Linear Motion Quotes

It is tempting to write the history of technology through products: the wheel; the microscope; the airplane; the Internet. But it is more illuminating to write the history of technology through transitions: linear motion to circular motion; visual space to subvisual space; motion on land to motion on air; physical connectivity to virtual connectivity.

This is another paradox, that many of the most important impressions and thoughts in a person's life are ones that flash through your head so fast that fast isn't even the right word, they seem totally different from or outside of the regular sequential clock time we all live by, and they have so little relation to the sort of linear, one-word-after-another word English we all communicate with each other with that it could easily take a whole lifetime just to spell out the contents of one split-second's flash of thoughts and connections, etc. -- and yet we all seem to go around trying to use English (or whatever language our native country happens to use, it goes without saying) to try to convey to other people what we're thinking and to find out what they're thinking, when in fact deep down everybody knows it's a charade and they're just going through the motions. What goes on inside is just too fast and huge and all interconnected for words to do more than barely sketch the outlines of at most one tiny part of it at any given instant.

Nothing is random, nor will anything ever be, whether a long string of perfectly blue days that begin and end in golden dimness, the most seemingly chaotic political acts, the rise of a great city, the crystalline structure of a gem that has never seen the light, the distributions of fortune, what time the milkman gets up, the position of the electron, or the occurrence of one astonishing frigid winter after another. Even electrons, supposedly the paragons of unpredictability, are tame and obsequious little creatures that rush around at the speed of light, going precisely where they are supposed to go. They make faint whistling sounds that when apprehended in varying combinations are as pleasant as the wind flying through a forest, and they do exactly as they are told. Of this, one is certain. And yet, there is a wonderful anarchy, in that the milkman chooses when to arise, the rat picks the tunnel into which he will dive when the subway comes rushing down the track from Borough Hall, and the snowflake will fall as it will. How can this be? If nothing is random, and everything is predetermined, how can there be free will? The answer to that is simple. Nothing is predetermined, it is determined, or was determined, or will be determined. No matter, it all happened at once, in less than an instant, and time was invented because we cannot comprehend in one glance the enormous and detailed canvas that we have been given - so we track it, in linear fashion piece by piece. Time however can be easily overcome; not by chasing the light, but by standing back far enough to see it all at once. The universe is still and complete. Everything that ever was is; everything that ever will be is - and so on, in all possible combinations. Though in perceiving it we image that it is in motion, and unfinished, it is quite finished and quite astonishingly beautiful. In the end, or rather, as things really are, any event, no matter how small, is intimately and sensibly tied to all others. All rivers run full to the sea; those who are apart are brought together; the lost ones are redeemed; the dead come back to life; the perfectly blue days that have begun and ended in golden dimness continue, immobile and accessible; and, when all is perceived in such a way as to obviate time, justice becomes apparent not as something that will be, but something that is.

Maybe she knew. Maybe she knew there wasn't time to waste, that she couldn't go through the motions, steps, build. That the linear trajectory would bring her only to the middle.

But it is more illuminating to write the history of technology through transitions: linear motion to circular motion; visual space to subvisual space; motion on land to motion in air; physical connectivity to virtual connectivity.

