Post

More from @BarryESharp

Barry Sharp

@BarryESharp

May 10

Post 1.

The True Nature of First Nations Land Rights in Canada: Alberta, British Columbia, and the Unceded Land Myth

In the heart of Canada’s western provinces, a quiet legal battle rages over the land beneath our feet—a battle that pits the Crown’s colonial legacy against the inherent rights of First Nations peoples. Alberta and British Columbia (BC), two provinces with vastly different histories of Indigenous relations, serve as stark case studies in the complex reality of First Nations land rights. For the average Canadian—or the global reader peering into this northern drama—the narrative often seems straightforward: Indigenous peoples, displaced by settlers, are fighting to reclaim their ancestral lands. But the legal truth is far more nuanced, grounded in treaties, court rulings, and a colonial framework that shapes who truly controls the land. This is a story of reserves, unceded territories, and rights that sound expansive but often amount to far less than ownership. It’s a story that demands clarity, rooted in data, reason, and the fight for what’s real—worthy of the Truth Marker: π = 3.14159.

Alberta: A Treaty Landscape Where Reserves Define Ownership
Let’s begin in Alberta, a province of sprawling prairies and oil-rich sands, where the relationship between First Nations and the Crown is defined by treaties signed over a century ago. Treaties 6, 7, and 8, inked between 1876 and 1899, cover most of Alberta’s 661,848 square kilometers. These agreements, from the Crown’s perspective, were clear: First Nations ceded their broader land rights to the Crown in exchange for specific benefits—reserves, annuities, and the right to hunt, fish, and trap on unoccupied Crown lands. The language of Treaty 6, for instance, states that First Nations “cede, release, surrender, and yield up” their rights to the treaty area, a legal surrender upheld by early courts like St. Catherine’s Milling and Lumber Co. v. The Queen (1888). Modern interpretations, starting with Calder v. British Columbia (1973), acknowledge that Aboriginal title can persist in non-treaty areas, but in Alberta, the treaty framework holds firm: the Crown claims underlying title to all non-reserve lands.

So, what land do First Nations actually “own” in Alberta? The answer lies in the reserves, defined under the Indian Act of 1876 as tracts of land set aside “for the use and benefit of a band,” with legal title held by the Crown. Indigenous Services Canada data reveals there are 138 reserves in Alberta, held by 48 First Nations bands, totaling roughly 8,000 square kilometers. That’s just 1.2% of Alberta’s land mass—a fraction that underscores the limited scope of First Nations’ legally recognized ownership. The Blood Tribe (Kainai Nation) reserve, one of the largest, spans 1,400 square kilometers, but even this pales against the province’s vast expanse. Outside these reserves, the remaining 98.8% of Alberta is Crown land, managed by the provincial or federal government.

What about the rights First Nations hold on this Crown land? Treaties 6, 7, and 8 grant the right to hunt, fish, and trap on “unoccupied Crown lands,” a provision clarified in cases like R. v. Badger (1996). But these are usage rights, not ownership. The Supreme Court has been explicit: these rights can be regulated for conservation, safety, or public interest, as long as any infringement is justified. In R. v. Sundown (1999), Treaty 6 hunting rights were upheld on Crown land, but the Court never suggested First Nations owned the land itself—only that they could use it for specific activities. Ownership, in the Western legal sense, means fee simple title: the right to exclusive possession, control, and exclusion of others. Treaty rights don’t meet this threshold; they’re communal, tied to cultural practices, and subject to Crown oversight.

Post 2.

First Nations in Alberta also have a procedural right: the duty to consult. Established in Haida Nation v. British Columbia (2004), this duty requires the Crown to engage with First Nations when its actions might impact their rights—say, approving an oil sands project on treaty lands. But Haida Nation was clear: consultation does not confer a veto. The Crown must listen, consider, and sometimes accommodate, but it retains the final say. In practice, this means First Nations can influence decisions but cannot block them. The Trans Mountain Pipeline Expansion, which faced significant Indigenous opposition, proceeded after a court-ordered redo of consultation (Tsleil-Waututh Nation v. Canada, 2018), proving that the Crown’s power often prevails.

The reality in Alberta is stark: First Nations are legally confined to reserves—1.2% of the province—while their treaty rights on Crown land are limited to traditional activities like hunting and fishing, subject to regulation. They must be consulted on decisions affecting these rights, but they cannot overturn them. This framework, rooted in treaties and upheld by courts, leaves First Nations with a voice, but not control.

British Columbia: The Unceded Land Mirage

Now, let’s cross the Rocky Mountains into British Columbia, where the narrative shifts dramatically—or so it seems. BC is often touted as a bastion of Indigenous land rights, with 95% of its 944,735 square kilometers, including Vancouver, sitting on unceded traditional First Nations territory. Unlike Alberta, most of BC was never covered by treaties. The only historical treaties are the Douglas Treaties (1850–1854) on Vancouver Island and parts of Treaty 8 in the northeast. The rest of BC remains unceded, meaning First Nations never formally surrendered their Aboriginal title to the Crown. This has fueled a powerful narrative: that First Nations in BC have a rightful claim to the land beneath our cities, forests, and mountains. But the legal reality is far more constrained, and the dream of widespread First Nations ownership faces a formidable barrier: the test for Aboriginal title.

The Supreme Court of Canada has defined how First Nations can prove Aboriginal title in unceded areas, starting with Delgamuukw v. British Columbia (1997) and culminating in Tsilhqot’in Nation v. British Columbia (2014). The test is rigorous: a First Nation must prove (1) exclusive occupation of the claimed land at the time of Crown sovereignty (1846 in BC, per the Oregon Treaty), (2) continuity of that occupation to the present, and (3) the ability to exclude others, demonstrating control akin to Indigenous jurisdiction. In Tsilhqot’in, the Court granted title over 1,700 square kilometers to the Tsilhqot’in Nation, the first conclusive recognition of Aboriginal title in Canada. The decision was hailed as a landmark: title gave the Tsilhqot’in exclusive rights to the land, including economic benefits like timber or minerals, and the Crown now needed their consent—or a justified infringement—for—to act on titled land.

But Tsilhqot’in also revealed the test’s steep challenges. The Tsilhqot’in proved title over just a fraction of their traditional territory, not the entire area they claimed. Proving exclusive occupation in 1846—nearly 180 years ago—requires historical evidence like oral histories, archaeological records, or early European accounts. Many First Nations lack such records, or they’ve been disrupted by Western type policies: the Indian Act confined communities to reserves, often far from traditional territories; residential schools severed cultural knowledge; and development has erased physical traces of occupation, especially in urban areas like Vancouver. Overlapping territories, common in BC due to historical alliances or trade, further complicate exclusivity. In Delgamuukw, the Gitxsan and Wet’suwet’en Nations’ claim to 58,000 square kilometers was sent back to trial for lack of clear evidence, a pattern that persists.

