It is said that a long time ago, our ancestors lived in a remarkably different world from the one we inhabit today. We understood the language of the Earth, the stars, the sky people and we knew of the Number. Life was sacred, and we lived in harmony with nature. This was a moment known as The First Time.
~
But over the centuries, we forgot all of this and began to feel separate from the Earth and the stars. We became lost souls, without direction, and harmony was replaced with fear and distrust. The wisdom of the number was lost.
~
The further we wandered from our true selves and nature, we actually became more miserable. We walked through life asleep, ignorant of the truth.
~
Yet, we retain a deep and hidden memory of everything that we ever were. There lies within us hope that one day, we can re-connect with the language of the Earth, the stars, the sky people and the wisdom of the Number. The moment has arrived for The Second Time.
~
It is time to wake up.
*
Prelude to Odyssey
Sign of the Times
Deep down everyone wants to be someone else, a person who is admired and perhaps respected such as Cary Grant, Winston Churchill, Mae West or even Stanley Matthews. But Dr Paul Eldridge wanted to be like Albert Einstein, another cast from the same mould, a great scientist who would go down in history for an outstanding contribution to science. There was no better validation in life than to see his name preserved for all posterity, to witness his work published and acclaimed. He had the doctorate, the ultimate educational accolade and had devoted his life to the study of the quantum world, devouring contemporary theoretical physics as a connoisseur would consume fine food or wine. But still, recognition dangled before his eyes like crown jewels behind glass casing.
In many ways maybe he was already like Einstein, who was, in fact, very much a loner and considered himself to be an interesting curiosity. Very few people in the scientific community had the gall to stand out, Paul concluded. Einstein was a philosophical, almost spiritual pacifist whereas although Paul didn’t truly believe in God, he wanted to. He was eager and impatient to break boundaries and stretch frontiers, perhaps more of a seeker of the limelight than Einstein, although no less a genius or an advocate of idiosyncrasies.
This strength of character was reflected in his proud, dignified features. He conveyed a natural sense of authority and, although not traditionally handsome, he was a charismatic and fascinating individual. His blue eyes were quite small with a suggestion of both wisdom and curiosity. They possessed a warmth and humour but also a special intensity, as if they were the doorway to some great cosmic knowledge. His fair hair curled in an anarchistic fashion, so he kept it short to ensure absolute follicular rule. He dressed conservatively when necessary and casual when that rule didn’t hold. This particular day, he was wearing a cream shirt with neutral coloured trousers, which he deemed acceptably smart.
Paul had been delivering a series of lectures on recent scientific discoveries at the quantum level. This was to a small selection of universities throughout England since he had completed his doctorate in 1947, just last year in fact. They were designed to serve as an introduction to physics and propound the new theories concerning the quantum world, in the hope of enticing more students. Paul fervently believed that this was the future of science and that it held the clues to the many mysteries of the universe.
All the lectures had been full of potential students, accompanying parents, past alumni and curious adults dressed in a typical array of post war fashions; casual and smart suits, pencil skirts, full pleated skirts, tailored dresses, trilbies, pill box hats, and real stockings. The audience usually sat, listened politely and asked sensible questions, except this lecture would become the black sheep. He was certainly filling the seats; maybe word was getting around about his colourful presentations, where he would dress up as a Greek, or take an oratory ride on a photon.
As he spoke, he communicated with his hands, face and body; gesticulating powerfully, etching his passion and beliefs into his facial expressions and walking purposefully up and down.
His delivery had been well received so far and he proceeded to reflect upon what he had lectured.
“We began our journey in Greece, fourth century B.C, when Democritus first speculated on the existence of indivisible elementary particles, which he named ‘atoms’. This view prevailed and atoms were finally found in the nineteenth century. They are so small that if an apple were magnified to the size of the Earth, then the atoms in the Earth-sized apple would be approximately the size of the original apple.”
At this point, he picked up an actual apple that he’d used earlier as a prop.
“However, as we journeyed through the twentieth century, it became clear that atoms were not, in fact, unbreakable”.
He threw the apple to an alert young man in the second row, who caught it in one hand. Perfection. Paul continued.
“We peered inside the atom and found that its solidity is, in fact, an illusion. The nucleus within it compares to a fly in a cathedral, and that leaves us with an awful lot of empty space; over ninety percent actually. Machines can smash apart atoms, freeing a host of new quantum characters. We are beginning to peel away and penetrate the bottom layers of our reality, discovering smaller and smaller particles”.