The child was left alone to die in the hallway. Here, in the dawn, was mortality itself. In the city were places to fall from which one could never emerge -- dark dreams and slow death, the death of children, suffering without grace or redemption, ultimate and eternal loss. The memory of the child stayed with Peter. But that was not to be the end of it, for reality went around in a twisting ring. Even the irredeemable would be redeemed, and there was a balance for everything. There had to be. The old man said, "Nothing is random, nor will anything ever be, whether a long string of perfectly blue days that begin and end in golden dimness, the most seemingly chaotic political acts, the rise of a great city, the crystalline structure of a gem that has never seen the light, the distributions of fortune, what time the milkman gets up, or the position of the electron. Even electrons, supposedly the paragons of unpredictability, do exactly as they are told. Of this, one is certain. And yet, there is a wonderful anarchy, in that the milkman chooses when to arise, the rat picks the tunnel into which he will dive when the subway comes rushing down the track from Borough Hall, and the snowflake will fall as it will. How can this be? If nothing is random, and everything is predetermined, how can there be free will? The answer to that is simple. Nothing is predetermined, it is determined, or was determined, or will be determined. No matter, it all happened at once, in less than an instant, and time was invented because we cannot comprehend in one glance the enormous and detailed canvas that we have been given - so we track it, in linear fashion piece by piece. Time however can be easily overcome; not by chasing the light, but by standing back far enough to see it all at once. The universe is still and complete. Everything that ever was, is. Everything that ever will be, is. In all possible combinations. Though we imagine that it is in motion and unfinished, it is quite finished and quite astonishingly beautiful. So any event is intimately and sensibly tied to all others. All rivers run full to the sea; those who are apart are brought together; the lost ones are redeemed; the dead come back to life; the perfectly blue days that have begun and ended in golden dimness continue, immobile and accessible. And, when all is perceived in such a way as to obviate time, justice becomes apparent not as something that will be, but something that is.

Technology, I said before, is most powerful when it enables transitions—between linear and circular motion (the wheel), or between real and virtual space (the Internet). Science, in contrast, is most powerful when it elucidates rules of organization—laws—that act as lenses through which to view and organize the world. Technologists

Technology, I said before, is most powerful when it enables transitions—between linear and circular motion (the wheel), or between real and virtual space (the Internet). Science,

The concept of time in the Jewish way of thinking is not one of linear flow. Time is a process, in which past, present, and future are bound to each other, not only by cause and effect but also as a harmonization of two motions: progress forward and a countermotion backward, encircling and returning.

Technology, I said before, is most powerful when it enables transitions—between linear and circular motion (the wheel), or between real and virtual space (the Internet). Science, in contrast, is most powerful when it elucidates rules of organization—laws—that act as lenses through which to view and organize the world. Technologists seek to liberate us from the constraints of our current realities through those transitions. Science defines those constraints, drawing the outer limits of the boundaries of possibility. Our greatest technological innovations thus carry names that claim our prowess over the world: the engine (from ingenium, or “ingenuity”) or the computer (from computare, or “reckoning together”). Our deepest scientific laws, in contrast, are often named after the limits of human knowledge: uncertainty, relativity, incompleteness, impossibility. Of all the sciences, biology is the most lawless; there are few rules to begin with, and even fewer rules that are universal. Living beings must, of course, obey the fundamental rules of physics and chemistry, but life often exists on the margins and interstices of these laws, bending them to their near-breaking limit. The universe seeks equilibriums; it prefers to disperse energy, disrupt organization, and maximize chaos. Life is designed to combat these forces. We slow down reactions, concentrate matter, and organize chemicals into compartments; we sort laundry on Wednesdays. “It sometimes seems as if curbing entropy is our quixotic purpose in the universe,” James Gleick wrote. We live in the loopholes of natural laws, seeking extensions, exceptions, and excuses.

The atoms, you know, have a cyclic motion. The stable compounds are made of constituents that have a regular, periodic motion relative to one another. In fact, it is the tiny time-reversible cycles of the atom that give matter enough permanence that evolution is possible. The little timelessnesses added together make up time. And then on the big scale, the cosmos: well, you know we think that the whole universe is a cyclic process, an oscillation of expansion and contraction, without any before or after. Only within each of the great cycles, where we live, only there is there linear time, evolution, change. So then time has two aspects. There is the arrow, the running river, without which there is no change, no progress, or direction, or creation. And there is the circle or the cycle, without which there is chaos, meaningless succession of instants, a world without clocks or seasons or promises.

Once again, I had traversed the line from doctor to patient, from actor to acted upon, from subject to direct object. My life up until my illness could be understood as the linear sum of my choices. As in most modern narratives, a character’s fate depended on human actions, his and others. King Lear’s Gloucester may complain about human fate as “flies to wanton boys,” but it’s Lear’s vanity that sets in motion the dramatic arc of the play. From the Enlightenment onward, the individual occupied center stage. But now I lived in a different world, a more ancient one, where human action paled against superhuman forces, a world that was more Greek tragedy than Shakespeare. No amount of effort can help Oedipus and his parents escape their fates; their only access to the forces controlling their lives is through the oracles and seers, those given divine vision. What I had come for was not a treatment plan—I had read enough to know the medical ways forward—but the comfort of oracular wisdom.

