one. “But they’re really for me and Hunter, right?” he inquired, shooting another excited glance at Hunter. “Well, Grandpa?”, Hunter asked, moving his head like an Egyptian dancer with a big silly grin.

“Yes, that is absolutely true.”, I half-fibbed. “In fact, one is from me and one is from Josie.”, I outlined. “But, I want your mom and dad to see them too. Okay?”, I tried to back-fill my fibbing. “They’re videos!”, Hunter’s quick mind deduced. “We thought it could be that.”, he said to his brother. “Okayyyy!”, piped in Turner, who was now wiggling to get free from my arms. I started to bend over to let him go, but he squirmed out of my arms as soon as my grip loosened. He grabbed Hunter’s arm and dragged him into the living room, past their dad. They both sat on the couch, opposite the TV and Turner gleefully shouted, “Ready!”, as he turned it on with the keyboard, already in his lap.

I stepped in through the doorway, Val hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Hi Dad, I’ll be there in a minute.” she said as she spun back to the kitchen. Terrance held out a hand, signalling for my coat. I peeled it off after closing the front door and handed it to him. “Thank you, Terrance.”, I acknowledged. “Smells delicious in here!”, I complimented, knowing it was he who had the culinary skills of the match. Though Val had a substantial physical presence in her own right, and was never one to be sidelined, even as an child; it never ceased to amaze me how graciously she contributed in a supporting role to her husband in the kitchen. Indeed, it bordered on comedy to see her much shorter frame do all the heavy lifting on the gentle vocal, and body-language, instructions from the giant in front of me.

The door to their den was to my left as I faced the hallway which lead to the kitchen. Terrance disappeared through it with my coat, came back out and headed down the hall. “We’ll be there in a minute.” he threw back to me, but loud enough to carry to the living room.

Turner (no doubt, Hunter as well), detected that their dad had spoken to all present in the house and called out, “In here, Grandpa!”. I entered the living room, and as I approached the couch, Hunter moved over to make space. I plopped down between he, on my left and his younger brother on my right. “I made it all ready.”, Turner exclaimed in his young language. “Now you must … sync.” he informed me, looking at Hunter to see if he had used the right word. Hunter flashed a smile and produced an almost undetectable nod.

I pulled out my handheld from my shirt pocket and scrolled through the menus until I arrived at the screen that listed the available displays in my vicinity. I offered the screen to Turner to choose the display from the list of choices. He recognized the living room TV entry, more as an image pattern than the text it spelled, I suspected. He gracefully tapped the selection as if he was wielding a magic wand, performing a small spiral with his finger before contact, then quickly pulling it away. I turned to my left and offered the next screen to Hunter. He entered the pass-code for the household and the content of my handheld screen showed up on the large TV display opposite us.

I backed out of the settings screens and pulled up my video listing. I scrolled down to the end where the last two icons were grouped under “Recent Videos“; one of me sitting at my breakfast counter and the other of Josie in mid-flight towards a red ball.

“Why didn’t you bring Josie?” asked Turner; recognizing her from the call on Friday. “We don’t have a proper place for her to go to the bathroom here.”, I informed him. “Dad can make a bathroom for her.”, he said, with all the confidence in the world. “DAD! You can make a bathroom for Josie, right?”, he called out, sending his voice, with his eyes, through the intervening wall and into the kitchen at the back of the house. Much more of an exclamation of news than a question to him. “No problem, I can do that with your Grandfather for next time.” he replied. “But there will be rules.”, Terrance added. “Okay.“ Turner agreed to his dad. “See?”, he simply stated to me, swiping the imagined dust off his hands from a job well done. “We’re ready!” he called to his parents.

Hunter stood up on the couch and jumped over both myself and Turner, then sat next to his brother. He distracted Turner with some whispering and giggling as we waited for Val and Terrance to get everything under control in the kitchen and dining area. Such compassion he had for his little brother.

“Be there in a sec.” Val belatedly replied. No impatience was betrayed by her lilting voice; but I had been with her through her teenage years as she was learning to communicate volumes of righteous individuality with grunted syllables. I recognized the minor nuance of stressed metre and a small drop in the diction of her individual words. Masterfully hidden with love.