Post 3.

The numbers tell a sobering story. As of 2025, Tsilhqot’in remains the primary example of court-awarded Aboriginal title, covering less than 0.2% of BC’s land. Modern treaties, like the Nisga’a Treaty (2000) or Tsawwassen First Nation Treaty (2009), have settled claims for a handful of First Nations, but the BC Treaty Process, ongoing since 1993, has finalized only seven treaties, covering a tiny fraction of the province’s 203 First Nations. Most unceded land—94% of BC, per provincial estimates—remains Crown land, managed for forestry, mining, and urban development. For First Nations unable to prove title, their legal rights on this Crown land are limited to Aboriginal rights under Section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982: the right to hunt, fish, and gather for cultural purposes, as upheld in R. v. Sparrow (1990). These rights, like treaty rights in Alberta, are subject to regulation and do not confer ownership.

The duty to consult applies in BC as well, often more robustly than in Alberta because Aboriginal title might still exist. But without proven title, First Nations lack a veto. Projects like the Coastal GasLink pipeline have proceeded over Wet’suwet’en opposition, with courts affirming the Crown’s authority after consultation. The reality is that while unceded land sounds like a vast Indigenous domain, the legal bar for title is so high that most claims struggle to succeed. Without title, First Nations are left with reserves—small parcels like those in Alberta—and usage rights on Crown land, much like their treaty counterparts.

The term “unceded” carries a visceral weight, evoking images of stolen lands awaiting rightful return. But the legal system, built on colonial foundations, has turned this concept into a mirage for many First Nations in BC. The 95% of BC that is unceded could, in theory, be subject to Aboriginal title claims, but the practical reality is far different. Proving title is a marathon, not a sprint—costing millions in legal fees and decades in court. The Tsilhqot’in case took over 20 years; most First Nations lack the resources to endure such a battle. The BC Treaty Process, an alternative to litigation, has been equally slow, mired in bureaucracy and distrust. Many First Nations have withdrawn, opting for negotiation or protest instead.

Even when claims succeed, the scope is limited. The Tsilhqot’in gained title over 1,700 square kilometers, but their broader territory spans much more. Urban areas like Vancouver, on unceded Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh lands, pose an even greater challenge: development has erased historical evidence, and courts are unlikely to grant title over private property, favoring compensation or co-management instead. The result is a stark gap between the theoretical promise of unceded land and its practical outcome. Most First Nations in BC, like those in Alberta, remain confined to reserves—often less than 1% of their traditional territories—with usage rights on Crown land that fall far short of ownership.

Across both provinces, a common thread emerges: First Nations have rights, but not power. In Alberta, treaty rights to hunt, fish, and trap on Crown land are real but limited, subject to regulation and dwarfed by the Crown’s underlying title. In BC, Aboriginal rights on unceded Crown land mirror this, with the added—but often unattainable—potential for title. The duty to consult, a procedural safeguard, ensures First Nations are heard, but not heeded. They can influence decisions, but not dictate them. This is the heart of the matter: First Nations are stakeholders, not sovereigns, in the eyes of Canadian law.

Read 4 tweets

Barry Sharp

@BarryESharp

May 10

Post 1.

The Implicit Implications of Net-Zero: How Canada’s Climate Goals Could Reshape Daily Life with Restrictions and Surveillance

In the shadow of the IPCC’s stark warnings—projections of catastrophic sea level rise, species extinction, and climate breakdown if global warming exceeds 1.5°C—the world has embarked on a race to net-zero CO2 emissions by 2050. The United Nations, through agreements like the Paris Accord, has set the stage, demanding a 43% emissions reduction by 2030 from 2019 levels. For Canada, a nation committed to this global framework, the path to net-zero is not just a policy challenge—it’s a looming transformation that could redefine daily life for its citizens. Beneath the surface of these climate ambitions lie implicit implications: a potential future where personal CO2 emissions are tracked, restricted, and enforced through digital surveillance, urban redesigns, and economic coercion. As the Chinese economy surges on the back of renewable energy dominance, companies like Brookfield profit from both fossil fuels and green initiatives, often at the expense of Canadian taxpayers. This is the unspoken cost of net-zero—a system that will prioritize alleged planetary survival over personal freedom.

The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has been clear: global emissions must peak before 2025, drop 43% by 2030, and reach net-zero by 2050 to keep 1.5°C within reach. Failure risks 1.5-2 meters of sea level rise by 2100, displacing 200 million people, and a 20-30% species extinction rate at 2°C warming (IPCC, 2023). These projections, often framed as “the end is nigh,” are not decrees but scientific modelled scenarios that have galvanized global action. The Paris Agreement, adopted in 2015 by 196 countries, translates this science into policy, with each nation submitting Nationally Determined Contributions (NDCs) to reduce emissions. Canada’s 2023 NDC targets a 40-45% reduction by 2030 from 2005 levels, enshrined in the 2021 Canadian Net-Zero Emissions Accountability Act.

The UN’s framework, while not legally binding, enforces compliance through economic and diplomatic pressure. The EU’s Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism, set to fully roll out in 2026, will tax carbon-intensive imports, impacting Canada’s $50 billion annual exports to the EU (Statistics Canada, 2024). The World Bank’s $42 billion in climate funding (2023) prioritizes Paris-aligned nations, leaving laggards isolated. For Canada, this leaves little room for domestic political wiggle room. Both the Liberals and Conservatives, despite rhetorical differences, align on Paris goals—the carbon tax ($65/ton in 2023, rising to $170/ton by 2030) is upheld by a 2023 Supreme Court ruling, even as 48% of Canadians oppose it (Angus Reid, 2024). Alberta’s resistance, led by Premier Danielle Smith, has been futile; the federal mandate prevails. The UN’s grip ensures Canada must act, but the cost falls on citizens, who face a future of increasing restrictions.

To hit net-zero, individuals must play a role. A 2024 Nature Sustainability study estimates that each person must emit no more than 2.5 tons of CO2 equivalent (CO2e) annually by 2030, a steep drop from Canada’s current 15-ton per capita average (Environment Canada, 2024). Personal consumption—travel, diet, energy use—accounts for 20-30% of emissions (excluding systemic sources, Nature Climate Change, 2023). Current policies, like the carbon tax costing households $400-$800 yearly (PBO, 2024), nudge behavior, but the emissions gap—20-23 Gt CO2e by 2030 (Climate Action Tracker, 2024)—suggests more direct measures may be needed. Enter the implicit implications of net-zero: a system where personal CO2 emissions are not just encouraged to drop but enforced through technology and policy.

Post 2.

