Praise for Into a Timeless Realm
"Mystical inner voyages into other realities seem part and parcel of our indecipherable human being. Into a Timeless Realm is an excellent field guide to the wonder of the inner frontiers of consciousness.”
~ Raymond Moody, Author of Life After Life
***
"This is the final book in the Nature Wisdom quartet by well-known author Roads, following Talking with Nature, Journey Into Nature, and Journey Into Oneness. The first three books have chronicled his life since 1977 when, faced with overwhelming personal difficulties, he had an experience that changed his life forever. This final installment takes readers into that experience. Although his physical self remained bedridden, Roads writes that his metaphysical self moved through an interdimensional doorway into a "timeless realm." While traveling in this sphere through eons of earth time, his physical self recorded his amazing adventures, which he now shares in print. It's a fascinating overview of humanity, past and future."
~ NAPRA ReView Vol. 7 No. 3 by Matthew Gilbert
***
"Just as physical life gives us dreams before we wake, metaphysical life gives us visions before we awaken. In 1977, Michael Roads, through a vision he wasn’t expecting, was given the opportunity to pierce the third-dimensional veil to travel through possible realities based on whether planetary and personal choices were made from love or fear. He discovered during his vision he had chosen to awaken in this lifetime. The awakening did not come to him in a flash of instant enlightenment, but rather provided him with several years of choices . . . the choices of what is real and what is illusion . . . and the ultimate choice to awaken to true self." ~ Network Quarterly
***
"Visionary author Michael Roads captivates once again in his book, Into a Timeless Realm - a prequel to his last three volumes, as the events he records precede the others by several years.
Nearly 20 years ago, at a particularly challenging time in his life, Michael Roads had an intense mystical experience, an Awakening . . . Thereafter, his life became a journey beyond normal limitations of consensus reality into a Greater Reality - the birthright of every Being.
Michael Roads' explorations into nature and other realms began when he awoke one night with his awareness split into two parts - one, a metaphysical Light-Body Self; the other, his physical self who sat up in bed recording his incredible experiences.
He shares with us his insights gleaned from the Sphere of Images, where he witnesses events on Earth that signaled key developments in civilization and human individuality. He passes on the wisdom he receives from several extraordinary guides from other galaxies and dimensions: these timeless alternate realities are mind-boggling in their possibilities and ramifications.
Michael reminds us that we humans are all magnificent, multidimensional Beings of Light who, to be free, must make a fee-will choice to align ourselves with the Love frequency that's sweeping the planet. Once we surrender our Selves to Love, we can surely realize the truth that "all life is a diversity of One." A totally inspirational journey!" ~ Nexus Magazine
Into a Timeless Realm
A Metaphysical Adventure
Michael J. Roads
Published by Six Degrees Publishing Group at Smashwords
Copyright © 1995, 2012 Michael J Roads
Second Edition
License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior consent, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-4524-4048-4 (EPUB Edition)
Cover Art: Michael Nicholas
For information address Six Degrees Publishing Group. by email at:
publisher@sixdegreespublishing.com
or visit
http://www.sixdegreespublishing.com
For more information about this author, please visit
Contents
1.....A Shift In Reality
2.....The Sphere of Images
3.....Inexplicable Mystery
4.....Beyond a Human Will
5.....City of Living Glass
6.....The Gates of Time
7.....The Pillar of Green Light
8.....Travelers of the Mulitverse
9.....A Future of Your Choice
10...And So it Begins
Acknowledgements and Changes
______________________________________________
This book was first published in 1995, although the events described took place two decades earlier. We are republishing it to make it available once more. During the passing years, however, much has changed in my life.
In the original book, my first thanks were always to my wife, Treenie, but she has since departed this physical world; she has gone Home. To repeat the original text seems strange, and somehow inappropriate. I am modifying it, as follows.
When I finished the manuscript of this book, I gave it to Treenie to read. “Tell me if my readers will think me completely over the top,” I asked her.
She read it and came to me. “My dear, now is the timing for such truth. I’m sure that all the people who are ready will easily embrace it.”
What can I say? She was always my unfailing support. I Love her dearly.
I have retained the original cover art, painted by my good friend, Michael Nicholas, one of Australia’s best artists. Thank you, Michael, for your graphic vision. It’s a rare artist who can capture and paint another person’s experience.
