Gravity’s Riddle

Might It Be a Push, Not a Pull?


On October 28, 1930, a German gramophone company recorded a speech made by George Bernard Shaw. The occasion was a dinner for Albert Einstein at the Savoy Hotel. When the witty writer touched on the subject of gravity, he said, “Rather than sitting in an orchard and watching apples fall,” (a snappy reference to Isaac Newton’s scientific epiphany), he would prefer to interview; “I went to that man in the hospital … and said, ‘When you came off that scaffolding, did the earth attract you?’ The man said, ‘Certainly not, gar nicht, on the contrary, the earth repelled me with such violence that here I am in hospital with most of my bones broken.’

“… And,” Shaw concluded, “the whole Newtonian universe crumbled up and vanished, and was succeeded by the Einsteinian universe.”

Yes, gravity was a truism, but was it governed by Newton’s law of universal attraction, which has the apple attracted to the earth due to the latter’s inner magnetism which pulls all things to it? What did Einstein think? “Newton didn’t quite get it right. Gravity is really a field, like a magnetic field.”

We might add: If Newton’s magnetic pull were correct, a box of nails (being iron), dropped from a height, should be pulled to the earth sooner than an equal weight of boxed feathers or apples. Experiment, however, proves that all three containers hit the ground at exactly the same time. If the earth has a core of magnetic iron and nickel, why don’t nails land first?

If this core is in fact magnetic, why does it even bother to pull down stuff (like apples or feathers) that is not made of iron or its kindred ores? And even if this core were the most powerful steel magnet, we have every reason to ask: 1) Why its force does not weaken over time, and 2) How it yanks down stuff outside of its range of attraction. Otherwise put: magnetism is not imparted farther than six or seven times the diameter of the magnet itself. The power of a magnet decreases in proportion to the square of the distance from it; in which case, we would have to demonstrate that the center of the earth is a magnetic sphere with a diameter of at least 600 miles. Can we prove that? For that matter, I wonder why all that good sucking power has not imploded the poor earth, the inner earth, leaving it a caved-in pile of rubble.

But there is a more fundamental problem in the pull-model of gravity: “The earthly elements could not pull the apple down. It requires a force. Elements are not forces,” reasoned the astute James Churchward more than eighty years ago. In this respect, Churchward’s POV matches that found in the new cosmogony which has shaped and influenced my thinking: “That which is called corporeal substance [matter] which has length, breadth, and thickness, remains so by no power of its own, but by vortexya [forcefield] external thereto” (Book of Cosmogony and Prophecy).

“Matter in itself has no weight … I cannot find,” Churchward went on, “that any of our scientists have attempted to explain what the force of gravity is… or to show where and how it originates” (Churchward, The Cosmic Forces of Mu, 1934, 43-44).

Right. Turn to science for an answer and you get assorted chatter about how the earth’s core (some say the crust) is somehow imbued with magnetism. Never mind that matter, of itself, is inert and devoid of power in any direction. We have been asked to take this alleged force on faith.

So let’s forget the Third Rock and its innards for a moment and take a look instead at the alternative—its magnetic field. Fields, according to scientists M.A. Bucher and D.N. Spergel, are responsible for the transmission of forces. It is really that simple. The power station is in the field. Axial motion is in the field. This is the push I am talking about. Don’t we, after all, call it the force-field? Or the magneto-sphere? Isn’t this the place to look for charged particles, electricity, magnetism, motion, surges—and gravity?

Before things got so abstruse and indeterminate thanks to the twentieth century’s cynical science of Uncertainty, two of the giants of nineteenth century physics, Michael Faraday and James Clerk Maxwell, suggested that gravitational and electromagnetic fields of force are one and the same thing under different conditions—dovetailing, eventually, with Einstein’s Unified Field Theory. He may never have worked it out entirely, but Einstein did predict that electromagnetic and nuclear forces would end up being accounted for in the same terms as gravitation.

The unification of disparate phenomena within a single theory has long been physics’ heartsong. Indeed, if we in the twenty-first century are flirting with a Theory of Everything (TOE), let’s get serious and see what we have in the way of a single axiom that answers to all those energies upon which our terrestrial livelihood depends. Notwithstanding the usual caution of science, I think it already is in view and can be summarized in a single word: the forcefield.

