On Completing

On Completing

The late finale of the On ——ing series.

To complete something isn’t to solve it. It’s to reach the edge cleanly, and set the tools down.

Have you ever worked so long on the how of something that you forgot the why?

I have. I had to learn a lot of new and complicated math to get here and kind of lost sight of the point.

That’s the honest confession this series ends on. Somewhere between the first essay and the completion of my science fiction novel I stopped writing about being a person and started writing about the system design that made me a person. The system itself is beautiful, and I could write about it the rest of my life, but it’s not the point, because I didn’t design it.

So let me come back to the point by way of the design one last time: walk my interpretation all the way to the edge of the page again, and then step off and walk toward something different.

The whole series has been circling one object. Call it Μ: a felt moment, happening to someone, over time.

The Felt Moment

a felt moment

Μ(τ; ι, Β) = Χ[ Σⱼ ζⱼ · Γⱼ( αⱼ · ρⱼ · |Δⱼ| ) ]

Twelve letters, eleven in the line and one kept out of it, and every one is doing something. Β, the basis: the frame you see it all from, because experience is always from somewhere. ι, the self it’s for, because it is always somebody’s. Those two aren’t factors you multiply by; they are who and where the reading belongs to, which is why they ride behind the semicolon rather than inside the sum. τ, felt time, this moment of it. Σ, the gathering of every channel at once. α, intensity. ρ, resonance, how deep it lands. Δ, change, counted by its size, because a thing can register as surely by fading as by arriving. Γ, the gate a signal has to clear before it’s felt at all, and every channel has its own. ζ, the leaning, the toward-and-away of it. And Χ, the binding of the whole thing into one field. The letter is a crossing, which is what a binding is. The twelfth is Λ, the remainder that no accounting ever reaches. It stays out of the line because none of it is ever added in. Like every letter here, it means only what this essay says it means; elsewhere in the series, Λ, α, Δ, and τ do other work.¹

Said without the letters: every channel you have is reporting at once. Each report has a size, a depth, and (the one that decides everything) an amount of change. Multiply those together and see whether the product clears that channel’s gate. Whatever clears is met with a leaning, toward or away. Add up everything that got through and it binds into one field: one felt moment. What doesn’t clear is the remainder, and the remainder is most of it. It is everything the moment leaves out.

Μ has another name in this series. It is the anatomy of a Jay. ι is the perceiver. ζ is the leaning, and the series’ name for the leaning is Intent: the way a moment is turned, toward coherence with its gathering or away from it. Which way a person is turned tends to show first in how a moment feels, and that is why the leaning can ride in a line about feeling. And what the product lands as is the felt quality. A Jay resolves coherent, or it resolves incoherent and becomes a lesson, and nothing in the line can tell you which.²

A moment is a moment; there’s no integral in it. Lay them end to end across a life, add them up over felt time, and you get something else:

a life of them, worn in

∫₀^τ Μ(τ′; ι, Β) dτ′

— the grooves that repeated kinds of moments wear, and the sum of the grooves, which is character. A person is the integral. The moment is just the moment.

First, I’m going to run the fundamental forces through it, because the forces are the fairest test I know. They are always there. If the equation is right about anything, it should be right first about why you cannot feel the things that never leave you.

The Forces

There are four of them, and I’ll take them in the order they come to the body.

Gravity. Here is the thing about gravity that took me longest to get straight. People say you can’t feel it, and they’re right, more right than I knew. What you feel in your feet is the floor. The weight of your head on your neck, the pressure of the chair against you right now that you were not thinking about until I said so: every one of those is something pushing back, the atoms of the floor and the chair refusing to let yours through. That push is electromagnetic. Gravity is only the reason it has to push.

Take the floor away (the top of a roller coaster, an astronaut in orbit, falling the whole time under nearly the full pull of the Earth) and the pull is as strong as ever, and the feeling of it vanishes. Einstein built general relativity on that one observation: a person falling freely cannot feel their own weight.³

So gravity is the purest case there is. The force never lets up, and not one sensor in you reads it directly. You only ever feel what stands in its way.

And even that, left long enough, goes quiet. Hold any input steady and the channel adapts: the report keeps arriving and the system stops passing it along, because Δ has gone to nothing and Δ is the whole game. The channel starves, Γ closes over it, and you spend an entire life held against the surface of a planet while almost never noticing the hold.