I also wish to acknowledge my gratitude to the many Beings of other dimensional realities who have helped me. Written or even verbal thanks only have meaning if they express a true appreciation. As best I can, my appreciation is expressed by living and sharing the Truth of a Greater Reality.
Now, in 2008, after a friendship love became a romantic love, I am married to our long-time friend Carolyn, who used to be our U.S organiser. I am so very blessed that once again I am able to share my love and my life with a beautiful woman who truly loves me. Carolyn now organises our Roadsway International. As we grow in our public profile, I wish to thank her for reviving my earlier flagging attempts at using the internet and for re-launching us into the world. She has created a whole new website for us (http://www.michaelroads.com) and is the inspiration that continually keeps it updated and renewed.
However, by far the greatest blessing Carolyn has brought into my life is the unique richness of her love. Carolyn is a woman of the heart; living, sharing and loving from that precious space. To have her in my life is beyond anything I ever expected or even imagined. I love her deeply. For all the richness you have brought into my life, I thank you so very much, my beloved.
Otherwise, apart from a very few minor changes that I, of today, have made for greater accuracy from my present state of consciousness, this book remains in its original form.
____________________________________________________________
I have detailed my unfolding metaphysical development in three of my previous books, Talking With Nature, Journey Into Nature, and Journey Into Oneness. The events in this book took place a few years preceding those three books. Together, the four books record the mystical events I experienced during an intense nine-year period. What I have written here happened at a time when I lacked the courage to go public. I was afraid of ridicule, afraid of my own inner conflict, and afraid of the strange mystical Reality that was overwhelming me. Beyond all that, there was the matter of timing. This was not a timing that I was to decide, or determine, but a timing of both a physical and metaphysical unfolding. What happened was so extraordinary, so utterly unaccountable, that I could not have written this book a day earlier that the day I began it. While this book stands clearly in its own right, it is also an essential prequel to the other three books.
During a particularly difficult period of turmoil and inner conflict in my life, I was suddenly propelled into a startling mystical experience. The manner in which it happened was certainly not harsh, yet it was uninvited and unexpected. This experience totally annihilated my belief that reality is based on the fixed and defined principles of a physical law.
Without a doubt, the prime mover in my mystical encounter was my overwhelming urge to know who I Am. I was just beginning to realize that the more I struggled to learn his universal Truth, the more resistance I seemed to create. The true story I have documented here came at one of my peaks of inner growth and change. Although change and growth were exactly what I wanted, I was never able to reconcile them with the inner hurt and emotional pain that always accompanied them. Like most people, I strenuously resisted my own growth. Such inner conflict inevitably increases and prolongs the trauma!
Much of my emotional confusion was caused by discovering aspects of myself that for a long time had been submerged in my psyche. To the world, I presented myself as a practical man, very down-to-earth, strong, and capable, with just a touch of aggression. I really thought this was me. Then I made a disturbing inner discovery. At the time of the events recounted in this book, I have just learned that this was my act, the mask I wore.
With the act of a lifetime harshly revealed, I felt vulnerable and exposed. I was shocked to discover my demoralizing self-doubt, to find that my self-esteem was almost zero. This, combined with a potent inner longing to know who I Am, was undoubtedly the pivotal factor in bringing about my metaphysical adventure.
I knew that something was developing when I had the dream that revealed my subconscious self-deceit. It was a simple enough dream, but it hit me hard. I dreamt that while living in my house, I discovered the door to a room I had never before seen or known about. I opened the door and went it. The room was old, yet fine and grand, but it had obviously been unused for a very long time. There were various pieces of elegant furniture, and my eyes were drawn to a huge antique cupboard on the far side of the room. I went over to it and opened the doors. Inside were several shelves of beautiful porcelain vases and delicate bone china crockery, all stacked away very neatly. Then, a slight movement at the bottom of the cupboard caught my eye. I knelt down to see what it was, and I was shocked to see a tiny figure trying to conceal itself in the gloom.
As I stared, I saw that a small, gnome-like creature was huddled in the shadows in the depths of the cupboard, and I felt an instant and unexpected, surge of love for this diminutive Being. Very gently, I tried to scoop it up into my arms, but it twisted away from me, backing into the gloom.