I thought about how similar she and Turner were. Though she had socially mellowed as an adult, she had the same ability to completely occupy a space and all individuals in it, with a demonstrable flavour of ownership. All without a malicious intent to be found. No doubt, an ability that, in no small part, contributed to her successes as a lawyer.

I don’t presume to talk for everyone, but, generally, when one encounters another who is “just like them” a negative chord of instant dislike is struck. Dislike may be the wrong term, but some equally negative sentiment that feels out of place. But, that negative feeling is real, it is just that it is being confused with the actual source of the polar repelling. It is not that one dislikes one’s own traits when viewed in another; nor indeed that one has any sort of self loathing. It is that one is experiencing a violation of their individuality. One could say that this is the social equivalent of the physics law that two things cannot occupy the same space.

This dynamic existed between she and he, but not the other way around. And I admired her ability to live with this intrusion of her individuality without ever letting it stifle Turner’s own sense of self. Well, except for trying to control the rate with which he flew into loved ones. And I suspected Hunter’s love for them both had contributed to the peace she maintained. Terrence simply allowed the dynamics to play out for themselves.

Val and Terrance walked into the living room. Terrence sat on the loveseat to the right of the couch, which was placed in the curve of a baby-grand behind it. Val slipped onto his lap. They were both angled slightly to their left, giving them an easy view of the boys and I on the couch. I shifted my weight so I was slightly angled towards my right; giving me full view of the entire family. “You guys ready?”, I asked to no one in particular. Turner answered for the lot, “Yesss! Play it!”, he demanded with a giddy insouciance that anyone with half a heart would follow to the ends of the earth.

I hit “Play”. Keeping my eyes on Hunter and Turner.

Chapter 19 – Confidants

Turner was clapping his hands and laughing as I was swatting at my head on the video; he turned to Hunter, who was laughing and literally holding his stomach, “Grandpa can’t do it.” he said to his older brother as he turned his head back towards the TV. He patted Hunter’s leg to make sure he was paying attention as he bounced up and down, sitting between Hunter and I.

On the video, my hair flopped down with my shoulders in defeat. Turner and Hunter looked at each other, a little sadly for a microsecond, then let out howls together, throwing their shoulders down and howling again. Hunter took a quick moment to look at me, over Turner’s head. Turner followed his gaze and said, “I’m sorry, Grandpa, you couldn’t do it.”, as he gently patted my leg in consolation.

I motioned my head to the screen, “I didn’t give up so easily.”, I laughed to Turner, who whipped his head back to the screen. Hunter was raising his hands as my hair slowly raised in the video. Turner was laughing again, but had one little fist pounding his own leg, championing me to be successful.

Hunter was now holding his stomach in laughter, again, as my expression on the video changed to shaking frustration. This seemed to particularly set him off. Turner was still hitting his own leg with his fist, “Come on, Come on.”, he was urging me in the video.

Then the pin moved and my hair stood straight up, which sent Hunter into a new roar. Turner screamed, “Yayyyy!”, and launched himself up off the couch, into the air. He spun around just before his feet landed on the floor then re-launched into my chest, wrapping his arms around my neck. “You did it, Grandpa! You did it!”, he congratulated me.

My handheld fell off my lap and onto the couch between Hunter and I. Val motioned with her hand to Hunter, who, without a hitch in his laughter, reached over and tapped the screen to pause it. She then wiped her eyes free of the accumulated tears of laughter. Terrance was wiping his eyes on the shoulder of her blouse.

I was laughing and hugging Turner in my arms, “Thank you.”, I said to him. He untangled from me and hopped backwards, and in one smooth motion, he was standing in front of me with his hands on his hips, looking at me with pride. I bowed my head and said, “Thank you.”, again. Then he turned to his mother and father, paused until he had their attention, then shot his hands over his head and screamed, “Yesssss!”

Val and Terrance both clapped for me, and Hunter joined in, then Turner. I bowed, again to each of them and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, aaaaand thank you.”, with the best exaggerated, feigned humility I could muster. And wiped my own eyes.

“That was incredible!”, Terrance said to me with a huge warm smile. Then he lifted my, not unsubstantial, daughter as he stood up, and laid her back, sitting, on the loveseat. He headed off to the kitchen to check on something, I assumed; without a second thought for his display of strength.

