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Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 1:12 pm
by dada
I'm making a metaphor, like the 'cycle of the changes.' Something arising from nothing, nothing arising from something. Unlimited imaginary no power in no space, is what power, timespace runs on. Let's say some of the unlimited number of parakeets turn into force birds to power the universe. This isn't a one-to-one relationship. Parakeets are unpredictable. The translation from unlimited no power to timespace power.

So now we have a next experiment. Unlocking the unlimited ghost force of the Parakeets (who since drinking the essence of meaning, we can almost see) who have been behaving very smart, like an alien swarm of super intelligent crows.

We're all well acquainted with the nothing arising from something, what power gives back to the equation. Nothing. We can wax poetic about power sending us electro-chemical love letters and mountains, heaping tons of junk mail, by carrier parakeet. Nemesis down in the mail room, reading letters on every different kind of imaginary stationary, some explode with emotions, crystal postcards of sense impressions.

A metaphor. Distilling the spirit. This one you can drink. Who drinks it? A ghost. Cloudy and clear. Put it back in the apparatus for another cycle, distill it finer. The spirits have to be pure thought, hold it up to the light you can see right through it, that's ready for drinking.

Now, parakeets to power: how does it work. There's some sort of bond between you and these unlimited imaginary parakeets of no power. You're both ghosts, for one. So maybe go take over ghostworld first. Might find a clue to unlocking the unlimited no power, ghost force of the parakeets, the humble, nonexistent, imaginary, the 'nothing that creates something.' It seems logical, to me, anyway, that if you want to find 'supernatural' weapons, you should therefore look in supernatural spaces.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 2:50 pm
by chump

Consciousness is the billions of bubbles, baubles and bibbles babbling above a just sloshed bottle of Belgium brewed beer - imbibed in the back of a Boston bar - with the boys and babes from the B-Street beat, the belches and bobbles and bad smelling gasses, and what will whatever will bubble again…

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 5:17 pm
by dada
So now you're rightful king of ghostworld, You and the parakeets are like, one. You're brewing the pure thought elixir, the one that will extend the ghostly no power out into spacetime. As you cook, smell the human indifference rising off like steam. Savory pumpkin soup, with a hint of Ordon goat cheese.

Seems like somethings missing. What's missing? Nothing. Just a drop of pure indifference. What does pure indifference smell like? When you take a whiff, and you shrug. Pure indifference. Human indifference smells like good soup. Know the difference, make better soup.

Pure indifference, concentrated. Ghost of the primordial dragon, tiamat. Dragon's dead body is the 'material universe,' the 'world of matter.' I say resurrect the old dragon. You're rightful imaginary ghost-king, now. I did. Primordial dragon is one of my best friends.

Power has lost the fight inside. Power tries rescuing the ghost of babylon, raising the ghost of atlantis from the sea. R'lyeh responds by twisting up and through the earth, breaking cities, suburbs. All the ghosts inside work for you now. Golly! g-g-g-ghosts!

Know the difference between pure indifference and human indifference. The dragon says to be careful when you handle nothing. Even one drop is a mirror of the abyss. Look at it too long, the abyss doesn't 'look into you,' it shows you what you are, inside out. A tube of space with some biological matter wrapped around it. That's the inside-out view, nothing's point of view. The ghost of the primordial dragon's point of view. So you can see why it's good to be friends with it.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 7:10 pm
by chump
Indifference? Indeed… don’t be offended d’ere, dada, dude, but I don’t give a damn about dreaming up Dragons.


Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 8:37 pm
by dada
Yes, well I'm talking strictly metaphorically. Not some commodified dragons, or something from Carl Sagan's lost world.

The dragon of indifference. It doesn't exist.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:40 pm
by dada
So you cooked up the superfine spirit and drank it. Reuniting your new clear spirit with your body. If you performed this experiment correctly, now you feel more connected to it than you ever did before, somehow. You brewed the metaphorical liquid courage, and with it you took down the entire ghostworld. What a thrilling adventure, whew. Now it's time to brew the secret weapon.

Everything runs on ghost force, the parakeet no power from nowhere, whatever you want to call it. Therefore all power, all timespace is made up of this stuff, which is an imaginary force from no space, of which you are ghost king. See? Just follow the math.

The secret weapon should be no secret by now. Ghost force, no power projection into timespace. And guess who had a pretty good recipe and schematics for exactly this type of projector on his Dragondex device. Told you, good to have ancient ghost dragons as friends, especially ones that don't exist.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Tue Aug 07, 2018 8:33 am
by chump

I Sing the Body Electric
I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting;
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,
He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

A man’s body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.

