The Search For The Holy Grail of Rejuvenation

Why Observing Nature's Chaos Makes Us Younger

Modern life tends to zap us in a subtle process that takes four or five decades before it manifests as a host of prescriptions. Incremental decrepitude is commonly attributed to aging and considered entirely normal—although it isn't.

Lately, the decline has been accelerating, with symptoms appearing in the early 20s or 30s, yet it is still considered normal—although it isn't.

Both biochemistry and psychology feed each other in the abnormal loss of life juice. The ensuing rise of chronic issues provides a boon for the pharmaceutical industry and the anti-aging enterprises of "natural" creams, protocols, gadgets, supplements, high-tech chambers (with blinking lights), and even entheogens.

The search for lost youth may trigger seekers to chase one pill and one gimmick after another, spending fortunes on looks and oomphs to hypochondriac proportions—leading to the opposite of anti-aging.

We've all met the anxious type who comes across as a bit pale, eats and exercises in mathematically correct ways, yaps constantly about the latest "healing modalities," carries enough supplements to fill a Gucci bag, yet is continually battling some novel, increasingly disturbing hiccup in the body and mind.

Other seekers on the same protocol may undergo a positive change, prompting the most fundamental question in the healing business.

What Is The Holy Grail of Rejuvenation?

After a significant health crash two decades ago, about a decade of experimentation with "natural" modalities, hundreds of sessions with "natural healers" from every corner of the world, and another decade of nutritional and lifestyle counseling with clients from every aspect of life, I was still seeking the Grail.

The Grail is like that one thing you may get closer to, but you can never quite get your hands on. And as you get closer, you start getting weirder, at least to whoever's watching you.

I've found myself staring at patterns in nature, convinced the answer is hidden somewhere in the bush of fractal forms, an algorithm that can change everything once we grasp it.

For example, I used to study the flight paths and behavior of gnats without understanding why while my friends stared at me in bewilderment. I shot hundreds of hours of footage of the critters circling each other seemingly randomly. What were they doing?

I became convinced that if you observe gnats long enough, you will discover a field principle that ties all of them together. Gnats are separate, yet also one. A hand clap would instantly synchronize the chaotic paths into one cohesive cloud, shifting a hair's breadth away from the source of the distraction in a perfectly synchronized fashion.

"Uh-huh! Just like people!" I deduced, with the deeply furrowed eyebrows of Captain Haddock.

This was during the height of the pandemic lockdowns in Vienna, Austria, when crowds of masked people seemed to move in perfect, equidistant unison and jump—at the exact same time—when someone appeared too close. Again, as if strung together with invisible cords.

In addition to the behavioral insights, I gained an uncharacteristic sense of peace while observing gnats—a surprise that warranted further introspection.

I have always had a subtle inability to settle and center—a trait that would have probably gotten me on amphetamine prescriptions had I ever visited a psychiatrist—craving constant novel distractions, whether it's work projects, drama, entertainment, or relationships—the four often melting into one.

Suddenly, I was calm and present just by observing an insect species—an entirely abnormal sentiment.

The excessive observation of gnats could have led to my institutionalization had it not evolved into the finer art of observing broader natural patterns—including clouds, trees, and mountains—and, thereby, a critical realization in the search for the Grail.

Observing nature's chaos switched my autonomic nervous system, making me more centered and energized. I had found a way to exit a permanent fight-or-flight dominance, the underlying charge that contributes to most chronic issues.

Long-term fight-or-flight moves the energy balance from the center to the exteriors, compromising the gut, which is responsible for our endocrine, immune, and neurotransmitter balance. Mess with your gut long enough, and you initiate a cascade of side effects, including oxidative stress, also known as accelerated aging.

But there was also something deeper going on.

Something inside the chaos was all but chaotic, an intuition that led me to study the electromagnetic nature of the universe, where everything was connected, shortcutting time and space, cause and effect.

Legacy science ignores that 99 percent of the observable universe is plasma, often called the fourth state of matter—a hot, ionized gas with roughly equal numbers of positively and negatively charged electrons predominant in stars and the interstellar and intergalactic medium.

Plasma exhibits intelligent, conscious behavior, connecting planets and galaxies by a unifying field principle unhinged from causal time and space—like gnats.

A closer, deeper introspection of nature’s chaos reveals similar behavior. The patterns in nature and life are organized rather than disorganized, syntropic rather than entropic, instant rather than cause-and-effect.

What's the significance of this?

Since primary school, we learned that everything tends to fall apart eventually. The 2nd Law Of Thermodynamics states that in any natural thermodynamic process, the total entropy of a closed system and its surroundings will either increase or remain constant; it never decreases.

Yet, the plasma-driven universe is open rather than closed, which made me wonder.