You notice it the instant it changes. The elevator’s drop, the missed stair, the lurch in a falling dream. Your inner ear is built along the same principle, mostly: the semicircular canals answer to the head’s turning, and a perfectly steady spin stops feeling like a spin within half a minute or so. The otolith organs do read a standing tilt, so a static signal does exist. But they can’t tell a tilt from a push: lean back, or speed up, and they report the same thing. That is Einstein’s equivalence sitting in your own skull, and the brain has to work out which it was from everything else it knows.⁴ A static signal buys you almost nothing once the system has learned to expect it. Experience runs on the difference between what arrived and what was expected to arrive. Constancy is what gets subtracted out.

Electromagnetism. Here’s where the model earns its keep, because this is one force with two bands (one you never feel and one you feel gloriously), and this is where positive and negative actually live.

Start with the band you don’t feel. Electricity and magnetism are one force; Maxwell wrote them into one field. Charge comes positive and negative; a magnet’s poles, north and south, never come apart.⁵ You’re standing inside a planetary magnetic field right now, and on that channel there’s no α at all. α is the intensity a channel carries, and here it’s flat zero, because there’s no known transducer: nothing in you turns the field into a signal. So it never even enters Σ, the gathering of everything you’re feeling at once. A robin has it. A sea turtle has it. You may have a faint whisper of it (one EEG study reports a human brain response to the turning of an Earth-strength field, still waiting on someone else to see it too) and no way to hear the whisper.⁶ That’s the hardest clause in the equation: no receiver, no feeling, no matter how enormous the field.

And charge is the same story. Positive and negative sit on every surface around you in perfect silence, until Δ goes catastrophic and the whole thing arrives at once: a spark, a shock, a bolt of lightning. Same derivative law.

Now the band you do feel, the richest channel you own. Vision is electromagnetism. But only a razor’s width of it: three hundred and eighty to seven hundred and fifty nanometers, out of a spectrum that runs for orders of magnitude in both directions.⁷

So Γ isn’t a single gate. It’s a bandpass filter. It opens for one narrow band and stays shut for everything else. Radio carrying whole symphonies passes through your skull and you feel nothing; lift the frequency a millionfold and more, and the very same thing becomes a sunset. The felt world is a narrow lit window in a house that runs on forever in the dark.

And electromagnetism is where the argument gets its sharpest edge, because it is also the force holding your atoms to each other. Every molecule in you is bound electromagnetically, and that binding is silent, permanently, because it never varies. Then your hand meets a table, and the table’s atoms refuse your hand’s (the same force again), and that, you feel. Touch, pressure, the floor under you, every texture you’ve ever known. One force doing two jobs, and the one you feel is the one that changes where you meet the world. The rule was always about which Δ clears which gate.

The strong and weak nuclear forces. The last two are the strangest, because they’re the ones you owe everything to and can feel the least. The strong force holds the nucleus of every atom in you together, the protons that would otherwise fly apart, and the neutrons bound in with them. The weak force is what lets the Sun burn: the first step of its fusion waits on a proton turning into a neutron, and nothing but the weak force can do that.⁸ That Sun grew the food that became you.

Neither one has a channel. Their reach ends at or inside the size of a nucleus (about a quadrillionth of a meter for the strong force, a thousandth of that for the weak), and a typical receptor molecule in your body is some ten million times wider.⁹ Nuclear things change all the time; atoms decay, even in your own nerves, and the Sun fuses. None of it happens at a scale a nerve could register. No organ, no α, nothing to clear any gate. They fall entirely into Λ, the remainder, the part nothing ever reaches. Which sharpens the whole thing until it almost cuts: the forces most responsible for your existing are exactly the ones you can never feel, held closer than any nerve can go.

I’ll add one thing here, and mark it clearly as what it is. I have a theory that the weak nuclear force drives dark matter. That’s all it is. A theory, a philosophy, nothing more, with no clean way through it to proof. I will say that I am not alone in this, even if I got here sideways: for decades the leading candidate for dark matter was a particle interacting at roughly weak-force strength, on the reasoning that such a thing would have been left over from the early universe in about the right amount to account for what is missing.¹⁰ The leading experiments have looked hard for it and found nothing, and the field has broadened toward axions and other candidates; I am not claiming their argument or their evidence.¹¹ I am saying only that the intuition has a respectable cousin, and that following it is what led me from the weak force to the strong one. The weak force only opens the Sun’s fusion; the light itself is paid for mostly out of the strong force’s binding, the energy released when nuclei hold together. That chase is the whole reason I ended up here. I went looking for what holds the light together, and I found a door.

