There are some who have proposed that it is sheer vanity for us to imagine
our earth as the only heavenly body populated by creatures with intelligence
and personality. I propose that it is equally vain to imagine that our history,
the one recorded by our historians, the one we know as "recorded history",
is the only valid history for mankind here on this earth.
To imagine life on other galaxies and to search for it are not unrelated.
As is well known, steps have already been undertaken to find evidence in
support of this hypothesis.
In regards to the latter notion, that there exists the possibility of an
infinite series of parallel times... verification of this thoery is a task
whose path is less self-evident, obscured as it is by mists. And yet, we
see glimpses of it, reflected here and there from the great minds who were
not bound to earth by the pettiness that so smothers us. Goethe noted that
his heart contained the capacity for all acts, from the most heinous to
the sublime. Could he have been standing on the threshold of those infinite
courses that sweep into other avenues of time, unseen, unknown and unremembered?
Bernard Yachtmann records instances where people have had glimpses of other
histories, reiterating the conviction that time contains an infinite number
of parallel streams, and in each there are alternative histories, of an
infinite variety. While not every act leads to significant consequence,
many acts do, and what if in an alternate history the consequences of those
acts were indeed being played out. Likewise one can find similar references
by Marconi, Hasjammer, and Brandt, and an exhaustive treatise along these
lines by Don Luis de Nativo.
While at the University of Salamanca at the turn of the century, Don Luis
de Nativo wrote extensively on this theme. Though his manuscripts remained
mostly unpublished and were eventually lost, the man de Nativo is best remembered
as an archetype of de Unamuno's "man of passion" as fleshed out
in TheTragic Sense of Life, de Unamuno's master work. (I have been told
that it was a chance meeting with Joseph Conrad which prompted de Nativo
to pseudonymously publish his epic work El Mundo Gordo.)
In other words, to get right to my point: my proposition is not original.
It has been well documented by others as a reasonable conjecture. No doubt
it is my own insecurity that forces me to cite other, more significant voices,
as if the testimony of my own experience will be insufficient.
Those of you who know me know that I often have unusual dreams. Oftentimes
the dreams unfold as detailed stories. I recently dreamt a short skit which
became a television commercial. I've had prophetic dreams, including a dream
which showed me that my firstborn would be a son. I've also had dreams which
I believe were gifts from God.
In September of 1984 I had a strange dream. As is my custom, I recorded
the images of my dream, in as much detail possible, and its effect.
Two months later, while looking for a book by one author or another at one
of our local used bookstores, I happened upon a small, Irish green, clothbound
book called Flight of Gypsies. It was one of those moments when a decision
carries weight, when you feel compelled to act irrationally. The price,
eight-fifty, was higher than I would have expected, especially considering
the broken binding and what appeared to be several loose and missing pages.
Yet when I opened the book and randomly read about five sentences, I knew
that I must have the book.
I'd no sooner gotten the book home than I regretted the decision. The volume
was more or less a compendium of prophecies by various gypsy seers in England,
from 1632 to 1785. The purpose, I could only surmise, was to assemble a
record of prophetic utterances for verification purposes. For the most part,
the sketchy accounts were repetitive and tedious and I soon found my self
bored. There were prophecies about early deaths, unhappy marriages, deformed
children, and blights on households to the third and fourth generations,
utterances about flea infestations, curses of blindness and baldness, worms,
contagion, and dementia. I put the book on a shelf in our garage.
The next day I found one of the pages lying on the floor next to my desk.
With no intention of reading, I picked it up to deposit it in the trash
when the name Thomas Olney caught my eye. Olney was the name of the man
in my dream. To this man and his family I will need to return, in order
to strengthen my arguments and make plain my case.
Not all dreams are stories, nor do all dreams reveal secrets about the nature
of the universe -- though many reveal secrets about ourselves, and I am
often quite impressed with the power of this magic mirror of our souls.
Nevertheless, that night I began a quest, the result being this which you
now read, of our unremembered history.... one of many, I might add... and
one which we may all, with longing, seek to gain again.... if not for ourselves,
then for our heirs.