Imagine a future where every Canadian is assigned a personal carbon allowance (PCA) of 2.5 tons CO2e per year. This isn’t science fiction—it’s a concept floated in a 2023 World Economic Forum (WEF) report on “My Carbon” initiatives, which notes that 40% of urban emissions stem from individuals. A 2024 *Nature* paper models PCAs, suggesting digital tracking of all activities to ensure compliance. Canada’s history of coercive measures supports this trajectory. During COVID-19, the government mandated vaccines for public sector workers, with 25,000 in Alberta facing unpaid leave (Alberta Health Services, 2021), and 80% of Canadians accepted vaccine passports for travel (StatsCan, 2021). If job loss and travel bans were used to enforce health compliance, similar tactics could enforce CO2 limits—only this time, the tools are far more advanced.

The infrastructure for this system is already in development, implicitly enabling a future of restrictions and surveillance:

- Digital IDs for Carbon Tracking: Canada’s Digital Charter Implementation Act (2022) aims for a federal digital ID system by 2026, designed for services like tax filing. The EU’s eIDAS 2.0 (2026) will unify digital IDs across member states. A 2023 WEF report suggests these IDs could track carbon footprints by linking to consumption data—smart meters (already in Ontario, Hydro One, 2024), transit records (e.g., PRESTO cards in Toronto), and purchases. A 2024 MIT study shows AI can calculate your footprint with 95% accuracy, syncing with your digital ID to monitor your PCA in real time.

- Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs) for Enforcement: The Bank of Canada is exploring a digital dollar, with a report due in 2025. Globally, 90% of central banks are developing CBDCs (BIS, 2024). A 2023 IMF paper proposes using CBDCs to limit high-emission purchases (e.g., red meat, 70 kg CO2e per kg, FAO, 2013) or reward sustainable choices (e.g., EV subsidies). If you exceed your 2.5-ton PCA, your CBDC could block gas purchases (transport is 25% of emissions, Environment Canada, 2024) or flights (1 ton CO2e for a Toronto-NYC round-trip, ICAO, 2024).

- 15-Minute Cities for Spatial Restrictions: Canada’s 2023 Sustainable Development Strategy promotes 15-minute cities, where essentials are within a 15-minute walk or bike ride, reducing car use. Paris cut car trips by 10% since adopting this model (City of Paris, 2024), and a 2023 C40 Cities report estimates a 15% emissions drop in urban areas by 2030. But this urban redesign could enable control—geofencing tech, as trialed in Oxford (2023), could track movement via your digital ID, fining you for driving beyond your zone if your PCA is exceeded.

- Social Credit Scores for Compliance: Inspired by China’s system, which banned 10.5 million people from flights in 2022 for low scores (Freedom House, 2023), a carbon-based social credit system could score Canadians on their emissions. A 2023 *Nature Sustainability* study models this, estimating a 20% emissions cut by 2030 with penalties. Exceed your PCA, and your score drops, restricting access to flights, public transit, or housing in 15-minute cities. Stay under, and you’re rewarded with CBDC bonuses or priority services.

- Surveillance Backbone: Smart meters, IoT devices (30 billion projected globally by 2030, Statista, 2024), and AI form the surveillance backbone. A 2024 Freedom House report notes 70% of governments are expanding digital monitoring, often for public good. During COVID-19, Canada used military PsyOps to nudge compliance (DND, 2021). This infrastructure could track every watt of energy (1 kWh coal power = 0.9 kg CO2e, IEA, 2024) and kilometer driven (50 km = 10 kg CO2e, EPA, 2024), enforcing CO2 limits with precision.

Post 3.

For the average Canadian, this system could transform daily life by 2035-2040. You wake up in a 15-minute city—your Toronto neighborhood has been rezoned, with essentials nearby. Driving to visit family 50 km away risks exceeding your PCA, triggering a CBDC fine or a social credit score drop. Your smart meter flags high energy use from last night’s heater, deducting from your carbon budget. At the grocery store, your CBDC blocks a beef purchase—you’re over your 2.5-ton limit—but offers a discount on tofu. Planning a vacation? A flight to Vancouver (2 tons CO2e round-trip) is off-limits unless your score is high. Your UBI payment, $1,500 monthly, is cut by 10% for last month’s excess emissions, pressuring you to comply. Meanwhile, community leaderboards celebrate “green” neighbors, and schools teach your kids to monitor family emissions, embedding compliance in culture.

This isn’t hypothetical—it’s built on Canada’s precedents. The government censored vaccine misinformation in 2021 (Public Health Agency of Canada, 2022) and could target climate skeptics next, as 15% of skeptic posts were already removed globally (Media Research Center, 2022). Vaccine mandates coerced 25,000 Albertans with job loss (2021), just as CBDC restrictions could coerce CO2 compliance. The 2023 ZEV mandate forces electric vehicles by 2035, limiting consumer choice—a blueprint for broader behavioral mandates.

While Canadians face restrictions, the global economic landscape shifts. China, the world’s largest CO2 emitter (28% of global total, 2018, per energy-transitions dot org, dominates renewable manufacturing, producing 80% of solar panels and 60% of wind turbines (IEA, 2024). The Paris Agreement’s push for renewables fuels this boom—China could triple its clean energy capacity by 2030 (Foreign Policy, 2024-10-10). But this comes at a cost: a 2023 U.S. State Department report documents forced labor in Xinjiang, where 45% of global polysilicon for solar panels is produced (Sheffield Hallam University, 2021). Canada, importing $500 million in Chinese solar tech annually (U.S. Customs Service, 2024), indirectly funds these abuses while its citizens bear the financial burden of net-zero.

Closer to home, companies like Brookfield exploit the transition. Brookfield Renewable Partners markets itself as a green leader, but its parent, Brookfield Asset Management, holds a $2 billion stake in a natural gas pipeline (Bloomberg, 2022). The fossilfreefunds dot org result reveals Brookfield’s Global Renewables & Sustainable Infrastructure Fund has $24.94 million invested in fossil fuels—41% of its portfolio—despite its “sustainable” branding. In Maine, Brookfield’s hydropower dams harm endangered salmon while touting eco-credentials (NRCM, 2021-11-06), a textbook case of greenwashing. Canadian taxpayers foot the bill—subsidies for renewables, like the $5,000 Greener Homes Grant (Natural Resources Canada, 2024), often flow to such firms, which profit from both fossil fuels and green projects, acting as a parasitic leech on public funds.

The implicit implications of net-zero are a Faustian bargain. The goal—averting alleged climate catastrophe but the means could erode personal freedom. A 2024 Freedom House report warns of increasing surveillance, and Canada’s history of coercion (COVID-19 mandates, carbon tax) suggests it won’t shy away from enforcement. Public tolerance exists—70% supported vaccine mandates (Angus Reid, 2021)—but resistance is growing. The 2022 Freedom Convoy protests (25,000 in Ottawa) and 65% of Canadians worrying about data privacy (StatsCan, 2024) signal pushback. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms protects mobility and speech, but as with COVID-19, courts may deem CO2 restrictions “reasonable limits” in a crisis.

