GORDON SALISBURY
Many readers of Dragonline know Gordon as a co-contributor to the site with myself and Todd Thille. I first met Gordon almost 15 years ago when he was still sane; by that I mean totally skeptical of topics like Nature Intelligence and Rocks That Play Music. He was, by general consensus, a thoroughly pragmatic electronics engineer and instrument designer. He had practiced his craft in the military, the marketplace and for institutions of higher learning. Being recently self employed, I asked Gordon if he would be interested in examining the design and function of several radionics devices---to satisfy our mutual curiosity regarding their operation. In frustration, finding no operational methodology we could explain on purely electromagnetic terms, we set out to see if "subtle energy" could be detected in another format. The classic works of Clive Backster and L. George Lawrence with plant sensitivity soon piqued our curiosity. Then, it was off to the races......
Elsewhere on this site is documented some of the experiments and devices Gordon built or tested that allowed us to enter the world of nature intelligence. In the interim, Gordon has been friend, teacher, colleague, as well as creative nemesis and spoiler to many fanciful and exuberant flights of fancy subsequently pursued. But in the end, the spirits got to him. There were just too many things we witnessed that didn't fit well with scientific reductionism.
I have prodded Gordon to relate his particular take on our long collaboration, in Voices From Beyond The Tree Line. He has now obliged, as I am pleased to present here.
— Duncan Laurie
Foreword
I can picture in my mind’s eye the stereotypical author meshing and flexing his fingers as he begins his newest literary masterpiece. He is probably wearing a Cardigan with leather elbow patches, rimless bifocals, and a pair of corduroy trousers supported by suspenders. A nearby cast iron and jade ashtray holds a freshly filled briar pipe, and alongside at the ready awaits a vintage WWII Zippo cigarette lighter. 
A green-shaded bankers’ lamp illuminates his roll top desk behind which a half-acre or so of bookshelves offer him leather bound editions of his favorite reference books. With a flourish, those freshly flexed fingers begin their journey across the keys of his freshly oiled Underwood typewriter, a journey already fixed in his mind, one which will reflect his impeccable preparation and dedication to the literary arts. He’ll carefully create a foreword, which will guide his readers into the subject of discussion and deliver a clearly defined map of his thoughts for them to follow through his text. The man is a master of his craft. He begins.
Click, click, clack, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap………ding!
Paul Simon is lyrically explaining that there must be at least fifty ways to leave one’s lover, while on CNN a scruffily bearded anchor man is silently mouthing a story about our economy. I keep the sound turned off on CNN because the current story can be read from all of the senseless banners and clutter boxes that fill the screen, sometimes mercifully obscuring the scruffy reporter himself. The economic news is bad enough as it is and this is one of those times when Paul Simon makes more sense by far than CNN. 
I’ve assigned myself the task of writing a short foreword introducing the subject to be covered by the essay that follows. Unlike my Cardigan clad friend described above, I’m sitting in a plastic office chair before a cheap IKEA assemble it yourself particle board desk. My current attire consists of a pair of boxer shorts, black, with stylized orange bats all over them. I really didn’t know they were bats until I got them home and put my glasses on but I’m OK with bats so it’s no big deal. (Photo on request.) My weapon of choice is a nearly decade old Windows computer whose operating system has developed a mind of its own of late, and occasionally demands a restart to relieve its Alzheimer’s symptoms. The successful completion of my self appointed task is further complicated by the fact that I have no idea in Hell where this essay will lead. Unlike my organized Underwood owner friend, it’s almost a certainty that you the reader and I the writer will discover the path this essay takes together. By now, you’ll have noticed that nowhere have I mentioned anything about radionics in the foreword, nor do I intend to. That is one of the privileges of being the author. Let’s just get started; fasten your seat belt and lock your tray table in the upright position.
Click, click, clack, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap……..damn!