“Come out into the light where I can see you,” I asked, but it only shrank further away from me.
Finally, with much coaxing, I enticed it to the door of the cupboard, where I could see it more clearly. I gasped. A tiny human male, he was about two feet tall, with thin, sticklike limbs and a withered body. Not gnomelike at all, he was a stunted, shrunken, dwarfed, human manikin. I was confused, because unaccountably, I felt a very strong emotional attachment to the manikin, with inexplicable feelings of love for him surging through me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He looked at me shyly. “Don’t you know?”
“Of course I don’t. How could I?”
“I am your self-love,” he replied.
I woke up crying, an outburst of gut-wrenching tears shaking my whole body as I cried from the very depths of my Being. I could no longer evade my truth. I had long ago buried my self-love in some deep, inaccessible part of me, replacing it with an unrealized fabrication of self-deceit. In that moment of recognition, I saw so clearly how I was unknowingly living a lie.
Eventually, when my exhausted emotions had stabilized, I made a silent pledge to the manikin. Never again would I ignore my self-love. Very clearly, I knew that when I finally “fell in Love with Self,” I would know who I Am. With aware deliberation, I placed the manikin in my heart. I did not know, then, that there would be many more years of emotional hurt, intense physical pain, confusion, deep inner confrontations, and many metaphysical challenges, before this Awakening, this “falling in Love with Self,” would take place.
Owing to my total acceptance of the dream, and my pledge to nurture and nourish my self-love, the metaphysical aspect of Self that had been released became my catalyst, propelling me into a metaphysical reality beyond my wildest dreams.
After nearly forty years of relating to myself basically as a very physical person, I found it challenging and alarming to find myself facing an unknown, unrealized, metaphysical aspect of Self. I was to learn that while my practical logical self was strong, my metaphysical Self was volcanic in its power. I learned that the reality that most of us accept as real and normal is no more than a mutually accepted illusion, mass self-deceit, or, as it is more generally know, consensus reality. Just as I had to remove the masks that hid my greater Self from me, each one of us, individually, has to go through his or her own process of unmasking. Beyond this, humanity as a Whole has to remove the suffocating masks that hide us—a race of intelligent Beings—from our greater metaphysical Reality.
This book documents a major step along the way as I made the journey from a normal, mundane, limited reality, to the enlightened and magnificent Reality that is the birthright of every Being.
1
With our physical ears, we hear but the
echoes, while an open heart may hear
fully the metaphysical Song of Life.
The sigh that escaped my lips as I awoke was echoed and magnified by the wind as it prowled around our house. I glanced at the illuminated dial at our bedside: two o’clock in the morning and pitch-dark. For long moments, the remnants of an incredible dream surged into my mind, then rapidly began to recede. Feeling that the dream was important, I strained to remember, but as I did so, it faded into nothing.
I yawned and stretched, catching my breath as a sharp stab of pain lanced through my ankle. Despite my nocturnal activity, Treenie, my wife, remained deeply asleep, so I lay back with a wry smile, remembering the events that led up to my present sorry state.
For about two weeks, I had been receiving strong inner promptings to slow down my hectic pace in life. My intuition had been working overtime trying to tell me that I needed to spend some time in meditative silence. I had a strong feeling that it was important to turn my energies inward, and I kept meaning to—tomorrow!
I was rather apprehensive about turning within. Each time I followed my inner urgings to do this, I would go through a process of inner growth that would invariably leave me traumatized. Although I had to concede that each episode was another step up the ladder of Self-realization, this ladder was fraught with pain and suffering. So for the last couple of weeks I had procrastinated, even though I knew that whatever I was avoiding would eventually catch up with me—and, most likely, with a vengeance.
I signed heavily again, hoping I would wake Treenie without meaning to wake her! She didn’t even stir, so I continued my musing.
Whatever it was that wanted me to slow down and tune in had caught up with me yesterday. I had been running along our garden path, happily charging into my next diversion from any inner contemplation, when my right foot came down on the outer edge of the concrete path. As my unsupported foot rolled over, my ankle popped out of joint with an explosion of pain.
