Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Here's where the psychology gets pretty sticky... this was around the time when my personal issues became so huge that they overshadowed even my strangest experiences with anything or anybody else. Looking back, I can see that my "cosmic identity crisis" as I jokingly call it was the turning point for much of my experience. (I joke about it now -- but it wasn't at all funny at the time.) It marks the time when things suddenly seemed deadly serious, became much more intense, and when my fear for my sanity became overshadowed by my fear for my soul, which up until then I'd not given too much thought to having, let alone worrying about.
The physicality of my experiences and the intensity of my life increased dramatically after this stage. It began (mainly) in November of 1993. Now as an initial caveat, please note that I still think this whole phase of experience is the strangest stuff I've ever heard in my life. I think it's all pretty ridiculous. And I still don't understand it. How I fell into all this, minding my own business for the most part, I have no idea.
I had recently got a computer at home, and had been introduced to a communications service. I was casually browsing messages online one day. I was in the "new age" forum, which a friend had introduced me to. While many of the subjects didn't interest me, and many of the people seemed rather... simplistic, I thought cynically, there were also intelligent people talking about psychology, philosophy and such, which I was interested in, there were some very educated folks too, and in general it was a friendly, social sort of place.
As I began reading one particular message, suddenly I thought I was having some sort of allergic attack. My whole body stiffened up, and I was so overcome with this strange feeling I thought I might be sick. I finally opened my eyes and continued reading the message. It was from some guy talking about Louisiana. My heart was beating hard enough to hear, and I felt like reaching through the computer screen and grabbing the letter, grabbing him somehow. I finally broke free of my fascination with the strange feeling and went on, shaking my head at myself.
A day or two later, casually browsing again, pressing the "next" button, the same feeling hit me. My eyes closed, and I knew without even looking that it was a message from the same guy. It made no sense, but I was certain. I finally opened my eyes, and sure enough, it was from him. My body all but doubled over, and I seriously feared I was going to throw up. I ran to the bathroom for a bit, but the sickness went away quickly, so I went back to my chair.
I read the letter. He was talking about being a "walk in." I sighed, and then laughed. That is so stupid. Where do people get these ideas? Everybody in the New Age world's gotta be cosmic, yeah right. "Puh-leeeze," I said to myself out loud, rolling my eyes a bit, but reading anyway. I felt sick again, but this time it was stress. My stomach hurt.
Most embarrassing, I was just dying to write this guy. I wanted to feel him, to touch him, to get his attention, to physically put my hands on him, I had this absolute craving to somehow physically connect with him, as if he had some energy that would "ground" me or something, like I was a loose wire and he could anchor me. But I couldn't make myself look silly, me the supposedly intelligent one (I did not generally discuss far out topics like his!), by seriously entertaining a ridiculous subject like that; he was the wildest I'd seen around to date.
So I finally decided to send him an "intro" letter. It's the kind I often sent to people on the message board, encouraging them to talk more about themselves, very brief and non-committal. I did it to help the forum staff out, mostly.
It was difficult to write. I found myself all but hyperventilating while doing so. After sending it, I turned off my computer and went outside, got some fresh air, and asked myself, what the hell is wrong with me?! None of it made any sense. Combined with the momentum of other things in my life making me feel I had no control over my psychology, and was probably crazy, this upset me. I was sure I was disturbed all out of proportion to any given cause, assuming I could find any logical cause at all. Finally I got so angry that I just decided that I wouldn't think about it any further.
I got a return message from the guy. Before I even saw the mail I knew it was from him. And I clicked to open it, but before I could read even one word, I just flipped out.
I was sitting there at the computer when it hit me like a bomb. I knew, at that moment, that whoever (or whatever) the hell I am, I didn't start here; not in this body, for certain. Maybe not in this reality. Definitely not in this body-identity though. The realization rushed inside me and hit me so hard it put me into shock.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. My body was "stuck" like I'd forgotten how to use it. I forced myself to turn, only to realize that I had turned, but my body was still sitting there staring at the computer; I had "separated from myself," like an out of body experience, except I was sitting up and awake, and it felt much more literal than the average OBE does.