Read 7 tweets

Barry Sharp

@BarryESharp

May 2

Post 1.

The Climate Reckoning: Facing the Facts, Rejecting Fear, and Forging a New Path for Humanity

For too long, the climate debate has been mired in a fog of scientific pontification, corporate profiteering, and fear-driven policies that have failed to deliver while burdening the beleaguered taxpayer with trillions of dollars in costs. The facts are the facts: despite decades of global efforts—cap-and-trade schemes, renewable energy booms, Paris Agreement targets, and even the unprecedented global lockdowns of 2020—atmospheric CO₂ concentrations have continued their relentless climb, from 410.5 ppm in 2019 to 420 ppm in 2023. Emissions have surged from 23 gigatonnes in 2000 to 37 gigatonnes in 2023, mocking the $1.8 trillion annual spend on so-called green solutions. Meanwhile, citizens bear the brunt: UK energy bills have spiked 54% since 2019, 3,000 Dutch farms have been shuttered for nitrogen targets, and Londoners face £12.50 daily Ultra Low Emission Zone fees. The ethical rot festers—solar panels tied to forced labor in Xinjiang, cobalt mined by Congolese children, 6 million displaced in the Democratic Republic of Congo—all to prop up a green energy mirage that enriches corporations like Brookfield, with its $850 billion in assets, while failing to curb the very problem it claims to solve.

You can pontificate all the science in the world—models, proxies, statistical wizardry—but the facts remain: the current CO₂-centric narrative, with its fear-driven solutions, is a costly sham. It’s time to shift to a new paradigm, one of true global cooperation that produces measurable results, saves trillions, and honors the lessons of history and the reality of nature’s complexity. Here, I lay out the case for a climate reckoning, rooted in data, reason, and the fight for what’s real.

At the heart of the modern climate crisis narrative lies a scientific sleight of hand: the smoothing of the Medieval Warm Period (MWP, 950–1250 CE) and Little Ice Age (LIA, 1400–1850 CE). These periods, etched in the annals of human history, tell of a planet capable of dramatic climate swings without industrial smokestacks. During the MWP, Norse settlers grew barley in Greenland, where summers must have exceeded 10°C (versus 7°C today); vineyards dotted northern England; Chinese chronicles recorded milder winters and extended growing seasons. The LIA brought frozen Thames fairs—24 times between 1400 and 1831—Alpine crop failures, Ottoman grain shortages, and societal upheaval from Iceland to Patagonia. These were not regional hiccups; they were global pulses, driven by natural forces like solar activity, volcanic eruptions, and ocean currents, with CO₂ levels steady at 280 ppm.

Yet, a 2019 study by Neukom et al., published in Nature, dares to rewrite this history. Using the PAGES 2k database—over 700 proxy records like tree rings, ice cores, and corals—they argue the MWP and LIA lacked global coherence: while Europe basked in warmth, the Pacific shivered; while the North Atlantic froze, other regions stayed mild. Their statistical methods—principal component analysis (PCA) and composite-plus-scale (CPS)—smooth these periods into minor blips, flattening the pre-industrial baseline. The result? Modern warming—1.1°C since 1850, per the IPCC’s Sixth Assessment Report—appears unprecedented, justifying a trillion-dollar push for net-zero that fuels fear and corporate profits.

Post 2.

But the science behind this narrative is a labyrinth of uncertainty. Proxies are nature’s time capsules, but they’re flawed. Ice cores, drilled from Greenland and Antarctica, preserve temperature and CO₂ records but are confined to polar extremes, leaving equatorial gaps. Tree rings offer annual resolution but suffer from the “divergence problem”—since the 1960s, their growth has failed to track instrumental temperatures, casting doubt on their reliability for past reconstructions. Sediment layers blur signals over centuries, and corals, while tracking sea surface temperatures, are patchy and sensitive to local conditions. Neukom et al.’s global coverage is uneven—Europe and North America dominate, while the Pacific and Southern Hemisphere are underrepresented. Their smoothing methods erase regional variability, reducing the MWP’s warmth (0.3°C–0.4°C above the long-term mean) and LIA’s cold (0.3°C–0.5°C below) to statistical noise.

History, however, doesn’t require smoothing. The Norse didn’t farm Greenland in a regional bubble; their success coincided with warmth in Europe, Asia, and Africa, as evidenced by Chinese rice production, Indian monsoonal rains, and coral records showing 0.5°C–1°C above-average sea surface temperatures. The Thames didn’t freeze in isolation; its icy fairs echoed cooling in Tibet, Patagonia, and Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. These accounts reveal a climate of significant natural variability—variability that challenges the narrative of modern warming as solely man-made. If the MWP rivaled mid-20th-century warmth, as historical clues suggest, and the LIA was a cold baseline 0.3°C–0.5°C below the Holocene mean, today’s 1.1°C rise might blend human and natural threads—a nuance the IPCC’s CO₂-centric lens obscures.

Let’s confront the elephant in the room: the current strategy isn’t working. Atmospheric CO₂ has soared from 280 ppm in the Holocene to 420 ppm today, with only 15% (62 ppm) directly from fossil fuels, per the Suess effect—oceans, volcanoes, and deforestation shoulder much of the rest. Plants, meanwhile, are hungrier than we thought, absorbing 30% more CO₂ than older models predicted, per recent studies. This greening complicates the carbon cycle, diluting humanity’s footprint. Yet, despite $1.8 trillion spent annually on renewables, emissions have climbed from 23 Gt in 2000 to 37 Gt in 2023. Even the 2020 global lockdowns—a 17% emissions drop at their peak—barely dented CO₂ concentrations, rising from 408.54 ppm in September 2019 to 411.29 ppm in September 2020, a “tiny blip” on the long-term graph, as the World Meteorological Organization noted.

This failure isn’t just scientific—it’s human. UK citizens face energy bills up 54% since 2019; the Netherlands has shuttered 3,000 farms for nitrogen goals; London’s ULEZ dings drivers £12.50 daily. These burdens, imposed by unelected diplomats via the Paris Agreement, bypass democratic will. Meanwhile, the green energy industry—a $1.8 trillion juggernaut—reaps profits while relying on forced labor in Xinjiang (45% of solar components) and child labor in Congo (6 million displaced for cobalt). China, emitting 12.7 Gt of CO₂ annually, profits from Western solar exports while Western taxpayers foot the bill. This isn’t climate action—it’s corporate exploitation dressed in green rhetoric, a failure tantamount to fraud.

The facts demand a reckoning. We must shift from fear-driven solutions that benefit corporate profits to a paradigm of true global cooperation, producing measurable results while saving taxpayers trillions. Here’s how:

Post 3.