I was in agony. This ankle was already chronically weakened by a number of previous sprains, and the joint now had a permanent gap. At the moment of dislocation, the pain was so intense that I was never sure whether to faint or vomit. However, it invariably took me off my feet to a horizontal position, away from all hurry and haste, providing the opportunity for many hours of inner contemplation. I sighed again. What a stupid way to live, responding only to the stimulus of pain and suffering.
With sudden clarity, the dream surged powerfully into my mind. It remained disjointed, yet I had the impression of some strange, exotic place, where an impossible reality promoted equally impossible experiences. Feeling the need to talk, I was about to wake Treenie deliberately, when my normal, everyday, reality came to an abrupt and shocking end.
Everything in our bedroom seemed to move into a slow time—Treenie’s breathing, my movements, even my thoughts. Despite the turmoil of my emotions while held in this state of suspension, I was calm and accepting, as though some other influence controlled me. With no understanding of what was happening, I watched from my physical reality while another me stepped out of my physical body.
In that moment, I was aware of being two completely different aspects of Self, both happening simultaneously. In one reality, I was the normal physical me, wide awake and aware of a painful throb in my damaged ankle. I sat up in bed and, without any thought behind my action, picked up the large writing pad and pen that is always at my bedside. Calmly, I began to write down the events that unfolded in my other reality.
The other me had a body of Light, closely resembling my normal, physical self. I did not glow with Light, nor was I illuminated, but I was aware of being composed entirely of Light. In my Light-body, I climbed out of bed, stepping onto an ankle that had never know an injury. Without a backward glance, I went through the open bedroom door and walked out. Moving silently through the house, I passed through the closed backdoor, walking out into a glorious dawn. With a strong wind, it was dark in my physical reality, but in this “otherness” it was calm and light.
The physical me sat in bed writing all this down. I had no recollection of switching on my low-glow bedside lamp in the moonless, pitch-dark night, but it gave me just enough light to see my writing on the paper. Although I was aware of both my physical self and the Light-body me, practically all my focus, attention, and awareness were with my Light-body self. Not for a second did I have thought about how odd this was, or what I could do to escape this strange, mystical occurrence. Everything about my physical reality was overwhelmed by a supernatural, calm acceptance. I had one physical function only, and that was to record the experiences of my Light-body self.
Undisturbed, Treenie slept on.
I walk by taking normal footsteps, yet there is no feeling of weight in my body. I know that it should be dark by any measure of normality, but equally, everything that is normal has ended. The brighter than possible rays of gold that haze across the sky like the billowing of a gigantic wisp of gauze, feel acceptable and normal. I know that I am going down to the river, but I have no idea why. Walking feather light across the field toward the distant waterway, I am aware that every blade of grass is alive and vital within both itself and the Whole. Each blade of grass is a unit within itself, yet also with the plant from which it grows, and with the pasture as a Whole. I perceive that Nature is really a creative living principle, forever demonstrating the One in All, the All in One.
As I realize this, I become aware of the dew beading on the blades of grass. Each separate drop is a tiny reservoir of energy. In some mystical way, I see each drop magnified, physically reflecting the gold in the sky, yet in some inner impression I see all the water of Earth, alive and aware.
Continuing across the field, I feel an inner exuberance as my awareness expends and stretches, breaking free from its long, restrictive confinement. Silence is so powerful that it becomes a shout, startling me as I feel a surge and rush of inner hearing. Now, I can hear the Song of the grass, a sound of surprising power, yet exquisitely delicate. Each drop of dew is a vibrating echo, adding to the harmonic of the grass. I know, without knowing how I know, that dewdrops are a harmonic amplifier of energy for each plant on which they collect.
Each footstep I take becomes a lesson. Every tiny pebble underfoot has its story to tell, and I can hear. I listen to the microscopic organisms in the soil as they follow their own movement in the orchestration of Earth life, and I listen to the dawn chorus of the birds. To listen physically to the local birds welcoming a new day is always a joy, but to inner-hear is joy magnified beyond measure. My body of Light thrills and resonates to the quality of sound, while my inner Being dances and pirouettes to Nature’s Song. And I know that this radiant, inaudible Silence is another submerged, unrealized truth in our physical reality. With our physical ears, we hear the echoes, but only an open heart may hear the full, metaphysical Song of Life.