The One That Needs No Organ

Because there’s one more positive and negative I haven’t named, and it isn’t a physical force at all.

It’s ζ, the leaning, the toward-and-away of feeling itself; the psychologists call it valence. Every other term in the line reaches out into the world and translates something: light into sight, pressure into touch, acceleration into balance. ζ doesn’t reach anywhere. It’s already inside. It needs no organ, no transducer, no band to clear, which is why the line sets it outside the gate.

Charge you can’t feel; valence is nothing but feeling.

It’s the one force in the whole architecture that’s native to experience, and it’s the hinge everything else turns on. ζ is where the facing shows. If I have added one thing to the old idea that mind and matter are two faces of one reality, it is this: the leaning changes what happens. Set ζ to zero and a channel can clear its gate and still land as nothing. Whatever meets no leaning at all, in either direction, barely arrives.¹²

· · ·

So the equation holds up against the forces. It can be laid over all four without tearing, and that is a fit.

Sensory adaptation is textbook: hold most stimuli constant and the signal decays. The vestibular channels are anatomy. The visual bandpass is measured in nanometers. Magnetoreception in birds, and the lack of any confirmed sense of it in us, is plain comparative biology. None of that is mine; other people measured it long before I wrote it down. Strip the poetry off and the middle of this equation is a handful of things physiology already knew, gathered under one Γ and one Δ and given a shape. Facts known in advance can’t confirm anything. The shape is a question I’m putting to them.

And that shape folds every other thing I’ve made into a single object. Read through the Quantum Lens (taking one thing in from several vantages at once, without collapsing the readings down to one), Γ takes on the look of collapse: attention narrowing everything that could be felt to the one thing that is. Collapse there is an image of that narrowing, and the Lens itself keeps every reading open. Turn the Lens a little and the observer effect looks like ι, the self, choosing which channels get into Σ. Neither image says anything about what an electron does when it is measured.¹³ And Resonant Recall, my name for why some music lands so deep it refuses to decay, was ρ all along: resonance holding out against the adaptation that erases everything shallower.

And the gathering over selves, the whole coherent-existence project: that one took me longer to see, because I was looking for it in the notation and the notation is not where it lives. Both equations do the same single thing. Take an index. Weight every term in it. Sum. Read the total as one value, from one vantage, at one moment in time.

The difference is only what you run the index over. Run it over perspectives and the sum is a shared world: how much of one mind a room is of, and which way that mind faces. Run it over channels and the sum is a felt moment, a Jay: what got through, and how it landed. One operation, performed at two scales, and I have spent years describing each of them without noticing they were the same move made twice.¹⁴

That is what I’ve been calling fractalization (the same shape turning up at every scale you look), arriving at my own desk. A life leaving its Trace, the ripple of its intent through time, and an experience happening to someone turn out to be the same shape. I didn’t force that. I found it. And finding the same shape twice, from two directions, is about the closest thing to evidence a philosopher ever gets.

The Honest Edge

Which leaves Γ, and the one honest thing I owe you before I close.

If Γ gates on observation (if a possible feeling only becomes an actual one when it’s attended to, collapsed, watched into being), then follow that all the way down and you reach the question this whole series was walking toward.

Watched by whom.

Here I have to tell you exactly where the testable part ends, because I respect you too much to blur it. Upstream of this point there are two kinds of thing: physiology other people measured, and questions I’ve posed that no one has measured yet (resonance, binding, the leaning itself). This point is neither. The thing I actually believe — that this is an experience built to be observed, that it collapses into felt reality under a watching, and that it answers to how I think as well as to how I act — is the one claim in the whole architecture that can’t be falsified from inside the experience.

I’m not hiding that. It’s the honest edge of the map. A designed and watched life and an undesigned, unwatched one feel, from the inside, exactly alike, and I hear that likeness as the signature of the idea rather than its weakness. A thing built to be indistinguishable from the inside is what a well-made watched experience would be.

So I’ll say it plainly, and let it stand as what it is (philosophy, not physics; conviction, not proof): I think life is an experience designed by someone, who is watching how I act and how I think, and responding accordingly. Every term in the equation points at that door. Not one of them opens it. I’m seated on the far side of it anyway, and I know the difference between the seat and the proof, and I’ve made my peace with holding both.