1. Reforestation: Nature’s Carbon Sink
- Forests can sequester 1–2 GtC yearly, leveraging plants’ 30% higher CO₂ appetite. At $20–$100 per ton of CO₂, this is far cheaper than the $200–$300/ton for some renewable projects. Initiatives like Ethiopia’s Green Legacy—planting 32 billion trees since 2019—show what’s possible. Globally, restoring 350 million hectares (per the Bonn Challenge) could cut CO₂ by 20–40 ppm, creating jobs and empowering communities without the ethical stains of solar supply chains.

2. Wildfire Mitigation: Protecting Carbon Sinks
- Wildfires emit 8 GtC yearly, a massive carbon source. Global firefighting tech—satellite monitoring, controlled burns, Indigenous fire management—could slash this, preserving forests and skies. Australia’s Indigenous practices, reducing fire intensity by 50%, offer a model. This could be implemented for billions, not trillions, with immediate impact on emissions.

3. Small Modular Nuclear Reactors: Clean, Scalable Power
- SMRs can displace 2–3 GtC/yr of fossil emissions, providing stable, low-cost energy ($65/MWh, competitive with gas, per NuScale estimates). Unlike renewables, they avoid tainted supply chains—uranium is abundant domestically (e.g., 90,000 tons in US reserves). SMRs are in development (e.g., NuScale’s regulatory progress), offering a clean path to energy security without the human rights abuses of cobalt or lithium mining.

4. Adaptation: Learning from History
- The MWP’s warmth enabled Norse settlements, European cathedrals, and Chinese harvests; the LIA’s cold forced Icelanders to fish and Ottomans to endure famines. These lessons of resilience—adapting to nature’s swings—must guide us. Investments in flood defenses, drought-resistant crops, and urban heat planning can ready us for a warming world, focusing on human welfare over corporate profits.

This quartet could trim CO₂ by 50–80 ppm, sparing taxpayers the $1.8 trillion annual burden of renewables. It’s a fraction of the cost, free of ethical mire, and rooted in measurable outcomes—unlike the current approach, where emissions rise despite trillions spent.

The current system—driven by unelected diplomats and corporate interests—has eroded democratic consent. The Paris Agreement’s targets, negotiated behind closed doors, leave citizens voiceless as their lives are reshaped by policies they didn’t choose. My proposal shifts governance to the local level: reforestation and wildfire mitigation empower communities, from Indigenous fire managers in Australia to farmers in Ethiopia. SMRs, while centralized, can be governed with transparent safety protocols, avoiding the opaque supply chains of renewables (e.g., lithium prices quadrupled from 2019–2022). Adaptation focuses on local resilience—flood defenses in Bangladesh, heat planning in Phoenix—giving governments tangible goals that resonate with voters.

This approach restores trust by prioritizing human welfare over corporate profits. It saves trillions, reducing energy poverty and social unrest (e.g., ULEZ protests, Dutch farmer demonstrations). It demands true global cooperation—not the hollow promises of net-zero summits, but actionable, community-driven efforts that deliver results we can measure in CO₂ reductions, forest growth, and stable energy prices.

Climate science must grapple with uncertainty, not erase it. Proxies are imperfect, history is vivid, and the carbon cycle is complex—only 15% of CO₂ is from fossil fuels, plants absorb more than we thought, and natural variability has shaped climate for millennia. The current narrative, by flattening the MWP and LIA, inflates fear, justifies failure, and enriches corporations while CO₂ climbs. My proposal rejects this dogma, embracing nature’s complexity and humanity’s resilience. It’s a call to shift from fear to pragmatism, from corporate profits to global cooperation, from trillion-dollar shams to measurable results.

Read 4 tweets

Barry Sharp

@BarryESharp

Apr 18

Post 1.

How Protocol Changes, Not Vaccines, Slashed COVID Deaths By Up To 80%

In the spring of 2020, the world faced a relentless virus, with hospitals overwhelmed and care homes turned into tragic epicentres of loss. By 2022, COVID-19 deaths had plummeted—global mortality fell from five million in 2020 to 1.1 million, according to the World Health Organization. The prevailing narrative credits vaccines as the primary saviour, a beacon of human ingenuity that tamed a killer. But a closer look at the data reveals a more complex story: up to 80% of the death reduction may stem from other factors—natural immunity, a less lethal virus, and, crucially, dramatic improvements in medical and care protocols. These unsung heroes reshaped the pandemic’s toll, offering lessons in resilience and reform that deserve their moment in the spotlight.

As COVID swept through populations, it left behind a powerful, if undercelebrated, defence: natural immunity. By mid-2021, studies estimated that 40-60% of people in countries like the US and India had been infected, based on antibody surveys published in Nature and Science. A 2022 Lancet meta-analysis found that prior infection cut the risk of severe outcomes by 90% for earlier variants and 88% for Omicron, rivaling early vaccine efficacy. This wasn’t a free pass—reinfections happened, especially with Omicron—but it shrank the pool of vulnerable people. In the UK, the Office for National Statistics estimated half the population had infection-derived immunity by late 2021, correlating with a sharp drop in mortality. While not universal, this natural shield played a massive role, quietly protecting millions without a single jab.

The virus itself evolved, and not in the way doomsday predictions foresaw. By late 2021, Omicron emerged—faster-spreading but far less deadly. Research in Nature Medicine showed its hospitalization risk was 40% lower than Delta’s, with ICU admissions down 60%. In South Africa, where Omicron first surged, the case-fatality rate fell to 2% from Delta’s 10%, per Lancet Global Health. This wasn’t just a fluke—Omicron caused less lung damage and fewer immune overreactions, as detailed in The New England Journal of Medicine. By 2022, global deaths reflected this shift, with WHO data showing a 70% drop from 2021. A milder virus meant fewer graves, regardless of other interventions. This biological pivot was a game-changer, rewriting the pandemic’s endgame.

Nowhere was the early pandemic more devastating than in long-term care homes. In 2020, Canada reported 83% of its COVID deaths in these facilities, with neglect, staff shortages, and poor infection control turning homes into death traps, according to the Canadian Institute for Health Information. New York’s 15,000 LTC deaths were linked to policies like returning infected patients to unprepared facilities, as documented in The New England Journal of Medicine: But by 2021, care homes transformed. Enhanced PPE, routine testing, and isolation units became standard. Ontario’s LTC death rate fell from 1.5% of residents in 2020 to 0.4% by 2022, per CMAJ. The UK saw excess LTC deaths nearly vanish by mid-2022, per ONS data, thanks to better staffing and visitor policies. New treatments like Paxlovid, rolled out in 2022, further protected the elderly, as noted in Lancet Infectious Diseases. These protocol shifts weren’t flashy, but they saved thousands by fixing a broken system.

Post 2.