“How did you do that, Dad?”, Val asked me. “Wolfgang von Magnificent never tells!”, I said, grandly. She turned her head away from me and looked out of the side of her eyes. “Humph.” she snorted as she crossed her arms. Turner mimicked her exact moves and sounds, but added extra flare when he crossed his arms. Hunter howled at this and turned to me, “Your secret is safe with me, Herr von Magnificent.” he said. Val and Turner both re-targeted their cross-armed stares on him. Which sent him and them, shortly after, into a new fit of hilarity

Turner jumped into the air, turned around, mid-flight, and landed, sitting on the couch again, between Hunter and I. My handheld bounced in the air and I snapped it up, on its way down. Val opened her mouth and then closed it again when she saw Hunter’s head starting to turn her way.

“Let‘s see the next one!”, Turner exclaimed, excitedly. I replied, “There’s still some left in this video. But lets wait for your dad so we can all watch it together.”, and fast forwarded the few seconds to the beginning of the next scene, with me at the piano. “Okay.” he said.

Hunter shouldered Turner to look at him. With his hands, he was pushing his hair up and smiling, then pulling it down and frowning. And it set them both off into laughter. Turner mimicked my straining face from earlier in the video, which caused Val to absolutely lose it.

Terrance returned from the kitchen and performed the reverse of his muscular feat in a routine manner; re-orienting and settling Val on his lap with ease. “We ready?” he asked the room. Turner smiled and clapped at him, “Yay, Dad!”, he said. Terrance shot him a big, warm smile, which hung on his face for a moment as he must have drifted off into some thought while regarding his bright youngest. He then turned to Hunter and said, “You ready for more, son?”; “Definitely!”, Hunter replied and shouldered Turner again, “Right?”, he asked. “Absolutely!“, answered Turner, I was surprised he had that word in his vocabulary. He then turned, looked at me and said, “Wolfgang?”, I burst out laughing and everyone followed. I hit “Play”.

A raucous roar of laughter in spurts and fits ensued as my hair in the video followed the music I played. Then, I lifted my hands off the keyboard to swat away the imagined pests. When the piano keys continued to play “on their own” everyone fell quiet. The contrast from one moment to the next was intense.

“I play piano too.”, Turner exclaimed, looking at me proudly. “Wonderful!”, I said to him with a big smile and a proud look. Some silent exchange was going on between Terrance and Hunter. Terrance then turned his head away and was intently looking at the screen. “I play Mom‘s-”, Turner stopped, mid-sentence, then looked at Val and I followed his gaze. She looked deathly. I hit pause on my handheld. I leaned over, closer to Turner and touched my arm against his, “You play what, honey?”, I asked him, gently. He was still looking at Val. I then looked at her, lifting my shoulders, entreating an answer. But her gaze was equally locked with Turner’s though she was not really looking at him, she was breathlessly riveted to something inside her own mind.

Then he started to cry, his head sunk, his shoulders drooped, and his arms fell lifeless by his sides. Val came back to reality with a slight shake of her head and bolted off Terrance’s lap to him. “It’s okay darling, you haven’t done anything wrong.”, she consoled, now kneeling on the floor, holding him in her arms at the edge of his seat.

Terrance’s eyes were still riveted to the paused screen image. Hunter was looking at my face, intently, but not making eye-contact. Val picked Turner up off the couch and went into the den, across the front hall from the living room. I watched, wordlessly, as she shut the door. His bawling was unbearably sorrowful. I turned and looked back and forth between Terrance and Hunter. Finally, Hunter braved the silence, “You have to ask Mom,” he said. Terrance got up and I turned my questioning gaze to him, “Sorry, Dad. You’ll have to ask Val.”, and he headed off to the kitchen. Hunter shuffled over and hugged me, “Sorry, Grandpa.” he said, then got up and followed his dad into the kitchen.

I sat there, stunned. Was Turner ill or something. There was obviously something going on about which I was not in on. Had he been diagnosed with something terrible? Surely I would have been told.

Maybe he had broken the piano and Val had gotten mad at him; and now he was emotional, or regretful on the subject in general. Though, he seemed happy to tell me about his playing piano too! And proud about it.