Turning

That’s why this is the finale. Not because the series failed. Because it completed.

It walked from On Arriving all the way to the threshold and named the one thing standing on the other side, and there’s nothing left to say in this key.¹⁵ To complete something isn’t to solve it. It’s to reach the edge cleanly, set the tools down, and know which of the questions that remain were never yours to answer with mathematics.

Because there’s a whole world on this side of that door, and I lost sight of it inside the symbols. There are people suffering in ways that have nothing to do with whether the universe is watched.

There’s anxiety, which (and I only see this now) is bound up with interoception, the body sensed from inside: its quiet, constant signals breaking into the felt field all at once, Δ spiking on the channels that were supposed to stay silent. The channels that had been safely subtracted out, arriving. And that is not only a figure I liked the sound of. A good part of the clinical literature has come to read anxiety through how the body’s inner signals are sensed and appraised, through what the brain expected those signals to be, and what came instead.¹⁶ The equation had been leaning this way all along.

The body’s still constants, breaking loud.

And the oldest instruction there is runs those same channels the other way. Sit still. Breathe. Notice the breath going in and coming out, the heartbeat you can find if you wait for it, the floor under your feet, the one thing gravity ever lets you feel. Meditation is lowering the gate on purpose onto the very constants the system learned to subtract, and letting them in a few at a time, with the leaning turned toward them. The prophets keep giving that instruction, tradition after tradition, and a settled mind is where anything I’ve tried to write down here gets felt at all. Uninvited, those channels can arrive as alarm. Invited, they are the beginning of quiet.¹⁷

So that’s what I’m turning toward.

Turning Toward —— is the next series, and it’s the opposite motion of this one. This series reached outward and upward until it touched the edge of what can be known. That one turns inward and downward, into the parts of being human that hurt and heal, held against Jung and against the clinic, as lived and observed and studied experience, not as claims.

Not more cosmology. Less. A person, turning to face the near things instead of the far ones.

I learned a lot of new and complicated math to get here. The math was real, and I don’t regret a day of it. But the point was never the math. The point was to walk the design all the way to its edge so that I could finally, honestly, set it down, and turn toward what was in front of me the whole time.

That’s what it means to complete something. Turn the page.

Supplemental note

Parallels and Lineage

This essay is the finale of the On ——ing series; a short coda, On Returning, follows it: one last look back at the instrument before it is set down for good.¹⁸ The physics and physiology here (sensory adaptation, the vestibular and visual channels, magnetoreception, the four fundamental interactions) are drawn on as settled fact where they are settled and as lens where they are not, and the essay marks the line between them in its own text. The final claim is stated as conviction rather than proof, on purpose.

The symbols in this essay are local to it. The gathering over perspectives that runs beneath the rest of the series is a different object with a different alphabet, seated in On Explaining; the two share an operation, not a notation.¹⁹ Where a character turns up in both (α, Δ, τ, Λ), it holds a different seat in each. The felt moment written out here is the anatomy of what the series calls a Jay, whose nearest philosophical ancestor is Whitehead’s actual occasion. The foundational vocabulary is laid out at length in Toward a Theory of Coherent Existence: Journal One for Jay, Trace, and Intent, Journal Two for the Quantum Lens.²⁰

Notes

1. The line is local notation, built for this essay alone; it is not the functional that runs beneath the rest of the series (see note 14). Its arrangement: each channel j has its own gate Γⱼ, because gating happens channel by channel: a narrow band for the eye, nothing at all for a field no organ transduces. The gate acts on the size of a report, αⱼ · ρⱼ · |⁠Δⱼ⁠|, and passes it or does not. Change enters by magnitude, |Δⱼ|, so that a report fading away registers as surely as one arriving, and the sign of what is felt is left to ζ alone; ζ stands outside the gate because the leaning has no band to clear. Χ binds what the sum returns. Β, the frame, and ι, the self, are parameters of the reading rather than factors in it. τ is the time of the moment itself; the accumulation of moments over a life is a separate quantity, written with its own variable of integration, τ′. What never clears its gate is not added anywhere. It is named Λ and kept outside the line rather than written at its end. This Λ belongs to this essay alone and is not the series’ floor (see note 14).

