Years turn over like so many dust motes floating about a shaft of sun. And yet as we approach the beginning of a new year everything seems to take on a specific weight. I wrote a zany novel (as yet to be published) set in a small seacoast town on the day of what Scots call Hogmanay, New Year's Eve. In times gone by in Scotland, Christmas wasn't celebrated, but this day of Hogmanay was. It was one of those days in the Celtic calendar when the veil of perception is drawn thin enough to see through to the different levels and spirals we live in.
In my book, three middle-aged sisters gathering after the death of their parents, succumb to the strange goings-on of that "thin" time of year. Those of us who believe in these meta-physical realities need to speak louder, and not be shouted down by the clatter of the materialists and their old Newtonian world of just one damn thing after another. If you can see it, smell it, hear it, touch it, it's real for the materialists, and everything else should be dismissed as human invention. I am tired of this almost religious arrogance, making its absolute claim about something that can't be proven.
All there is, says quantum physics, is energy and fields of energy, and that's the 4% of reality we can actually see, hear, smell and touch. The other 96% is dark and unknowable. Most of the time we go about our business pretending that our experience is something more than little blips in an unknowable container of quantum soup. So, let's move into Hogmanay humbly, peer into the thin zone, into the 96% of all there is. You can take your materialism and stuff it. My Celtic ancestors knew about dark energy long before the scientists began to suspect it was there.
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