Maybe it was simply that his playing was so unbearable that she had warned him off it. And what I had witnessed was the tortuous fallout of squashed aspirations.

I would suffer any cacophony either of the boys might perform, in any number of movements in which they chose to vary it. All for a glimpse of their sunshine smiles and an opportunity to encourage them about something they enjoyed. As I had done with Val while she was learning to play as a child. I was certain Val provided the same encouraging environment for both her boys; that couldn‘t be it.

What was going on? A sat there, for what seemed like half an hour, but it could have just as easily been minutes. My imagination offered up and shot down scenario after scenario.

Finally, the door to the den opened and Val came out, one hand behind her back, her body blocking the doorway. She looked down the hallway and nodded her head, once. I assumed to Terrance or Hunter or both. Then she turned to me, pursed her lips and shook her head exactly twice, telling me, I knew, not to say a word. I wiped the stun off my face and replaced it with a welcoming smile as Turner came out from behind her; holding her hidden hand.

They walked through the living room together. As Turner passed by, he gave me a bright smile that completely cancelled out the mess of tear stains on his beautiful little face; of which, I believe, he was oblivious. They stopped at the piano and Val sat him up on the bench. Turner placed his hands on his lap and Val walked back to the center of the living room, in front of me. She engaged my attention, so much to say, wordlessly, “Look at me.”

Terrance and Hunter had silently come around from the kitchen, via the hallway, and were standing in the living room entrance at the foot of the stairs. Hunter, hugging his fathers massive arm, pensive, yet, excited. Both intently looking at Val and Turner with expectant smiles on their faces. I got the sense that I was about to witness a performance that was rare, even for them.

She turned to face Turner and pulled both of her hands up to her chest and joined them side-by-side, thumb-to-thumb with all her fingers curled down. She hunched up her shoulders and bent down her head. I recognized this from her childhood, this was her cue for me to start playing the “Nutcracker Suite”. And as I thought it, the tinkling notes of her favourite piano piece sounded out on the baby-grand. And she started prancing in her best “cat”.

Turner’s hands never left his lap.

He and Val were in synchronized symbiosis.

He beamed a quick smile in my direction which honoured me to the very bottom of my soul as his special guest. I beamed directly back at him with the strongest intent of acknowledgement, pride and thanks that I could find in my heart, and then created more to add to it from thin air. My eyes hurt from the welling of tears, my chest hurt from unanswered demands for air.

Val was giving every ounce of creativity for her little man, gracing him in kind for the honour he was paying her with his powerful desire just to do so. Her perfection of performance a cause, an effect and a reciprocation all at once. The invisible bond between them was completely tangible; one could all but see the colourful communications flowing back and forth; feel the warmth in waves coming off it; hear beat harmonies that were represented in motion and sound; with sparkles and hums in cadence with the music. In the presence of love, I slipped out of my body.

I could see Terrance and Hunter, rapt with awe; tears streaming down their faces. Perfectly still so as to prevent the slightest movement of visual distortion from interfering with them catching every moment of the wonder they were witnessing.

I was at the piano with Turner, who was intently looking directly at Val in her dance. I was awash in emotions with no body to communicate them. I could “hear” the music, perfectly! I played out a low register accompaniment I had created for Val many years ago. Which dawned an open smile on Turner’s lips as he recognized it was not he, playing that part. It stopped Val in her cat tracks and she looked back and forth between my body and Turner. Without interrupting the tinkling score, Turner looked between his mother and my body. He had understood it was me, and now she did also. Her hands went to both eyes and she wept. Not from sadness, not from happiness, simply emotional overload. Terrance walked over and held her, followed directly by Hunter.

Turner tapered off the “Nutcracker Suite” to its finale and I resolved my accompaniment in kind. He turned his head to his left, as though he knew I was there. I involuntarily snapped back into my body under his inexplicably powerful gaze. From the couch, I could see he was now looking at Val.

Val took her hands away from her eyes and looked at him. The love in his smile to her was nothing short of profound and her return was nothing short of life-changing. Then he played the melody that Val had hummed to us at three days old. And though I had thought I had just witnesses a loving gaze, out classed as the greatest I had ever been in the presence of by a logarithmic factor of 100; what I was in the presence of then, was absolutely solar.