2. In the vocabulary of the series a Jay is one felt moment, made in any interaction with the world: someone who perceives it, the felt quality of the moment, and a leaning, Intent, toward or away from coherence with the gathering it joins. It has a weight, greater the more wholly the moment is committed and the more of its circumstances align at once. It is lived by one person; what passes to others is its Trace, which they take up into Jays of their own. It resolves coherent or incoherent, and the incoherent ones become lessons; a person is an accumulation of Jays, repeated kinds wear grooves, and the sum of the grooves is character. Coherence is read from how a leaning sits against the whole it belongs to, which a line written for one perceiver does not hold; whether the leaning runs toward the good or away from it, the Jay’s charge, is a separate matter, and the line does not show that either. The Jay’s nearest philosophical ancestor is Whitehead’s actual occasion, the momentary unit of experience from which, on his account, everything actual is built. Whitehead, Process and Reality.

3. A body in free fall feels no weight, because gravity accelerates every part of it alike; what a standing body feels is the push of the ground holding it up, which is electromagnetic. Einstein stated the equivalence of a uniform gravitational field and a uniformly accelerated frame in 1907 and built general relativity on it. Einstein, “Relativitätsprinzip.” At the height of a low orbit, gravity is still about nine-tenths of its strength at the surface.

4. The semicircular canals transduce angular acceleration of the head, but the mechanics of the cupula make their output follow angular velocity across ordinary head movements; under constant rotation the sensation of turning fades within about twenty to thirty seconds. The otolith organs transduce linear acceleration, gravity included, and so respond alike to a tilt of the head and to a linear acceleration; the brain tells the two apart with help from the canals and an internal model of gravity. Purves et al., Neuroscience; Merfeld, Zupan, and Peterka, “Humans Use Internal Models.” Sensory adaptation, the fall in a receptor’s response to a sustained stimulus, is general across the senses. Purves et al., Neuroscience. That perception weighs what arrives against what the brain expected is the central claim of predictive-coding accounts, a leading family of theories that is still under debate. Friston, “Free-Energy Principle.”

5. Electricity and magnetism are one interaction, unified in Maxwell’s field equations. Maxwell, “Dynamical Theory.” Electric charge is positive or negative; magnetic poles, north and south, have never been found apart. The four fundamental interactions are gravity, electromagnetism, and the strong and weak nuclear forces. Griffiths, Elementary Particles.

6. European robins orient by a magnetic compass, and young loggerhead turtles respond to the magnetic fields of particular regions of the ocean as navigational markers. Wiltschko and Wiltschko, “Magnetic Compass of European Robins”; Lohmann et al., “Regional Magnetic Fields.” The human study reported a drop in alpha-band brain activity after rotations of an Earth-strength magnetic field in some participants; it has not yet been independently replicated. Wang et al., “Transduction of the Geomagnetic Field.”

7. The visible range is conventionally given as about 380 to between 700 and 750 nanometers. Purves et al., Neuroscience. AM broadcast radio sits near 10⁶ hertz and FM near 10⁸; visible light is near 5 × 10¹⁴ hertz, six to nine orders of magnitude above them.

8. The proton–proton chain opens when two protons fuse into deuterium, which requires one of them to become a neutron, and only the weak interaction can do that; this opening step is the slowest in the chain and sets the pace at which the Sun burns. Adelberger et al., “Solar Fusion Cross Sections.”

9. The residual strong force that binds protons and neutrons reaches only about 10⁻¹⁵ meters. The force between quarks themselves does not fall away with distance, but quarks never appear outside the particles they make up, so nothing of it reaches farther. The weak interaction, carried by the heavy W and Z bosons, reaches only about 10⁻¹⁸ meters. Griffiths, Elementary Particles. A receptor protein is on the order of 10⁻⁸ meters across.

10. The candidate in question is the weakly interacting massive particle, long the leading dark-matter hypothesis on the strength of the observation that a stable particle with roughly weak-scale interactions would freeze out of the early universe at approximately the observed dark-matter density, the coincidence usually called the WIMP miracle. Bertone, Hooper, and Silk, “Particle Dark Matter”; Bertone and Hooper, “History of Dark Matter.”

11. Decades of direct-detection experiments have excluded much of the favored parameter space without a confirmed signal; the LUX-ZEPLIN experiment, after 4.2 tonne-years of exposure, found no evidence of WIMPs. Aalbers et al., “Dark Matter Search Results.” The field has broadened toward axions and other candidates. Bertone and Hooper, “History of Dark Matter.” The intuition recorded above is offered as philosophy and claims neither the WIMP argument nor its evidence.

