What Is Reality?

IMG_7887So, this month, I want to share a story—a true story—that happened to me—and maybe you too? I believe reality is so much bigger than we know, and it is slowly beginning to reveal its true nature to us.  Are you open?  Does this story offer a different picture of who we are—and from this vantage point allow us to ask the question, “What is the true nature of our reality?”  Is it only a construct in our minds? Are we in our very own Holodeck?  (A place of virtual reality in the StarTrek series.)  In the series, the holodeck is often used to recreate familiar places, participate in interactive stories, and to practice a variety of sports and skills. Could it not be as “fictional” as we think? Or is our current reality only build around our present memes—the collective conscious belief of our current, very limited potential, as we exist in this moment? Or, is reality in our current 3D model—and by its very nature always changing, to what’s next? Is this a glimpse into what is coming? Perhaps it is?  I’ll let you decide for yourself.

I was visiting a friend of mine.  The summer before I had spent a few extra days of summer on the Olympic Peninsula, as I had several years in a row. There was always something magical—serene, untroubled and tranquil at Brad’s house in the wood.  In my wanderings, I had come across some nice ceramic bowls which I thought would be an upgrade from the several blue zip-lock bowls on the shelves of the Sequim retreat—a place filled with solitude and peace.

So, I thought, it was unusual the following morning after my arrival this time, when I went to prepare breakfast—that all 9 bowls had disappeared.  (An odd number, but they were from the thrift store—and sometimes things come in odd numbers there; probably a set of 12 that someone had donated.)  I asked, had he seen them?  Yes, Brad remembered them—but commented—he hadn’t noticed them in a few months.  After a thorough investigation separately, our search—revealed no bowls.  How odd I thought—the plates were there from two summers before—and nothing else seemed to be out of place; my memory perused any new possibilities.  I looked up and asked Brad—would anyone have thrown them in the trash?  My mind had slipped into the petty scenario that someone had not been pleased with the addition of the bowls—or my presence in Sequim.  However, Brad looked at me directly and answered, “No.”  “That stuff doesn’t happen here,” he added.  “Ok”, I said, “I just had to ask.”  My logical left brain was diligently trying to sort out some explanation for their disappearance.  I reached for the blue plastic disposable bowls without saying anything else about the curiosity at hand; they would work just fine.

Brad had a few projects, he was working on outside after breakfast, and I offered to run the vacuum upstairs, inside.  The house wasn’t horrible—but seemed like it was time to ‘get a layer off,’  a quick freshening up. The house  always had a treehouse feel to me—and without it being anyone’s permanent house on a daily basis—served as a weekend get-a-way for which I was grateful for.

I set about to tidy the living room and kitchen which sat up high in the trees.  I was quite present, and in a cheerful mood. In spite of the coolness, the sun had graced us with it’s beauty and brightness today, I thought to myself while I—attended to the vacuum,  determined—to get the mighty machine cleaned out, so it could preform it’s household duty.  After three attempts the hoover was happily doing its job.  I moved the two coffee tables—and used the hose to suck up the wood dross around the tile which held the wood burning stove.  I folded the canvas wood carrier and carefully laid it on the faded plywood box.  I set the marigold-colored dustpan next to the wall—and lifted the drum stool—with its black pocked naugahyde seat and its bright chrome tripod legs—over to the large black tripod in the corner which held the Peavey speaker.  “How cute I thought to myself—the small tripod nestled into the big tripod.”  I finished with the vacuum and looked around surveying my work.  Everything looked good—and I went downstairs to see if Brad needed any help with his current and ongoing projects; a rhetorical question for any homeowner; the answer was “yes”.

Several hours later—with the rain falling heavily—and the sky darkening further—we retreated upstairs to throw potatoes in the oven—and headed into town for a RedBox movie rental and a few more groceries for the house.  I set the timer on my phone for an hour and off we drove to the nearby Safeway.

It had been a splendid evening—Dinner was a delicious fish with fresh asparagus and our oven baked potatoes with fixin’s of butter and sour cream; it had been a long time since I had indulged in a loaded baked spud.  I enjoyed every bite.

With a gentle coaxing and a glass of wine—Brad seemingly was the only one who could get me to sing.  He was one who had taken Karaoke to a seriously serious level—and with no one watching or critiquing—felt at ease enough to just have fun.  There were several songs that just lent themselves to our—or my level and aptitude and we were having a good time. We had found the lyrics on the computer—and had watched a couple of the artists on YouTube—even tuning into Darrell’s house.   Now, Brad grabbed his drum sticks and walked over to the drum set which sat behind the couch—handing me one of his sticks—I tap—tapped—tapped on the edge of the drum closest to me, and then pointed to the corner—and said, “grab the drum stool”.  He turned—and I said, “Where did it go?”  It was there this afternoon when I vacuumed, because I picked it up and moved it into a third quadrant of the large black tripod stand which stood in the corner holding the speaker.

