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September 18, 2011

A poem like Coleridges' "Rime of The Ancient Mariner" about time travel.

The Compleat Guide to Tyme Travell

  1. How do

    we know if we are time travelers?
  2. The

    importance of belief
  3. Who

    are the Time Travelers?
  4. Not to

    Trust Physicists
  5. What

    Evidence Is There?
  6. What

    are the best techniques for Time Travel?
  7. How

    can we be safe?
  8. What

    are uses for time travel?
  9. What

    do time machines look like?
  10. How do

    we get more of them?
  11. What

    problems commonly arise?
  12. Do We

    Need an I.Q. of 215?
  13. Information-Loss
  14. Time

    travel and the Law
  15. Time

    travel and the Government
  16. Recommendations

    for time travel
  17. On

    changing history
  18. Time

    Travel and Imaginary Time
  19. Time Travel and Ethics
  20. What

    is the UIA?
  21. Should

    I join?

How do we know if we are time


This is a crucial question, and

deserves a response. The problems of

popular disbelief, overcoming the typical conundrums attendant upon the issue,

remembering events when Entropy and Information-Loss preclude perfect

recollections, and simple

preservation of the kernel of

belief in a paranormal event, are all daunting challenges.

So, how do we know?

Firstly, time travel is as old as

the hills. Everyone has heard of it, and

no one doesn’t know what “time travel” means.

On a planet of six billion people, there are probably only a handful who

have no idea what we’re talking about, really.

If I walked up to you and said: “Howdy, I time traveled to Ancient

Greece today.” you would know immediately what I meant. There is no mystery about the meaning of the


“time travel”. And, since there can be no doubt, the

Rational mind concludes that

it must be real. For, if everyone knows what something means,

how can we doubt its existence?

Everybody probably knows or

suspects that Jesus, for example, was a time traveler. Walking on water (anti-gravity technology),

feeding the multitude (use of 24th century replicators), and the

Resurrection itself (simple use of a time-machine to reverse the time-field of

a pre-necrotic ‘t-stage’ body back to a time-stage prior to an injury or death

-- commonplace in ER rooms of hospitals on planets like Tau Ceti 10, for

instance), are all good indicators of time travel being involved.

From my experience, often the best

clues about time travel are subtle ones, but ones that can be discerned (by the

discerning). We must be alert for clues,

hints, and so on. We must be prepared to

deal with others’ doubt, apathy and intolerance. We are

‘the happy few’ (of whom Stendhal

wrote, in his dedication to “The Charterhouse of Parma”), so we must shoulder

the burden of overcoming skepticism. All


same, we shall prevail!

In my case, I deciphered the

encrypted messages in the Brandenburg Concerti by Bach with a colleague

(Kathryn S., niece of a CIA Director and Secretary of Defense) while a freshman

at Princeton University, in 1977.

Fortunately, Bach’s

inclusion of my name, and the

names of some of my other hall-mates in Princeton’s Henry Hall dormitory, was a

clue that I could use to amplify my belief in the elusive phenomenon, and could

provide both a mnemonic tool, as well as a stimulus to ‘recapture the past’ of

my having time-traveled.

Marcel Proust writes his massive

novel “The Past Recaptured” (in seven volumes),

focusing upon the phenomenon of

‘memoire involuntaire’, which is an involuntary,

extreme and overwhelming sort of

sudden conjuring of repressed memories, released

via a unique stimulus. Where

Dostoyevsky had his epilepsy, Proust had his involuntary memories, one is

inclined to think. In Proust’s somewhat

autobiographical novel, the

character Marcel links his recovered memories to an early childhood experience

of eating a type of cookie, called a ‘madeleine’. These are very good cookies, and I recommend

them, highly. For me, they don’t bring

back any memories, per se, but for Proust, since he associated them with his

childhood experiences, they did. Did I

ever meet Proust? Was Proust a time traveler, as well? Those are good questions, to which I return


Thus, the ‘madeleine experience’,

which is to say, an appropriate stimulus to the memory of the time traveler,

may rekindle recollections of his or her experiences in other times or

‘alternate universes.’ My particular inclination

is to use music as a ‘madeleine’, where I can collaborate with the composer

(Mozart, Bach, or whomever), to leave coded messages in his compositions, which

I can later decipher. Some of you might

have already figured out that “Back to The Future” is really a rip-off of my

putting coded messages into the Brandenburgs, etc. (“Bach to The Future” for

those of you who can’t put two and two together). When large amounts of history are altered,

for instance, it is useful to have details of some history from the “Other

Universe” (or “Branch of History”) which are encrypted back into the Past’s

artworks. Thus, those “History Vandals”

who go about changing History wantonly, find that we still possess the

information which they wished to repress.