You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to understand this. You don’t have to wade through jargon-infested, arcane gobbledygook that passes for scientific erudition, because God’s creations, as I see it, are not so insufferably opaque or convoluted as all that. In fact, they are probably quite simple. The truth is always simple; it is half-truths that are complicated. And untruths (falsehoods) are the most complicated of all.

Tell me, if you can, what this means: “Gravitation itself is… a suppressed non-renormalizable interaction” (“Special Report,” Scientific American, January, 1999). Do such obtuse formulations have any value? The same report goes on to invoke, gratuitously, their beloved Uncertainty: “Nothing is exact, not even nothingness.” Say what? But that’s not all. The very next sentence, ironically, advances the push-model of gravity: “The aggregate energy represented by virtual particles [in space], like any other forms of energy, could exert gravitational forces—”. But wait; the end of that sentence sees our experts once again wimping out, under the flag (or fog) of indeterminacy: “—which could be either attractive or repulsive depending on physical principles that are not yet understood.”

Enough of these mind games. Just think of it this way: At sea level, every part of our planet is normally subject to 14.7 pounds per square inch of pressure (PSI). That is the quantitative face of gravity: 14.7 PSI. So, hey, if it is a pull, why do we call it “pressure”? Doesn’t that word imply a push?

Consider, too, the argument from Aristotelian physics, that there exists a center toward which all heavy bodies tend. (Einstein, incidentally, thought we can account for the spherical shape of Earth in this way). Following this logic, we would view free fall (gravity) as a centripetal action, which is to say: Things fall from the sky—rain, hail, meteoric stones, parachutes, food baskets, Fortean falls—because they are driven to the center of the field: the earth.

“As the Whirlwind gathereth up dust and driveth it toward a center,
So is the plan of My universe.” (Book of Inspiration, 1.23)

There is, then, every reason to suppose that gravity behaves like a centripetal force, like the whirlwind. In fact, the very concept of forcefield, its very definition, unfailingly marks out a path of influence from external to internal; from field to its center; from outer (atmospheric) inward (terrestrial). All impact, all direction of power, is from without.

And that includes gravity, which we can think of as only one aspect of the Force—from above, not below. The word I use for that force, that forcefield, is Vortexya. No, I did not invent it or discover it or even formulate it. I’m just a student of vortex; the push-model of gravity was known thousands of years ago, as was the vortex. But forgotten. Once in a while a theorist comes along and rediscovers it.

One such individual is Walter C. Wright of Fairfield, California, who began advocating the push gravity thesis in 1968. His numerous models were open to the public at Wright’s Space Museum. For a while in the 1990s I corresponded with Wright. Dr. Duke Holland, a NASA astronaut at that time, told the press: “I can understand Astrophysics when I talk to Wright better than when I talk to researchers at Ames [NASA]. The established scientific community is afraid of Wright.”

And we can see why. Here’s this unknown, unaccredited guy in California who comes up with a schematic of gravitation—Earth Science’s most fundamental, almost cherished, principle—that turns the textbook version on its head, swings it around 180 degrees, and tells the world we got it all bass-ackwards, because gravity is really a push towards the earth, not a pull from it. (Although science supposes that currents in the core give rise to earth’s magnetic field, I predict the opposite will prove to be the case; i.e., from field to core.)

A few weeks ago, I was talking on the radio, with a well-educated host, on the topic of scientific frauds and delusions. I don’t remember how the subject came up, but I ended up using the gravity theory as an example. The push versus pull thing. After I explained my position on the matter, the host (a lawyer and author himself) said something that surprised me a little, though not too much. He said, “Who cares? Push, pull, does it really matter?” And while I admitted that it doesn’t keep me up at night, still, it would be nice to know that science—from grade school to graduate school—is being taught correctly. It would be nice to know where gravity comes from, where it originates. Call it curiosity.

But don’t we already know? We know that energy of all kinds comes down to us from the outer field, the earth’s envelope, the atmosphere and beyond. This is no mystery. The only mystery is why we cling to the chimera of some ill-defined pull inherent in earth substance. Only assumptions put it there; whereas the field is a known powerhouse.

Let us take a quick look at this dynamo called the EMF—electromagnetic field. Do we have any business saying it is the wellspring of gravity? Clearly we do, if the Van Allen Belt and the Ionosphere are given their due. Also called the magnetosphere, the Van Allen Belt is the zone of radiation discovered in 1958 that is arrayed in conjunction with the earth’s lines of force. A turbulent region, it is known for its geomagnetic storms—capable of shutting down shortwave communications on Earth. Does the inside of the earth have any comparable zone of power? Not that we know of; the most that can be claimed for inner earth are stresses and strains.