I was fine with that for a moment, but then I became frantic as I thought that my body might pass out and die if I couldn't "fit into it" and make it breathe again; I had the impression it was frozen and unbreathing. I tried to imagine myself "in" my body and imagined myself breathing, trying to become "one with" my lungs, and after a few seconds I felt myself shift into place, and I forced my lungs open, forced air into them, and choked on the effort, coughing and sputtering, choking some more, coughing until finally it was OK. I ignored the feeling of tightness around my chest that seemed to constrict me, and concentrated solely on breathing (in and out) lest I forget again, like a mantra to calm myself (in and out). Finally I felt that I could breathe without forgetting how, and I could relax.
And so I opened my eyes, and I looked at my hands now on my knees, and they seemed suddenly as if they were somebody else's, my whole body did, and I flashed on a scene from a movie called The Bride where a woman woke up inside an unknown corpse's body and was forced to be grateful for it. I wanted to get away from myself, and away from this foreign flesh that wasn't me at all, but I couldn't because it was me, and so I just sat there, scared and confused, and cried.
Other emotions I couldn't recognize took over, and I continued to cry for a long time. Hours and hours. Shaking with loud sobs like a whole lifetime of tragedy, then throwing my head back and crying silently with such intense, wide pain, like the whole sky should echo with it. Deep pain like I had never known in my whole life. A feeling of... separated loneliness far beyond what I had ever even conceptualized.
I was sure I was dying.
Finally it lessened, and it was merely staring into space, punctuated by small sobs now and then, and eventually I breathed evenly with a few trembling exceptions, and thought about things.
I had no doubt that I understood, on a deeper level. Even on the conscious level, I could feel a decent portion of it: I (as an identity) had joined this body a considerable time after its birth. I had the feeling it was at about age 10 or so, but couldn't be sure; there was also a small "blip" at age 15; how would I know, I wondered? The "me" prior that I remembered was just that, a memory, and she had... left. Where? How? I had no idea.
I was confused. How could a person possibly not notice such a thing? How could those around them? And why now, of all times, for me to realize this? I remembered little pieces of my life around age 10 spontaneously: of pneumonia, and my stepmother working so hard, trying desperately to save me at home... of the wonderful "dizzy spells" that went on for hours where it felt like me and my bed were just spinning weightlessly through space... of how dad came into my room, and in this odd voice, said my temperature was 106 degrees Farenheit and if it didn't go down my brain would fry and I would die. And then he abruptly left the room, it was quite odd, but I assumed he was upset... and how when I finally went back to school, after years of bad marks for writing that was all but illegible, I won the handwriting award for my class, it changed dramatically pretty much overnight.
And then I thought about my life up to age 10. About mom, and her dying when I was 9, and her coming and telling me about it while I slept, and then me finding out almost two days later that she had died, and right around the time I'd dreamed her. And I wondered if she knew that I (or rather she, her daughter) had left this body, and how she felt about it. I wondered where the little girl, who still felt like me, went when I came in. And then I realized that mom -- mommy, as I still think of her -- wasn't mine. I'm just holding the genetic memories of someone (who died?), and while the body I was living in might be descended from mommy, suddenly mommy isn't my mommy anymore. Taken away. Give it up, part of me said tonelessly, she was dead before you even got here.
My stomach clenched and I cried again and shouted out loud, Who am I, what am I, if I'm not me? But I didn't know. How do you just... toss your soul into somebody else's body? Surely it's gotta be a little more difficult than Legos for chrissake, I mean this is serious! But I didn't know. I had no idea who I was, where I was from, when I was from, or how I got here.
I wondered what dad would think -- oh gods, my father whom I love so much, my identity had a hard time separating from his influence for so long. I wondered, would he resent me? Would he think I had taken over his little girl's life? But he loved me right, he's my dad, right? And then I realized, well he's not really your dad, he was her dad. And another part of me argued, "But he's been mine since then, he's just as much mine now!" I felt loathsome about it, and I wanted him to be mine.
The entire concept that my entire life to age 10, all the things I felt "composed me," were merely genetic memories of someone else, was more than my brain could integrate. I sat silently, semi-obliviously numbed in horror, for more hours.
But the overriding feeling was that I was so old, so very, very old... almost tired, as if I had been a cynical adult when I had been dropped abruptly into this naive child's body... and I could feel myself as if I had existed for a time beyond that which I could even conceptually grasp, a time beyond time as humans can even know it... and she seemed, in my memory, so young.