Time goes in cycles, as well as in a line. A planet revolving: you see? One cycle, one orbit around the sun, is a year, isn’t it? And two orbits, two years, and so on. One can count the orbits endlessly—an observer can. Indeed such a system is how we count time. It constitutes the timeteller, the clock. But within the system, the cycle, where is time? Where is beginning or end? Infinite repetition is an atemporal process. It must be compared, referred to some other cyclic or noncyclic process, to be seen as temporal. Well, this is very queer and interesting, you see. The atoms, you know, have a cyclic motion. The stable compounds are made of constituents that have a regular, periodic motion relative to one another. In fact, it is the tiny time-reversible cycles of the atom that give matter enough permanence that evolution is possible. The little timelessnesses added together make up time. And then on the big scale, the cosmos: well, you know we think that the whole universe is a cyclic process, an oscillation of expansion and contraction, without any before or after. Only within each of the great cycles, where we live, only there is there linear time, evolution, change. So then time has two aspects. There is the arrow, the running river, without which there is no change, no progress, or direction, or creation. And there is the circle or the cycle, without which there is chaos, meaningless succession of instants, a world without clocks or seasons or promises.

Now we have common ground: Joy and grief both produce intense linear motion toward a destination, though we do not yet know the destination.

The vestibular system tells us about up and down and whether we are upright or not. It tells us where our heads and bodies are in relation to the earth’s surface. It sends sensory messages about balance and movement from the neck, eyes, and body to the CNS for processing and then helps generate muscle tone so we can move smoothly and efficiently. This sense tells us whether we are moving or standing still, and whether objects are moving or motionless in relation to our body. It also informs us what direction we are going in, and how fast we are going. This is extremely useful information should we need to make a fast getaway! Indeed, the fundamental functions of fight, flight, and foraging for food depend on accurate information from the vestibular system. Dr. Ayres writes that the “system has basic survival value at one of the most primitive levels, and such significance is reflected in its role in sensory integration.” The receptors for vestibular sensations are hair cells in the inner ear, which is like a “vestibule” for sensory messages to pass through. The inner-ear receptors work something like a carpenter’s level. They register every movement we make and every change in head position—even the most subtle. Some inner-ear structures receive information about where our head and body are in space when we are motionless, or move slowly, or tilt our head in any linear direction—forward, backward, or to the side. As an example of how this works, stand up in an ordinary biped, or two-footed, position. Now, close your eyes and tip your head way to the right. With your eyes closed, resume your upright posture. Open your eyes. Are you upright again, where you want to be? Your vestibular system did its job. Other structures in the inner ear receive information about the direction and speed of our head and body when we move rapidly in space, on the diagonal or in circles. Stand up and turn around in a circle or two. Do you feel a little dizzy? You should. Your vestibular system tells you instantly when you have had enough of this rotary stimulation. You will probably regain your balance in a moment. What stimulates these inner ear receptors? Gravity! According to Dr. Ayres, gravity is “the most constant and universal force in our lives.” It rules every move we make. Throughout evolution, we have been refining our responses to gravitational pull. Our ancient ancestors, the first fish, developed gravity receptors, on either side of their heads, for three purposes: 1) to keep upright, 2) to provide a sense of their own motions so they could move efficiently, and 3) to detect potentially threatening movements of other creatures through the vibrations of ripples in the water. Millions of years later, we still have gravity receptors to serve the same purposes—except now vibrations come through air rather than water.