A Radionic Odyssey
Over a decade ago I embarked on an adventure which would eventually define me and who I was while altering some of my most basic beliefs. A chance meeting with Jamestown artist Duncan Laurie provided me with a quick glimpse into the world of radionics as he briefed me on his technical support needs for an upcoming project. He was embarking on a set of experiments exploring plant communication and required some electronics to be used in basic measurements of selected phenomenon. I guess my total lack of background experience (and perhaps an obvious measure of open minded skepticism) in that field of study made me the ideal candidate for the technical end of things at his studio and lab overlooking Narragansett Bay. The only areas where Duncan’s interest and mine meshed (or collided) were biofeedback, some meditation, and a recently acquired interest in vibrational therapy. I had never wandered into a realm where scientific proofs were difficult to acquire and in some cases counter productive. The radionic playground seemed tilted toward the pragmatic and empirical personality and those seeking comfort in hard fast rules and regimentation were frequently disappointed. The fingerprints of metaphysics were everywhere and I had no idea how to make use of their presence. So, here I was, beginning an autodidactic investigation of the radionic art, a good Catholic guy (actually, a seriously lapsed Catholic guy) and one who thrived on the scientific method (totally useless here) and who sort of expected that 2+2 might equal 4 (which it seldom did). Yeah, I guess I can do that!
I’d been interested in things scientific since my early teens and had settled on electronics as my chosen hobby early on. A local television repairman mentored me generously and tirelessly, as did an uncle who had tinkered with radios since the ‘30s. My father’s workbench provided the tools and necessary “junk” used in the construction of electrical things and his patience became evident on those occasions when the first floor of the house reeked with the odors of tortured and burned electrical components. The operator of a local restaurant had a ham radio station set up in the back room of his roadside diner and this became a source of fascination for me. He helped me learn Morse code and that got the communication ball rolling for me. Needless to say I earned ham radio licenses and upgraded them until I had the privileges that I needed. I was taught the ins and outs of vacuum tube technology by other ham operators and electronics technicians and soon became able to design my own small transmitters and receivers using parts commandeered from defunct radios and television sets. 
By this time you’ve probably observed that my interests were encouraged and nourished by the efforts of others, many others, and this is how it should be. Once helped and mentored, we are obligated to do what we can to help bring others along when they express similar interests. Age 16 was a milestone for my interests with the gaining of my first ham license in July of 1957 and the launching by the Soviet Union of the Sputnik satellite that October. I saw Sputnik (or perhaps its booster) pass overhead. I heard its “beep, beep”, beacon on a shortwave radio on 20 MHz. Jeeeezus!! These events were my first “eureka moments” in technology and directed my interests forever after. Today we’re more than a half-century removed from those events and vacuum tubes, except for some special purpose types, are pretty much relegated to the bone yard as are those of us who relied on them. Now we have over 500 channels of television to choose from, millions of web pages to peruse, and electronic games to save us from the physical exertion of the real thing. Our world has become sterile, but maybe, just maybe, something will happen to attract the interest of some sixteen year old and give him or her the same thrill that I had listening to those first few feeble seconds of Sputnik’s voice as it heralded a new era of exploration. Consider this for what it’s worth: from the first powered flight of the Wright brothers to the lunar landing, only 66 years transpired. What a thrill it must have been to have witnessed and remembered both of those events within one’s own lifetime, and there were many who did just that.
The Spider on the Wall
A spider has taken up residence in my room. He/She has chosen a fairly protected spot in a corner where the ceiling and wall join, a location safe from the end of my vacuum cleaner and dust rag. In fact in order to get at him/her I’d have to remove the rug attachment from the machine, which is a pain in the rear end and so, I do my housekeeping chores and take the occasional futile pass by his/her web/nest. The attachment is just a bit too large to get into that corner spot and I chalk it up to a bit of Darwin-esque good fortune on the spider’s part. I suspect that to be true since I have successfully sucked up many not as well protected spiders into the Hoover vortex of doom along with countless dust mites, fly carcasses, and lint balls. It seems to me a waste of time to dismantle the instrument of death for just one spider, so for now his/her voluntary act of selective adaptation assures his/xx its survival in my little room and as of this writing the guest arachnid remains unsucked. You’re probably wondering by now exactly what all of this has to do with radionics and I have to admit that I’ve momentarily lost track of things myself. You’ll just have to be patient while I take a moment or two and sort all of this out. This might be a good time to grab a drink and a snack. OK, back to our spider. It’s pretty safe to say that the survival of our eight-legged friend was in no way due to any conscious effort on its part so to do. It was merely the luck of the draw that so many perished in my tornado of death while he/she was allowed to survive and flourish in that little web. Evolution played no part here and neither did intellect. There were no spider oriented reference books describing how best to choose a nesting site nor did a doting parent take the little spiderling on one of its eight knees and explain that location, location, location, is everything. Young spiders, like human adolescents, have to learn everything the hard way and in common with most adolescents, spiders seem motivated only to eat and breed. My spider sees the television set running from across the room and its many eyes absorb many times the visual content that human eyes would, but I’m certain that if polled, my spider would display no product or brand name preferences or political leanings resulting from the nearly constant barrage of commercials and commentary. Further, I don’t think that spiders have hopes, dreams, or even a basic appreciation of past and future. No consciousness or self-awareness permits it to awaken in the morning and declare “hey, I’m a spider and today I’m going to be the best spider that I can be.” 