We overcome their wanton and flagrant mutilations of the true reality,

by preserving evidence of the existence of that reality. They would have to go back and change the

Brandenburgs, then (and some other pieces of music I keep secret for safety),

to delete all evidence of their ‘time crime’.

Fortunately, they don’t have the Draconian spirit, the budget or the

technology, usually, to accomplish that rather Pyrrhonian goal. Usually, time vandals are fairly lazy and are

only looking for a ‘kick’. So, the

damage they do is limited (while it can be substantial).

Time travel memory, however, to be

fair, is quite a bit different than a ‘madeleine’ experience, in several

ways. Firstly, time-travel is always at

an axis perpendicular to

“Real Time” (relativistically),

along an axis called “Imaginary Time”.

Even a ‘hard-ass’ skeptic like Stephen Hawking makes this amply clear in

his book “Black Holes and Baby Universes”.

Thus, when we time travel, while our bodies might look identical to us,

and have the same features, names, memories, etc., they are actually

“doppelgangers” of ourselves. They are

doubles of us (not us, but identical).

Leibnitz wrote of the “identity of

indiscernibles”, but he was only ‘stretching.’ Clearly, the time travel

‘self’ is so like us; yet not us, since, if what happened when we were time

traveling was only in “imaginary time”, it isn’t real (thus not us).

So, look about yourself, and look

for the subtle hints, the anomalies, and so on that would lead you to believe

that “time is out of joint”. For

example, if you have an

overwhelming urge to call the CIA

forty times at 2:00 am in the morning to talk about time travel, and you keep

calling back every time they hang up on you, then you might be a time

traveler. Or, if you keep insisting that

the singer/actress Cher is a

member of Al Qaeda, despite the

objections of multiple FBI agents, months before the 9/11 attacks (with the

four hijackers named “Al-Sheri” on board), then you might be a time traveler.

If you frequently remember (or

imagine remembering) conversations between yourself and H.G. Wells, Albert

Einstein, Marcel Proust, and James Joyce, then you

might be a time traveler. Oh, how that Wells could moan and groan about

having time traveled! “The nausea!” he

used to complain… If you hear your name

(or those of your friends) in pieces of music composed hundreds of years before

your chronological date of birth, then you might be a time traveler. If you tend to tell people about disasters

and historical events decades (or even a few days) before they happen, then you

might be a time traveler.

If you frequently have a sense of

‘déjà vu’ about things, and even ‘new’ situations, which leads you to believe

that you might have experienced a similar Possible World before, then you might

be a time traveler. If your taste for

fiction includes a specialty in time travel, and you think that all literary or

cinematic depictions of time travel

‘lack realism’, then you might be

a time traveler. If you are constantly

telling your friends or other people that you are a time traveler, then you

might be a time traveler. If your

wildest delusional paranoid schizophrenic fantasies about time travel turn out

to be true, again and again, then you might be a time traveler. If you are constantly worrying about

time-bandits having stolen either (a) your time machine, or (b) your

billion-dollar fortune, then you might be a time traveler. If you frequently write the U.S Government

about topics like Roswell (and asking for the return of your saucer), or the

Philadelphia Experiment, claiming a “need to know”, then you might be a time


If you are constantly saying to

yourself: “If only I had a time machine, I’d fix everything,” then you might be

a time traveler. If you seem to

remember different time machines, how they look, and what kinds of effects they

had, their properties, and so on, then you might be a time traveler. If you find yourself writing letters to your

friends about your experiences in Ancient Rome, the Spanish Inquisition, the

signing of the Declaration of Independence, or your experiences on Alpha

Centauri, then you might be a time traveler. If your friends tell you: “You’re

a time

traveler,’ then you might be a

time traveler. If you find physicists

annoying, and find yourself writing them peevish letters about being a time

traveler, then you might be a time traveler.

If you sometimes materialize inside of the CIA, at Langley, while naked,

holding a gun made of a blue metal that doesn’t currently exist on Earth, with

no memory of how or why you got there,

then you might be a time traveler. The

bottom line is: if you even THINK

you might be a time traveler, you might be a time traveler.