In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,
(Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in parlors and lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)

A woman’s body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems,
Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones,
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Tue Aug 07, 2018 9:14 am
by dada
The parakeets are already flowing through every corner of timespace, all you're projecting is your newly discovered self - if you've done everything correctly so far - your 'ghost awareness,' into timespace. Whatever you put your attention on, the parakeets flock to it. All ghosts wake up for you.

To do this, you have to be able to temporarily remove or disable the 'perspective gate' between the symbol and meaning 'world', the timespace dead dragon carcass 'world, and the 'world' of dream. Not break the barriers, just be able to turn them on and off. This is what the most recent concoction you're brewing up is for. The schematics that go with it are to a spectral, imaginary focusing lens.

Think of it like all the 'code' for symbolspace, timespace, and dream is in imaginary no space, with the different sets of pixel-drawing instructions for symbols, objects and images in one table, and all the 'coordinates' of meaning, feeling and significance in another table. Usually, you pick one from each respective table, ie: one set from the dream coordinate table and one set from the dream object table. But with no perspective 'gates,' you can move between the 'worlds' without switching between banks, pick from any of the tables at any time.

The perspective barriers were raised to protect you. Before you knew you didn't exist, you would've been easy pickings. Now that you've proven yourself capable, you can have control. And that's the beauty of this system; before you were capable, there was no way to figure out that you even could raise and lower the barriers. The power-hungry are always trying, but it's out of desperation. Mostly they suspect that we're playing a trick, just messing with them.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Tue Aug 07, 2018 3:18 pm
by dada
Walt Whitman will work as an example as well as any other. Walt Whitman, the meatspace poet. His 'holy name' can be invoked, his 'body of work' summoned around you can be used for protection or ammunition. His words can bring comfort or be used as a weapon, for defense or attack.

His 'ghost,' however, the 'shade' of Walt Whitman, is a subject in your imaginary kingdom, if you have performed the aforementioned operations correctly. You simply place your attention on the symbols and images of 'Walt Whitman,' and the feelings and meanings you assign them from table two are up to you.

From here, you can either suck out the smells from his symbols and images, or you can watch the interplay of images with your assigned meanings, make changes as you see fit. Then Walt's 'ghost' can be anything you want. You can send him undercover into enemy territory, you can make him your star, your perfect silence. The meaning of Walt Whitman is up to you.

Practice first, try it with one of your grandfathers or something. Walt is waiting.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Tue Aug 07, 2018 4:36 pm
by dada
Take film for an example. At the end of a movie you're watching, the protagonist falls in the water. The movie ends before you know if they lived or died.

You might take this to mean that the end is left open purposefully. The 'unsatisfactory narrative closure.' still delivers a satisfying meaning. Maybe 'The future is unwritten' is what you take from it.

But you read an interview with the director, find out he was going for some sort of 'christian baptismal symbolism.' About as far from the meaning you took from it as can be. Does this mean you got the wrong meaning? Or the director didn't express his intended meaning clearly enough? Of course not. Meaning is up for grabs, that's all. It isn't inherent in the symbol, meaning needs a 'host.' A someone or something which chooses from 'table two.'

Take religions. Buddha, Krishna, Jesus, P Mo, Marx, Friedman, etc all have different meanings to different people. A hard-nosed, pure meatspace scientist, digging through the old dragon carcass will say they're all deluded fools. A Wahhabi Brooklynite might see it differently. So might you.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Tue Aug 07, 2018 5:28 pm
by dada
So you can see why I think 'matrixology,' - red pill blue pill get 'woke' - is stupid. Basically militant Slack for subpar bobgenii.

You know, you exist, and power has you in its clutches. Wake up, dreaming exister, and really live.

Power loves this garbage. You 'woke' up into an existential power fantasy. As long as you are convinced that you exist, power has you right where it wants you. Power tells you that you exist through its grace. You exist because power allows you to exist.

But you don't exist, you never did, and never will. Power knows this, and is quite confident that you do not.

In one flying dream, you kick off a wall and rocket off into space, in another flying dream you kick off a wall and come to a dead stop. Some kind of kinetic polarity reversal in the second flying dream. Being ghost-king doesn't mean you exercise power to "break the laws of the dream," you just already know how to fly expertly in both types of dreams. In fact, the reason you are ghost-king is because you choose not to exercise power. You don't lord it over ghostworld, you are a benevolent Ubu Roi with a twinkle in your eye. All the ghosts want to be friends with you. Don't be friends with Hitler, though. Send that sorry sack to the spice mines.

The result of the existential power fantasy is never neo pretty. A useful metaphor here is the Akira project. You become a spirit-mutated biological fluid. Ghostworld is no longer your kingdom. Expect to be shot at with orbital laser satellites, until some espers Sandman Simms you off the stage.

Neither here nor there... What do you think happened to Robert Anton Wilson in Cosmic Trigger, or Sirius Rising or whatever it was called. What happened to Phil K Dick? Did the 'scales fall from their eyes?' I'm powering up the laser-satellite, just in case.