It can only follow in the eight leggedy footsteps of its ancestors and dedicate its bland existence to finishing that damned web and producing hundreds of tiny offspring which I’m certain will hatch some morning and scare the crap out of me. The next sound you hear will be the vacuum cleaner!
160 Pounds of Meat
I’d like to play a game, just you and I. Here’s how it works: I’ll set the scene and describe a problem and you write down what you think the best solution would be. OK? Here we go! Suppose someone goes to the butcher shop and buys a gift for you. He comes to your home and sets a bag on your kitchen floor. Inside the bag is 160 pounds of meat and bones. Your task is to bring the contents of that bag to 98.6 degrees and hold it there allowing only a single degree of error either way….for 80 years or so. How would you accomplish that? Relax; your brain is already taking care of that (assuming of course that you weigh 160 pounds). Our brain constantly monitors our temperature and by expanding and contracting blood vessels, maintains that magic 98.6 degree number. It directs our consumption of food, water, and oxygen thus establishing our metabolism. At the same time it processes television commercials, reminds us to feed the cat, and makes sure our socks match. Our precious brain is a sophisticated parallel processor capable of many, many operations at the same time, most without our knowledge or input. All of the bodily functions necessary to life itself run in the background orchestrated automatically by a pound and a half or so of Jell-O like slime sloshing around within our cranial cavity. 
When we sleep that wonderful processor scales down our physical activities, directs our healing needs, entertains us with dreams, and makes sure that we don’t wet the bed (very often). Even in this standby mode the brain is ever vigilant; ears hearing, nose sniffing, always ready to awaken and respond to any threatening change in our environmental status. The body can be prepared by an internal program for flight or fight at a second’s notice. We can sustain injuries and the brain will reduce blood flow to affected limbs and organs wherever possible. Self preservation at its best! All of this computing capability is estimated by some to consume the equivalent of 4.5 watts of electrical power. Oh, lest we forget, there is the small matter of memory. We’re endowed with a memory that for many folks can store decade’s worth of information and experiences. I can instantly call up one of my first memories of an uncle tossing me around while celebrating the end of WW2 in 1945 (I was four years old). Horns blew, bells rang, whistles sounded, and chaos in general ruled that day. I can recall my first day of school in 1947, pets that I had, the living room radio (a Philco), and sounds, sights, and smells dating back 65 years or more. Some memories are in color, some monochrome. I wonder how much “ram” an electronic computer would require to store that much information. Now (at the age of 70) there are some memories, which have faded over time, some deleted by trauma, and some as fresh as they were at the time they were made. But the miracle of memory itself pales when we consider what we can do with it, and the portals, which open when memory and consciousness join forces.
Would You Like Fries With That?
As stated above, the brain spends much of its time making choices and decisions which are totally transparent to us and which would unnecessarily clutter our lives if that brain needed confirmation from us concerning each one. Imagine for a moment that our blood pressure has drifted a bit off the target value. Our brain says “your cardiac rate requires an adjustment: Should I proceed with this adjustment? Y/N.” (It would probably be a good idea to check “Y” for this one). These involuntary tweaks and adjustments occur many times each second and serve to keep us alive and in my humble opinion these choices and decisions are best left to the Jell-O. The miraculous privilege of voluntary decision-making is another matter altogether. The power to choose, select, accept, deny, or format drive c:\, is primarily a function reserved for humans. I’ll take that. I’ll do this. I won’t do that. Let’s go here. We make these choices based (for the most part) on past experience. Our brain recalls past choices and we make conscious and logical decisions based on potential rewards. 