“For years, classical Newtonian physics ruled, where there is a clear and certain differentiation between matter and space; the fullness of form and the emptiness of the void. The Newton universe accommodated God, for He created the particles and the forces between them. Although Newtonian physics is perfectly adequate when we need to explain why an apple drops out of a tree, or why planets orbit the sun, it simply cannot explain the universe at a fundamental quantum level, or apply itself to the peculiar qualities of the fabric of space. But what of the more recent scientific discoveries in the realm of physics: is there still a place for God?”
There was a brief pause, as if he were contemplating the question.
“The classical foundations of physics were shattered in the early part of this century, firstly by Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity and then by quantum theory. We began to accept space, not as a three, but as a four dimensional fabric and what he postulated in his E=MC squared hypothesis, that enormous amounts of energy are latent in all matter, has been actualised in the atomic bomb.”
At this point, Paul and the audience allowed the implications and gravity of that to sink in, then he continued.
“Today you have ridden a photon, where we discovered that time is only relative to the speed of the observer and, as we travel closer to the speed of light, time slows down. If we were to journey to the star, Sirius, which is eight light years away, at close to 186,000 miles per second, we would return home to find everyone much older than ourselves. Einstein also attempted to draw together space, time, matter, gravitation and electromagnetism into one unified theory, but this eludes him and it remains incomplete”.
“This brings us to the world of quantum weirdness; where the universe exists as an infinite number of possibilities, having no precise location or being until something happens to lock one of those possibilities into place. This is known as Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle and it was postulated in 1927. In his double-slit experiment, a photon particle behaved as if it passed through both slits at the same time, but, when it was observed closely, it chose a definite slit. He concluded that when we observe something, we turn quantum possibilities into reality. Maybe it also means we can be in two places at once!”
There was a murmur from the audience, along with a few subtle chuckles.
“I conclude this lecture with more questions; where is quantum theory taking us? Will our reality be further shattered, our quantum experiences breaking the bottom of the proverbial pail? Will the world change beyond recognition because of this? What applications will we find for this new knowledge? And where, if any place whatsoever, is there room for God? Any questions?”
The audience was briefly silent. Most were pondering the lecture, while others had just drifted off into their own universe; either parallel, quantum or classical, possibly in a state of bewilderment. A flashbulb fired, the camera of which was pointed at Paul, but it was also capturing the audience for posterity. It was an audience that seemed reluctant to part with any of their deepest thoughts and queries, creating an almost embarrassing silence. Most lectures were never short of those willing to attempt the opening of Pandora’s Box, to be oppositional or controversial, to challenge the contemporary notions of science.
Then, finally someone spoke up, a fairly unassuming man in his early twenties who appeared to be bamboozled by the lecture.
“You said that atoms are full of empty space. Explain to me why things look and feel solid.”
Paul smiled, it was a difficult concept to comprehend.
“Well… think of a bicycle wheel. The spokes represent solid matter, or to be more exact, the neutrons and electrons in the atom with space in between, right?” The unassuming man nodded, so Paul continued. “When the wheel spins fast, representing the vibration in the atoms, the spokes blur and look solid and if you reach out and touch them, they repel your fingers. They feel so solid that you wouldn’t be able to pass your hand right through them, yes? When the wheel stops, or vibration ceases, they look and feel solid no more.”
The man smiled, indicating he was no longer as bamboozled.
“So, if the neutrons and electrons stopped jiggling about, we can walk through walls?”
“Theoretically!” Paul exclaimed.
The audience laughed.
“But,” the man added, “What’s in the empty space?”
Now that was a question without a satisfactory answer.
“Physicists are not certain what it contains, if anything at all,” he replied.
“Isn’t it full of the ether?” the man countered.
There was a spark of appreciation in Paul’s eyes.
“Science considers the ether to be an archaic concept, akin to hogwash. It originated with the Greeks and referred to a universal field of energy that connects everything, it was the air breathed by the Gods. Pythagoras and Aristotle saw it as the fifth element of creation, along with air, fire, water and Earth. Many of the greatest minds in history, including Einstein, believed in the ether, saying it was necessary for the laws of physics to work.”
“Well, if so many great minds believed in it, why isn’t it an accepted part of science?” the man pointed out.
“Because science requires proof, not faith. In 1887, two gentlemen set up an experiment to prove the existence of ether. Just as we’re able to detect a breeze blowing a field of corn, they proposed that it was possible to detect the ether in a similar way. They shot two rays of light simultaneously in different directions, thinking that one ray would experience resistance in the way that when, we say, cycle into the wind, our progress is slowed. However, no ether wind was detected, and the hypothesis was disproved. This result has hindered the concept of ether in its quest to be taken seriously.”