Hours after this (by this time it was late night), I finally read the letter the guy had sent me. He basically said, "My wife and I could feel your fear so tangibly in the letter we couldn't even read it all at once. Relax, please. We're here for you." I wondered about this for a time, rereading what I'd sent him, confused about how, given the generic letter I had written him, he'd get that impression.
Over the next few days, dozens of people were writing the guy publicly, and [he said later] more privately, saying, "Am I a 'walk in'?" To all (at that time) he said no. He said his wife, and sometimes he, both self-claimed 'walk-ins,' would know. The dual thinking was in full force with me, and I was still, despite my reaction to all this, skeptical and scorning of the subject, and I laughed about how stupid everybody was. I wrote him an angry letter, saying Look, if your being so nice to me means you think I'm part of your little clique you're wrong, I don't buy that hoofty new age stuff anyway, but what are you getting at? And while typing the letter to him I remembered two events that I had put out of my mind, some of those daily anomalies that don't fit with one's scheme of reality, and so you just space them out the moment after they happen.
One was from many years before. I had been at a street fair in town, which are very crowded and noisy. I don't like that environment much, and was fighting my way through the crowd. I was pushing past people and suddenly came face to face with a woman who just blurted out, as if immediately shocked at seeing me, You're a walk in! I had no clue what she was talking about, and wasn't sure she was talking to me; the look on her face said she was, but it made no sense. The only association I had with the term is how hair salons use it, meaning you didn't make a reservation. I figured she couldn't have been talking to me, and ignored it.
The other was from just a couple of years before. I had been in a shopping mall and this well dressed woman walking past stopped, then detoured over to me, and said quietly to me, Do you know that you're a walk in? Well by that time I did know what it was, because I'd encountered the concept in a far-out book my grandmother had, written by a guy named Lobsang Rampa, and had mentioned it to someone who'd used that term. As she said it I remembered the woman from the street fair all those years prior; I hadn't made the connection before. But I just looked at her, thinking, Huh? She's confused -- and ignoring her as if she hadn't even spoken to me, I walked around her and past her. And I completely forgot about it, within seconds.
While waiting for the fellow to write back, I paced and cursed and cried. I finally realized that I was, absolutely, I knew that's why I had reacted so physically to him, and I knew that despite his long string of "No's" to everyone else, he would indeed say I was. Predictably, he did. Then I was furious at him all over again.
Despite my behavior, he and I got to be friends. I had some serious bouts of fury which I took out on him, and which he took rather well.
Later I was to discover that the media which accompanies this subject is so ridiculous. Like it's some kind of wonderful experience where people walk around thinking they're superior or something. Oh brother. I was an emotional disaster as a result of this. The realization was a simply horrible experience, and life from that point on never has the same... innocence of identity.
Eventually I went and visited he and his wife. He's a software engineer. His wife was a practical nurse for most of her working life. They have kids my age or older. Objectively, one would say they at least were, at some point, grounded and logical.
My connection to him was deep; I needed to touch him like he was some kind of anchor. It wasn't sexual, although that component could have come up had we focused on it; it was simply as if he was some vitamin I was lacking, and I felt better just by being around him. His wife had an effect on me which, like his, was profoundly powerful to me, though more traumatic to me than soothing, and given her own state of mind about 'the foreign feel of human life' (she supposedly being a 'conscious' walk in, and recent) that made sense. I suppose.
After spending about a week with them, my end conclusion was that they are both either completely nuts, or the genuine thing. I didn't agree with them on any issue, our modes of thinking were drastically different, and I thought the hilarious combination of misquoted biblical superstitions and Ashtar Command stuff was downright embarrassing. However, this being said, I must admit that they both had a tremendous effect on me that I couldn't attribute to mere personality. And to be open minded about it, every psychological note I made about either of them could be attributed to their experience, if it were really so.
So my ending conclusion -- from a retrospective point of view -- is that perhaps they really did go through an experience which some people call "walking in." And I see now that walk ins would be stuck with the genetics, culture and education of what (or who) they walk into. What this experience really is, and what it really means, and if our interpretation of it is correct, it's that part which I'm not clear about. In any case, they both were, and have been, very nice to me, and I owe them nothing but thanks, regardless of whether they're right or not.
