the Wanderling

"Sivana is now back in the past! Therefore everything that happened in the future was wiped out of his memory, for those things had not yet happened! He has forgotten that there was a Captain Marvel! And he does not know why he came to the past!"

Is the "Time Pill Paradox" really a paradox? As presented in the Captain Marvel story when Sivana travels back to the past he begins to lose his memory because in the past the future hasn't happened yet. However, if the future hadn't happened yet how could he have been in it to have gone back to the past? For the person going to the past is it that the future once left decoheres? If such is the case then, would the future no longer exist to go back to, leaving the traveler forever in the past or until the present he is in catches up to the time he left.

The "now-phenomenon" that everything seemingly abides in and perceived by most by the given name the present, leaves in it's wake strewn behind itself a garbage heap trail most commonly referred to as the past. But does that garbage heap strewn trail of the past remain solid like it seemed to be made up of when it was the present? When it is the present, to the past it was the future, and as it became the present it was solid.

Say Sivana, knowing Billy Batson somehow has the power to become Captain Marvel as the story alludes to, goes back in time to a point prior to Billy having that ability, say ten years, to eliminate him so he cannot become Captain Marvel. Sivana leaves his present for the past at age 40. Ten years prior he would have been 30 and he had to be there someplace to have been able to grow to age 40 so he could go back in the past --- which means there were now two of them alive in the same period of time, one age 30, one age 40.

Now, if the physical or solid future Sivana came from at age 40 decoheres, there would be no place for him to return to, and if he can't remember it he may not even try. However, there would be two Sivana's with paralleling lives, albeit one age 30 one age 40. Eventually the two, aging forward, would reach a point in time when the younger of the two Sivana's went back in the past, leaving the older Sivana, now 50, to continue to age forward by himself. However, the new age 40 Sivana going back in the past would encounter the age 30 Sivana he was that grew to be the age 40 Sivana he became.

Two of the same person existing at the same time only of different ages may not be as strange as it sounds.

Take my case for instance. As my mother's illness became more and more serious it became increasingly more difficult for my father to care for her as well as care for three young boys, so much so he decided to investigate the possibility of a full time care facility for her. One of the facilities was an around the clock full care sanatorium-like hospital in Santa Barbara, California. Although a good portion of the year 1943 is not totally clear down to the most minute detail I remember the Santa Barbara excursion well because the day my dad went to see the sanatorium not only did he take my mother along, but me as well --- with no brothers! So said, the trip had to have occurred before the end of the year 1943 because by Christmas of that year I was in India. The following, is found at the source so cited:

"My mother died when I was quite young. However, even before her death, because of her illness my father continued to have to work more and more hours to pay for mounting medical expenses. Through it all he found it extremely difficult to care for my two brothers and myself and work the hours he did. At first he dealt with it with regular day-to-day babysitting, then overnight and weekends with my grandparents and neighbors. Along the way a couple that just happened to be visiting our next door neighbors for Thanksgiving dinner, and of which we were invited to, offered to help by taking one of us kids fulltime. A few days later I was selected and basically fostered out, moving away from my brothers and family even before my mother passed away."

BUCK ROGERS: His History and Evolution

Hence, it seems that at least up until Thanksgiving 1943 my mother, father, two brothers and myself were all alive and living together under one roof in Redondo Beach, California, my whole family intact and in place, and, although my mother may have been entering more serious stages of her oncoming illness, still sharing a Thanksgiving meal with neighbors. Seven months later, on my way back from India, I was waiting for my uncle in a train station in Williams, Arizona, following the wreck of a train I was a passenger on. Having survived the wreck, in due time I was returned to California and temporarily placed under the guardianship of my grandmother, re the following from the source so cited:

"There I was, a young boy barely even closing down on six or seven years of age, not long returned from India, without a mother, having missed both her final days and her funeral as well."

The Last American Darshan

IF, as it seems, my family was alive and well and intact up until Thanksgiving 1943, that is, all of us living together in our family home in Redondo Beach, it would be then a straight line backwards that ten months earlier, in January of that year, my mother would be alive as part of that same family unit. It would also hold true then that I, as part of that integrated family unit, would be fully aware of her being an active part of that family, and for sure being so at least up through to Thanksgiving. The train wreck occurred six months into the following year, July 3, 1944, after which I was eventually placed with my grandmother, albeit without, as I write, a mother, having missed both her final days and her funeral as well.