Yes, I’ll have the fries because I remember that I had them once before and they were freaking awesome. My choice maximizes my potential for an enjoyable fast food meal. The alternative to this method of selection would be a dart thrown at the words “yes” and “no” or the tossing of a coin. Choice can also have dire consequences when misapplied. I don’t think I’ll wear that motorcycle helmet today… or… let’s do it just this once without the condom. Anyway, it all boils down to privilege and responsibility. Yes, the freedom of choice is a precious gift tempered by the responsibility of accepting the consequences in the event that we make the wrong one. The power of logical choice is one of the things, which make us human. The choice we make, be it path A or path B in social settings establishes us as individuals; we don’t all make the same choices. When enough of us make the “right” choice then society as a whole succeeds. Enough “wrong” choices can trigger our drift toward oblivion. Gazelles have never learned that it’s dumb to drink their water from the place where the crocodiles hide. The immensity of their numbers has helped to protect them from extinction. This characteristic is one that they share with my spider. Humans however, may be the first species allowed to make voluntary choices, which might lead to our eventual destruction while the so-called lower life forms enjoy a measure of protection based upon a pre-programmed physiology and the denial of conscious choice. Let’s come back in a million years or so and see who is still at the party.
The Road to Hell----Next Exit
Well, I guess extinction isn’t the worst thing that could happen; after all, it’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything like that. That little exercise was simply my brain toying with the concept and playing a short movie loop within my consciousness, and no species were rendered extinct during the making of it. Imagination is a wonderful thing and as I’ve learned, not limited to the realm of childhood. Adults, if they put aside their daily business for just a bit and delve into that realm can truly enjoy the benefits of imagination. Never having grown up, I can appreciate it just as much as most children do. I have to agree with Einstein who said that imagination was, in his opinion, more important than information. Our imagination is at its best when those stories we produce are accompanied by vivid imagery. Some call that “eidetic” imagery and it might well be described as our “minds eye”. Again, I’m fortunate to be blessed with a strong imagination coupled with powerful imagery; sometimes I can see clearly those things that I’m reading or thinking about. It can be a bit of a problem when reading certain books as my attention will drift away from the printed page and dwell upon those mental images created by a skillful author. Needless to say it seldom happens while reading the newspaper.
Most self-awareness discussed thus far has involved our consciousness in what might be described as a passive mode where we consider things presented to the brain by external influences or indulge absentmindedly in the pleasant act of daydreaming. Even the process of choice could in some cases be defined as a passive event; we seldom ever stop the presses while deciding to answer the phone or the doorbell, or turn a page.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. I think I read that on a wall tapestry somewhere, and if the daily news stories on my television set are any indication of the condition of that road, then we are in the midst of a major re-surfacing project. Consciousness becomes an active process when we enter the world of intent. I like to think of intent as the conscious and deliberate act of cocking a gun which we’re preparing to fire. Intent is a powerful example of consciousness; we’ve considered what we are about to do and we’ve prepared that weapon for firing. Only the act of pulling the trigger remains. We’ve reached a point where a choice, based upon our understanding of the benefits or possible consequences, can be made resulting in something we shall do in the short-term future, or the immediacy of something we WILL do now. In other words, we’ve momentarily bypassed many of our brain’s current activities and focused our conscious energy into the execution of a single powerful thought process, one that could result in a physical action. We are now in the “warp drive” of conscious effort concentrating as much of our brain’s resources as possible to this single packet of thought, this willful and focused intent. Welcome to radionics. Oh yeah, BANG!
The Water Witch
Nowhere is it carved in stone that radionics requires laboratories full of exotic equipment, medical supplies, or black robed practitioners holding dead chickens by the neck on the full of the moon while chanting mantras. Nor is radionics a single field of study or endeavor. Rather, it is the application of purposes and processes driven in many cases by focused intent alone without the sophistication of scientific instrumentation and its accompanying techno clutter. Radionics has been around since long before the advent of electronics or even electricity for that matter. So many things fall under the purview of radionics that many in the mainstream sciences (and religion I might add) view it with skepticism, and the truth is that over the years many charlatans and money grubbers have infiltrated the field and muddied the waters of its investigation. The “World Wide Wasteland” has further complicated the issue by offering thousands of bogus products claiming to heal the sick, enlighten the unenlightened, or beautify the pathologically unattractive. I need to apply the brakes here for a moment and make it clear that I have no intentions of condemning or for that matter endorsing anyone’s product or process. That is not the purpose of this document and I will declare here and now that I’m not qualified to make those judgments. It is entirely possible that a product, which I might be inclined to condemn, might work as advertised for some individuals. I firmly believe that the so-called placebo effect is alive and well and that a belief in the possibility of a cure or relief can contribute substantially to that eventuality. Ultimately, it is those using a product or process who are the most qualified to make that evaluation. Call it faith, or mind over matter if you will, but even mainstream medicine relies to some extent on the patient’s belief in a positive outcome. That said we’re left wondering exactly what radionics is; science, alternative science, homeopathic practice, or perhaps an art form in and of itself. The reader will have to make that decision on his own.