Nothing is predetermined; it is determined, or was determined, or will be determined. No matter, it all happened at once, in less than an instant, and time was invented because we cannot comprehend in one glance the enormous and detailed canvas that we have been given-so we track it, in linear fashion, piece by piece. Time, however, can be easily overcome; not by chasing the light, but by standing back far enough to see it all at once. The universe is still and complete. Everything that ever was, is; everything that ever will be, is-and so on, in all possible combinations. Though in perceiving it we imagine that it is in motion, and unfinished, it is quite finished and quite astonishingly beautiful. In the end, or, rather, as things really are, any event, no matter how small, is intimately and sensibly tied to all others. All rivers run full to the sea; those who are apart are brought together; the lost ones are redeemed; the dead come back to life; the perfectly blue days that have begun and ended in golden dimness continue, immobile and accessible; and, when all is perceived in such a way as to obviate time, justice becomes apparent not as something that will be, but as something that is.

In comparing karate and Krav Maga, we notice various differences. In traditional karate, the advance forward has the rear foot sliding forward from a low dip stance into a forward dip. When comparing straight punches in boxing and in Krav Maga, there are two major differences. First, take into account the limitations of reaction time. The punch is lunged into the opponent’s face as the gap is closed, before the front foot has landed. Second, training in Krav Maga separates the retraction of the hand and stresses that the body should never come to a centered position to help with a quick linear motion backwards. Instead, Krav Maga recommends staying in this newly angled stance until students recognize what needs to be done next to end the fight. Fortunately, this also helps finish the punch and ensure the full body weight has shifted to the desired direction before rushing to the next punch. If the speed is kept at its maximum at the time of the blow, this ensures a knockout! Closing the distance to reach an opponent, karate fighters are taught to lunge their rear leg for a kick as their upper bodies remain static. They are taught to contract their abdomen and hip muscles as they send their hands and legs for a blow. The way the foot or hand makes contact with the opponent’s pressure point depends on how it fits the targeted part of the body. For example, the shin or open hand for the groin, the ball of the foot or open hand to the chin, the heel or palm to the sternum, the knife side of the foot, or extended fingers for the throat. Krav Maga fighters close the gap by pushing their toes and shifting their weight forward. They are trained to pivot their torso for greater reach. Lunging forward, they kick with their front foot and land on their rear foot. The momentum of the kick is being generated with gravity as they throw the ball of the foot in their opponent’s groin or torso in an upward motion (depending on the availability). The speed is kept at its peak by swinging the leg to ninety degrees. The contact point of the foot should preferably be the heel or ball of the foot. The ankle should be kept in a neutral position upon contact, so the ligaments are not in an overstretched position. This is a safety feature that will minimize trauma upon contact with the opponent’s bones.

If nothing is random, and everything is predetermined, how can there be free will? The answer to that is simple. Nothing is predetermined; it is determined, or was determined, or will be determined. No matter, it all happened at once, in less than an instant, and time was invented because we cannot comprehend in one glance the enormous and detailed canvas that we have been given—so we track it, in linear fashion, piece by piece. Time, however, can be easily overcome; not by chasing the light, but by standing back far enough to see it all at once. The universe is still and complete. Everything that ever was, is; everything that ever will be, is—and so on, in all possible combinations. Though in perceiving it we imagine that it is in motion, and unfinished, it is quite finished and quite astonishingly beautiful. In the end, or, rather, as things really are, any event, no matter how small, is intimately and sensibly tied to all others. All rivers run full to the sea; those who are apart are brought together; the lost ones are redeemed; the dead come back to life; the perfectly blue days that have begun and ended in golden dimness continue, immobile and accessible; and, when all is perceived in such a way as to obviate time, justice becomes apparent not as something that will be, but as something that is.

Figure 3.35 shows examples of nonstandard trend lines: FIGURE 3.35 Nonstandard Trend Lines in XLF A is drawn between lows in a downtrend instead of between highs in a downtrend. B is also drawn between lows in a downtrend. Furthermore, it ignores a large price spike in an effort to fit the line to later data. C is more of a best-fit line drawn through the center of a price area. These may be drawn freehand or via a procedure like linear regression. D is drawn between highs in an uptrend. E raises a critical point about trend lines: They are lines drawn between successive swings in the market. If there are no swings, there should be no trend line. It would be hard to argue that the market was showing any swings at E, at least on this time frame. This trend line may be valid on a lower time frame, but it is nonstandard on this time frame. In general, trend lines are tools to define the relationship between swings, and are a complement to the simple length of swing analysis. As such, one of the requirements for drawing trend lines is that there must actually be swings in the market. We see many cases where markets are flat, and it is possible to draw trend lines that touch the tops or bottoms of many consecutive price bars. With one important exception later in this chapter, these types of trend lines do not tend to be very significant. They are penetrated easily by the smallest motions in the market, and there is no reliable price action after the penetration. Avoid drawing these trend lines in flat markets with no definable swings.