I reach the riverbank, and, without warning, I am engulfed in timelessness. I am abruptly held in the grip of some timeless power. In suspension, transfixed, I am unable to move, or even breathe. My first, immediate flutters of fear vanish, as I meekly surrender to some vast, unimaginable power. All time and all life within this strange Reality are held in this magical suspension. Even the river is unmoving, each ripple held by the thrall of some immortal will. Beyond my vision, I am aware that the river is flowing normally to a certain point within my vicinity; then, it becomes unmoving. There is no backup of water, no sign of anything abnormal. Impossibly, at some place further downriver, the water continues flowing toward the sea.
Standing immobile, I watch as the sky bursts into flaming colour. Burnt orange, resplendent red, and molten gold mix and merge, to be pulled to earth as the river catches and reflects this riot of colour. Blazing, burnished colour consumes everything in this riotous display of heaven’s furnace. Across the river, the reeds are golden red, the same flaming colour embracing the river, the trees, me, and incredibly, a heron that is standing transfixed in the shallows, its beak holding a immobile fish. Heron and fish are sculptured from a forge of living fire. I can perceive and identify images of reality far beyond the range of my eyes, yet even my perception is overwhelmed and awed by this conflagration of magical colour.
Although my fear has vanished, for long moments my mind rages against the sheer impossibility of this unworldly scene. Then, deep inside my psyche, I clearly feel something snap. Immediately, the heron leaps into the air, flying with a harsh croak past the curve of the river, while the water is now chuckling and gurgling quietly as it flows swiftly over the stony bed. The riot of colour fades swiftly, until once again the sky is a soft, billowing gold over a backdrop of blue. The reeds are again a familiar dark green fringe bordering the crystal-clear water.
I release my long-held breath in a gentle sigh. I know now that breathing in my Light-body is no more than the continuation of a physical necessity. Light is both my breath and my nourishment. Momentarily, I wonder what has snapped with me, but I am not concerned. An inner wisdom suggests that it is the breaking of a link, over-stretched and weakened as I strained against the restricting chains of disbelief and a purely physical reality.
A movement catches my eye, and I turn around to see that Treenie is standing nearby.
I gasp. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to decide if I am in your dream, or if you are in mine,” she says, smiling.
“Did you get frozen in time just now? How did you get here?” The questions tumble out of me.
“Michael, hold on a minute. I only know that I’m asleep dreaming. Equally, it appears that I’m involved in something with you, but I only arrived here the moment you saw me.”
“But I’m not asleep,” I protest. “I’m awake. My physical self is sitting in bed writing this down as it happens, while the metaphysical me is here, in this Light -body.” I waggle my hands in her face. “So, how can you be here if you are asleep?”
Treenie gives me a look of exasperation. “Why don’t you face the obvious? I am here, aware and conscious. It’s my body that is asleep. So I suggest you get on with it.”
Perplexed, I stare at her. “What are you talking about? Get on with what?”
“Get on with whatever it is you came here to do.”
“I don’t know why I’m here,” I say in bewilderment. “This whole thing began without any prompting from me. I haven’t a clue what’s going on.” I smile at her. “But I’m really glad that you’re here.”
Stepping closer, I reach out to embrace her, but somehow we seem to be out of phase. I’m disconcerted to find I cannot touch her. As my arms encircle her, we seem to occupy slightly different realities, and we miss. I attempt to kiss her willing lips, but there is no contact.
I shrug. “It seems there is a difference between your dream state and my metaphysical reality, but at least I can see you and hear you. I’ll happily settle for that.”
A faint buzzing vibration catches my attention. It comes from a bit farther downriver, and for a moment, I wonder if it is the orchestrated noise of cicadas. This sound, however, is much deeper and unnaturally low, conveying far more emphasis with its vibration than its sound.
“What’s that strange buzzing?” Treenie asks.
“I don’t know, but it sure is intense.”
Dismissing the cicada theory, yet curious, I continue my walk downriver to investigate, accompanied by Treenie.
As I skirt around a dense thicket of tall bamboo, the path takes me away from the river. Light, dancing through the dark green bamboo, bounces from cane to cane with an elusive grace. Despite an absence of breeze, the canes stir, whispering in their leafy tops as I pass. I feel encouraged, until finally, passing beneath some river pines, we emerge again on the riverbank.