I think some of this may be misinterpreted, but what do I know, I'm still so sarcastic and cynical about the subject I'm really not the person to ask for an objective opinion. I'm more inclined to feel that "another aspect of me became dominant" (which might be a completely different personality of course), but I suppose that's as wild a theory as any other.
As a final note to all this I should mention that I also, like they, recognize walk ins. Not always, but usually (depends partly on my state of mind and exposure to them). I realize now that I always have, I just didn't know what it was I was recognizing up until then. They're rare -- but not as rare as you might think for such a bizarre phenomenon.
But I, unlike many (not all) the other walk ins I've ended up meeting, have no alter ego. I have no other identity which I claim. Some folks say it's because I walked in so early, that most people don't ever "wake up" when it's done prior to the teen years, but I don't know. I do feel that I was an adult male at the changeover time, meaning, perhaps human and not something cosmic, but who knows, my imagination is probably just running wild. Maybe I really was an alien, ha! I had the chance to lock into an identity, in a later experience, but refused. The most unbelievable people claiming this are usually claiming they were from Sirius or what have you -- those I've really felt I had something in common with were usually less clear about it.
To this day, I am stuck between a complete disbelief in the subject and an open acknowledgement of myself being an inherent example of it. I have a habit of offending people who are part of it, which indicates I invalidate it even unconsciously. I must, since I'm completely embarrassed to even admit any of this. I consider this subject one of the most bizarre (and in fact, comical) symptoms of all the experiences of the recent years.
Well I had just enough time, maybe a month, to wander around in serious confusion and deep trauma about this before a larger and far more powerful experience began unfolding. The following notes actually took a few months to fully occur. How I was able to write it out as if it took 15 minutes or something is beyond me! I wasn't consciously aware of any of it at the time -- only of the intense, soul shaking trauma.
This was written months later, and the follow-up comments were from December 1993 to January 1994. I would not wish this on my worst enemy, if I had one. I've tried to describe it, but it's about as ineffable as an experience can get.
It wasn't just that I wasn't the person I thought I was. I wasn't even the human I thought I was. I reeled in such astonishment and terror I felt myself fall farther backward into the horror of empty space, and I frantically grasped for what I "was" on other levels. Other places, other planes; other minds, other times. Not an identity crisis. A soul crisis. I wandered a vast universe searching for myself. People have lost their minds over less, I heard myself thinking, as if my thoughts belonged to someone else.
Other planets, other creatures, other wavelengths of light for crissakes, anything, please, I begged to the universe at large, find me...
I knew I could have fooled myself if I so chose. There were other aspects of what I thought of as "me" out there, somewhere. I could have crawled, aching and terrified, into the shell of an identity, and curled up there like a fetus, traumatized yet relieved of this burden of yawning emptiness. I struggled to maintain myself but the horror finally overcame me, and bled through me, leaving me as empty as the universe itself. This was the way it was: I had to accept it.
A curtain appeared around me, presented in full, an impassible void of separation that I could not get through. Not until I accepted it, the knowledge: I was not me. I was not human. Not until I could integrate it, the understanding. Not until I could become the knowledge and carry it. I was consumed by the realization, and felt eaten alive by the fact; I fought and lost, and knew on some distant, physical body level, if I didn't accept this, I would feel the effects forever echoing like a shock wave through my sanity.
I dropped into clarity, into my "anchor" as I called it as a child, and sought out my Will. It had to be Will, I realized. There was no emotion. No desire. No want. No need. No promise. No enthusiasm. No faith. No hope. No mercy. No saving grace: all had vanished in the emptiness. Nothing but Will, the atom of life, the kind that plods on for no reason at all except its own existence, when all other qualities have vanished and left you with nothing. Will took me through it, we became one with it, and the curtain vanished, leaving me in a different space.
Hard as it was to comprehend, I wasn't beyond it, I wasn't safe: it was worse. My mortal fear transcended to a new level. Not only was I not me. I was not anybody. Nobody. This was so much worse. Not on earth, not anywhere, not in other times, other dimensions, not in the universe, not anywhere in existence. I could quit looking, because I would never find me, the me I had been moments before scrambling for so desperately. I would never find me in any identity because there was no such thing.
