The American Book of the Dead: Time Travel

Monday, July 26

Time Travel

Before I go on, I have to talk a little about time travel. People wonder if I am really from the year 2020. For the sake of argument, let’s say this story is being written by a writer in the year 2004. Even if this is true, could it not be possible that he is channeling information from the future? Those of you who think a time traveler needs a "machine" are still caught up in a Newtonian, materialist view of the universe. In the future--that is, my time--there has been an evolution of consciousness. Past experiments with remote viewing have touched on it. If someone can travel across the world and back inside their own mind, why could they not travel back or forward in time--it has nothing to do with black holes or the quantum foam--unless you agree that they are a form of consciousness.

I really don’t want to get too intellectual about the time travel story. So let’s say this is being written by someone in 2004--the younger version of myself. He is just starting to write a book. It will take him years to complete and only parts of it are true. Which is where I come in. I take this flawed young man’s rough draft and revise the shit out of it, a complicated form of self-criticism. He has no idea it’s happening because I am like a ghost. I am both a product of his imagination and a mentor. Nobody ever said inspiration could be defined.

So this blog is a form of possession. I am still sitting in the year 2020--the product of everyone I have ever been. I am sitting at a desk in 2004, a young man with a new daughter, trying to make ends meet. I am also a man of fifty, a professor, waiting out the apocalypse. I am also a man of indeterminate age feeling sagely and satisfied. A triumvirate of past, present, and future. A trinity even, but evoking the Bible can be both boring and overblown.

Am I really from the future? The short answer, Yes. I am really not interested in answering the debunkers. "See, he’s not real," I can hear them say. Debunkers deal in facts. They need pictures. It takes a devout sort of cynicism to always need proof. My story must take an act of faith.

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