The Quantum Principle of Locality and Why Shit gets Weird When You're Stoned: A Lil Theory

I'm a theoretical physics fan girl. Do I understand it? Barely. Can I speak its language? Hardly. But can I apply its principles to my every day? Yes. That joke format should've ended with a hard "no", but guess what reality isn't what it seems, bitches.

Before we proceed, I just want to make sure everyone watches the Quantum Leap theme song embedded above. Please do that now.

Okay great. So I loooove quantum physics. It succinctly rounds out my perception of reality; existentialist absurdism plus quantum mechanics equals *gestures at everything*. It's comfortable. The ultimate zoom out. And it accounts for everything—nothing is left out when it comes to entanglement. It's the canvas that accommodates all. Mulling its principles brings me somewhere close to the sublime. I just frickin love it.

Where some people find meaning in astrology or religion, I find meaning in the problem of time. I think the observer effect is the pinnacle of play, and I will readily dip into the nature of existence as a method of self-soothing. Maybe that's why I'm good at growing things (I ran a flower farm for a few years); the primordial orchestra of reality is easier to tune into when you're working within a more clearly defined version of it. A garden is like a cartoon version of the deeper nature of our reality. I don't see my gardens as cartoons of course—I'm not that far gone. But in the same way a cartoon can turn complex concepts into simpler lessons for its audiences, so can a garden present the nature of reality within simpler yet accurate terms. 

We're made from a fabric wherein each thread is in close communication with all others, it's just those modes of communication are so vast and varied (ie: from classical mechanics to mycelial networks to chemical compositions to "vibes"), they tend to appear foreign to us. The absurdity of being a human moving through the world with an over-evolved central nervous system trying to process the clamorous orchestra we're all steeped within—it's funny! Drop a raw nerve into 00:13:00 of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture and that's basically the experience of a human being processing the world around us. We don't always handle it well, hence *gestures again at everything*.

Okay so today I read this article from Scientific American titled The Universe Is Not Locally Real, and the Physics Nobel Prize Winners Proved It. The article opens with, "One of the more unsettling discoveries in the past half a century is that the universe is not locally real. In this context, “real” means that objects have definite properties independent of observation—an apple can be red even when no one is looking. “Local” means that objects can be influenced only by their surroundings and that any influence cannot travel faster than light. Investigations at the frontiers of quantum physics have found that these things cannot both be true. Instead the evidence shows that objects are not influenced solely by their surroundings, and they may also lack definite properties prior to measurement."

The article aligns well with a book by one of my favourite authors, Carlo Rovelli's Reality is Not What It Seems: The Journey to Quantum Gravity, which I've referenced on this blog before and yes maybe I need to read the work of more than just the one theoretical physicist, but the idea was that our reality is a web entangled on a planck scale. The baseline definition of quantum entanglement is, "the phenomenon of a group of particles being generated, interacting, or sharing spatial proximity in a manner such that the quantum state of each particle of the group cannot be described independently of the state of the others, including when the particles are separated by a large distance." 

Just a quick reminder that we're particles and particles are us. Okay? All set?

Back to the article, I'm going to hone in on the concept, "may also lack definite properties prior to measurement". And now I'm going to tie that directly to the "observer effect" of Young's slits, an experiment led by Thomas Young in the early 19th century, that led to more mainstream acceptance of the wave theory of light, which was a correct theory that the established scientific community of the time rejected and shat on so heavily (Isaac Newton being the preeminent shitter), Young ultimately ditched physics to focus on medicine. Ah Ego, destroyer of worlds.

Young's work was eventually rediscovered as "actually super correct", and wave theories were embraced. Phew. In my opinion, "Young's slits" was a great name for the experiment, but science more formally calls it the "double-slit experiment", so fine. The experiment proves that light can exist both as particles and as waves. Cool! The experiment also showed that these particles and waves behaved differently depending on how they were observed.

My boy Carlo Rovelli interpreted the experiment in relational terms, as cited on Wikipedia, "noting observations such as those in the double-slit experiment result specifically from the interaction between the observer (measuring device) and the object being observed (physically interacted with), not any absolute property possessed by the object."

Now here comes my brain like Kool-Aid Man busting in and clumsily applying these theories to my real-world experiences.

First let's define "observation". Let's take Merriam Webster's 2a) definition: "an act of recognizing and noting a fact or occurrence often involving measurement with instruments".

Alright great. Now I'm going to mash that definition with the concept of "consciousness", and here we're going to go with Merriam Webster's 2) definition: "perceiving, apprehending, or noticing with a degree of controlled thought or observation."

So now we have the concept of conscious observation. That is, actively perceiving. In this little theory of mine, we're thinking about the effect conscious observation has on our surrounding reality.

So in the double-slit experiment, electrons and photons behave differently upon observation. It follows that they would behave that way in the wild as well. Why wouldn't they? The experiment was set up to test theories of reality and measure the results, and the results evidenced these patterns of behaviour. So now science knows it happens, and yes, it obviously happens in the wild, and the wild is us. We're surrounded by and made up of photons and electrons that exist in wavelengths etc etc. That's us. That's the nature of our reality.

Let's go back to the Scientific American article's point, "objects are not influenced solely by their surroundings, and they may also lack definite properties prior to measurement", making the point that our "local realities" exist in a sort of flux state, made "real" upon observation/measurement. Imagine, if you will, the wobbly realm of wavelengths we move through and exist within at any given time, and how they comprise the perceivable world around us. 