Nothing is predetermined; it is determined, or was determined, or will be determined. No matter, it all happened at once, in less than an instant, and time was invented because we cannot comprehend in one glance the enormous and detailed canvas that we have been given -so we track it, in linear fashion, piece by piece. Time, however, can be easily overcome; not by chasing the light, but by standing back far enough to see it all at once. The universe is still and complete. Everything that ever was, is; everything that ever will be, is -and so on, in all possible combinations. Though in perceiving it we imagine that it is in motion, and unfinished, it is quite finished and quite astonishingly beautiful. In the end, or, rather, as thins really are, any event, no matter how small, is intimately and sensibly tied to all others. All rivers run full to the sea; those who are apart are brought together; the lost ones are redeemed; the dead come back to life; the perfectly blue days that have begun and ended in golden dimness continue, immobile and accessible; and, when all is perceived in such a wat as to obviate time, justice becomes apparent not as something that will be, but as something that is.

Each of the most basic physical laws that we know of corresponds to some invariance, which in turn is equivalent to a collection of changes which form a symmetry group. The symmetry group describes all the variations that can be formed from an initial seed pattern whilst still leaving some underlying theme unchanged. Thus, for example, the conservation of energy is equivalent to the invariance of the laws of motion with respect to translations backwards or forwards in time (that is, the result of an experiment should not depend on the time at which it was carried out, all other factors being identical); the conservation of linear momentum is equivalent to the invariance of the laws of motion with respect to the position of your laboratory in space, and the conservation of angular momentum to an invariance with respect to the directional orientation of your laboratory in space.

FDM (Fused Deposition Modeling) printers There is no hard and fast classification of the FDM 3D printers Cartesian 3D Printers: These are the most common type, operating on a straightforward Cartesian coordinate system with linear rails guiding movement along the X, Y, and Z axes. They are recognized for their simplicity and reliability. Delta 3D Printers: Delta printers employ a triangular configuration of three arms attached to moving carriages at the printer's apex. The print head hangs from these carriages, executing precise movements to craft the intended object. Delta printers excel in speed and consistency, particularly in producing tall items. CoreXY 3D Printers: CoreXY printers utilize a distinctive belt-driven mechanism to maneuver the print head across the X and Y axes. This design separates the print head's motion from that of the build platform, resulting in swifter and more accurate prints. Enthusiasts favor CoreXY printers for their speed and precision. Polar 3D Printers: Polar printers feature a circular build platform and a print head that moves both radially and vertically. This configuration facilitates continuous rotation of the print bed, enabling the creation of objects with intricate geometric shapes. Polar printers are commonly employed for crafting artistic and sculptural pieces. SCARA 3D Printers: SCARA (Selective Compliance Articulated Robot Arm) printers utilize a robotic arm mechanism to navigate the print head in a two-dimensional plane. This design offers rapid and precise movement, making SCARA printers ideal for producing small, intricate objects with exceptional accuracy. Each variant of FDM 3D printer has its own strengths and is tailored to diverse applications, spanning from hobbyist endeavors to industrial-scale manufacturing.