From my perspective, it came to me

not suddenly, as out of the clear blue sky, but rather gradually and in stages,

over a period of a decade and a half, that there was a method to the madness

that I perceived in the world around me, in its manifestations in art and other

forms, and that the degree of chaos and muddle in my own mind was still something

quite sufficient to piece together a mystery of significant complexities.

The world, and the universe which

subsumes it, are vast enough to confound any reasoning man’s effort to decipher

and comprehend them; still, the goal of elucidating the fundamental principles

which underscore and interconnect the many facets of our

existence, yielding predictability

as natural laws, or equations, is very well within man’s grasp. We have seen this again and again, and

despite pratfalls and failures, this is what the mind naturally does -- it

dissects, orders and analyzes the clues the world offers us, piece by piece,

bit by bit, until the goal is reached.

What grew upon me, over stages and

time, overcoming the amnesia and trauma of time travel and information-loss,

was the realization that the chaotic Universe can still be deciphered at an

enhanced rate, with assistance from our past and future selves, through the

vehicle of time travel and the encryption of clues into art. This

hypothesis, which I named “The Encryptment

Thesis” came into my consciousness after studying an article by Stephen Hawking

on ‘Black Holes.’ From a perspective

based on ‘Information Theory’ (a

branch of mathematics invented by Claude Shannon, to describe electrical

circuits and computation), the Black Hole presents

a very good analogy to time travel

itself, since it “swallows” all matter that enters it.

Matter, and time itself, swallowed

by a black hole, are forever lost to the exterior Universe outside the ‘event

horizon’. Some matter or radiation would

be emitted as

“Hawking radiation” as the black

hole evaporates over time, all the same.

The beauty of the concept of

Information Loss is its applicability to other phenomenon. Because it is sufficiently abstract, I saw,

for the first time, the relation or parallel with time travel (where vast

amounts of information might be lost, for instance about a possible future or

past which may not now ever occur or have occurred, as in the classical example

of a man who returns to a previous time,

and then kills his grandfather, so that he, himself, now will never be born in

the new “Branch Universe” he has engendered).

Any time travel, which alters any history at all (even the position of a

single electron in the Universe), must be travel to a new (“Parallel”)

Universe, definition.

I do not mean to say, literally,

that time travel occurs when one jumps into a black hole or wormhole,

precisely; but what may occur is that there is such a possibility in nature, or

through any of a variety of other means, not even most of which have even

been conceived, as yet. This reading of Hawking’s article provided a

blinding flash of insight for me, almost a ‘madeleine’ experience; but one

which I prefer to classify as something distinct (while similar) which I call

‘time travel memory’. Suddenly, given

this wonderful concept, an entirely novel idea to me, at the time, I knew that

I could be a time traveler who had returned to a time in my personal past, from

whence I could live again my life, and reorder a perhaps sorry destiny I had

befallen in a previous Universe.

How could one forget these

experiences, one might ask?

Surely that would be like

forgetting the most incredible and exciting events in one’s life. Yet, so little is known, from an experiential

or phenomenological perspective, about time travel, itself; and, the experience

is so bizarre, coupled with the information loss involved with

history-alteration; that the event may become traumatic, as in cases of alien

abduction or child molestation. Bizarre

and paranormal experiences are all too easy to forget, perhaps, since they

overwhelm our senses and intellects with a barrage of incomprehensible data,

with no frame of reference from which to evaluate them.

When the first Spanish explorers landed

in South America, they met Indians on the shore who asked them how they had

come to this land. The Spaniards pointed

to their ships lying in the adjoining bay, and explained that they had been

brought over the seas on these craft.

The Indians, however, trying as hard as possible to “see” the ships,

could see nothing, try as the Spaniards might to make them see the ships that

were in plain view. This phenomenon is

perhaps a clue; for the Indians, without any previous concept of “large ships”

had no way to comprehend what they were seeing.

Their ‘tabulae rasa’ (John Locke’s idea of the mind as a blank slate),

had never

experienced, hence conceived, such a thing, and the very reality was so

staggering to the Indians’ minds that it could not be entertained. In the same way, time travel itself is such a

technologically advanced process that it can stagger even the minds of 21st

century thinkers.