Important to note here, quantum mechanics isn't some other-bunch-of-stuff happening in a lab or behind a magical curtain. It's the fabric of our everything. Every occurrence, every instance, every interaction, every event on every scale, is quantum physics in action. Okay.

Following all the logic above, it stands to reason that the less perceived or observed any particles are, the more likely it is they will behave in ways that haven't (yet) been observed. Unobserved particles behave differently on a quantum scale. Neat!

How do humans alter our states of consciousness? Sleep. Drugs. Chemicals. Sleep isn't very useful because unconsciousness is the opposite of consciousness. Groundbreaking. I should def be a scientist. But drugs and chemicals not only alter our states of consciousness, they also warp our sense of time. And if you're someone looking to experiment with the observable nature of reality, some drugs are more helpful than others.

We're not going to get into all the drugs. Many drugs are very addictive and bad for your health. Don't do those ones. We're going to focus on the drugs that change a person's perception of time in such a way that their ability to consciously observe might have an effect on their perceivable reality. A study featured in this article on The Conversation showed that MDMA and cocaine speed up the users' perception of time—that is, time seems to pass faster for those users. Cannabis, by contrast, was shown to expand users' perception of time—that is, time seemed to pass more slowly.

The study also showed, "psychedelics such as LSD, DMT and mescaline produce a sense of timelessness. Prescription drugs can also distort time too. Pregabalin, a drug used to treat epilepsy and anxiety, and anti-anxiety drug Xanax, both slow the passage of time."

Mom if you're reading this, I've only ever partaken of cannabis and a bit of shrooms. And cannabis is what got me onto this whole train of thought five years ago, so we're going to focus on cannabis now. The one that slows our perception of time.

Anyone who's gotten high on pot or shrooms has occasionally wondered why "weird" things seem to happen more often when they're stoned. They think, "but I was stoned, so of course everything would seem weirder", which is true, but I also think it's reasonable to pull Young's slits into the mix. Let's think about those slits.

Young's slits tell us particles/waves behave differently upon observation. Typically, a conscious human is pretty keyed into our environment. We are over-evolved bundles of nerves constantly taking in stimuli. We continuously observe in order to navigate and respond to the world around us, it's in our survival programming. Most of the spaces we exist within are heavily observed spaces; human density results in thickly perceived spaces. In these spaces, reality behaves in a very orderly way. Disordered behaviour is identified quickly and is either ostracized, pathologized, or understood as entertainment. Being high in a public space carries the risk of the disordered moving among the ordered—"...shit, can they tell? THEY KNOW". 

Pot numbs our ability to observe while stretching and slowing the time we have to observe. So we're less keyed in to what's happening around us and just kinda drifting in our own thoughts. In that state, when something actually gets our attention it appears profound. But after thirty seconds we forget what we were doing, lose focus, and float away until something else appears in front of us. We're tuned out.

When I was living on my farm, I was often the only person for miles (kms). When you spend enough time existing in a space largely unseen, it gets a "thin" feeling. People talk about "thin" spaces as spiritual-type realms, but my interpretation of "thinness" is a place where photons and electrons move freely, undisturbed by constant observation. These spaces feel lighter and sometimes a little eery, like the fabric of reality is a little more loosey-goosey. I loved it—odd and surprising wildlife interactions; the feeling of boundless insignificance that eventually evolved into a distinct sense of oneness. A fundamental agreement with ephemerality. 

For the first couple years, that was the real, raw experience. Up until that point I was actually pretty wary of pot—in the city it always made me anxious. But the guy I was seeing was always stoned, and so in an effort to connect with him on "his level", I occasionally partook. It didn't work and we split up (it really started to fall apart when the only way I could spend time with him was by trying to play WoW), but once those quiet weekends in the middle of the parched prairies started to feel a little too quiet, I thought I'd see what all the cushy fuss was about. This was when I really started thinking about Young's slits.

With the added effects of cannabis, the experience of that place was like being immersed in the realm of those wily, unobserved photons and electrons. When I was stoned, the minimal effect of observation my solitary self had on my surroundings was lifted, and it got to a point where I could count on something surreal happening: sitting outside and noticing a fox chilling nearby; a walk while being closely observed by four gigantic, fluffy Great Horned Owlings; Looney Tunes behaviour from my chickens; the weirdest orange I've ever eaten (one of the wedges had a massive peel-tumor in it); the evening when, after a long day of fussing over my lupines—harvesting stems, dealing with aphids, weeding around them and wishing I'd planted more—I sat down to watch some Netflix and Monty Python's Flying Circus popped up. I had watched Monty Python since I was a kid, I'd seen it all and that night I was up for a rewatch. So I was floored when the first sketch that came on was "Dennis Moore gives lupines to the poor"—not only was the timing so real, but it was the only Monty Python sketch I'd somehow never seen. That night it felt like the universe was hanging out with me, like "hey how about this? You'll like it." 

How could that be possible? I dunno! Quantum stuff! Vibes!

It just seems to me that if we know the quantum nature of reality behaves differently depending on how it's observed, experiencing reality while in a state of numbed observation—especially in a space that is already thinly observed—it stands to reason that all those little photons and electrons might behave a little differently under those circumstances too. The vibes shift. 

So go find a thin place, take a nice edible, and have fun playing with the quantum behaviour of your surroundings. Maybe you'll make friends with a cool tree.