Me and the Akashic Field

Since I am old enough to write, I have wrapped myself in roman­tic cur­rents and philo­soph­i­cal fables with pas­sion. The ocean and the cos­mos, the riv­er and thought, the spi­ral of life and its anni­hi­lat­ing mir­ror. I may have been more of a feath­er car­ried away by the wind, aban­doned by its bird, than the deter­mined ten­dril of a wood­peck­er in search of its food. And so I have learned lit­tle more than to roll my hump up the moun­tain until, inevitably, I lose my load for the plea­sure of gravity.

I don’t know what I have left to under­stand and to live. I con­sult the plan­e­tary dia­grams as the insect hyp­no­tizes itself in front of an elec­tric bulb. Will I burn my wings before I can lick the sweet skin of the sun ?

I have always been, I believe, like all of us, at a cer­tain cross­roads and age only exac­er­bates this feel­ing that our life is a jour­ney with mul­ti­ple direc­tions, that its goal only makes sense if we sub­mit to a few con­ces­sions. It is a bit like that song by Jean Gabin, who con­cludes that what he knows is that he knows noth­ing. And the mys­tic nods, turn­ing his gaze towards the depths of his silence where, it is said, every­thing is linked in a zero field, a com­mon root. Although the dis­course has already been degrad­ed by false magi­cians, recent quan­tum dis­cov­er­ies sug­gest that there is such a pri­mor­dial field, a force where every­thing con­verges, emerges. Atoms, galax­ies, stars, plan­ets, liv­ing beings, even the con­scious­ness of what is, har­mo­nize in a sub­tle coher­ence. We have been look­ing for a uni­fy­ing the­o­ry for a cen­tu­ry. We now dis­cov­er that small or large ele­ments seem to “vibrate togeth­er.” We already man­age to “tele­trans­port” infor­ma­tion from point A to point C through point B. Every­thing would be infor­ma­tion, or rather, accord­ing to the hypoth­e­sis of Ervin Las­z­lo, every­thing would be “in-for­ma­tion.”

It does­n’t take much for pseu­do-sor­cer­ers strug­gling with their dai­ly lives to throw them­selves on this type of read­ing to feed their eso­teric trade. Is Las­z­lo from the same mold ? It seems not. The man is the founder of the Budapest Club. This 2004 book has been fol­lowed by oth­ers whose titles might raise eye­brows, but I have to see, I have to read. I am ready to lis­ten. The impor­tant thing is to spread one’s anten­nae over and over again. Human­i­ty needs new lights.

As for me, I con­tin­ue to observe a large tree from my liv­ing room win­dow while I try to stand on one yog­ic leg. Anoth­er tree, in the cor­ner of that same win­dow, on my prop­er­ty, seems to be lis­ten­ing to what the branch­es of the oth­er have to stir. This is worth all the sci­en­tif­ic fables in the world.