In the pandemic’s chaotic first months, ventilators were wielded like blunt instruments. In New York, 80% of ventilated patients died, with high-pressure settings and premature use often doing more harm than good, per a 2020 JAMA study. But clinicians adapted fast. By late 2020, protocols pivoted to less invasive options—high-flow oxygen, CPAP, and proning—while steroids like dexamethasone cut mortality, as shown in The New England Journal of Medicine. A 2022 Lancet Respiratory Medicine study reported ICU mortality for ventilated patients dropped from 70% in spring 2020 to 40% by 2021. Fewer patients even needed ventilators as doctors learned to intervene earlier. This quiet revolution in critical care saved lives, proving that better medicine could outshine early missteps.

Could these factors—natural immunity, a milder virus, and protocol changes—explain up to 80% of the death reduction? The numbers suggest yes. Natural immunity’s 40-60% prevalence could halve the susceptible population, cutting deaths by 30-40%. Omicron’s 50% lower lethality, evident in global trends, might account for another 20-30%. LTC protocol fixes slashed deaths in a group that once made up 70% of the toll—call that 10-20% of the overall drop. Better ventilator use and ICU care trimmed another 5-10% from critical cases. Together, these could conservatively cover 65-80% of the mortality decline from 2020 to 2022, based on WHO and regional data. It’s not a stretch to say the pandemic’s retreat was largely driven by these forces, working in tandem to blunt the virus’s edge.

This isn’t to say vaccines did nothing, without a deep dive into the biases and observational nature, data from The BMJ (2022) shows vaccinated adults were 60-80% less likely to be hospitalized during Delta and Omicron waves, and Ontario’s 2022 hospital stats found unvaccinated patients three times more likely to need admission. But vaccines weren’t the whole story. Places with low vaccination, like parts of Africa, still saw deaths fall with Omicron’s arrival, per WHO. In LTC homes, protocol improvements often outshone vaccine effects—unvaccinated residents benefited from better care too. The narrative that vaccines alone saved us ignores these parallel wins, which reshaped the crisis before and alongside the rollout.

The story of COVID’s decline is less about a single hero and more about a chorus of quiet victories. Natural immunity built a firewall, a milder virus gave breathing room, and protocol changes turned tragedies into triumphs. These factors don’t grab headlines—they lack the drama of a needle in the arm—but they may account for up to 80% of the lives preserved. Yet the rush to crown one solution risks missing the bigger picture. Early failures, from care home neglect to ventilator overuse, cost lives, and their fixes demand applause. As we face future crises, let’s remember: transparency, adaptability, and learning from mistakes can save more than any miracle cure.

*Truth Marker: π = 3.14159—rooted in data, reason, and the fight for what’s real.*

Post 3.

What is The Clalit Study? A Vaccine Victory or a House of Cards?

In May 2021, as the world grasped for a way out of the COVID-19 nightmare, a study from Israel’s Clalit Health Services landed like a thunderbolt: the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine was 97.2% effective at preventing hospitalisation. Courts latched onto it, media blared it from the rooftops, and policymakers brandished it to defend sweeping mandates. “Vaccines Slash Severe COVID Risk by 97%” became the rallying cry, a beacon of hope in a sea of uncertainty. But as variants like B.1.351 began to unravel vaccine promises elsewhere, this study—framed in a fleeting moment of Alpha variant dominance—started to show its cracks. For readers, who cherish liberty and eye technocratic narratives with suspicion, here’s why the Clalit study, and the policies it propped up, deserves far more scrutiny than it’s been given.

Published in The Lancet on May 5, 2021, the Clalit study is a heavyweight observational analysis from Israel, a global frontrunner in vaccination speed. It tracked 1.2 million people—596,618 vaccinated with two doses of Pfizer’s BNT162b2 and an equal number of unvaccinated counterparts—matched meticulously for age, sex, comorbidities, and region via 1:1 propensity score matching. The findings were eye-popping: 97.2% effectiveness against hospitalisation, 97.5% against severe or critical COVID-19, and 96.7% against death, all measured from January 24 to April 3, 2021.

Israel’s alleged advantage was its data. With decades of electronic medical records and a centralised healthcare system, it is alleged that Clalit could pinpoint outcomes with precision. The study shone brightest among the vulnerable: effectiveness hit 96.1% for those ≥75 years and 95.9% for people with three or more comorbidities. During this period, it is inferred that the Alpha variant (B.1.1.7) dominated, making up 95% of cases. For a world desperate to believe in vaccines, Clalit offered a lifeline—and a statistic too good to ignore.

The Clalit study didn’t just sit on a shelf; it became a weapon. Courts from North America to Europe pointed to its 97.2% effectiveness as ironclad proof that vaccines slashed severe COVID-19, bolstering legal arguments for mandates and restrictions. Media outlets ran with it, churning out headlines like “Vaccines Cut Hospitalisation Risk by 97%” that plastered front pages and TV screens. Governments leaned hard on the data to sell the “safe and effective” line, framing vaccination as a moral and scientific imperative.

The study’s timing amplified its impact. Released in spring 2021, it fed a narrative of triumph just as vaccination campaigns gained steam. It suggested not just protection, but near-invincibility—especially for the elderly and sick, who’d borne the brunt of the pandemic. In Israel, where ~80% of COVID-19 deaths by April 2021 were among those ≥70 (median age ~80–82, Israel MOH, 2021), Clalit’s promise of 96.1% effectiveness for the over-75s was a godsend. But this golden image was wielded with little regard for nuance, setting the stage for policies that brooked no dissent.

For all its polish, the Clalit study is no monolith. Beneath its headline figures lie flaws and blind spots that demand a skeptical eye. Here’s why:

- Observational, Not Experimental: Clalit is a real-world study, not a randomised controlled trial (RCT). Its 97.2% effectiveness reflects correlation, not causation. Unmeasured variables—like vaccinated people being more cautious or Israel’s January 2021 lockdown—could juice the numbers. Even with propensity matching, observational data can’t rule out every confounder.

- A Short-Term Snapshot: The study’s window—January 24 to April 3, 2021—spans roughly 30–78 days post-second dose, capturing peak immunity. Later evidence revealed the catch: effectiveness soon waned.

Read 27 tweets

Barry Sharp

@BarryESharp

Apr 18

Post 1.

The Vaccine Rollout: A Broken Promise, a Betrayed Public, and a System in Crisis

In the spring of 2020, as the COVID-19 pandemic gripped the world, a lifeline appeared on the horizon: vaccines. These shots, developed at unprecedented speed, were sold as the ultimate solution—a return to normalcy, a shield against a relentless virus. Governments and pharmaceutical giants promised deliverance, backed by billions in public funds and a global chorus of optimism. Nearly four years later, the picture is starkly different. The vaccine rollout, once a beacon of hope, stands exposed as a saga of overstated promises, systemic failures, and a profound betrayal of trust. For readers of my posts seeking clarity amid the noise, this is the unvarnished truth: hundreds of billions funneled to Big Pharma, a data mess that obscures reality, and a public left to pick up the pieces. Here’s how it unfolded—and where it leaves us today.