Because of the injuries incurred by the grown-ups or grown-up I was traveling with caused by the train wreck I was left without direct adult supervision, ending up basically sitting all alone and by myself in a hospital waiting room in Arizona. It was there I was met by a Native American spiritual elder and taken to the train station in Williams, Arizona, he having been dispatched by my uncle to watch over me until he, my uncle, was able to arrive and return me to California. It was only because of the train wreck, and for no other reason, that I met the spiritual elder for the first time in the first place. No wreck, no meeting, no spiritual elder. It was also because of the spiritual elder that I ended up camping along the Rio Felix in turn meeting the three German prisoners of war. Re the following from the source so cited:

"While waiting for my uncle to pick me up at the depot, which took a day or two longer than expected, it is fair to say the spiritual elder sitting around inside of a train station in some white eyes Arizona civilization outpost with a bunch of people tramping in and out all day long between the occasional train wasn't exactly what I would call his particular forte'. At the end of the second day, the spiritual elder seemed to have had enough and decided he needed more open space around him."

The Spiritual Elder and the Santa Fe Chief

In January 1943 I was with my mother in Redondo Beach, she being very much alive as I have presented previously above. I was with the POWs along the Rio Felix in New Mexico because while heading home from India, the spiritual elder and I left the train station trekking across the desert, ending up along the river. The prisoners escaped their compound January 14, 1943. On the way home from India on the train I missed both my mother's final days and her funeral as well, meaning at the time she was no longer alive when the train crashed and I ended up in Williams. While camping along the Rio Felix, taken to the river by the spiritual elder from Williams was in January 1943. My mother was still alive then.

There had to be in existence two of me at the same time, albeit occupying separate spaces. One of me quite possibly knowing my mother died, the other still having a mother alive.[1]


The Balchowsky Paradox is similar to the Time Pill Paradox although almost a direct flip backwards, a reversal in how it is executed, i.e., starting where the other finishes and going back to the other's start. In the quote below Balchowsky is in Calcutta, India in 1944 at age 20. When he is met in his shop it is in America, Hollywood to be exact, it is 15 years later, 1959, and Balchowsky is now 35 years old. The person meeting him is 21 years old and the same person he met in Calcutta in 1944, only that when that person came to Calcutta it was from the year 1964 and he was 25 years old.

"(In) 1964 I ended up in a Zen Monastery high in the Himalayas then an ashram of a venerated Indian holy man in India. It was after the ashram, as found in Return to the Monastery, that I ended up in Burma and then Calcutta. In Calcutta I was around 25 years old. When I was in Balchowsky's shop it was 1959, four or five years earlier. I was only 21 then and 1964 hadn't happened yet, so there was no way I could remember any meeting with Balchowsky in Burma or Calcutta because, as for me, it was yet to come."

Return to the Monastery

For all involved in the meeting at Balchowsky's shop in 1959, 1964 hadn't arrived yet as 1964 was still in the future, so there is no way the person could "remember back" to having met Balchowsky in Calcutta in 1944. For Balchowsky it didn't matter as he "grew" or "aged" into 1959 from 1944 through the normal process of the passage of time. For the person from 1964 who went back to 1944 it was quite different. Please see Footnote [2], otherwise known as:

















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As to the subject of donations, for those of you who may be interested in doing so as it applies to the gratefulness of my works, I invariably suggest any funds be directed toward THE WOUNDED WARRIOR PROJECT and/or THE AMERICAN RED CROSS.

Footnote [1]

Having my full and complete family together Thanksgiving Day 1943 does have a tendency to end up with some wiggle room allowing it to fall a little on the bit iffy side depending on how you look at it.

The last time I can definitely remember my immediate family together intact and healthy from my early childhood before it disintegrated, that is, with my mother, father, two brothers and myself fully living in one place as a functioning family unit, circulated around a birthday of one of my brothers. His birthday was in October of 1942 and that year it fell on a weekend. My parents --- the key words being here, "my parents" in the plural, that is, both of them --- because of the war and the uncertainty of it all, not knowing what was going to happen one day to the next, decided to give him a huge surprise party, a surprise party that I have easily substantiated in time by other known events.

Previously I wrote about a couple visiting neighbors during Thanksgiving who offered to take one of us boys in an effort to ease the burden on my father. He agreed and the couple selected me, in turn taking me to India without his approval. What I am not privy to is exactly what year Thanksgiving we are talking about, 1942 or 1943. If it was the Thanksgiving of 1943 I would have been with the couple only a month before being taken to India. If it was Thanksgiving of 1942 I could have been with them for as much to a year IF I went to live with them right away following Thanksgiving.