Notably, in 1970, participants in the Fourteenth Stapp Car Crash Conference observed that rotational motion appeared to be more critical than linear motion to the production of human brain injury. Nonetheless, the development of NOCSAE football helmet standard was closely connected with 1960s car crash safety research based on linear impacts.24

Vibration always worried Libchaber. Experiments, like real nonlinear systems, existed against a constant background of noise. Noise hampered measurement and corrupted data. In sensitive flows—and Libchaber’s would be as sensitive as he could make it—noise might sharply perturb a nonlinear flow, knocking it from one kind of behavior into another. But nonlinearity can stabilize a system as well as destabilize it. Nonlinear feedback regulates motion, making it more robust. In a linear system, a perturbation has a constant effect. In the presence of nonlinearity, a perturbation can feed on itself until it dies away and the system returns automatically to a stable state. Libchaber believed that biological systems used their nonlinearity as a defense against noise. The transfer of energy by proteins, the wave motion of the heart’s electricity, the nervous system—all these kept their versatility in a noisy world. Libchaber hoped that whatever structure underlay fluid flow would prove robust enough for his experiment to detect.

The main theme of Goddess symbolism is the mystery of birth and death and the renewal of life, not only human but all life on earth and indeed in the whole cosmos. Symbols and images cluster around the parthenogenetic (self-generating) Goddess and her basic functions as Giver of Life, Wielder of Death, and, not less importantly, as Regeneratrix, and around the Earth Mother, the Fertility Goddess young and old, rising and dying with plant life. She was the single source of all life who took her energy from the springs and wells, from the sun, moon and moist earth. This symbolic system represents cyclical, not linear, mythical time. In art this is manifested by the signs of dynamic motion: whirling and twisting spirals, winding and coiling snakes, circles, crescents, horns, sprouting seeds and shoots.

Any liquid or gas is a collection of individual bits, so many that they may as well be infinite. If each piece moved independently, then the fluid would have infinitely many possibilities, infinitely many “degrees of freedom” in the jargon, and the equations describing the motion would have to deal with infinitely many variables. But each particle does not move independently—its motion depends very much on the motion of its neighbors—and in a smooth flow, the degrees of freedom can be few. Potentially complex movements remain coupled together. Nearby bits remain nearby or drift apart in a smooth, linear way that produces neat lines in wind-tunnel pictures. The particles in a column of cigarette smoke rise as one, for a while.

Only one facet of the atomic bomb was still missing: Criticality. “Criticality” is a term used to describe the ideal conditions for a chain reaction. A row of dominoes is “critical: if each domino that falls knocks over one other. Fermi assembled a “critical mass” of uranium in his reactor, and he achieved a linear chain reaction. Each atom that fissioned caused one other atom to fission. Theoretically, that sort of reaction can go on forever (given infinite atoms), but it’s not getting any bigger. A bomb, however, requires something more explosive: a chain reaction that grows exponentially. A bomb requires a super critical mass. Imagine an area the size of an empty basketball court and a pile of dominoes. To make a super critical mass, line up the dominoes so that each one that falls will knock over two more dominoes. And each one of those knocks two more over, and so on… This is essentially what happens inside the core of an atomic bomb. The reactive material — uranium or plutonium — is packed together so tightly that when one atom fissions the released neutrons can’t help but hit two more atoms, causing them to fission as well. In other words, once a super-critical mass is assembled, an exponential chain reaction is practically inevitable. Variations on this kind of super-critical mass happen often in nature. Avalanches. Epidemics. But it’s a lot harder for humans to re-create these sorts of complex systems. A super-critical reaction requires an astounding amount of work and organization just to get all the necessary pieces arranged in the right order. All this work, whether it’s lining up dominoes or enriching uranium, builds toward one single moment: the moment when what was once impossible becomes unavoidable. In that moment the logic of the chain reaction takes over. The fire will only stop when there is nothing left to burn. The Trinity test was that moment. Once construction had finished on the factories, the laboratories, and the test sites… once the nation’s brightest minds had demonstrated the potential power of nuclear fission… and, finally, once the military had organized these many parts into a coherent plan to test a bomb… a chain reaction was about to be set in motion, making certain outcomes inevitable. With all that momentum, if a bomb could indeed be built, was there any justification to not build it? And once a workable bomb was built, was there really any chance that it wouldn’t be used?

Gears: Offer rotational motion and can change the speed and torque of the movement. ● Belts and Chains: Transfer rotational motion over distances. ● Screws and Lead Screws: Convert rotational motion into linear motion.