The audience looked fascinated and the man nodded, listening attentively.
“Do you believe in the ether, Dr Eldridge?”
Paul looked thoughtful then replied, “I would have to concur with Konrad Finagle; if we took the empty space away from the universe, everything would crunch together into a volume no larger than an apple. Whatever lies in that empty space stops everything happening in the same place.”
Then someone else stepped forward, a woman who he could have sworn was never in the audience but, nevertheless, spoke as if she had listened intently to the whole lecture. She was tall and rather striking, with hair as black as ebony swept up in an elegant 40s chignon and, oddly, she wore a pair of large sunglasses. Her clothing was typical of the war years and around her neck was tied an exquisite red, silk scarf. Strangely, for the period and her manner of dress, she was also rather Mediterranean skinned, ethnicity uncertain.
“Doctor Eldridge, why didn’t Einstein finish his Unified Field Theory?”
The audience looked uncomfortable as the question was spoken with unaccustomed authority and confidence, for a woman, so many thought.
Paul stood staring at her momentarily, her directness made him feel a combination of discomfort and admiration.
“Maybe he realised what an enormous undertaking it was to develop a theory that explains everything. Or, possibly the equations didn’t add up, so to speak. I believe he simply wasn’t satisfied with the theory and abandoned it, but he may, one day complete it.”
He chose to address her as a scientist and not just merely as a woman.
“I see what you’re saying, but do you think he thought the world wasn’t ready?”
Paul had never contemplated the sociological pitfalls.
“I think as physicists, we are already accepting the new reality. Our perceptions of what we perceive to be real and illusory are altering rapidly.”
“Perceptions of reality… there are many, many levels of reality… I mean ready to use the knowledge wisely.”
The latter implications of that statement were overlooked in favour of her first comment; she actually mentioned multiple levels of reality. Paul had never really thought of anything other than philosophical or scientific applications for quantum theory, or electromagnetic research. The ethical, psychological and sociological considerations had received little thought. Was the world ready? Most of his peers simply wanted to comprehend creation, the universe, its structure, its alpha and omega.
“Have you heard of the Philadelphia Experiment?” she continued.
Curious, he prompted her. “Please, enlighten us.”
“A few years ago, the American Navy conducted an experiment to make a destroyer class ship radar invisible. It not only made the ship invisible to radar, it made the ship invisible to the human eye. The ship vanished and some say it re-appeared in Chesapeake Bay, others say it briefly visited another reality.”
The audience began to react with incredulity, but Paul tried to remain open minded. It was hard to believe though.
“If this is true, why hasn’t this been more widely applied, or, for that matter, why hasn’t the study been published?”
“Something went wrong, although the experiment was a success, the men were failures and their minds couldn’t cope with the experience. This is not something the Navy would want to broadcast.”
Paul sincerely wanted to clarify whether this was indeed true or not, but also how she seemed to have gained access to knowledge of top secret information. Instead, he asked another question, it never paid to be too direct.
“How was invisibility achieved?”
“By means of a powerful electro-magnetic field,” she answered.
Now that came under his jurisdiction, so to speak.
“Could you explain in more detail?” Paul queried, hoping to blow her ruse.
“The experiment was based upon Einstein’s Unified Field Theory and involved the use of naval type magnetic generators, called degaussers. They pulsed at certain frequencies, creating a tremendous magnetic field on and around the ship. As there are three planes, or three dimensions of space, there were three fields; the first two created at right angles to each other and the third produced by the magnetic pulses, or frequencies. The use of powerful magnetic resonance is equivalent to obliteration in our dimension, and our delicate human minds are not ready for this.”
Paul was speechless at her technical competence. Where did this information come from? Now he desperately wanted to know.
“We should be very careful how we use new knowledge,” she added. “There are consequences.”
“Just look at the atomic bomb!” a middle aged man interjected. “I’m sure Einstein doesn’t sleep well at night anymore, if he hadn’t written E=MC squared on a blackboard at the turn of the century, think of the thousands in Hiroshima and Nagasaki that would be alive today! And not forgetting, Pierre Curie tried to warn the world of the effects of radiation!”
An Indian man, who had so far remained quiet now spoke up. “When Oppenheimer watched the first atomic blast at Alamogordo, he said ‘if the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once in the sky that would be like the splendour of the Mighty One… I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.’”
“The Mahabharata…” Paul mused.