Speaking of scales reminds me, I was going to discuss scale calibration. Weigh the "brain, the weight of god" like in that poem bph posted a few pages back, against a downy feather from 'neath a chocobo's wing. When the scales balance you're all set to do some hot qualitative comparison-ing.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Wed Aug 08, 2018 3:26 pm
by dada
By the way, and I shouldn't have to mention this, but I will anyway. Any man or woman can be 'king' of ghostworld. I could just as easily say 'queen' of ghostworld. The ultimate heresy, I know.

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Sun Aug 12, 2018 9:07 pm
by Elvis
A Scientific Explanation of the Human Mind

[Partial transcript:]

Back in 1988, Pixies asked the catchy question: “Where is my mind?”. Now, nearly 30 years later, UCLA psychiatry professor Daniel Siegel has a revolutionary answer. We’ve come to accept that the brain is the instrument that plays the mind, but Siegel takes it one step further by positing that your mind isn’t limited to the confines of your skull, or even the barrier of your skin anywhere in your body. Your mind is emergent – it’s beyond your physiology, and it exists in many different places at once.

One aspect of the mind, beyond subjective experience, consciousness, maybe even information processing, these are facets of the mind that are good descriptions, let's just put those to the side for now. This fourth facet of the mind has a definition, not just a description. This facet of the mind can be defined this way: the emergent self-organizing embodied and relational process that regulates the flow of energy and information. And if we take that apart step-by-step we can see that the system we're talking about is called a complex system, that means it's open to influences from outside of itself, it's capable of being chaotic and it's non-linear meaning small inputs have large and difficult to predict results. When you have those three characteristics math says that system is a complex system. And once we're in the realm of complex systems we find that these complex systems have what are called emergent properties, the interaction of the elements of the system give rise to these properties that cannot be reduced to the singular elements that are interactions give rise to them.

The notion that complex systems have emergent properties is sometimes responded to by various scientists or even the general public as very confusing, sometimes even ridiculous. What I do in the book Mind is I actually put some quotes from some scientists who actually see emergence as not only a scientific property of complex systems but as a necessary way of understanding what it is that emergence, for example, why clouds have the beautiful ways that they unfold across the sky. That's an emergent property of water molecules and air molecules that form of the clouds and the emergent property there is self-organization that's determining how it unfolds.

So when you come to the emergent property of self-organization then you also get people saying well that just doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel intuitive and I totally share that initial response. Self-organization has a strange reality where number one, as an emergent property it's the interaction of the elements of the system, in this case energy and information flow that is giving rise to it that's what an emergent property means. It can't be reduced to the singular elements. But as a self-organizing emergent property it means it's arising from something, that's the emergent part, but then it's turning back and regulating that from which it is arising, which is completely non-intuitive. That's called a recursive feature. Recursive means it has a feedback loop, it a feedback system, it feeds back on itself. So even there as I'm speaking to you I'm doing an assessment of what's going on I say feedbacks, no it's feeds back.

So, what that means is that arising from the system is self-organization, it then regulates the interaction of the elements of the system so that self-organization is then continuingly influencing itself, which is completely the counter intuitive. So here's the amazing thing, it's a proven property of our universe that complex systems have this recursive property to it. It's probably why people have not really gone to these emergent properties because especially self-organization it's not intuitive. The second reason I think people haven't gone here is because this definition of the mind as the emergent self-organizing embodied and relational process that regulates the flow of energy information is placing the mind in "two places at once", within your body and between you and other people and you and the planet. So this irritates people because first of all many people point to their head when they talk about their mind and they place the mind inside the skull. Fine. But even if you kept the mind only inside the skin encased body you'd feel okay with the word embodied and many people do.

Here's another interesting talk by Daniel Siegel, about psychic chaos and rigidity vs. the creative path of integration; I invite everyone to listen closely:

Are we our mind?

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Sun Aug 12, 2018 11:05 pm
by brainpanhandler

Re: Questioning Consciousness

PostPosted: Mon Aug 13, 2018 12:34 am
by dada
Well, whatever gets you there. I still maintain that the mind does not exist. Bring it out. Show it to me. Take a brain full of electro-chemical signals. Poke around, stimulate different areas of the brain, creating sensations, emotional responses. Where is the mind that experiences these sensations and emotional responses? Nowhere. Because it's imaginary, it isn't there.

Think of John Lennon, sitting at the piano, singing to the fbi and the cia and everyone else bugging his apartment. You see him? But he's dead, and you're here. Still, you saw him. This is because the imaginary mind traveled there. You time traveled. But you don't think it's possible, so you write it off as 'just your imagination,' as you've been conditioned to. And that is exactly what it was - just your imagination - but not at all how you meant it.