Isn't it because of the misguided belief in entropy that we run after order, stability, safety, and security—to buy us a little more time from the inevitable Big Crunch, including our death?

Isn't the fear of ultimate disintegration the reason we fence our property, accumulate things, buy insurance, pay for healthcare policies, and take medications and anti-aging balms?

Isn't the chase for security a significant reason for our fight-or-flight dominance, as it prevents us from adequately centering and regenerating?

Isaac Newton's Grand, Self-Destructing Realization

Place yourself in the 17th century, when Isaac Newton was redefining the universe. It was a time when society was moving away from organized religion. The religious god of Western civilization was a vengeful male chauvinist who would fry you in hell unless you exhibited complete obedience. What kind of creator behaves like that? Yet people have waged wars and genocides over his name for millennia.

No wonder folks gathered that it was time to get rational.

The Renaissance had already nudged us towards humanism, and the Enlightenment was about to push us even further. People began to rely on predictability and logic to make sense of the world. Newton's laws of motion and gravity painted a picture of a clockwork universe where everything was orderly and predictable if you knew all the variables.

The rise of scientific inquiry challenged religious dogma and the geocentric model of the universe. These shifts showed a growing preference for a universe that could be understood through observation and reason rather than one governed by mysterious divine will.

We could finally engage our prefrontal cortex and expedite the Industrial Revolution with a sense of "rational hope."

Nice, right? Not really.

While Newton's deterministic universe made us feel in control, it also nudged us into seeing the world as a place where everything would eventually fall apart. The pendulum from theology to rationality swung too far.

"Just be rational. It's a cold and dark universe out there. It will all come crashing down one day. Get insurance. Get a safe job. Buy a house, and settle down." And so forth.

With Newton came the necessity of material security—an illusion.

The newly discovered entropic world required predictability to find our footing. The suddenly overly rational world turned out to be just like the religious world, producing a sense of underlying fear and lack of meaning. Something was out there to get us unless we behaved in a particular way.

Fear primes us to fight, flee, or freeze, even in its most subtle forms. It shifts our blood to our exteriors, away from the gut. It clouds our judgment and prevents us from living in the moment—wondering about tomorrow and yesterday rather than what's right in front of us.

Fast-forward to the 20th century when another theory flips the script again. We discover the secret embedded in chaos theory, which breaks Newton apart.

Deterministic unpredictability is a cornerstone of chaos theory, under which systems behave according to strict rules, yet their futures remain a mystery. It's like using the same ingredients but ending up with a wildly different cake each time.

A prime example is the weather, which follows physical laws, but minor changes—like a butterfly's wings flapping—can lead to wildly different forecasts. Or the pendulum swing, one of the easiest trajectories to predict in Newton's world, is never the same since minor initial variations explode into vastly different outcomes.

In mathematics, the Lorenz attractor shows how straightforward equations can spawn complex, seemingly random patterns—the mathematical version of the butterfly effect. Computer science jumps in with pseudo-random number generators (PRNGs), crafting sequences that seem random yet are rooted in determinism—perfect for cryptography. In biology, ecosystems evolve through a complex ballet of species interactions and environmental factors, making their future states as unpredictable as the weather.

Deterministic unpredictability isn't just a concept; it's a universal truth that binds diverse fields in a chaotic yet intelligent embrace.

Had Newton lived, he would have fallen into a deep depression. A doctor would have prescribed him SSRIs, which may have put him in a final tailspin.

The bottom line is that the chaos we observe in nature isn't random; it's profoundly syntropic, leading to higher levels of order and complexity.

Take a look at the clouds. Zoom in and forget everything else—especially time and place. Stay there and eliminate all rational thought as best you can.

You may notice that the chaotic patterns reflect your thoughts and consciousness.

There's a strange comfort in this realization. Our heart rate slows, and our autonomic nervous system chills out. Answers to life's big questions emerge in that silence. Nature's chaos, far from being a nuisance, can help us find our unique path and purpose.

Contrast this with the modern obsession with career, appearances, and impressing others—a constant sympathetic dominance that ages us faster and leaves us unfulfilled—a meticulously planned future running on a hamster wheel, one dopamine hit after another.

Modern life coaches tell us to visualize the future we want, break it down into small steps, and grind our teeth working through the predetermined ladder—which is repeatedly destroyed by predetermined unpredictability—increasing our likelihood of incremental decrepitude.

Someone connected to nature's secret algorithm can let go of planning and follow a natural, magnetic path that calls their prime frequency. They would read the invisible messages in the clouds, the waves, and the trees, morning and evening, every day and find themselves by forgetting themselves.

Jamming with the universe's natural order may be why some cells regenerate faster than others.

Try it with a 7-minute collage of clouds shot in Costa Rica.

First, kill distractions.

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