Dowsing (a.k.a. divining or water witching) is considered to be one of the simplest forms of radionics and is one which has been practiced for centuries to aid in the search for water or even lost items. Dowsers have been employed to search for mineral deposits as well. American dowsers advertised their services throughout the 1930s and 40s during the great droughts of the “dust bowl” and can still be found today on the Internet offering their skills and training. The equipment required for dowsing can be as simple as a forked stick or a pendulum of some sort. 
Some practice the craft using nothing at all while purists might choose a divining rod of hickory or willow wood. In most cases, the dowser records a “hit” when his hand or his rod is pulled downward signaling that he is over a water source or anomaly in telluric energy. I’ve seen this method used several times and frankly I don’t understand how it works. Students of the craft believe that subtle energy emanates from the earth above sites rich in water and the variations in the strength of these emanations can give an idea of the depth of the aquifer to those having the gift of that sensitivity. I had an opportunity to observe a diviner in action and rested my hand on her forearm as she worked. Her arm tensed as she passed over what she considered to be a source and I could definitely feel a flexing of her muscle when she recorded a hit. She also used metal rods, which registered hits when they turned from parallel alignment to a crossed configuration. This did not result in any muscle action that I could detect, and when it became my turn to have a go at it, I failed miserably. Some dowsers are able to work their magic by dowsing over a map using a pendulum or stick thus remotely locating water sources. I’m pleased to recommend an excellent book describing the career of an American practitioner who pushed the envelope of the craft to its limits:
“Henry Gross and his Dowsing Rod” by Kenneth Lewis Roberts, 1951
It should be stated here that dowsing was also used in folk medicine to locate sources of infection, tumors, or obstructions within the body. This work was performed primarily with pendulums whose operators sought disruptions in the body’s subtle energy emanations. We’ll be returning to the world of dowsing later in the article but first, we have some groundwork to lay down. Stay tuned.
Can You Hear Me Now?
Wolves howl, dogs bark, birds chirp, screech, and tweet; it seems that most terrestrial life forms generate some kind of noise with the idea in mind of establishing their territorial limits, attracting a mate, or annoying the neighbors. Communication at this level has been in use since the ear evolved. Man on the other hand has honed the communication art to a fine edge and is the undisputed champion of radiated spam. Consider this if you would: Humans around the world burn millions of tons of coal and use it to generate billions of watts of electrical power which in turn is used to produce billions of watts of energy in the form of radio and television signals used primarily to sell us things. We can’t see the radiated energy itself but trust me; it’s traveling around us and through us no matter where on the planet we might happen to be. Military radios and radars also generate billions of watts of radiated energy. Cell phones, Wi-Fi, and personal communication devices add to the din. If you could see a photo of the earth taken by satellite at night, you’d discover that almost no location is free from light radiation (with the exception of North Korea where a citizen’s right to darkness is guaranteed by their constitution). EMI, or electromagnetic interference is everywhere and we haven’t even touched on sound pollution; traffic, machinery, etc. When was the last time that you enjoyed absolute silence other than the sounds produced by nature herself? Man stumbles and bumbles his way through his pampered existence and exerts his influence across our entire planet dragging his fingernails across God’s blackboard while squandering nature’s bounty in the name of profit. There are times when I wake up at night thinking that perhaps we inhabit this earth only because God has a sense of humor. We have systematically and literally drowned out many of nature’s pleas for attention; pleas carried upon and modulated by nature’s subtle energy. Subtlety is not in our vocabulary; why whisper when we can shriek. YO!!