Coronal mass ejections of love exchanged between these two stars, in their close proximity. The room brightened with each release of energy, lapping in great sheets of colour; the emotional temperature unbearably spiked, impossible to shield; and, yet, the desire to avoid or shield did not even factor. Human barriers and constructs became infinitesimally small and unimportant, in scope of comparison; melting in the presence of such power and at the same time, completely exposed by its blinding light.

And, as if he was aware that we were evaporating to vapours in its midst, Turner resolved the melody down to its last note, gently releasing us from the emotional rendering he knew our bodies could no longer sustain.

The End
(1st printing.)

Chapter 20 – Legacy
(2nd printing.)

This chapter was originally the “Epilogue” to the 2nd printing of this work, celebrating the 25th anniversary of its original publication. However, as of the 3rd printing, in celebration of its 50th anniversary, I have written an additional Epilogue to follow and have repurposed this epilogue to a chapter, now entitled “Legacy”; at Turner‘s recursive requests.

The year is 2044, 25 years after the first printing of this work in 2019. My publisher and I have received may requests to augment the volume with an update of progress. I have, personally, received many correspondences expressing disappointment in the ending as being somewhat abrupt. And finally, and more voluminously, I have received a fantastic amount of communications requesting more on the “Adventures of Turner”! All of which I will address here, at least in summary.

The purpose of the original work was established at a time when this was all very new to me. My original objective was to document the development process and to present hope to the reader in the comforting fact that it was not I, alone, able to demonstrate these abilities. The abrupt ending was from the fact that I could think of nothing further to say that wouldn’t effectively detract from the transcendent experience of Turner and Val’s incredible display of love. And, so, being too hard of an act to follow, I reluctantly bowed out on that note.

That being said, however, the overwhelming amount of love expressed for Turner and the considerable inquiries regarding further progress (particularly related to the fact that I am now “dead“); both additionally deserve attention.

In 2023 I consulted Val, as both a lawyer and a daughter, regarding the ramifications of my death and my intention to continue to operate my computer, and of course, my piano (and possibly Josie and the Fishes), long after my body had gone back to its biological reservoir. Val included Turner in a great number of our meetings; 8 years of age at that time.

We established a corporation, “Legacy Corp.”; as we named it on Turner’s playful, but insistent request; which was accompanied with a decidedly mischievous look. One could only wonder what his fast mind had devised.

We created corporate articles that retained the rights to my non-fiction and fiction works to date, with the added ability to continue publishing these, and new works, under my name, after the inevitable event of my death. The rights to all works I produced between then and that event would also, by default, be owned by Legacy Corp.

We had to come up with a wording so that I could continue to manage the operation after I lost my body. There was no way we could alter the behemoth of corporate law to introduce a provision for having a dead person on the Board of Directors and certainly not as an owner of shares. However, referencing the budding in-re precedents of corporate AI assistants (software and hardware), we came up with a strategy that would allow current and future AI technologies to represent me as the de-factor “immortal face” of Legacy Corp. management; so long as the Board of Directors agreed to such representation. Val hammered out the wording for this article in such a way that it read legally loose but its, plausible, flexible, interpretation was actually precisely binding for the Board.

The charter’s “Legacy Articles” also included a fanatically nepotistic scheme for future Board of Director appointments. While discussing these, Turner, in his 8-year-old, “infinite” joy of working with new words informed us that the corporate name we had agreed upon was actually an acronym: “Legacy Endowment of Grandpa’s Accredited Creative Years“.

I playfully argued, “The acronym, itself, should not be part of the words represented by the acronym.” He argued back, chuckling (I‘ll just italicize all the new words he crammed into his response), “You are right, Grandpa. It’s an homology to the recursive idea that the charter’s Legacy Articles, themselves, represent legacy thinking. The reason is because you will still be around, managing your legacy; which, up to that time, will have been (future perfect tense) impossible. Which adds another recursive layer because it won‘t actually ‘live’ up to its name until your body is ‘dead‘.” He had used his fingers to place the quotes around “live” and “dead”.

Val and I were speechless at his candour, and thoroughly trumped by his inescapable logic! Indeed, the corporate acronym made it into our charter. And, with Turner’s incredible ability to surprise us; he expressed his thanks in the most genuine way for having “indulged” him. Val’s beam could have lit up the dark side of the moon.