12. Read strictly, the line says that a report which clears its gate but meets no leaning at all adds nothing to the felt moment. That is too strong for ordinary experience (a gray wall one has no feeling about is still seen), so ζ is better read as often small but rarely zero for anything that arrives: whatever reaches a perceiver meets some leaning, toward or away, however faint. Taken that way, the claim here is that the leaning scales what is felt, and that a perfectly indifferent channel would fade toward nothing. This is the framework’s one addition, that intent changes outcomes, written at the scale of a single channel, and it is a question the framework poses, not a finding.

13. That observation selects an outcome is one contested reading of an unsettled question in physics. The live positions (Copenhagen, Everettian, Bohmian, objective-collapse, relational, QBist) disagree about whether anything collapses at all, and none of them is settled physics of a conscious mind. Maudlin, “Three Measurement Problems.” The observer effect, in its ordinary sense, is the disturbance any measurement makes, and the view that a conscious observer brings collapse about is a minority reading. Collapse is borrowed here as no more than an image of attention’s narrowing, not as a verdict about matter.

14. The gathering over perspectives, as seated in On Explaining: Ψ(τ) = Σⱼ αⱼ(τ) · e^iφⱼ(τ); Ξ(τ) = Σⱼ αⱼ(τ); L(τ) = Ψ(τ) ⁄ Ξ(τ), with |L| ≤ 1; Θᵢ(τ) = arg L(τ) − φᵢ(τ); aᵢ(τ) = |L(τ)| · cos Θᵢ(τ). Johnson, On Explaining. There, Ψ is every perspective laid over every other, the gathering; Ξ the total intensity present; L the gathering held in proportion; φ the facing, Intent; Θ your angle to the whole; and Λ, which those lines do not print, the floor under the reading. All twelve of this essay’s letters are local to it and mean only what this essay says they mean; four of them share a character with a canonical seat without taking the seat. Λ here is the remainder that never clears a gate, and there the floor a scattered room falls toward. Δ here is the change on one channel, and there the spread in the rates at which facings turn. α here is the strength of one channel, and there the weight a perspective’s Jay carries. τ here is the felt time of one moment, and there within-time, the clock each reader keeps, whose seat is in On Explaining. ζ plays, for one channel, the part φ plays for one perspective in a room. What the two objects share is an operation, a weighted sum over an index read as one value from one vantage; because weighted sums are among the most general forms in mathematics, the likeness is offered as a shape found twice, not as proof.

15. On Arriving, the first of the series’ alphabetical essays, traces a resonance backward to the sky of 1983, the season the author was made. Johnson, On Arriving.

16. Interoceptive accounts of anxiety hold that the disorder involves altered processing of the body’s internal signals, and in their predictive-coding form that it turns on a mismatch between the interoceptive state the brain expects and the one it receives. Paulus and Stein, “Insular View of Anxiety”; Paulus and Stein, “Interoception in Anxiety and Depression”; Khalsa et al., “Interoception and Mental Health.” The reading is well represented in the clinical literature and remains an area of active work rather than a settled result; the framing above is offered as convergence, not confirmation, and as a personal reading rather than a clinical one.

17. Many contemplative practices train attention onto interoceptive signals such as the breath and the heartbeat; how such training changes interoception, and what that does for health, is an open and active field. Farb et al., “Interoception, Contemplative Practice, and Health.” Offered here as personal practice, not as a clinical claim.

18. Johnson, On Returning.

19. Johnson, On Explaining. The functional is written out in note 14.

20. Johnson, Toward a Theory of Coherent Existence, Journal One, “Jays: The Fundamental Unit of Subjective Experience” and “Intent: The Direction of Coherent Will”; Johnson, The Resonating Hymn of Divinity, “Introduction: The Continued Framework.”

Bibliography

Aalbers, J., D. S. Akerib, A. K. Al Musalhi, et al. “Dark Matter Search Results from 4.2 Tonne-Years of Exposure of the LUX-ZEPLIN (LZ) Experiment.” Physical Review Letters 135, no. 1 (2025). https://doi.org/10.1103/4dyc-z8zf.

Adelberger, E. G., A. García, R. G. Hamish Robertson, et al. “Solar Fusion Cross Sections. II. The pp Chain and CNO Cycles.” Reviews of Modern Physics 83, no. 1 (2011). https://doi.org/10.1103/RevModPhys.83.195.