Linear Actuators: As the name suggests, these provide linear motion.

That’s it!” Charlie said, pausing the audiobook. “I knew there was something in this book I needed to remember. Billy Pilgrim is saying that the most important thing he learned is that it only appears that we’re dead at the time of our death and that all moments—past, present, and future—have always existed. He says that it’s only an illusion ‘that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string.’ What he’s saying is that even though the moments in our lives pass, they still exist and always will.” Charlie continued, “It reminds me of what Robert Lanza said in Biocentrism—that death is an illusion, and there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life that are not arranged in a linear fashion. What if those ‘now’ moments are like the still frames of a stop-motion picture—they only appear to be moving because they’re played rapidly in sequence, but the individual frames are inanimate? Then, the individual frames—the ‘now’ moments in someone’s life— are like the individual beads on a string, separated only by the smallest unit of length, the Planck length. If you removed the string, the individual beads—all the ‘now’ moments in a person’s life—would float around the person like bubbles in the air but remain connected to that person through quantum entanglement.” Chris listened intently. “If that were the case,” Charlie said, “then one of our bubbles—one of our ‘now’ moments—would be us driving in this car right now, and another bubble would be when you, Isaac, and I were hiking to the teahouse in Canada, and still another bubble would be the moment Isaac died. If you remember, Robert Lanza said that our bodies die at the moment we call death, but our consciousness only moves from one ‘now’ moment to another. What Kurt Vonnegut is saying is similar . . . that a person is in bad shape at the time of death, but he’s perfectly fine in so many other moments. They’re both saying death is not the end— that there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life.” “I remember you telling me that Allison said time was different on the other side,” Chris added. “I wonder if our bubbles that surround us, our ‘now’ moments—the past, present, and future—which all exist simultaneously and forever, would explain why mediums can see into the past and future. Those ‘now’ moments would be no further away from us than the present.” “Good point!” Charlie said. “I didn’t think of that. Apparently, Robert Lanza, Allison, and Kurt Vonnegut are saying similar things, but from very different angles.

That’s it!” Charlie said, pausing the audiobook. “I knew there was something in this book I needed to remember. Billy Pilgrim is saying that the most important thing he learned is that it only appears that we’re dead at the time of our death and that all moments—past, present, and future—have always existed. He says that it’s only an illusion ‘that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string.’ What he’s saying is that even though the moments in our lives pass, they still exist and always will.” Charlie continued, “It reminds me of what Robert Lanza said in Biocentrism—that death is an illusion, and there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life that are not arranged in a linear fashion. What if those ‘now’ moments are like the still frames of a stop-motion picture—they only appear to be moving because they’re played rapidly in sequence, but the individual frames are inanimate? Then, the individual frames—the ‘now’ moments in someone’s life— are like the individual beads on a string, separated only by the smallest unit of length, the Planck length. If you removed the string, the individual beads—all the ‘now’ moments in a person’s life—would float around the person like bubbles in the air but remain connected to that person through quantum entanglement.” Chris listened intently. “If that were the case,” Charlie said, “then one of our bubbles—one of our ‘now’ moments—would be us driving in this car right now, and another bubble would be when you, Isaac, and I were hiking to the teahouse in Canada, and still another bubble would be the moment Isaac died. If you remember, Robert Lanza said that our bodies die at the moment we call death, but our consciousness only moves from one ‘now’ moment to another. What Kurt Vonnegut is saying is similar . . . that a person is in bad shape at the time of death, but he’s perfectly fine in so many other moments. They’re both saying death is not the end— that there are an infinite number of ‘now’ moments in a person’s life.” “I remember you telling me that Allison said time was different on the other side,” Chris added. “I wonder if our bubbles that surround us, our ‘now’ moments—the past, present, and future—which all exist simultaneously and forever, would explain why mediums can see into the past and future. Those ‘now’ moments would be no further away from us than the present.” “Good point!” Charlie said. “I didn’t think of that. Apparently, Robert Lanza, Allison, and Kurt Vonnegut are saying similar things, but from very different angles.