Finalizing the charter, I named Val as the first chair. She accepted, saying, “I’ll just be Regent until Turner comes of legal age.” When I informed Turner of this plan, he just nodded and said, “If you write that in a book, you could say ‘first first chair’ and fool the spellchecker because it‘s technically accurate.” I could smell the smoke from his grinding gears as he stuffed his reply with every pertinent new word he could conjure from his young, yet extensive, vocabulary. I was surprised he hadn’t jammed his favourite, “recursive” in there, too.

I spent some months after those meetings with Val, preparing for the inevitable. I engaged software and hardware developers through Legacy Corp. to create a half-android body that looked like me from the neck, up. One that I could “move” around in a wheel chair. They did an excellent job on the micro expression mechanics using cutting edge piezo and liquid crystal materials in use at the time in the film industry.

We recorded untold hours of my speaking of the alphabet and every syllable I knew; additionally, mimicking an array of facial expressions. This, so that my “communication” module would sound and look completely and naturally, like me. I devised a syllabary of my own for various tones-of-voice, vocal inflections and facial expressions for my android mouth and face. I practiced extensively until I could say anything I wanted to say through that module, in any way that I wanted to say it.

While they were working on bringing it all together, I had to roll up my Meta-Sleeves and address the capability of remote-hearing. Initially, my ability to perceive sound while outside of my body provided me with little more than thumps and murmurs; except in the presence of intense emotion. In a contradictory way, further experimenting with the attenuation of Josie’s sense of hearing, while in her body, led me to the class of thought-inflections that allowed me to amplify and focus on sounds without the necessary biological equipment being available. And without the necessity of being at the center of some overwhelming emotional experience. This presented unexpected bonuses to my geriatric, challenged hearing; being a fantastic increase in frequency range and a commensurate increase in tolerance of dynamic range; with control over both.

As an aside, working with the other loud sensory information streams while in Josie’s body helped me develop and control my interpretation of other sense data while out of my body. Bringing to ground the last of the Meta-Skills I had envisioned acquiring during my original development; i.e. remote-sensing.

Finally, I had the developers install a complete array of remote control electronics into the chair, with cameras, microphones, speakers, proximity sensors, etc.; so as not to challenge the sensibilities of those who had not (or could not) come to terms with my discoveries and their ramifications. Truthfully, none of the electronics were ever used except the communication module. I managed the corporation from that wheelchair for a decade before I lost my body.

But as those years passed, managing Legacy Corp. though my faux-android while my body sat at home in my apartment; there was still one Meta-Skill wanting. I wanted this to be my new fallback and home base under circumstances when fear or shock snapped me back into my “body”. All comedy aside, the last thing I wanted to become was a classic, desperate ghost, buried alive in a casket with my already rotted carcass. This proved a very difficult ability to acquire; not to mention, difficult for which to establish experimentation parameters. Nonetheless, I tried.

After 4 years with no repeatable results regarding snapping back to my android representative, I asked Turner to consider my predicament. He was 12 years old at the time. Not surprisingly, it was his breakdown of that problem and his follow-up with a solution that cleared the final hurdle; though I would still have to wait until my final moments to verify it. It took him one day to get back to me on it.

“We both know the familiar comfort of our bodies is important to returning. Knowing that allowed you to learn how to control your return, right? But maybe, that’s not the most important factor here.”, Turner started. “Take Josie for example. It took you a while to get a grip on her hearing before you could tolerate it. And that was true for the rest of her senses, too. But why would you put so much effort into being comfortable in her body at all? Have you ever asked yourself that question?”, he led me on. I knew he had this all thought out and was circling it in the hopes that it would dawn on me through my own thought process. Something I had done with him, numerous times, over his short life.

“Well,” I paused, “fundamentally, we have a special bond. She assisted me in the formative stages of experimentation, and I owe her a debt of gratitude for that.” I said.

Turner’s voice slowed and took on a slightly detached tone compared to his usual quick, engaging banter. “That doesn’t really answer the question, Grandpa.”, he said. “Maybe I can ask you a different one.”, he bantered, now. “Why did you even choose Josie at the pet shelter?” he asked. A playful, mischievous smile cracked his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Hmm?” he goaded benevolently.