I saw a concept, "identity" like a chessboard of black and white men, black and white squares, and I could be any of the men I chose, or the board, or a square, or the air, or any percentage or combination... it was totally irrelevant: all identity is just a game: it is an arbitrary collection of consciousness assigned a title: it is form, which is actually not-form, it is all actually Nothingness. Form is not the opposite of Nothing, Form IS Nothing, Nothing is composing it... and choosing a Form, including "identity" without what we know as "physical mass," is a deliberate thing; it has no meaning, independently, and I saw that none of the options of form, including identity, could begin to hold me, either in ability to encompass me, or in permanence.
I struggled against it, struggled to hold myself together, but the realization unraveled me and I had to let go, and I felt myself burst, inside to the outside, inverted like my own version of the astronomical big bang, and I was no longer attached to myself, I was splintered pieces like a ruptured balloon, floating in the blackness, in the void. Unanchored, we sensed the curtain, the demand for acquiescence, for integration. Battered beyond repair, exploded beyond reconstruction, the fragments of my former-me acknowledged, finally, and agreed.
The curtain vanished and left us in a third realm, and it was like a swift liquid eroding my remains. I understood I was not just not anybody... I was not anything, either. There was no identity and there was no separation and there was no human vs. objects vs. light because there was no THING. There was No-Thing. Nothing. And I thought after a long time that I could grasp that, but then it became clear: this realm wasn't like the first two. This was not just a matter of understanding; acceptance was more. This one would disassemble me, would disintegrate me as thoroughly as the former stage had shattered me like a mirror: it was not merely a threat to my survival, not about losing one's body, not even about losing one's soul. It was beyond that, behind that, and with grief beyond grief I realized that even the illusion of soul is a trick of the light.
And I finally realized that I had to die because I had never lived. I had to give up what I was because I was Not. Form and identity are a... distraction. There is no Form. There is no Identity. There is no Thing. I was Not, it all is Not. The mortal terrors, the universe-spanning yawning-horror of the previous two realms suddenly seemed like simplicity, like joyous innocence, compared to the impending obliteration of all, of me.
I wanted to run but the concept didn't even apply. If I have no form and there is no space, I have no identity and there is no time, where could I go and when? No option but acceptance: I was Not. There was Nothing, I was Nothing, and my belief in Something, both belief as a "thing" and Something as a "thing," were delusions. The tenuous, vague thing that called itself Me resisted.
Dissolving, feeling myself melting as if I were being deconstructed and sucked into something at the sub-atomic level, I knew I had to let go of the "somethings," those vague illusions I was holding to, and join Nothingness voluntarily, as a merge. But this was not equality. I was merging into, but not with. We were not sharing equally the identity that resulted. We could not coexist. And it struck me as the Absolute, and as the fundamental creation of the universe, and as the supreme of sorrow ... and yet home. And I realized there was no choice: it was already so: choice was only acceptance.
The last shred of remote me-ness let out a cry of dying anguish, and I flung the remainder of myself in, feeling like a still-beating heart sacrificed to the ultimate in horror: a solitary god who is Nothingness.
I was dead beyond death. I ceased to exist.
It was so traumatic I never spoke of it. Not to anybody. Didn't talk of it because my conscious mind couldn't deal with it. I couldn't ponder it because I couldn't even bring myself to think of it. Despite my occasional journalizing of my life, I couldn't write it down. I refused to imagine the results of it. It took months to even realize it fully enough to put it in one cohesive, somewhat linear form, writing it down now. It's been shocking and awe-inspiring just to go through the memory from a distance, while writing this. I was aware of my reaction to it, but barely of the event itself.
But now that I've gone through it, I see this actually is related to things. I see now: Losing your identity in such a complete way is really, in effect, losing the illusion of "fixed" reality. It's like going behind it all... like going behind the screen, like realizing that the picture on the movie screen is really just a bunch of dots of light arranged in a certain manner. (And that even the light itself is merely a "creative composition.") It's an evolution of sorts, if painful.
Not just painful. Horrible beyond any description.
There are both polarities. I think there's probably an equal experience of being "everything" as there is being "nothing," however, I understand immediately that they are actually the same thing. All these new-age rainbow bright types with their "oneness" would die screaming like a shredded cat there, in my opinion. I don't think you can be All without being Nothing, because they are the same thing, in the way that all extreme polarities eventually are. Since that time, I think I must be a little "war torn" and cynical about it. I look at these sweetness and light "oneness" folks like they are simplistic idiots and think dryly, Ha. You wish!