Given this analogy, and an

understanding of its principles, as well as the rich accumulation of encrypted information

in art that bears heavily upon the present

(or at least a ‘contemporary’

parallel universe), the inference of the existence of

time travel, via ‘time-travel

memory’ akin to Proust’s ‘memoire involuntaire’, has to

be made. I believe that eventually we will have even

more sound reasons to accept the reality of time travel, as man’s knowledge

crows ever nearer the critical limit.

As I have already stated, my first

glimmers of understanding were hidden in the world of music and

literature. I developed a fondness for

science fiction and

fantasy,as I grew older, not as

escape from the mundanity of the world, but as a means to explore the deeper

reality which lay hidden away, almost out of reach of my probing and practiced mind, yet not quite.

As I grew older, from the ages of

early recognition (say, twelve), to near-adulthood (seventeen and beyond),

having already developed a fondness for

science fiction and

fantasy, I began to speculate

about the significance of the slightly subtle traces of artistic modeling in

music, especially Bach. For instance, I

wondered (at the time) while listening to a particular piece of music composed

in the 1700’s (hearing instrumental speech synthesis approximating my name and

the names of some friends, encrypted into the music) whether there had been

some Divine intervention or perhaps some bizarre fate which had set into play

this phenomenon; still, I didn’t really possess any serious faith in the

existence of time travel, even then.

Faith is hard to come by.

Even though I was a “devout”

reader of science fiction, while hearing an instrumental chorus of voices in

some great intoxicating piece of music (Proust writes of the “Vinteuil Sonata”,

evoking that spirit of intoxication by the concept of actually recapturing the

lost moments of the past) discussing a character “Nick the Greek,” “Nick de

Sade,” or “Nick Genet”; I still seriously doubt that I believed with any

assurance, at all, in the phenomenon of time travel.

It eventually came to me, in the

process of psychotherapy, around the age of 33, that I possessed the ability to

recall distinct sets of memories which apparently had been realities in my own

personal past, yet which still contradicted each other. Both sets of memories could not be true, I

was told, but my conviction in my own recollective powers was sufficient. For, in some instances, I had proven myself

able to open, with

exactitude, a page of a classic

text of Philosophy, even to the precise page in question, although it was a

text I hadn’t even touched for many years.

This fact, of itself, provided a sufficient basis to enable me to

believe in having lived in multiple and different Universes, or different

Times/Histories. As my faith in myself

grew, my mind opened wider to these remembrances.

Had I excessively indulged my

tendency to rely upon my therapist, that would have put me in a very poor

position, with respect to this problem, even though it was partly through the

assistance of that fine therapist that I was able to connect with my inner

feelings, intuitions, and memories of prior experiences of a paranormal nature.

Experience has taught me to trust

myself, even though others care to help.

For, while another person may possess altruism, their perspectives are

generally far less informed with respect to one’s own intimate problems,

especially those related to the event and experience of time travel; this is

largely due to the incommensurability of two different observers’ different

ontologies (or ontological schemes) of the reality

that both observers perceive. Einstein wrote about this problem in his

‘Theory of Relativity’ (as you probably recall). My personal belief that time travel had


in my life, which my therapist

doubted, could still be substantiated by empirical data, more consistently and

logically than by denying the existence of that evidence.

The sacrifice of recognizing the

truth, however, is that one must learn to deal with the new questions which

arise. Memories begin to arise out of

‘time travel memory’ which were, in fact, previously forgotten entirely, at

least consciously. These are incredible

memories which we might even be only able to conceive by associating them with

past life regression scenarios or fantasies – life in an ancient Roman prison

(where former CIA Director James

Schlesinger is too frugal, confused, or powerless

to help out, while buying himself

an expensive leather suit of armor, so he can have fun while he visits), or a

visit to one of Tau Ceti’s inhabited planets, or a visit to my own personal

‘brainchild’ -- the Time Travel Museum

of Art (which exists in Hyperspace), and even my experience of heading the

European Consortium, after being ousted from the American Presidency (for being

a suspected ‘Alien/ET’). All of this

happened, though, in a world which has never happened at all, from our current


How does this occur? How can a thinking man, in his mortal life

span, have enough accumulated information, memory, intuition, and belief to

amount to several lives, in different times and places, while still retaining a

sense of persistence of self (not just soul, but self)?

It is simplicity itself (or

Occam’s razor) which provides the easy answer.

The truth is that very few people have even conceived what time travel

entails or means, and what really actually constitutes personal identity (i.e.

continuity or persistence of ‘self’).