Another man now spoke out loudly, clearly and confidently. The Mediterranean skinned woman, who had discussed the invisibility experiment, turned to look and appeared to recognise the new speaker, although he did not acknowledge her. He had listened intently to Paul throughout the lecture, remaining thoughtful during the open question session, but now he had a burning question to ask.
“Dr Eldridge, I find your lecture and quantum physics fascinating. May I pose a philosophical question?”
“I’m open to any question a person may wish to ask,” Paul replied, watching the woman, who had just disclosed a top secret project to him begin to walk towards the door.
“These electromagnetic fields and quantum particles you spoke of,” the questioner continued, “and even the ether… could they form the basis of the human soul?”
Now that was the question of the millennium. How could he reply to that? Yet it was not that query that aroused his curiosity, it was the tantalising possibility of an improbable experiment that could potentially reveal another layer of reality. Watching the woman disappear through the door to the lecture theatre, he excused himself so he could follow her. But, when he ran through the door, she was nowhere in sight. It was as if she had disappeared into thin air.
*
I cannot but regard the ether, which can be the seat of an electromagnetic field with its energy and vibrations, as endowed with a certain degree of substantiality, however different it may be from all ordinary matter.
Hendrik Lorentz, physicist, 1906
*
Chapter One
Room 104
October 1988
The London underground was a sinister place to be when you knew you were being followed, especially for a woman travelling alone. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, this expedition being the third of its kind, but the situation was becoming more and more disturbing each time. Whoever was following her always seemed ambiguous, amorphous and at times almost inhuman, often fading into shadow.
She caught a train on the Victoria Line and instantly felt safer in a crowd, being surrounded by a heady concoction of commuters, tourists and Londoners going about their daily business. The smell of sweat and perfume accompanied them. It was easy to hide among commuters, particularly during busy times; to cling to a rail or challenge balance by relying on muscular strength alone, to resist the rapid acceleration and deceleration of the train. However, it was not so straightforward trying to avoid being jammed against the men with formidable body odour, or to resist the temptation to read someone else’s newspaper or book. Before long, she arrived at her stop and jumped off, ever aware of whatever it was in pursuit.
Often, she caught the scent of flowers at this point in the journey. A classical-looking matriarch with long, dark hair was watering hanging baskets at the front of her house. She always smiled, which was comforting especially when being followed. Each time she passed, the woman was either performing a chore or chatting to a neighbour. Once or twice, there had been children at the door too; a few in their teens and a younger boy who would hide behind the mother, unsure what to think.
As she walked through a park, the next stage of the journey, she encountered the black man playing football with his two teenage boys. They were often involved in a vociferous tackle and sometimes they just dribbled the ball towards two trees, which were the goal posts. In the same park, there was the elderly gentleman walking a multitude of dogs; he’d always tip his hat to her. Finally, the same forty-something man sat on a bench, watching her intently, contemplating whether or not to approach, and perhaps afraid to initiate conversation. Always curious, he either partially hid behind a book or sipped tea from a polystyrene cup. Vague memories plagued her, suggesting she had encountered this man before, but she could not recollect where, when or why.
He appraised her, this lithe young woman who often looked troubled. She carried about her a quiet dignity with an introspective demeanour, internally preoccupied with some grand secret or purpose. There was a sensuality about her that was inviting, coupled with a compassionate aura. Somewhat untamed, golden hair shone in the late summer sun and cascaded down past her shoulders. She had an olive tint to her skin, as if she originated from the Mediterranean, and her face had a soft, oval shape. A young student with spiked hair gave her a second glance as she walked past, but she paid no attention to him, she was too consumed with the purpose of her journey. For a moment, she locked eyes with the man on the park bench, and there was a hint of affection in his eyes, but, she thought, ‘he’s too old for me’.
Was it a comfort, or just downright spooky that she encountered the same people on each journey? The big question was either: were all these people actually acknowledging her, or was it just her imagination? She didn’t want to be extraordinary or to stand out; she merely wanted to contribute something extraordinary, something that stood out; there was a difference. Soon, she would become involved in a critical project that was unprecedented in contemporary science, but, how would these people know that? They wouldn’t. It had to be her imagination, surely?
As she drew closer to her destination, an overall disheartened emotion took over. She arrived at an austere building, which was akin to an architectural vampire, bleeding the positive energy from one’s soul. Even the design resembled fangs and it exemplified sobriety, bearing down upon the miniscule human ants that swarmed around its base. It was an institution specifically for people with severe psychological problems, who had been sectioned because they were a danger to themselves and to others. Furthermore, it housed a number of inmates who were certified as criminally insane. The thing that disturbed her most was the fact that one of her relatives was a permanent resident here.