I do know that during 1943 I went to Santa Barbara with my mom and dad at least for one day while he was looking into the possibility of a long term care facility for my mother. From that I surmise, as far as the couple is concerned, i.e., me being with my parents and going to Santa Barbara, it was the Thanksgiving of 1943 we are talking about that I went to live with them, leaving then for India just around Christmas time of that same year. Even so, that still doesn't substantiate my mother being with our family at our neighbors during Thanksgiving. I can, however, get her within a few weeks.

I know that one month before Thanksgiving my mother was still at home because of what happened on the day after Halloween. Halloween, always on the 31st of October, is roughly a month before Thanksgiving. That year the treats my parents gave away for "trick or treat" was actually roasted marshmallows. My father took a 55 gallon drum, made a fire in it using scrap lumber, put a metal grill on the top and everybody that came by could roast their own marshmallows over an open fire. The next morning my dad dumped what was left of the burnt wood and coals on the concrete driveway and spread them out a little with all intentions of taking the hose and water them down.

A few days before Halloween my dad had built and installed a new set of double doors on the garage. The scrap lumber he used for the marshmallows was from the left over old doors. While he was getting the hose I spotted one of the old garage door hinges in the rubble and when I did I reached down to pick it up. It was scolding hot and burnt the shit out of my hand, especially so a couple fingers --- and of which I still have scars from to this day.

I started screaming and running around like crazy. What I remember the most from the incident, other than the incident itself, was my mother running out of the house wearing an apron and wiping her hands with a towel, followed by all of her tenderness and care while dealing with the wound. That was the day after Halloween, Monday, November 1, 1943.

So, if my family with both parents were together the year before in October of 1942 for my brother's birthday and my mother was able to care for my burnt hand outside of our house wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a towel one year later on November 1, 1943, it could pretty well be taken that ten months earlier, in January of that year, my mother was still alive and a viable part of our family unit.

Not as solid a date as the day after Halloween, but that same year, 1943, there was a comic book that I must have somehow read, saw, or came into contact with called WAR HEROES, No. 4, April-June 1943 which carried within it's contents the following related to Leonardo Da Vinci:

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Although at the time I may not have related the above to Leonardo Da Vinci I did relate it back to something else. One day, not having even reached school age yet, like I often was, I was in the junk laden backyard workshop garage of the grandfather of the girl next door who used to babysit me. While there, I came across the following picture, below, in a publication of some kind the old man had been making a fuss over with a neighbor. The grandfather was big on Japanese invasion stuff, even to the point of monitoring shortwave radio all night long to having his own hand-cranked air raid siren. My dad was the air raid warden for our block while right along with him I was, albeit self ordained, a Junior Air Raid Warden, and even though I never quite got it, my dad and the old man didn't always see eye-to-eye regarding his constant false air raid warnings. In any case, I remember well the fuss between the neighbor and the grandfather involving the photograph. It was all about potential invasion, with the grandfather being adamant that "we should go to no ends to protect against invasion" and the neighbor not being in full agreement, even to the point of reaching a huge yelling match and the neighbor being thrown out of the shop because of being in league with the enemy.

Hearing all the commotion my my mother or grandmother came over and took me home and when I left, without realizing it, I still had the publication that had the photograph in it. At home all I did was look at it. Over and over I continued to look at the photo and all I could think about was a man with some kind of wing device designed to help make him fly.

It was primarily because of the above that from a very young age I started to jump off one-story porches, garages, and roof tops with a bed sheet made into a parachute or flaring behind my back tied to my wrists and ankles a la the glider chute of Captain Midnight on more than one occasion, So too, without any knowledge of same thereof or parental approval either, I designed and built bat-like wings with cloth and sticks and attempted to fly, all before my uncle, who helped me in later years, showed up on the scene.

photo source David Heger

Within a few days of having read 500 Years Too Soon for the first time and approximately four or five years after the above event, one way or the other, I saw the 1947 Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movie titled Tarzan and the Huntress. No sooner had I seen it than my interest in Da Vinci flying machines exploded after watching the scene where Tarzan's son Boy builds a glider-type plane capable of flying and their chimp Cheetah, apparently gauging the glider's potential, steals it. Hanging on for dear life Cheetah jumps off some rocks and covers quite some distance before crashing into the trees. Haranguing my uncle over and over on the idea of flying in the same manner, he eventually laid out a life size drawing of a Da Vinci like craft on the floor of the studio and from there, together, we built an actual machine capable of flying while carrying a person, hopefully me, in flight. See:



Footnote [2]


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Sometime in or around the year 1959 or so I walked into Max Balchowsky's shop Hollywood Motors with a letter of introduction from his friend Eric Houser arranged for me by our friend Mary Davis, which read in part, "Give the kid what he wants, he's OK." What I wanted was to upgrade the power plant in my Ford woody after all these years by having a Chevy Corvette V-8 and automatic transmission installed, and had gone to Hollywood Motors to see if Balchowsky would do it. After reading the note and breaking his stare from a certain admiration aimed at the woody he turned to me. As if hit by a hammer or seen a ghost, uncharacteristically he suddenly and out of nowhere appeared woozy, semi-collapsing, his knees buckling under as fellow shop employees and others close by rushed to block a potential fall, sitting him down and giving him water.