At times I was almost annoyed about it, although that implies more emotion than I was able to summon for anything: all my emotional capability deserted me somewhere in that experience, and left me completely dissasociated from feeling, to a degree I could not have imagined possible. As for the experience, in some ways it just seemed ridiculous and unfair.
I don't get it. Why? Why me? Billions of people on this planet with gods and gurus and crystals up their nose and of all the things to be "enlightened" about, mine gets to be about Nothingness?!
The results of it were profound. It's been nearly two years since then, as I write, and I still don't know that I'm 100% past it. In the meantime, off and on, and in particular right afterward, I struggled with a depth of emptiness I hadn't known was possible, and intense suicidal tendencies. I used to say that only optimists kill themselves -- pessimists aren't surprised their life sucks, ha! But it had nothing to do with emotions, with my life, with circumstance, or anything like that. All idealism and even emotion related to frustration had vanished from my personality. It was as if I simply couldn't feel anything at all. Biologically I was fine, and mentally I was fine, but there was something else, something more, some critical "me-ness" that had vanished from me.
I've survived, but yet am deader than the word is capable of expressing. I feel like a dry husk. My spiritual emptiness is beyond words.
I have ceased to feel, at the deepest level. As if I have no soul.
My loneliness is the size of the universe. I am empty and the hole inside me aches. I feel suicidal, not as if I want to die, but as if I'm dead already, and pretending to live is only time wasting, dazed aching.
I'm so lonely. I feel as if I'm a shell, as if some crucial component inside me got vacuumed out and I'm empty. I don't know that having another person around would make the difference unless there was a strong connection on other levels. It's a soul lonely, not a physical lonely, but the physical is a big component too.
And I'm exhausted damn it, my sleeping patterns really suck, and even when I sleep I don't seem to sleep, and I'm beginning to feel mauled by all these experiences that are often uncomfortably physical.
I just want to be safe and get away and hide for awhile. But despite my desire to find a small dark space to curl up in, there don't seem to be any available. They're probably being taken by other folks who applied sooner. Like in that movie Beetle Juice, I'm in some cosmic waiting room and my number is 21 digits long...
So after that I was more confused about my own so-called "walk in awakening" than I was to begin with. I began to wonder if that awakening was, in fact, just a matter of being dumped into the first level of that three-level nothingness experience, the one where you realize you're not this identity... I wondered, what would happen if somebody went through that experience and couldn't deal with it? Would they be lost at whatever stage they were left in? Did I somehow start it and get left there for a bit, and then go back into it and finish? Was it my not accepting another identity as a pacifier for the trauma that let me continue? Had I chosen one of those identities, some aspect of a "group soul" that was some cosmic alien persona, would that have been it for me?
Or was it that I was simply "advanced enough in consciousness," perhaps partly thanks to being a "walk in" and realizing it, that I fell into the next experience in the first place?
As bad as I thought the first level was at the time, I think if I'd gone into the second level, or most especially the third, and not been able to accept it, I would have died. Period. I know that makes no sense, it's superstitious, but I truly believe I would have died. Even physically. I think there is no way that any part of me, mind, emotions, body, could have "dealt with it" in any other way than I did. At best, perhaps at the beginning of the second level, I'd have been left here only half-existent and ravingly insane.
I have to wonder, do all roads lead to this? Some people get blissed on eternity -- I get blitzed out of existence. And it doesn't do me the slightest good, so what's the point?
I finally gave up on having any objectivity about my life at all. It was almost a relief to give up on it, to not try and classify things anymore. What was the point? It was clear there simply were no answers.
It did, however, make me sigh that there was a time when I was quite logical, rational, and decently intelligent, and now it seemed obvious I'd gone completely off the deep end.
One side effect of the "Nothingness" experience was a complete shift in how I viewed myself and spirituality; in particular, divinity and its manifestation(s), such as "god."