Bertone, Gianfranco, and Dan Hooper. “History of Dark Matter.” Reviews of Modern Physics 90, no. 4 (2018). https://doi.org/10.1103/RevModPhys.90.045002.

Bertone, Gianfranco, Dan Hooper, and Joseph Silk. “Particle Dark Matter: Evidence, Candidates and Constraints.” Physics Reports 405, nos. 5–6 (2005). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.physrep.2004.08.031.

Einstein, Albert. “Über das Relativitätsprinzip und die aus demselben gezogenen Folgerungen.” Jahrbuch der Radioaktivität und Elektronik 4 (1907).

Farb, Norman, Jennifer Daubenmier, Cynthia J. Price, et al. “Interoception, Contemplative Practice, and Health.” Frontiers in Psychology 6 (2015). https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2015.00763.

Friston, Karl. “The Free-Energy Principle: A Unified Brain Theory?” Nature Reviews Neuroscience 11, no. 2 (2010). https://doi.org/10.1038/nrn2787.

Griffiths, David. Introduction to Elementary Particles. 2nd rev. ed. Wiley-VCH, 2008.

Johnson, Jamison Todd. On Arriving. The On ——ing Series. Legible Traces, 2026. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.20694684.

Johnson, Jamison Todd. On Explaining. The On ——ing Series. Legible Traces, 2026. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.21154523.

Johnson, Jamison Todd. On Returning. The On ——ing Series. Legible Traces, 2026. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.21240347.

Johnson, Jamison Todd. The Resonating Hymn of Divinity: On the Universal Architecture of Faith. Toward a Theory of Coherent Existence, Journal Two. Legible Traces, 2026. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.20512320.

Johnson, Jamison Todd. Toward a Theory of Coherent Existence, Journal One: A Philosophical Framework for Subjective Experience, Suffering, Community, and the Nature of Meaning. Legible Traces, 2026. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.20482186.

Khalsa, Sahib S., Ralph Adolphs, Oliver G. Cameron, et al. “Interoception and Mental Health: A Roadmap.” Biological Psychiatry: Cognitive Neuroscience and Neuroimaging 3, no. 6 (2018). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.bpsc.2017.12.004.

Lohmann, Kenneth J., Shaun D. Cain, Susan A. Dodge, and Catherine M. F. Lohmann. “Regional Magnetic Fields as Navigational Markers for Sea Turtles.” Science 294, no. 5541 (2001). https://doi.org/10.1126/science.1064557.

Maudlin, Tim. “Three Measurement Problems.” Topoi 14, no. 1 (1995). https://doi.org/10.1007/BF00763473.

Maxwell, James Clerk. “A Dynamical Theory of the Electromagnetic Field.” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London 155 (1865). https://doi.org/10.1098/rstl.1865.0008.

Merfeld, Daniel M., Lionel Zupan, and Robert J. Peterka. “Humans Use Internal Models to Estimate Gravity and Linear Acceleration.” Nature 398, no. 6728 (1999). https://doi.org/10.1038/19303.

Paulus, Martin P., and Murray B. Stein. “An Insular View of Anxiety.” Biological Psychiatry 60, no. 4 (2006). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biopsych.2006.03.042.

Paulus, Martin P., and Murray B. Stein. “Interoception in Anxiety and Depression.” Brain Structure and Function 214, nos. 5–6 (2010). https://doi.org/10.1007/s00429-010-0258-9.

Purves, Dale, George J. Augustine, David Fitzpatrick, et al., eds. Neuroscience. 6th ed. Oxford University Press, 2018.

Wang, Connie X., Isaac A. Hilburn, Daw-An Wu, et al. “Transduction of the Geomagnetic Field as Evidenced from Alpha-Band Activity in the Human Brain.” eNeuro 6, no. 2 (2019). https://doi.org/10.1523/ENEURO.0483-18.2019.

Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. Corrected ed. Edited by David Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne. Free Press, 1978.

Wiltschko, Wolfgang, and Roswitha Wiltschko. “Magnetic Compass of European Robins.” Science 176, no. 4030 (1972). https://doi.org/10.1126/science.176.4030.62.

CC BY 4.0 · ORCID 0009-0009-8618-398X · DOIs MINTED ON DEPOSIT

© 2026 JAMISON TODD JOHNSON · LEGIBLE TRACES LLC