“She seemed interested in me.”, I replied, “I thought we could get along and I would grow to love her like your Grandma’s cats, before you were born.”, I offered further.

“Okay.”, he acknowledged, “Were there any other cats that you could have gotten along with and come to love in that pet shelter?”, he asked.

“Yes, certainly.”, I answered, definitively. I had no idea where he was leading me, and I hoped my short answer would produce forthcoming clues. But, he was just looking at me, warmly reminiscent of the 4-year-old who had jumped into my arms. “But, I felt very strongly about the possibility that it would work out well when I decided to take Josie.”, I threw out to him.

“Okay, good. So, what did you actually decide when you chose her?” he asked. His face now beaming at me. He seemed certain I was about to unlock his riddle, however, I felt as completely lost as I had been with his first question.

“Well,”, I said, stalling as I thought, “Ultimately, I decided that I would make it work with her.”, I finished.

“So, was it your decision to make it work with her that brought about the love for her or was it her interest in you?”, he asked.

“A little bit of both, I guess. But, more my decision, I would say.”, I responded.

“Okay. Almost there, Grandpa.”, he prepared me, kindly. “If it ended up being more difficult to love Josie, would you have continued to try?“, he asked.

“Definitely.”, I answered quickly, and with conviction. Then I felt the rush of understanding wash over me. I couldn’t articulate it as quickly as the certainty of it took hold of me. I stood there as it trickled up my awareness. Like standing on a beach, waiting for the slow, rising tide to finally submerge me, so that all the wonders below the surface could become visible. Then it hit me as a complete thought, “I made a promise!”, I shouted.

“There. So now you’ll really be able to get what I wanted to say all along.”, he said. I was feeling engulfed in his space like a cozy hearth as he leaned into me, taking me into his confidence. My feet shifted involuntarily as I prepared for what I knew might topple me in all ways possible.

“We can only, really, be at, near, in or around a thing. But we can be completely with another life form. And that’s the first thing our bodies are to us. Any life form can become our new home base if we love them; and they love us back. As long as we have another life form in our lives, that we love, and love us, we will always have a home base where we can snap back. And there are only two circumstances that would prevent that. One, if we are living on a dead planet or two, if we are incapable of truly loving another life.

“You have two failsafe options open to you at any moment in time, Grandpa. Josie or me. Josie, because she loves you enough to embrace you being with her, and you love her. Me, because I am willing to share me with you, and we love each other. After our bodies are gone, we’ll just have to find another life to share love.”

How subtle he had communicated his own intentions in alignment with mine, “…we‘ll just have to…”. I hadn’t considered, before that moment, that he had actually envisioned the possibility of a similar path for himself. I couldn’t tell if he had worked this out some time ago or had come up with this solution for us both in the past day.

I barely had time for this to sink in when he continued; his voice changing from didactic care to insouciant exuberance, “So, we need a new metaphysical law of transcendence and the 4th dimension”, he said, as he successfully raised one eyebrow at me and splattered a big open smile across his face. “What would Jett Power say?”, he asked, rhetorically. “He’d say, ‘Send a message to Voltron Electron. In italics!’, that’s what he’d say!”, he exclaimed with one arm raised and one finger pointing skyward.

“If you can’t embrace another life with the promise of love, then you are lost to the ether.”, Turner dictated, in his best italic Jett Power.

Epilogue
(3rd printing.)

The year is 2069 and we are celebrating the 50th anniversary of the original printing of this work.

Firstly, I’d like to mention that the book’s original title “Legacy” has been changed to “L.E.G.A.C.Y.” as of the 3rd Printing. This, on Turner’s exuberant insistence. With 50 more years of life experience, his matured playful manner and unbreakable rationality make it a formidable task to refuse him anything.

He explained to me, “It will be obvious to the reader that it is an acronym and they will be looking for its “reveal” while reading the book. This is an added small amount of suspense as they watch out for it; plus a huge entertainment factor as they try to work out what it stands for throughout. It won’t violate their familiarity with the book, because it is effectively, the same name. And, finally, together with the renaming of the previous Epilogue, it integrates our recursive paradigm.”