It doesn't seem possible that I could be so empty if there was no "higher self;" psychology alone can't begin to compete for a label to assign this emptiness. Armchair intellectuals might assign it a label, but they don't know. If ever anything were on the cosmic scale, this is it. I would pray, but I don't believe in some supreme god on a throne. Finally I need a god, how do you like that? Talk about a dilemma. I do believe in a "higher self" of sorts, from experience. So where the hell is it when I need it? I've been directing my wishes at some "inner" part of me (as if there is anything there anymore). I hope god doesn't mind being addressed as a generic, off the shelf entity. "To Whom it May Concern..."
I still think maybe I should just off myself and be done with it already. Pretending to be alive seems like such a waste of time and energy. I mean really, what's the point?
Objectively, I'm worried about myself. I simply cannot believe the scope of how empty I feel. It's as if every single thing in the entire universe -- including me -- died, and evaporated, and I'm left alone and a zombie or something, with an aching hole inside me that is so vast it spans the galaxy and more. I mean getting upset over a metaphysical experience is one thing, but this far surpasses anything I've ever encountered in my whole life.
I am so shell-like, so alone I've had to physically restrain myself from killing myself. And it's hard, so hard, not to... in the car, I just want to relax, and let myself drive off the edge of that cliff, meet that big truck head on, whatever... it is so strong to just be nothing, to just relieve myself of this emptiness by relieving myself of consciousness... at this point, only Will keeps me alive.
You know Will. It just keeps on like the Energizer Bunny, regardless of whether the planet and all life as I know it has been obliterated, there's Will like the bunny, completely out of place and unaware, beating like my heart insists on doing. (My heart. Hell! It could at least have had the good grace to die with me! That would have solved these problems.) It just travels along through space and time with no apparent purpose.
I want to cease awareness of my emptiness. I can't say I want to die, because that infers I think I'm alive, and I really don't think I am. Biologically, obviously, but there's more to being alive. Apparently. I think I've come to believe in a God, not the typical perception of the deity but definitely the "spark of divinity" thing, by way of finding myself without such a sense, without that spark within me. I am only a thinking corpse without the god-life inside me.
Well since I read that Seth book I've been thinking about the stuff he said. I'm watching my thoughts, and every time I come upon some subject or thought that is limited, or limiting, that defines a 'reality' for no apparent reason, that is based on the past or nothing else, I tell myself that it will disintegrate. It seemed appropriate, psychologically.
Problem is, I'm having to do this 400 times a day!! It seems like every single thought I have falls into this category. I can't believe how much my thoughts limit, and enclose, my life, my sense of reality... I can hardly believe it, but it seems everything my mind is based upon is some arbitrary judgement... I'm thinking, geez, where did all these judgements come from? I realize that I am making a decision about how things "have" to be, based upon no supporting data whatsoever. It's amazing!
All this time I thought I had everything figured out pretty well in life, I was intelligent, I was innovative. Now I see that even my wildest thoughts and most creative modalities were just well-kept paths through pre-existing gardens... designed by someone, who knows who, but it wasn't me.
I admit, Seth sent my mind reeling. I have a theory, now that I'm much farther down the road, that reading Seth's book "The Nature of Personal Reality" helped jump-start some portion of me responsible for bizarre events. I normally avoided books in the "new age" field (which is quite unfair to it really -- it was around long before the latest craze), but a computer friend who is brilliant and not given to that field either insisted I read it. I was embarrassed about having been prejudiced: regardless of source, the author (whomever it may be) is brilliant. Seth was discussing concepts in the 60's that quantum physics is just getting around to theorizing in the 80's and 90's.
To a great degree I felt it helped explain some of the things already going on in my life. In another sense, it gave me working vocabulary, or a framework, to finally describe my experiences, which up until then I hadn't known how to describe, as I had no concept to account for them besides "weird dream."
I'm waking up, or maybe I'm in a meditational state, in what I guess are "alternate realities." As usual, I'm always me, but I often look different. All the worlds have similarities to this one, but some are pretty off the wall. Some of the differences in the places are very slight. For instance, in one of these I was a different person, in a different place, but CompuServe existed. They were structured a little differently than they are here, but they existed. I was in [my] kitchen, and I noted with mild interest that the material the walls were made out of doesn't exist in 'this' reality.
But you see even when I'm fully lucid in them, I don't even feel it's a dream, like when I'm in a lucid dream. And I don't even feel it's "real," like I often do in other situations, like I notice wherever there's the blue liquid-gel stuff I tend to judge it as real despite that I must be dreaming. But in these, I just feel it's "another reality," quite seriously. It seems perfectly obvious at the time. But on awakening it sounds bizarre.