One of the first ways I was

readily able to convince myself that I had achieved time travel was by

remembering accurately and thus, identifying with, the visceral nature of my

experience. Everyone has read the

stories of time travel, and probably seen the movies of H.G. Wells’ book or

another adaptation of similar novel; but, no one generally devises, for instance,

the idea that simply because one has a device to reverse the flow of time in

his surroundings (again, relativistically), that he can just as easily reverse

the flow of bodily (i.e. “zero-reference”) time, as well. At least, from my perspective, although an

extremely experienced fan of science fiction, I can’t recall any precise

example of that concept being written about, either as an element of a

science-fiction novel plot, or as an element of any literary documentary.

There is an exception (“The

Andreasson Experience”) worth noting, although that, for me, is the exception

that proves the rule. Personally, my many years of experiences onboard the

Klingon vessel that abducted me near Vancouver/Seattle in the year 1975, were

enough to teach me about the importance and utility of the

“time-reversal button”, but I

wouldn’t ordinarily expect someone else to know about that possibility, or to

have anecdotes to relate about it. The

movie “Peggy Sue Got Married” also shows examples of this concept, as do a few

others, but it is another exception to the general stream of thought on this


So, the uniqueness of memory; or

‘originality’ of memory, is something which can be a criterion of belief in the

experiencing of a paranormal phenomenon like time travel.

We can believe in an incredibly bizarre

experience, perhaps, if it is totally original, unique, different, and, still

(somehow) credible, based upon other criteria we already know about, which we

accept as ‘givens’. If I were only

hypothesizing or hypostatizing the existence of such devices (and experiences),

then I would find myself merely in the same boat as the humdrum and ordinary

science-fiction writers, using the same hackneyed plot elements, pseudo-turns,

pseudo-twists and other tricks to interest my reader.

This is not the case,

however. My memory brings to me that

clue, that bit of credibility, that scrap of the essential ‘quidditas’ (the

“whatness”, “qualae”, or characteristics) that exculpates my existence from the

madding crowd, which is actually that inscripted bit of one of God’s gifts to

Humanity – that bit of mind which John Locke called the ‘tabula rasa’. The great English philosopher John Locke

actually argues that we can only know, or even conceive, that which we have

already actually experienced in some way.

Thus, it becomes very difficult to lie about things that are utterly

unimaginable. Arthur C. Clarke’s

corollary to Locke’s postulate (merely paraphrased) is that “The truth is

always more fantastic than anything we can imagine.”

So, if something were completely

out of one’s intellectual grasp, or realm of experience, then one really can’t

imagine it quite enough to really make a consistent

story without holes in it. For that reason, it makes sense to believe in

some of the stories of alien abduction, as they do ‘ring true’; and to believe

in my own memories of time travel, age-reversal (i.e. ‘rejuvenation’) and so


Very few, if any, science fiction

writers I am aware of, have written of, or discussed the idea of a lifestyle

based on time travel/rejuvenation, etc., with attendant information loss, as a

fundamental tenet. My question to the

reader is: “If you were a science fiction author who was writing about time

machines that could transport you to anywhere in space-time in an instant;

would you be so lame-brained as to NOT conceive the idea that one would, under

those circumstances, also be able to reverse

(or even accelerate) the process

of aging by altering the ‘field’ around the experiencer? Yet, despite the obviousness of this concept

to me, I do not see this in the literature.

Hence, I deduce that the literature is merely fiction, and that my

experience is real. This, again, is a

way that we know that we are the time travelers, and not merely the fictional

characters that the fine and imaginative authors invent to excite their

multitudes of fans. Some scientists of

sociology have stated: “truth resides in the cracks, not in the bricks”, which

I think carries over to other fields, as well.

My interpretation is that the greatest truths, or intended truths, at

least, aren’t necessarily included in the fundamental solids of the metaphoric

structures that

comprise society, but, instead, in

the glue or mortar that hold those bricks or building-blocks together.

In terms of proving or

demonstrating an epistemological basis for claiming to “know” that one is a

time traveler, the conceptual problem that arises is with the objection that

because personal identity needs to be ‘spatio-temporally continuous’, it is

impossible to be ‘de-aged’ or ‘rejuvenated’ by time travel, and still retain

one’s consciousness of the events in the future that had already happened to

oneself, in that future from whence one was actually time traveling away

(departing, or being ‘reversed’ from).