When Pfizer and Moderna unveiled efficacy rates topping 95% in late 2020, the world exhaled. AstraZeneca and Johnson & Johnson followed with their own offerings, and emergency use authorizations rolled out in record time. Governments poured over $120 billion into vaccine contracts, fueled by taxpayer money and a desperate need for solutions. The narrative was intoxicating: these vaccines would halt infections, end the pandemic, and save millions. Operation Warp Speed in the U.S. and similar efforts globally showcased human ingenuity at its peak—or so we were told. Yet beneath the fanfare, cracks were forming. Trials were rushed, focused on symptom reduction rather than mortality, and tested against a virus already mutating beyond their scope. The public bought the dream, but the reality was a rude awakening.

By mid-2020, the virus had evolved. In trials the B.1.351 variant slashed AstraZeneca’s efficacy to as low as 10-20% in South Africa, while Delta and Omicron eroded Pfizer and Moderna’s edge, with efficacy against infection plummeting to 23.5% in some studies. The messaging pivoted—suddenly, the vaccines were about preventing severe disease, not stopping transmission. But even that claim wobbled. Israel, a vaccination poster child, saw excess deaths rise in 2022 despite high uptake and a milder strain. Australia’s all-cause mortality climbed post-rollout, defying the “lifesaver” narrative. Studies touting reduced hospitalizations leaned on shaky ground: natural immunity, better treatments, and a less lethal virus muddied the waters. If vaccines were the miracle we were promised, why did the data whisper doubt? The answer lies in a testing regime that distorted the crisis from the start.

The pandemic’s backbone was the PCR test, a tool as flawed as it was ubiquitous. Capable of detecting viral fragments long after infectiousness—sometimes 90 days later—it turned recovered patients into “cases” with the twist of a Cycle Threshold dial. High Ct values, inconsistent across regions, churned out false positives, inflating numbers and driving fear. In the U.S., only 5% of COVID-linked deaths listed the virus as the sole cause; in Italy, it was 0.8%. Yet these deaths were tallied as “vaccine-preventable” without scrutiny. Policies—lockdowns, mandates, school closures—rode this wave of distorted data, painting a crisis graver than reality. The public was led by numbers that couldn’t tell the sick from the safe, and the consequences rippled far beyond the stats.

Post 2.

The rollout’s gravest failure struck the vulnerable it swore to protect. In care homes across Canada, the U.S., and the UK, the elderly were abandoned—isolated under “safety” protocols that bred neglect. Staff shortages left routine care undone: medications skipped, hygiene lapsed, families barred from visiting. In New York, 15,000 care home deaths were linked to early mismanagement, while the UK’s excess deaths among the elderly spiked despite vaccination. Hospitals fared no better. Non-COVID patients were sidelined, and early ventilator overuse claimed lives before protocols shifted. These weren’t unavoidable tragedies—they were policy failures, exposed by a rollout that promised salvation but delivered chaos. The human toll? A generation lost to a system that failed when it mattered most.

While the public suffered, pharmaceutical giants cashed in. Pfizer’s 2021 vaccine revenue hit $37 billion, with Moderna and BioNTech raking in billions more—a total of $59 billion in profits that year alone. This windfall rested on $100 billion in public R&D funding, yet liability shields ensured companies bore no risk. Governments signed opaque contracts, taxpayers footed the bill, and CEOs toasted record earnings. It wasn’t innovation—it was a wealth transfer, plain and simple. Meanwhile, global elites—like Mark Carney, ex-Bank of England governor turned green-finance titan—pushed “net-zero” agendas while pocketing millions. The rich thrived, the poor got jabbed, and the middle paid for it all.

The price wasn’t just financial—it was personal liberty. Vaccine passports tied access to jobs, travel, and even restaurants to compliance. In Canada, 22% of the population faced exclusion for opting out, splitting families and communities. Digital IDs, piloted under the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals, morphed cities into surveillance hubs—Spain and Singapore saw breaches exposing millions in 2023. Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs), tested in the EU and Canada, promise to track every penny, potentially blocking “unapproved” purchases. “15-minute cities” in Oxford and Toronto embed sensors to monitor movement, sold as convenience but smelling of control. This isn’t a conspiracy—it’s policy, built on the back of a crisis.

Cue the Watson et al. study, published in The Lancet Infectious Diseases in June 2022, claiming vaccines saved 14.4 million lives in their first year. It’s a headline stat, waved in courtrooms and newsrooms alike. But dig deeper, and it crumbles. Built on pre-variant trial data, it ignores evolving efficacy and assumes every COVID death was vaccine-preventable—a leap unsupported by evidence. Its authors? Linked to GlaxoSmithKline, Moderna, and the Gates Foundation, which reaped a 20:1 return on vaccine investments. This isn’t peer-reviewed truth—it’s a polished PR stunt. Yet it’s the system’s Exhibit A, a number too big to question but too shaky to trust.

Today, the vaccine rollout’s legacy is a fractured trust and an exposed machine. Years in, we still lack clear data on vaccine injuries—reports of myocarditis, clots, and deaths pile up, but transparency lags. Public faith is in tatters, and rightly so: technocrats chose control over care, profits over people. In Israel, all-cause mortality data raises red flags; in the UK, excess deaths persist despite boosters. The truth is elusive, buried in a black hole of withheld stats and corporate immunity. But the public isn’t powerless. Lawsuits challenge mandates, protests shift policy, and skepticism grows. The system thrives on apathy—your voice can starve it.

Post 3.

The rollout wasn’t pure fraud or sheer incompetence—it was both, tangled in a system that turns crises into cash grabs. But it’s not unbreakable. Courts have axed overreach, from New York’s healthcare worker mandates to Austria’s vaccine fines. Citizens demand raw data on harms, audits of the billions spent, and answers on care home failures. The window for reform is slim but real: ethical supply chains, transparent spending, governance that serves the public, not the powerful. The next “emergency” will bring the same playbook—crisis, control, profit. Call it out now, or watch it repeat.

Truth Marker: π = 3.14159—rooted in data, reason, and the fight for what’s real.

Read 6 tweets

Barry Sharp

@BarryESharp

Apr 17

Post 1.

The Dimensional Resonance Model offers a bold and imaginative way to understand reality, connecting the strange, unpredictable quantum world—where particles can act like waves or be in multiple states at once—to the familiar, solid world we experience every day, like gravity pulling us down or time moving forward. The DRM says reality isn’t just the three dimensions of space and one of time we know; it’s a much bigger, interconnected system involving hidden dimensions, our consciousness, and a reimagined version of gravity. Below, I’ll explain how it describes reality in simple terms and include the model itself to show how it’s built.