The place amplified her feelings of being watched and every fissure, every crack in its stone structure seemed to haunt her, harbouring some presence or aftershock of a catastrophe. Walls appeared to have faces, which were stark and non-human. Corridors felt active with amorphous people passing through as if it were a busy high street, even though the corridors were, in fact, empty. Light seemed to have a life of its own; it danced a cosmic waltz in a sinuous fashion, and intertwined with the dark shadows. Was it the people here or the place itself that was insane? Did its aura drive sane people crazy in insane places?
She reached the reception, where a rather matronly woman recognised her. Despite this, the woman announced herself.
“Hi, it’s Ava Kavanagh, and I’ve come to see Maria Martinez.”
She signed into the visitors’ book, which was then replaced behind the desk where it belonged, and she was escorted to the low security wing. It sat at the end of a long corridor, which was not well-lit but even so, light twisted acrobatically across the walls, as if projected by car headlights. Ava behaved as if the situation were normal; she didn’t want to attract undue attention to her erstwhile grasp of reality.
The route to Maria’s room passed some rather unusual residents and each time, Ava glanced through the window in their door, very inquisitive as to what their story was. The first curiosity was a dark haired man, who was always surrounded by reams of paper and this time, the woman felt a strong desire to enquire about him.
“Is he a writer or something?” she asked.
Her escort was surprised at her interest.
“We call him The Scribbler, as the only way we can manage his behaviour is to give him access to paper and a pen. He writes constantly, but it’s all gibberish, rows and rows of symbols.”
Ava gave him a lingering glance, feeling a sense of sadness regarding his predicament. What a waste of human life.
They passed another character, a blonde haired woman with an intense and seething look on her face. This time, she wasn’t restrained although she crouched on her bed, bearing a menacing expression on her face. When she saw Ava, she snarled.
“What’s wrong with her, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Her escort acquiesced to her questioning again.
“Schizophrenia… she hears voices, which she claims instruct her to do evil. She enjoys inflicting pain on others, so we have to isolate her.”
Ava was touched deeply this time.
“Like Maria’s original diagnosis?”
Her escort tried to smile sympathetically, although she said nothing. Ava made eye contact with the intense character behind the door, which sent a chill down her spine.
“She reminds me of the girl from The Exorcist,” she commented.
They turned the corridor, and there were two more people that Ava felt drawn to; a black man and woman, who resided in the same room. They appeared to be actors in a play of their own making.
“Lost in their own little world, aren’t they?” she said.
“We call them The Time Travellers, as they always insist they’ve travelled to the past and future. Most of the time they’re locked in an imagery scenario, living some other reality. We keep them together, as their behaviour is more manageable if we do so.”
The final curiosity that Ava had to ask about was a man with fair hair, who could often be seen punching at the walls, or shouting for books. He was oblivious to their presence and Ava’s gaze. On this day, he was standing in front of a wall, reaching out to touch it with his fingers.
“What is he doing?” Ava asked.
“He believes he can walk through walls,” her escort explained. “My, we’ve had some bruises over the years. I don’t know what’s worse, his wall or book obsession.”
They passed through some double doors, which required a security code to gain entry into the next corridor. There, they soon found room 104 and Ava paused outside.
“Has there been any change in her condition since I last visited?”
Her escort shook her head, sadly.
“She’s still in a persistent vegetative state, exactly the same as the day she arrived.”
Ava accepted the situation with reluctance.
“She’s the only living relative I know of,” she explained. “I was hoping one day I’d discover where we came from, who our parents are and if our father is still alive. Did you recover the file from the facility she transferred from?”
“I’m sorry, it’s still missing.”
Undeterred, Ava pressed further.
“Does anybody else visit her? They may be able to offer some clues to her history… why she ended up in this condition, when and why she cut her wrists…”
“I can’t disclose that information, it’s confidential I’m afraid.”
Her escort opened the door and Ava entered, determined to present a face of hope to Maria, her sister.
It was a relief to turn the key in her front door, and collapse on the sofa in her flat. She closed her eyes, trying to dissolve the day’s frustration through positive thinking, but didn’t totally succeed. There were too many questions and nothing made sense. Her life was becoming chaotic, least of all under her control, not that it had ever actually been fathomable.
Rather than cook a meal, she decided to grab a takeaway. Only when she opened her handbag did she notice something that certainly didn’t belong to her, or any of her flatmates. In fact, she was certain it had not been in her bag before she left the flat. She was staring at a red, silk scarf. How had it found its way into her bag, and why did she feel it held some personal meaning for her? This innocent little object disturbed her immensely.