Nature’s critters however are tightly bound by the laws of conservation of energy and produce only those signals necessary to insure their survival, and then at very low levels. Nothing in nature is wasted and everything serves some purpose. It’s almost as if nature is straining every fiber to achieve a balance, establish equilibrium, and maintain a status quo. One critter dies. Another thrives on the carcass. Waste products and the organisms of decay fuel the renewal of life in a classic example of a cyclic economy as nature’s creatures renew themselves and strive for stability. Even the planet itself is in a continuous state of renewal as volcanoes and earthquakes re-shape the landscape and produce new supplies of basic chemicals. The debris of long dead stars has hidden in our planet’s core for billions of years and every now and then some of it rises to the surface within volcanic ash and magma. The tectonic plates upon which everything lives are in a constant state of collision and subduction. The earth is a restless place indeed and might well be thought of as a geological blender. The mechanisms of recycling endlessly grind and sift until even those atoms, which comprise our very bodies, may have once been components of a dinosaur. The cyclic economy equals balance; we really need to remember this. Every being has other beings on which it feeds and sooner or later it will be consumed by someone higher on the food chain. In a cyclic economy no one goes hungry; nothing goes to waste.
There Goes the Neighborhood
It had to happen sooner or later. After billions of years of relatively continuous biological and tectonic evolution, a planet resulted which seemed to have something for everyone and a range of diversity unlike anything in the solar system; a diversity, which transcends life’s extremes. Life and the desperate urge for survival flowed within microscopic single celled organisms as well as immense dinosaurs, which stomped around the landscape re-arranging the furniture, but in general (except for the occasional asteroid) things were usually peaceful. I can comfortably believe that all involved accepted their predator prey assignments without argument. I can also accept the idea that we evolved from primates as I can see humanity (and myself) mirrored in their silliness. 
I sometimes wonder if we (and the rest of life in general) might have been better off had we remained at the knuckle dragging stage when a hot date consisted of harvesting lice from each other’s backsides on a Friday night with our newly evolved opposable thumbs. But evolution, being what it is, could not leave well enough alone and in walked Homo sapiens, man, with his hat on backwards, his hand in his pants, and a boom box on his shoulder. Hands up if you think that evolution might have hit a bump in the road here. This would be my proof that God does indeed have a sense of humor. Enough of that!
Like any other major development, man’s arrival on the scene brought good news and bad news; the good news was that the female of the species looked pretty good in tight jeans, and the bad news (for the planet that is) was that man developed technology. For the better part of a billion years critters large and small swam, slithered, scuttled, and crawled around the planet without fear of anything worse than being featured on someone’s menu. Nature’s intelligence had dictated that a balance be struck and that changes take place slowly with minimum impact on the majority of life forms and that the cyclic economy be strictly preserved. This allowed nature to experiment with life itself; the stronger life forms would succeed and flourish and the weak or poorly evolved would wither and die off. There was no “master species” and certainly none with the power to damage the planet itself. Environmental pressures on all organisms insured that no single species could over populate any given region. These environmental pressures might be described as an area, which is too hot, too cold, too dark, too dry, short of food sources, or some other condition which would discourage the existence of any particular species. True, some critters like it hot, or cold, or dark, and so there is something for everyone on this orbital hotel we call home. The environmental pressures are called an area’s environmental resistance and serves to prevent our being up to our necks in some critter or other. Nature’s intelligence kills off the excess. Conversely, a critter’s ability to mate and succeed is referred to as its biological potential, and although some species might lay hundreds of eggs, or have large litters of offspring, mother nature tries to insure that only enough of those offspring survive to replace the parents and thus maintain a stable level of population. So balance became the operative word here and other than a few mass extinctions, asteroid impacts, and ice ages, things hummed along quietly until…..
Vinny and Doreen showed up as the first examples of man v.1.0. I don’t want to wax biblical here, so we can either believe that God created them instantly, that they evolved from some manner of narcissistic great ape, or that aliens, sick of their intergalactic back seat driving dropped them off in the African Rift Valley. Believe what you will, the choice is yours. Personally, as a devout former Catholic, I tend to believe that the forces of evolution by natural selection were the most powerful and majestic tools given by God to insure the success of his creatures. Maybe that’s why I’m a Hell bound, terminally excommunicated Catholic but that’s another story entirely. I truly feel that Charles Darwin got it right and we’ll take a break here with one of his quotations, which seems to sum the whole thing up.