Now, would be the time for the creepy music—because there was no stool—anywhere.  We looked in every corner, and every closet.  Brad wondered had someone been in the house?  Possible—except the house was locked—and because I had set the timer for the baked potatoes knew that we had been gone only about 45 minutes.  I didn’t have a sense that anyone else had been in  the house—and if so—why would someone take a drum stool seat—and leave everything else?  From a logical viewpoint—that didn’t make any sense either.

We looked downstairs.  Not in the guest bedrooms. Not in the laundry room or bathroom. Not in the garage.  The stool had vanished—along with the bowls—and the only link was me.  I could feel Brad was a bit freaked out on the inside, but to his credit—he was calm on the outside.

I thought about this a thousand times since then.  I am not afraid, but instead makes me question reality and its changing nature and how often we write things off that we don’t understand.   But, this was too tangible and I couldn’t write it off. Over the years—I have had other things “disappear” but never so quickly or obvious before my eyes.  I spoke to a few of my friends—they have had things disappear also—that make no logical sense.

So, is this a timeline jump?  Is it something to say to us—What is real?  It’s bigger.  Be open.  You don’t know, what you don’t know. Are there parts of our laws of physics that are missing?  I’ve heard there are two.  What have you had that “went missing” without any logical explanation—and perhaps made you wonder—what the heck is reality? My final question to myself was—if we can make stuff disappear—can, and are we learning to manipulate mass and reality that will be useful in the ascension trajectory humanity has chosen and be able to manifest what we need on demand?  And, is this why reality looks so different to everybody—because its all about perception and how open we are to what’s next?  And lastly, does it have to do with our rising consciousness?  I don’ have any of these answers—but look forward to what’s next—and as Paul Harvey used to say . . .  Stay tuned for . . . the rest of the story—page 2—when it appears outside of our linear timeline, coming to a place near you!

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“Time Machine”

They say time is a circle—not a straight line.  It’s just that we don’t live long enough life cycles to remember from one life to another and to tie our expressions to our bigger, grander purpose; or who we really are. My Mother used to say, if you wait long enough it will be back in style.  Everything that is old becomes new again—and when I see things that are “new” it reminds me of my Grandmothers era or another place “in time.”  We know styles come and go in cycles.  What about the illusion of “time and space”?

This past summer I returned to Texas to pick up my car—a 1970 MGB that I bought in college—on a 5,000 mile road trip that took me through Washington, Oregon, California, New Mexico, into Texas and through El Paso, Austin and on east to Nacdogches and then back west through Utah to my childhood stomping grounds.  Our voyage across the country was a circle.  But if we had kept going?  Is the road in back of me the same one as the road in front of me or us? A huge cosmic circle?

Later, while cleaning the car I came across all sorts of little reminders which transported me back in time.  (Familiarity or déjà vu?) I found several U of W parking gate tickets, non-digital and an old map.  I found a rusted can of WD-40.  I found a favorite ceramic coffee mug—and a few pens.  All the little trinkets which propelled me back almost four decades when the car was first placed in storage. Time Machine . . . I thought.  The past had come back, into the NOW. It was the past. It was about the present too.  And, was it about the future as well?  A metaphor for our lives?

Our minds are vast and complicated with little understanding of the bigger system in which we live.  Sure, our 3D world was acknowledged and important, but like memories and feelings and consciousness—what lay outside of our physical world that could transport us to places unknown—likes dreams—and visions—and psychic knowing—or even astral travel?  Were we connected like the computer to an invisible human wifi?  What lays outside our physical world today, that is unaccepted—or not yet understood?  And, if we really are interdimensional beings, what insights and potentials do we create for ourselves based on our choices or our thoughts?  Unlike our paper geographical maps like I found in the car, was ours more of a personal individual energy map guided by our intuition and light language magnetic codes and intentions?

If we listen to our invisible guidance, are we able to jump timelines?  And, based on our choices, can our future be rewritten?  What about our past? I know when I stand at the center of my life in stillness, I realize that I create everything.  I can and do create “what’s next.”  But, just like the car—I must clean out and rid my being of unresolved things, and beliefs and be willing to move the needle from the old groove to make room for what is coming. Just like the location of the car—towed to its new locale which I was able to move physically creating new options—I choose the same for my life.  I believe that we are multidimensional with one foot in this dimension and another bigger part in a world I cannot see, but influences me everyday. If in fact, we have multidimensional DNA—then at some point, we have all been down this road before.  Influenced by this unknown, but “remembered past” called wisdom stored in our akashic lineage, living today in the now—and moving forward like the road circled before us.

I, for one, move forward with excitement with this unlimited possibility as I co-create and manifest my personal world and help with the global unfolding— which I choose to live in joy and happiness, without fear.

With the holiday season upon us—I extend this wish for you to.  To drop and heal what doesn’t serve you or me anymore—creating the road ahead of us and allowing the unfolding with integrity, and truth and love, full of compassion for everyone.  It is the time machine in us all—ready to be written or re-written and given as a starting point to shine our light of what is to come.

Happy Holidays—and Happy Travels!

“Realize that there are many things in the world for which no cause shall be found; not because it does not exist, but because we know too little to find it.”                                     ~Diana Gabaldon, Voyager

 

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