Virtual Reality Earth

Recently I read an article about how Pokemon Go is helping people with depression. As everyone knows, the major difficulty with depression is that it makes it nearly impossible to simply get out of bed in the morning and begin. Pokemon Go can trick people into lessening the burden of going outside, exercising, and interacting with strangers.

While this is appreciable, it also makes me think how unfortunate it is that we need to create a virtual reality that reminds us of the adventure, wonder and discovery that there is to be had in the world.  When asked if I play video games, I often say “No, I’m too busy playing in this virtual reality.” If you logged into your Sims game, you wouldn’t immediately move your Sim over to the TV and start playing video games. That’s pointless, and reveals the loss in awareness of your higher self, the real self that lives beyond this simulated world and logged onto Earth to complete some assignment. We are, I suppose, lost in the game of life, impeded by amnesia, and convinced by the illusion.

We have lost the magic that there is to be had in the “real world”, whatever that term means. Do remember that there is surmounting evidence that this reality is a hologram. Quantum physicist Leonard Susskind is the leading mind of this new theory, whose mathematics reveal that there is an equivalency between our projected image, and the self that exists beyond this boundary:

“We are actually projections of equivalent versions of ourselves that live on the outer surface of the universe”

In a sense, your body is an avatar and you are a co-creater of the universe, of your life. If you knew this world wasn’t the only reality, would you be more courageous with your life?  Would you take risks and pursue your true purpose? Above all, there is much more than meets the eye, and embracing the unreal world will help us live fuller lives that we could not attain through escapism. I urge everyone to go out on quests, pursue challenges, power up, and live the lucid dream.

Featured image by Corina Chirila

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A few nights ago, I awoke at two in the morning covered in sweat. Uncomfortable enough to do something about it, I went upstairs to turn on the AC and stumbled down the hallway, the urge to get back into my bed overwhelming as always. But this time, as I walked past the back door, I was abruptly drawn to go outside and look at the stars.

Despite the strong pull, I had to stop for a moment. Was it safe out there when I was home alone? It is easy for me to feel alone in the middle of the night, even with someone sleeping close by. What was lurking in the dark? Ever since a nightmare I had years ago of a mysterious, malicious man coming at me in the night towards my house, it was difficult to not be scared of being in that doorway, let alone walk through it.

Once I shook myself out of the dazed sleepwalk, I quickly became aware of how silly this was. It was a beautiful, clear night and I’d be a fool to not enjoy it, if only for a moment.

I sat on the deck stairs, the air soft from land that emitted heat of the summer sun. I live right behind a highway, and it had never felt as still and quiet as it did then. I could feel the world sleep, and for the first time it brought peace instead of loneliness.

Suddenly something caught my attention, a flash of light in my left field of vision. I turned towards it, thinking it was a shooting star that I had missed, and I saw it again, this time as just a flash. “Hi!” I called out happily. Right then, a huge meteor flew across the sky. I laughed with a giddy lightness, and smiled at the thought of a small, grey alien with those giant characteristic eyes casting a stone across the waters of Earth’s sky to meet my salutation. It felt a lot like Interstellar, when Cooper tries to deliver a message to his daughter across time and space through a medium that surpasses all realms of our current understanding. Whatever was out there, I felt warmth and company in the light-polluted dampness of night.

  Upon reflection of the moment, the feeling of soft support and company was strange, given that it was scary to go outside alone in the dark in the first place. Once coming back inside, I realized my basement was more spooky than my backyard. The yard had a horizon that I forgot about, a backdrop with pinholes of light from other worlds calling out. It was a cramped space that I hid in that made me feel safe. Outside, I felt love and wonder. I questioned if people would change if they were forced to sleep under the night sky again. It’s strange to think that although we’re afraid to go out there due to exposure, it is actually more embracing and kind than the box we keep ourselves locked up in for comfort.

Contact with boundaries internal and external are necessary, breaching thresholds that harbor love and wonder, the sky a symbol of the frontiers of our minds, our psyche. External boundaries may even mirror internal ones, and so crossing one reciprocates the other. As they say “As above, so below, as within, so without, as the universe, so the soul…”  –Hermes Trismegistus 

It is not just about putting ourselves out there just so we don’t excessively shelter ourselves. It is about making contact with the divine, whatever that may be for each of us. It’s about looking out and wondering what is looking back, and what they see. It is about feeling the softness of our frontiers, not just their occasional harsh, unforgiving nature. Despite whatever lies in their crossing, the ultimate is love and compassion.

I walked back down stairs to my bed, forgetting to turn on the light to the staircase, holding on tightly to the railing when I judged the last step. When I got to the bottom, I felt it level, and walked off onto trustworthy ground.