At first I think they thought I stabbed or shot him or something. But that wasn't what happened. The what happened was Balchowsky needed no letter of introduction. He had seen me years before In Burma.

With the end of World War II Balchowsky moved to Southern California almost as quick as the military handed him his discharge. Just as quick, like thousands of others, he jumped feet first into on the growing automotive and hot rod culture that began dominating the California scene. The two things that set him aside from the rest of the pack was his knack for smoothly installing big bore powerful American V-8's into smaller underpowered cars and doing so successfully along with transferring his hot rod skills in the 1950's-1960's into the sports car field by building and racing his own cars. He was known for his bright yellow series of "Old Yeller Junkyard Dog Specials" and their ability to beat the best Europe had to offer. Ferraris, Maseratis, Aston Martins, and Porsche, at one time or the other they all coward under his skills, and if not, gave them a run for their money. In the hands of an extraordinarily skilled driver his V-8 Buick powered specials were a force to be reckoned with.

During World War II Balchowsky was a belly gunner in the turret of a B-24 Liberator. On a mission over Europe his bomber was .hit so hard by fighters and flack the crew had to abandon her. Making it as far back as France Balchowsky, wounded, was forced with the rest of the crew to bail out, France being friendly territory, thus avoiding possible capture by the enemy. Following a short recuperation period he was sent to the China-Burma-India theater, more specifically Burma, where he finished out the war.

Hanging out waiting to get back over the 'hump' I spent a lot of time on R&R in Calcutta and in the process bumped into any number of G.I.'s, Calcutta being a fairly safe haven for Burmese and China based troops seeking a change of pace. During one of those times, besides meeting Flying Tiger pilot Col. Robert L. Scott, artist Peter Hurd, B-29 pilot John Noble Cumming, merchant marine come Beat poet Bob Kaufman, and others. I also met a 20 year old G.I. on R&R named Max Balchowsky that would eventually play a role in my life later on. In conversation Scott related that while with the Flying Tigers he had escorted both daylight and nighttime bombing runs over Hanoi. In turn, Balchowsky told the group he had participated in low-level B-24 bombing runs on Japanese ships in the Gulf of Tonkin right off the coast of Vietnam. Places like Hanoi and the Gulf of Tonkin and even Vietnam didn't mean much to most of the G.I.s, but for me they took on a whole separate meaning of their own.

While in his garage Hollywood Motors in 1959 Balchowsky asked if I had ever been to Burma. I told him about 15 years before, in 1944 as a young boy around six years old, I had been taken to India for several months by a foster couple, but was unable to remember a whole lot about it. If Burma had been on my travel agenda I wasn't able to remember it either. He told me in 1944 at age 20 he was in the Army in Burma counting down the days until the end of the war when he went on R&R in Calcutta India. There he met the person he thought was me, and for sure the me he met wasn't six years old, but more like 25, and, although in civilian clothes, claiming to be in the Army and hanging out with other G.I.s.

Of course Balchowsky was right. I wouldn't be age 25 for several more years, sometime around 1964 or so. When I went to to see about a possible engine swap for the woody it was approximately five years before 1964. Which is to say, neither 1964 nor me being 25 hadn't happened yet. And that's the crux of the matter. If it hadn't happened yet how could I have remembered it?

If any of you have read "The Code Maker, The Zen Maker," especially Part V Of Minds and Landscapes: Into Their Interior (see), you would have learned that in 1964 I ended up in a Zen Monastery high in the Himalayas and an ashram of a venerated Indian holy man in India. It was after the ashram, as found in Return to the Monastery, that I ended up in Burma and then Calcutta. Of course, again, in Calcutta, I was around 25 years old. When I was in Balchowsky's shop seeing about the woody it was 1959, four or five years earlier. I was only 21 and 1964 hadn't happened yet, so there was no way I could remember any meeting with Balchowsky in Burma or Calcutta because, as for me, it was yet to come.





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