One is, therefore, again, as with my ‘doppelganger’ illustration, and

with Hawking’s discussion of ‘Imaginary Time’, no longer the same person….

Would I still know how to read

Latin, if I learned the language when I was thirty, and then rejuvenated (with

information loss) to the age of twenty, say?

And, if I cannot recollect the grammar and vocabulary of Latin, at

twenty, having been rejuvenated to

that age after having already

learned Latin, would I not, in essence, have lost other memories which would

constitute the substrate of my personhood (i.e. my consciousness, feelings

about different issues, memories of my experiences, etc.)? How could I be

‘reversed’, and still be myself?

In a large and clearly true sense,

I cannot. Selfhood is alterable to a large extent by time travel (a form of

repentence), and by willing. Just as a

tree branches, and forks, so there are choices which we can make and unmake in

our lives. Rather than reducing oneself,

this avenue of rejuvenation (nothing other than inverse time travel) really

might allow one to remake his destiny.

Yet, why would science fiction authors tend to neglect this idea of time

travel unless it is comparatively unimaginable (due to the facticity of the Lockeian ‘tabula rasa’), to

one who has not experienced it?

The applications of this fecund

possibility, as well, are enormous, despite the weakness of fiction authors’

ability to discuss such possibilities (well-documented on other worlds, if not

Earth). I cannot conceive of there being

any lack of reasons to

write about the opportunity to

follow the “path not taken.” Still,

despite such weakness in the imaginations of mere fiction writers, we must

bravely proceed

onwards, and strive to overcome

the enormous status quo of ignorance with which most Earthlings are constantly

bombarded (perhaps as a deliberate trick by the ant-people of Alpha Centauri 4,

whose psychotronic devices of evil disinformation are still unconquerable to

us, while time travelers are mostly immune).

In mythology and fact, the

caduceus, a symbol of medicine to this very day, which is rooted in its origins

in the time of Aesklepios; is the winged staff with intertwined serpents. This beautiful emblem of medicine is highly

symbolic of time travel (the “ultimate cure”), which possesses the ability to

completely rejuvenate even a corpse

(within a few days of its demise) back to full health. Of course, this great and very Jungian symbol

is evocative of a number of ideas: (1) flight through the dimension of

Time itself (when Time is

considered as a Plenum, or continuum), and (2) ‘twinning’ of time travel

engendered selves (i.e. ‘doppelgangerism’ – a phenomenon that arises almost

immediately in the mind of anyone who has studied time travel). The nature of doppelgangerism, of course, is

such that different t-stage (possibly spatio-temporally discontinuous) ‘selves’

might even function as adversaries (dueling snakes, intertwined in combat, yet

allied to cure the recipient of their ‘magic’).

What if the only cure for a certain disorder (or many disorders) was to

time travel the human body back to its state of existence prior to the

contraction of that disease?

Even with loss of information, if

one could be sent back to a world where one had not yet been contaminated by a

fatal virus or condition, one might be able to avert that event or at least, in

some sense, extend one’s life. Supposing

that one lost perhaps 20% of one’s total information, wouldn’t it still be

worth it, to continue to live?

How would this be considered an

extension of life? Would the time

traveler possess any memory of whatever had prompted his return? Yes.

Memories of predecessor selves from different ‘lives’ actually can be

reawakened (this page before you, dear Reader, is further evidence of that

fact, or I would not even have ventured to write it).

The ‘madeleine’ experience is to

the consciousness of Marcel as a seed crystal is to a supersaturated solution

of chemical salts, catalyzing the crystallization of a stream of

Remembrances. Thus, coupled with appropriate amounts of

information, as in the form of time travel encrypted information (embedded in

music, literature, etc.), the human life and consciousness, the very

persistence of self over disasters, catastrophe and even death, might be


Thus, with the artificially-aided

extension of self, through memory stimulations encrypted in art, it becomes

possible to remember the future, even if it happens to be a distant one (where,

perhaps, an individual time traveler might chose to ‘relive’ a major portion of

his life, possibly requiring him or kill, and substitute for, a ‘predecessor

self’). A constant supply of ‘déjà vu’

impressions would undoubtedly result, with frequent recollections of events

that were yet to happen. In this manner,

again, it becomes possible to ‘know’ that one is a time traveler.

