Mysteries, phantoms, and mystical interpretations come to mind in this part of my life, and I will touch briefly on where philosophy, metaphysics, and science merge; the theory of quantum physics, postulated by Dr. Robert Lanza, that states our consciousness flows like water, and when it hits an end it finds another path to the sea, in other words, in one dimension of time and space we transfer our consciousness to another identical dimension were we don't die. In one storyline that electrical shock killed me, but here it didn't, and so on down for each choice. I'm speaking about this because I'm alive and I should be dead, so many close calls, and so many saves. Some say you have an angel looking out for you. That is no doubt true, and her name is Alinda, but that will have to wait until near the end of this memoir.

To be a theory, in quantum physics, he or she has to have the math to back up that theory to peers. Otherwise, the theory is, well, just a philosophy, or study of existence. Theorist have to think outside the box, it is the scientist's job to prove or not prove it, and this is one of those theories you can't prove. I tend to lean in this direction for choices. My consciousness was transferred to the one total consciousness I call myself or Olan, and it is a collective of all my lives in endless dimensions of time and space, and all these consciousnesses peel away, like whittling, until nothing is left, where each chard of wood is casted aside like another dead body that once housed part of my consciousness, and is casted off. There is only one me, just many bodies, and many dimensions all sharing my single consciousness. Is it possible you ask, and it a possible, because the universe is infinite, and anything you can possibly think of does exist, just out of mere mathematical probability alone; so, be careful what you write, authors, you are creating life.

I've written about this before, and most of us will think about it many times, those darned ifs of life. What if I were grounded when that bolt of electricity surged up my arm, what if I had drowned that day I went under water seven times, and gave up, what if I hadn't awakened after I fell out of the tree as a youngster, and what if that boy who struck me in the head with the baseball bat, while practice swinging, had caught my temple instead of the whole of my left side of my head, and what if I had spent a minute or two longer brushing my teeth, then I wouldn't have been where I was I; when I had my accident, none of those things would have occurred, just by a minute adjustment to happenstance.

You get lost in the immeasurableness of choices, its vastness, where every single thing has to happen throughout the existence of the entire life of the universe just to produce our consciousness, at this moment in time. It is mind boggling and we get lost in thoughts, and we go nuts worrying about what if my 259th great grandfather had spent a second longer to ejaculate when he was having with sex my 259th great grandmother, what part of myself would be missing; perhaps it would be just the ingrown toenail on my left big toe. I'm alive, literally, with the help of the stars.

On August 8th 1971, nine weeks after graduation from high school I took Walt's work van home to my folks house to deliver there TV set to them, after it was in the shop for repair. I remember reaching home, and Dad and I unloading it, hooking it up at the house, but when it was turned on the color was off. The color was greenish, so I called Walt and he told me how to adjust it. I did and it was fine. That was the last thing I remember, for another thirteen days. What I'm going to tell is a reconstruction of what happened from the man who was directly behind me when the accident happened. A young man pulled out in front of me with a camper in tow, and was traveling slowly. It was raining, but more of a gentle mist came down, you know, enough to dampen the dust already on the surface of the pavement. I went around a ninety degree ess curve and when it was clear I attempted to pass the slower moving vehicle. The driver behind me said, the left rear tire of the van hit an add-on to the side pavement meant to extend the width of the highway on both sides, and there was a seam there. Walt's van started to fishtail back and forth, and I almost got it under control went the man said that I headed directly off the highway, across the ditch. And hit a ten foot tall berm. The right driver's side plowed into the berm going about 70 mph. I careened left at an 90 degree angle back on the road where the front right side of the van hit the ditch abutment. Walt's van then flipped end-for-end twice, and somehow I was tossed out the back doors wrapped in the van's carpet, and impacted the cement pavement with the left side of my head and shoulder. The driver got out of his car, and he said that my head was resting just six inches from his front tire.

What ifs, tons of them. I should be dead. I should have been one of those teenage statistics of a boy dying in a car accident after graduation, but I'm not. I spent nine days unconscious, and another three days semiconscious where I was drifting in and out. I remember a disembodied voice saying, "You've been in a terrible accident, but you're okay, now. What is your name? What school did you graduate from?" I remember answering them, but that was impossible, because I was totally paralyzed on my right side and couldn't talk, more of a garble. But they heard me trying. My mother was at the laundromat washing their clothes, as they stayed by my side. They said, "Your boy is gaining consciousness."

The hospital I was in after my accident.

Continued...