“On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection”, by Charles Darwin, 1859
“Not on the First Date You Don’t”
Meanwhile, Doreen had fallen head over heels for Vinny and the young lovers immediately set forth on the voyage of begetting, begatting, and whatever other X-rated processes it took to get the reproductive juices flowing, and flow they did. 
For the record, Doreen proved so irresistible that Vinny reformed and began dating only within his own species. Night after night they sat on a rock admiring each other’s wonderful opposable thumbs and inventing new uses for them in the pursuit of whoopee. Generation upon generation of these terrestrial newcomers played house, multiplied, and developed little bits of technology to prevent themselves from being eaten, freezing to death, or dying young. They made shelter, clothes, and campfires, hunted game when they could, and ate what they found in the forest. Nature offered them pretty much the same risks and benefits that she offered the rest of her creatures, and these hunter gatherers lived a nomadic life pretty much in sync with her laws. Nature’s intelligence dictated that life for them would be difficult (and short) but that a manageable population could thrive in concert with the rest of the plant and animal kingdom and that she would provide an adequate level of nourishment for them. In other words, mankind could, in a co-creative relationship with nature, establish a flourishing though simple lifestyle while maintaining the environmental and ecological balance that Mother Nature demanded. The Vinnys and Doreens of this world would live on a par with the rest of the creatures; no better off, no worse. This hardscrabble utopian lifestyle skidded off the track at about the same time that Doreen read of the luxuries described between the covers of “The Neolithic Times”. Her lust for real estate and the concept of community property soon had the happy couple redefined as farmers, landowners, and ultimately villagers. I think you all know what happened next.
— Mahatma Gandhi
BANG! That was gunpowder. Some Chinese Vinny discovered how to make it while at the same time, CLANK! Another Vinny in Europe was forming bronze and copper into tools and weapons. THUD! That was another Vinny felling a tree with that bronze hatchet that his European friend forged. THWAKSPLAT! That’s the sound made when an iron axe enters the cranial cavity and rearranges the furniture in the brainpan. Our Vinnys have learned to make things and develop weapons with which to wage war and defend themselves from other Vinnys who were also engaged in making things and waging war. I won’t belabor the point here but man has begun what I’ll call “The Great Disconnect”. Simply stated, we became human. Thus the era of co-creativity drew slowly but surely to a close. From that day forward, the laws of nature would take a back seat to the needs and purposes of mankind, and nature along with our home world would suffer for it.
“Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the animals”. “Animal Farm” By George Orwell
Dancing in the Minefield
In geological terms it amounted to the blink of an eye, the snap of a finger. Our participation in the elegant ballet of balance and interdependency drew to a close and somewhere along the line we decided that nature consisted of man and the “lesser species”. We became aloof and declared our superiority with a barrage of technological and scientific achievements and began the process of mindless consumption while separating ourselves from those rules and teachings of nature that had to this point assured our success as a species. That separation resulted in our loss of intimacy with those subtle energies so vital to the very survival of nature’s critters. We declared ourselves above the laws of nature. Technology allowed Vinny to double his lifespan and accelerate the process of overpopulation. His big brain perfected industrialization on a wide scale along with its accompanying pollution and waste. Mankind had honed the concept of a linear economy to perfection. The stream of natural resources now flowed directly from the earth to the manufacturer, the consumer, and finally to the dump, poisoning the planet in the process. As far as man was concerned, the cyclic economy was dead!
I think you all know where this is going and that today the study of ecology and environmental science is yielding some data that we’d rather not see. Students and scientists within these emerging disciplines are agreeing that man has no choice but to change his ways. Our power of choice has gotten us into a peck of trouble and our assurance of survival will require that we swallow our pride and pause our greed driven slide down the razor blade of life long enough to return to those cyclic laws of nature. We’re dancing in the minefield and time is running out.
I’ll leave you with these publications on the subject by some of my favorite authors (call them doomsday ecologists if you must) on environmental concerns. Check them out at your leisure.
“Science and Survival”, by Dr. Barry Commoner, 1966
“The Population Bomb”, by Paul Ehrlich, 1968
“Silent Spring”, by Rachel Carlson, 1962
“An Inconvenient Truth”, by Albert Gore, 2006
A Shameless Product Endorsement
A more complete examination of the history of radionics along with an artist’s eye view of the subject will be found in the following publication, which served as my inspiration to write this essay in the first place.
A Brief History of Radionic Technology for the Creative Individual”
By Duncan Laurie, 2009