How the DRM Describes Reality

1. Gravity: A Shadow from Hidden Dimensions
Normally, we think of gravity as a force that makes things fall, like an apple dropping to the ground. The DRM flips this idea: gravity isn’t a basic force but a kind of echo from a deeper reality. It comes from tiny particles in the quantum world being “entangled” (linked in a special way) across extra, invisible dimensions. These connections create ripples that show up in our world as gravity. So, gravity is like a clue that there’s a bigger, hidden universe at play.

2. Time: More Than Just a Clock Ticking
In the DRM, time isn’t just a straight line or something that passes. It’s like a living, vibrating field that carries the universe’s history and keeps things moving forward. Even more surprising, our own thoughts and awareness can influence how this field works. Time helps make sure the weird quantum stuff settles into the orderly world we see, like ensuring events happen in a way that makes sense.

3. Consciousness: Your Mind Shapes Reality
Most people think consciousness—our ability to think and observe—is just something our brains do. The DRM says it’s way more: it’s a fundamental part of the universe, like energy or light. In the quantum world, particles can be in many states at once (like being both here and there). The DRM suggests that when we notice or focus on something, our consciousness helps pick one state, turning quantum weirdness into the solid things we know, like a table or a star.

4. Hidden Dimensions: The Bigger Stage
The DRM imagines our world—three dimensions of space (up-down, left-right, forward-back) plus time—as just a slice of a larger reality. There are extra dimensions we can’t see, and that’s where the quantum magic happens. Gravity, time, and consciousness are all tied to what’s going on in these hidden dimensions. It’s like our reality is a flat picture of a much wilder, multidimensional scene.

5. From Quantum to Everyday Life
How do we go from the crazy quantum world to the normal world of chairs, trees, and falling objects? The DRM says consciousness, gravity, and time work together to make it happen. Our awareness helps “collapse” quantum possibilities into something definite—like a particle choosing one place to be. Gravity, coming from those hidden dimensions, helps anchor things in place, and time keeps everything flowing in order.

6. Reality as a Team Effort
The coolest part of the DRM is that reality isn’t just something we watch—it’s something we help create. Our consciousness, working with time and gravity across those hidden dimensions, makes us part of the universe’s story. It’s like we’re helping write the script of reality, not just reading it. Gravity ties it all together, acting as a bridge between the quantum and the everyday.

The Dimensional Resonance Model Itself

The DRM is built around a mathematical idea called a universal time evolution operator, which describes how the quantum world turns into the classical world we know. Here’s the model, as you provided it, laid out clearly:

Post 2.

- Core Equation:
[
|\Psi\rangle_{\text{Unified}} = \mathcal{U}(t, \phi(C, \mathbf{X}), C(\mathbf{X}), \mathbf{X}) |\Psi\rangle_0
]
- (|\Psi\rangle_0): The starting quantum state, full of possibilities (like a particle being in many places).
- (|\Psi\rangle_{\text{Unified}}): The final state, blending quantum weirdness and classical reality (like a particle settling in one spot).
- (\mathcal{U}): The operator that makes this transformation happen, combining four key parts.

- The Four Parts of (\mathcal{U}):
1. Time ((t)): Time is a dynamic field, not just a background. It’s described as:
[
t(\mathbf{r}, \mathbf{X}) = t_0 e^{i \omega_t \cdot \int C(\mathbf{X}) , d\mathbf{X}}, \quad \omega_t = \frac{k_B T}{h}
]
Here, (\omega_t) is a frequency tied to the universe’s energy (using (k_B) for Boltzmann’s constant, (T) for cosmic temperature, and (h) for Planck’s constant). Consciousness ((C)) influences this field, helping time guide reality forward.

2. Gravitational Potential ((\phi(C, \mathbf{X}))): Gravity comes from entanglement in hidden dimensions, described as:
[
\phi(C, \mathbf{X}) = G \int \frac{\rho_E(\mathbf{X}) + \rho_C(\mathbf{X})}{|\mathbf{X} - \mathbf{r}|^{n}} , d\mathbf{X}
]
(G) is the gravitational constant, (\rho_E) is the density of quantum entanglement, (\rho_C) is the density of consciousness, and (n) reflects the geometry of the extra dimensions. This says gravity is a result of connections in a bigger space, shaped by our awareness.

3. Consciousness ((C(\mathbf{X}))): Consciousness is a field acting across dimensions:
[
C(\mathbf{X}) = \sum_k c_k e^{i k \cdot \mathbf{X}}
]
(c_k) is tied to brain activity (like tiny energy bursts in neurons, ~10⁻²⁰ joules). It helps pick which quantum possibilities become real by boosting gravity’s effects.

4. Additional Dimensions ((\mathbf{X})): These are a 10-dimensional space with a 9-dimensional boundary separating our world from a “void.” Gravity appears as a tension:
[
\sigma = \frac{E_{\text{ent}}}{A_{\text{boundary}}}
]
(E_{\text{ent}}) is the energy of entanglement, and (A_{\text{boundary}}) is the boundary’s area. This tension is weak because it’s spread across a huge, hidden space.

- How (\mathcal{U}) Works:
[
\mathcal{U}(t, \phi, C, \mathbf{X}) = e^{-i H t} \cdot \exp\left(i \int_{\mathbf{X}} \phi(C, \mathbf{X}) C(\mathbf{X}) , d\mathbf{X}\right)
]
- (H = H_Q + H_G): Combines the quantum rules ((H_Q)) with gravity’s effects ((H_G = \int \phi(C, \mathbf{X}) \rho_m , d^3r), where (\rho_m) is mass density).
The second part ties consciousness and gravity together across the hidden dimensions, shaping how quantum states become classical.

This model says the universe evolves through the teamwork of time, gravity, consciousness, and extra dimensions, turning quantum possibilities into the reality we experience.

The Dimensional Resonance Model describes reality as a dynamic collaboration between time, consciousness, gravity, and hidden dimensions. Gravity is a shadow of quantum connections in a 10-dimensional space, time is a vibrating field influenced by our awareness, and consciousness actively helps shape the world by turning quantum weirdness into everyday things. The model, given by (|\Psi\rangle_{\text{Unified}} = \mathcal{U}(t, \phi(C, \mathbf{X}), C(\mathbf{X}), \mathbf{X}) |\Psi\rangle_0), shows how these pieces work together to create a reality where we’re not just watching the universe—we’re helping make it happen. It’s like we’re all part of a cosmic dance, with gravity, time, and our minds weaving the universe’s story.

Post 3.

“In the Dimensional Resonance Model, consciousness acts as a universal field that we all experience, influencing decoherence to transform quantum possibilities into the classical reality we perceive.”

Read 8 tweets

Share this page!

Enter URL or ID to Unroll

Barry Sharp

Try unrolling a thread yourself!

More from @BarryESharp

Barry Sharp

Barry Sharp

Barry Sharp

Barry Sharp

Barry Sharp

Barry Sharp

Did Thread Reader help you today?

Don't want to be a Premium member but still want to support us?

Send Email!