I guess I've been reading too much.
Despite my lack of specific religious beliefs, I found that I tended to grant religious entities a bit more validity than any other "entities" I encountered.
I awoke a bit slowly, comfortably underwater. Everything around me seemed to have a vaguely bluish tint. I got out of bed, acknowledging that I was on the "second floor" which was the "top floor" of the (house?) I was in. I went into another room where a child lay in bed. The water didn't seem to make us float, and we didn't seem to have any trouble breathing it. I think I woke up the little boy and took him by the hand, and we went through other rooms, gathering other children... in any case, I was eventually surrounded by children. I wasn't sure if I was leading them, or they me.
We found ourselves in a large room that looked like some kind of lobby. The walls and floor were white. We turned into the room, and the wall with the door was lined with windows, and in front of the windows and at right angles there were chairs. The children sat down in a row in the chairs with their backs to the window, and I sat down in a chair near the center of room, with the windows to my right side.
I saw somebody coming through the window. A blonde man. He opened the door, and walked into the room, and as he got nearer me, my body began to vibrate, I began to shake, and joy and awe overcame me. Oh my God, I thought. It must be Michael! Archangel Michael! He's real! Holy -- geeeez! He was very tall, strongly built, and his eyes were large and so very, very blue, slightly slanted.
He gave each of the children some small thing that completely fascinated them. My body was frozen in place. I was in such awe it approached religious and sexual ecstacy combined, like being held at the upper point of orgasm and not let go; I couldn't even speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't even move my eyes. Michael had something for me, much larger than the toys he'd given the kids, and he pulled out a chair from beside me, set it facing me, sat down in it, and showed me what he had.
It looked like some kind of game board. Like a cross between Chess and Monopoly somehow. There were these... boxes, set into the board. The boxes had words on them like "Ideas," "Suggestions," and things like that. Michael took a card from one of them (I couldn't see which one) and attempted to hand it to me.
But I couldn't move to take it. I was simply so overwhelmed by his presence that I was immobilized. I was fixated on his blue eyes, as if they contained me. He seemed to talk with me for awhile but either I didn't hear him, or I don't remember what it was. I was so physically distracted I couldn't focus on anything except the visual of his eyes. Finally, he didn't seem upset, he just gave me the entire game board, put it in my lap, got up and walked out the door.
For once, I woke up "normally," hours later than I usually do.
The dream affected me profoundly. The physical content of it was overwhelming. Even upon awakening I felt physically affected, my body felt stunned, and the religious aspect of it was almost unnerving. I'd never felt so religious in my life as this one dream inspired. Not every day do you get visited by an Angel! I was awed. The dream really "marked" me in some way. It felt so different, so non dreamy in some sense, so intense! Felt quite real, even physically, and I vibrated with it.
It didn't occur to me to wonder why he was a human instead of something with wings. Michael was far more physically impressive on me than any character I'd yet met, and he felt different, for sure. He was a hard-core religious experience and I believed him implicitly.
But the cynical part of me, the part that wasn't sure it believed in Angels, kicked in. What it wanted to know was, what was the connection? Why was Michael blonde? Why was the guy who is "me," the guy who "claimed his power," blonde also? And the fellow who beat me up in that physical seeming "captivity" dream was too. So both the good guys and the bad guys looked similar, geez, at least my subconscious could be a little clearer for convenience, you'd think! I couldn't understand why everybody was blonde. Having dark hair myself, I couldn't come up with anything in my psychology that would create that.
I've developed an even more intense 'obsessiveness.' My energy level is much higher, much more constant, and less affected by what I eat. It isn't actually that I feel better, which is odd, I mean I don't, I just feel more "wired." I feel... "compelled." "Driven" is even better, more accurate. Obsessed but not over anything in particular. I don't even want to sleep. I look in the mirror: my eyes seem so bright, like they're back-lit, yet dark circles from apparently no sleep surround them... I look like a fanatic! I don't know what I'm driven to, but I have the intensity for it.
Bewilderness is copyright © 1993 to present to Palyne "PJ" Gaenir (palyne.com). See bewilderness.com.