Much closer to us than the magnetosphere, starting about fifty or sixty miles above ground level (AGL), is the Ionosphere. Together with the magnetosphere, it represents the most important feature of the EMF, or, in alternate terminology, of the earth’s vortex (whose power, logically enough, is called vortexya). Turbulent like the Van Allen Belt, the Ionosphere is a maelstrom of high-speed molecules. Just above it, velocities are known to travel as much as forty times faster than a bullet fired from a 38 Special.

It’s all part of the aptly named Thermosphere, a place of intense heat. Everything about the Ionosphere allows us to consider it the energy station of Earth: magnetic disturbances, heat, friction, supercharged particles. It breaks gas molecules into atoms, whose ions, in turn, are the stuff that reflects radio waves. Even human/animal/plant behavior and metabolism are affected by ions.

And precisely because these ions deflect shortwave broadcasts, driving radio signals back to Earth, bouncing them back, as it were, we are probably justified in calling the Ionosphere—the ceiling in the sky. As such, we might also entertain the idea that this ceiling is the source of 14.7 PSI. Of gravity, as we know it. The cosmic whirlwind of which we have spoken behaves differently in different parts of space. Conditions change dramatically from one belt of the upper regions to the next. For example, parts of the Mesosphere, which lies just below the Ionosphere, are cool, even cold (in contrast to the intense heat of the Ionosphere).

Daring excursions undertaken in recent years by private spacecraft may shed light on that changing whirlwind. I’m thinking in particular of SpaceShipOne (with its tiny round windows) which took off from Mohave, California, back in 2004. The privately owned rocket built by Burt Rutan, as some of us may recall, made the news, along with other hopefuls aspiring for the $10 million Ansari X Prize that had been created by a Santa Monica businessman. The competition, which saw seven countries vie for the coveted prize, marked the first time a privately funded vehicle “reached suborbit” (Peter Pae, “It’s One Giant Leap for Private Spaceflight,” Orlando Sentinel, 9-30-04, A-1, A-11).

It is the drama that unfolded at that particular altitude (almost 330,000 AGL) that interests us. Propelled by a mixture of rubber and laughing gas, and piloted by Mike Melvill, SpaceShipOne was making its “vertical climb” nicely when Melvill (later describing it as “a real good ride”) suddenly “got a little surprise.”

Nearing the peak of the climb, having soared to “the edge of space” (the top of the gravitational field?), the rocket “did a victory roll,” further described as “a white-knuckle series of barrel rolls.” Melvill thought he was losing control, as his ship “spiraled like a corkscrew.”

But let us ask: Why did the unintended maneuver, the uncontrollable spin, occur at the very height that is considered “the boundary of space”? What exactly is the power that overtook the rocket in its ascent, just at that point? That point, that boundary, coincides with the base of the Ionosphere. It also seems to coincide with the changing shape of the whirlwind, in such a way that “spin” changes to “drive,” the corkscrew giving way to true centripetal motion—the same force or current that gave Melvill a smooth vertical ride. Gravity.

The rocket, which had been attached to the belly of a “spiderlike plane” and launched at 48,000 feet AGL, went “straight up,” being designed to defeat gravity. But when it hit the “ceiling” of gravity, different laws apply. In addition to its heat, ions, and radio-wave deflection, that ceiling, the Ionosphere, is more rarified, with its lower air density, and its axial velocity is greater. Why did Rutan’s team call the sudden roll “a flight anomaly”? Why didn’t they factor in the spectacular, sudden shift of energies at the “edge of space”? Though the rocket landed safe and sound, Rutan promised that, “the team would analyze the flight data to figure out the cause of the roll.” [ED: All quotes concerning SpaceShipOne come from the same Sentinal article cited above.]

Maybe, without realizing it, they hit the gravity machine in the sky. Would “the flight data” really give the answer? Or do we need a brand-new take on gravity? Once we look up, not down, for its source, 14.7 PSI makes more sense; and the powerhouse that is Earth’s forcefield comes that much closer to giving us a Theory of Everything.


Susan Martinez, Ph.D., earned her doctorate in anthropology at Columbia University, where she also served as lecturer in ethnolinguistics. She is author of The Mysterious Origins of Hybrid Man, and many other books.

By Susan B. Martinez, Ph.D.