It is then, fully possible to be a

President in one ‘life’, a billionaire in another, a CIA agent in the next, and

a free-wheeling adventurer in yet another ‘life’ (by which I mean a

four-dimensional t-stage of existence and experience which could be reversed

and revised, engendering another, ad infinitum, with the proper

technology). This would be a lifestyle

that would truly allow someone to taste many facets of experience, while, to my

consciousness, my recollections may be more vivid than any mere fantasy, they

may not be so strong as to readily contribute to the ‘cross-over’ of skills

from one existence into another. For

instance, while I might have been a surgeon at one four-dimensional t-stage in

the five-dimensional manifold of lives I have led, that doesn’t imply that I

could perform a surgery (any more than I might be

ready to

recollect German that I learned in college).

There is only so much, after all,

that the consciousness can recollect under

these circumstances.

If it were,

indeed, vital for a time traveler to retain information across a sequence of


universes and times, then it would require, as discussed, the development of

a system for the chrononaut to avert major

information loss. I termed this concept


scheme ‘the

encryptment thesis’, as you have probably already noticed, which I

defined as the

strategy of encoding messages into events, works of art, music, etc.,

which could then

be observed by the time traveler (while completely deprived of his

own information

and personal recollection of being a time traveler), so that the time

traveler would

still be able to eventually deduce the fact of his having time traveled.


the finding of ‘anachronistic’ clues about oneself in different places, such

as art, is clearly one means of

knowing that one is, indeed, a time traveler.

The nature of encryptment is still very puzzling,

since there are serious logical conundrums and practical hurdles of explanation

to be overcome. Skipping over the simple

‘grandfather paradox’ (which is hardly any more challenging to resolve than

Zeno’s paradox, actually), there is the

question that, if I were to voyage to a distant

past to leave a ‘signpost’ to my future

self, have a now brought about a past which already really existed before me,

or have I visited to a time to which I never before could have been?

For example, if I undertake (and succeed)

to visit adolescent Wolfgang Mozart before his composing the Salzburg

Symphonies (c. 1766-1772), then I must also bring some memories of what Wolfy

was going to compose with me. Perhaps I

argue with the tempestuous and overly bold youngster, representing the time

traveling government of another United States, in whose alternate history I am

the chrononaut President, who has already studied Wolfy’s music. Do I ever actually change anything by

visiting Wolfy? Could he have composed

the music of the Salzburgs note-for-note without my having visited him? Would he not then have written a different

set of works, had he not possessed knowledge of me (about whom he wrote the

symphonies)? For, if he had not met me,

then where would he have acquired the information that he did encrypt into the


The question to which I return is: “Can I

truly be said to have brought about the past in any causal sense, even while

benefiting from the encrypted traces of information, later on?” My feeling, intuitively, is that I have, but

this may be simply a logical paradox.

Still, in a sense, I have been ‘abducted’ by the anomaly of a past-time

and an incident (the composition of an early Mozart symphony, etc.) where there

is an

abnormally anachronistic level of

information which appears to derive from the

future. It appears to me that I actually imposed my

will upon the young Mozart to

enlist his very gifted assistance,

which might account for a certain abrasiveness in his

compositions (maybe he resented

the request for help, and my intrusion into his time).

Mozart’s modeling, as

accomplished, might be interpreted as something less than flattering to me, or

might be reflective of his desire to be more a master of his own fate than he

truly was, than fate allowed him to be.

In a sense, one is impotent to

alter a past moment or event. One can’t

will an imprint into already-dried cement, and would certainly be all the more

disturbed with the refusal of the artist to change in any way the work that he

or she hasn’t yet composed or created.

This doesn’t mean that one (as model or time traveler) is not partly the

causal agent of the effect. All the more,

even though the situation may clearly be called ‘cyclic acausal’ on the grand

scale, it is still true in both an immediately gratifying as well as a

long-term achievement, that a worthy goal of encryptment has been

accomplished. The accomplishment (at

least the pseudo-accomplishment) of a

‘madeleine’ being embedded in a

favorite artwork, from a time before one’s birth, in a manner which encrypts

and preserves information from the future or an alternate universe is certainly

something that ‘makes sense’ out of the absurd phenomenon of cyclic acausality,

as well.

All of which discussion,

naturally, brings me to yet another important conclusion for this chapter –

that, really, if you can sit around and write about things like this, and take

yourself seriously, you know that you are a time traveler.