Closer now to the weird buzzing sound, I tingle with the intensity of its vibration. A feeling not unlike pins and needles sweeps through me, while the buzzing seems to be right inside my head. Although I am mildly disturbed, I am not at all distressed.
“Do you get a pins-and-needles feeling?” I ask.
Treenie nods. “It’s so agitating, it’s difficult to be here.” She points, her eyes wide with wonder. “But look at the river.”
I gaze in awe at the river. It seems as though a vast pressure is pushing down onto the water’s surface, like some intangible but gigantic bubble. I am aware of a spherical shape, maybe one hundred feet or so in diameter, that is filled with such an intensity of sound that even the air is distorted and blurred. The surface of the river is bulging downward from the pressure, while all the reeds and riverside vegetation are flattened. Yet, in all this, not so much as a breath of wind stirs the air. All is unnaturally calm and eerily motionless.
I flinch, shocked, as without warning the vast sphere of pressure suddenly appears to consume the river where it flows into the affected area. The water just disappears, leaving the riverbed open and bare. Gradually now, the huge buzzing sphere becomes opaque, as though filled with water, and I can see pictures forming and dissolving within its interior.
Even for my unnaturally calm Light-body self, the shock is too much. Trying to grab Treenie, I want to turn and run. I want to get us as far away from this crazy, impossible reality as I can. But even as I gather myself in an attempt to sprint away from the river, time and motion are again abruptly suspended.
Despite my fear, I can do nothing. I cannot even collapse on the bank. Held by some power beyond my own will, I am compelled to face the vast sphere of unknown cosmic forces—and watch. And again, under this other influence, I am now calm and tranquil, compelled to accept this bizarre reality without any disturbance.
I’m not sure what has happened to Treenie. I cannot see her, and I am unable to call out to her. I don’t know whether she is near me, and held under the same compulsion, or if her slightly different phase of reality allows her a greater freedom. I only hope that she is okay.
How long I crouch in a position to run, I will never know. Time is static, irrelevant, yet it seems that ages pass while I stare at the unformed, continually dissolving pictures. Try as I might, I cannot make any sense of the fleeting images. Just as I think there might be some meaning within a sequence, it goes wild and random. The harder I try to understand, the more confused I become.
Suddenly, to my delight, I hear Treenie’s voice.
“Relax, Michael, just relax. Let it be.”
Simply knowing that she is still with me is an enormous relief. I realize that she has projected her thoughts to me, so I attempt to do the same. “Are you okay?” I ask her.
I’m fine, but like you, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Aren’t you frightened?”
“Why should I be? I’ve had far worse dreams that this.”
“What do you mean, dreams?” I keep telling you that this isn’t a dream. This is a metaphysical reality that is happening in a wide-awake state of consciousness.”
“It may well be for you, but for me it lacks real clarity. I get moments when everything goes vague.”
“It’s the opposite for me. I don’t recall ever experiencing anything as clearly and sharply defined as this. There is more clarity in my sight, hearing, and perception than is possible in a physical reality. Tell me, are you looking at a sphere filled with a mass of confused images?”
“Yes, I am. But my intuition tells me that it is confused because you are, so just relax and let it be.”
“But surely I need to understand what’s happening.”
“Most probably, yes, but you can’t force it. Relax.”
Her words make a lot of sense, so I quit attempting to understand, feeling an inner relaxation as I simply watch, without any attempt at comprehension. More than anything, I am pleased that Treenie is still with me.
2
The Sphere of Images
Our deep despairs are also
our unrealized triumphs,
for it is then that the fabric
of our potential wings strengthen
beneath the cocoon of our self-deception.
From our despair, Truth emerges.
The moment I relax and quit trying, my confusion ends. The pictures are now clear and precise, and without any effort, my attention becomes powerfully focused. I can now understand what previously was a confused jumble of nonsense. Treenie was right—attempting to force understanding had been counterproductive.
Within the translucent sphere of pressure, I can see moving holographic images of an unbelievably ancient Earth. With the images, a silent, inner commentary explains some of what I see. This commentary is not spoken, but enfolds into my consciousness in what feels like little waves and ripples of directed knowing.