Still, at 54 years of age, he finds a way to appropriately use his favourite word of all time; “recursive“. Invariably delivered with a knowing smirk; daring you to uncover any misapplication of his pet concept. And, indeed, he has left me no room for jibes. Need I say more?

Next, I’d like to give you some small progress details, in short summary. Though, some of the points I will express span the full 50 years since the original work was published; most concern only the last 25 since its second printing.

We have, as yet, only found a small group of people able to develop Meta-Skill abilities. My dreams of bringing humankind through its next step of evolution have not manifested as of this writing. However, with confidence that we will survive the next millennia, I am hopeful that, soon, new genetic and/or spiritual technologies may allow us all to enjoy the anomaly that we few represent.

A recognizable pattern has arisen as a result of our moderately increased numbers. Every person who has been able to develop these Meta-Skills has, invariably, been an intimate descendant of an indigenous people. I, myself can trace my close ancestry back to the Western Great Lakes area of Africa. So far, continental areas of indigenous ancestry include Africa, South America, Central America, North America and Australia. Other zones include India, Tibet, New Zealand, Indonesia, the Arctic, Mongolia and Pacific Polynesia.

I suspect, and hope, that this list will expand as more people read this work and practice its development path. Though this has proven to be an unnecessary step for some, like my Grandson, Turner. He and a handful of others have developed these abilities on their own, as children. Some of them required a rehabilitation of sorts, as their guardians had deliberately or inadvertently suppressed their use of such. Some, simply kept it to themselves or among their family, until reading this book.

Genetic analysis, with current technology as of this writing, has revealed no extra or missing components in our DNA. Yet, except for a very small few of our number, it has been observed that the potential for development is passed along hereditary lines. We have been able to verify that almost every individual has known ancestors, direct descendants or extended progeny that have exhibited or have been able to demonstrate some or all of these abilities. Our information in these regards is incomplete, sometimes contradictory, but growing.

Thanks to developments in electronics technology, I have shed my wheelchair bound, half-android and now operate a fully functioning android body, which I use to interact with people on more common ground. There are no laws governing the peculiarities of our small group of immortals, so we fall under the same jurisdiction as corporate AIs. Thankfully, we don’t have to pay taxes as individuals! Each of us depend on each other and our families, to maintain our own humanity after we have lost our bodies to age or other unavoidable circumstances.

We are generally regarded as an advanced AI series. I am considered the “creator” of our “software”, which is protected from exposure as the corporate property of Legacy Corp. However, we do have to pass yearly human-interaction evaluation from governmental AI auditors, so that we may continue to operate in service of Legacy Corp, who “own“ us. Of course, our core operating principles, based on admiration and good-will, effectively do put us in the same class as commercial AI sentience. Military AI, not doubt, have a very different inspection criteria.

As far as the majority of humankind is concerned, we are somewhat of a fringe cult. Our speaking tours, disseminating Free-Motion and Meta-Motion are not taken seriously by the majority of the public and have been relegated to not much more than a magic show.

This book on the subject, however, has been received quite well as a non-fiction work, now in its celebratory 50th year of publication and having sold over 25 million copies. I receive some very genuine correspondence from readers who have attempted this development process in earnest. Some of them have reported minor and partial successes and some, much more substantial development. I am very happy for all of them. Indeed, it was through these communications that I met the group that represent our current, small population of “Meta-Beings”; as well as the considerably larger group who have been able to develop or exhibit these abilities to varying degrees.

Interestingly, over the years, we have suffered the brunt of some very well financed slander campaigns. The source of which financing has, in a few instances, remained hidden. We look at this as a good thing; indicating a tacit recognition of the importance and power we represent in the name of decent humankind.

I have personally gone through a few of my “bodies” as a result of corporate and governmental abductions in an attempt to reverse engineer and duplicate our evasive “software“. Including one with my half-android. Though I have never followed up these violations of “property” with legal recourse. I’m embarrassed to admit that I somewhat enjoy the deserved duping of these espionage professionals.

I continue to write, under my own name, as well as a number of pseudonyms and generate a considerable corporate income to maintain our haven of “ownership“. I am still in contact with my great-great grandchildren, and their families, in accordance with the legacy we established almost half a century ago.

…

Thank you for your interest. I have great admiration for all forms of life and genuinely wish the best for us all.

The End
(3rd and 4th printings.)