Without any attempt at speaking and forming words in my immobile state, I project my thoughts to Treenie.
“Can you see what I am seeing?”
“I rather think so,” comes her clear reply.
“Are you getting an inner commentary with it?”
“If you mean an inner understanding that seems to accompany it, yes. But it leaves my questions unanswered.”
“I’m delighted that you’re with me,” I tell her.
“I’m very glad to be with you.”
Astonished, I see Beings of energy that have form but no physical matter as they drift in small groups over a very strange Earth. Bright to the point of whiteness, the sun creates an atmosphere of illuminated brilliance. Vegetation exists, but even this is lacking in substance. I learn that the ethereal Beings are in an early stage of their evolution, prior to taking on physicality, and they are human. Apparently there are many stages to be passed through before the Spirit of humanity is ready to express in dense physical matter.
There are no spoken words, but I am aware of thought and feeling between the Beings as they gracefully make their way across a field of delicate, pale blue vegetation. Occasionally, the Beings pick fronds from plants to ingest for nourishment. They do this by clasping the fronds to the front of their bodies, where they seem to be absorbed quickly. Although most of their nourishment comes from the sun, they are compelled to supplement it. I learn that this is part of their path to physicality. These ethereal Beings have form, but they lack a clear definition. They aren’t wispy, or foggy, but undefined. Their thoughts register little more than the mildest curiosity about things around them, suggesting an almost passive nature.
They all appear to be about the same size in slender, five-foot bodies that neither walk nor fly, but are somehow drifting. Their features are indistinct. They don’t seem to have a real mouth, nose, eyes, or ears, yet I get the impression that these will eventually appear as they evolve into a more physical reality. Everything about the ethereal Beings has a dreamlike quality, yet I am aware of their attunement with Nature in this pre-emergent human expression.
I can see no animals, and, apart from the delicate, pale blue fern-like vegetation, no other forms of Nature. Also, I become aware that there are only very few of the ethereal Beings. I get the impression that there is little intellectual development in these Beings, but there is a keen and undoubted intelligence.
Everything fades, the translucent sphere going momentarily blank; then all I can see is black darkness. As I watch, I learn that this phase of the sun is ending, and darkness prevails for a long, long time.
Where the sun is during these long aeons, I have no idea.
“Treenie, did you see the race of ethereal Beings?”
“Yes, I did. They were very beautiful.”
“And you got the inner dialogue and insight with it?”
“Yes, but it was sketchy. My intuition tells me that this whole experience is basically for you, and that I’m here as a support—for a while.”
“What do you mean for a while? I want you here.”
I feel a smile in her thoughts. “This is your reality. I’m only here in a dream state. It all gets a bit vague now and then. Like you often do at home.”
My smile is on the inside. “Thanks a lot!”
As the sphere again becomes clear, I see images of a race of Beings who look as though they are unsure whether to be ethereal or physical. Their bodies seem to be a marriage of the ethereal to flesh and bone, resulting in a strange, translucent quality. They are obviously physical, yet they appear opaque and fragile. I can see a thin, lightweight bone structure covered in a substance looking more like firm jelly than the flesh of today. But they are physical. Tall and slender, they walk with fluid ease and a natural, unhuman grace.
“Can you see these zombies?” I call silently.
I feel the reproach in Treenie’s reply. “Don’t’ be so flippant. It’s disrespectful. Did you ever see such natural and graceful elegance?”
As I watch, I become aware of a relationship with Nature quite unlike anything of today. I learn that some of these Beings—both male and female—by singing certain Songs of attunement and power are able to cause a particular species of tree to take on the shape of the Singer’s will. In this way, they grow their homes. I watch a small group of these gifted Beings as they travel from one village to another, singing to the prepared and selected immature young trees.
It is odd, for although I am aware of both males and females, I cannot see any clear difference between the sexes. None of them wear any clothing, so if they have any genitals they must be held within their bodies.
“They are not as sexy as you,” I project playfully.
There are no words, but I am hit by an avalanche of strong, very Treenie-like disapproval. I inner-chuckle.
The Nature I see here is dominated by trees—not primitive, prehistoric trees, but species of leaf and flower, and incredible diversity. Just as these Beings can sing a tree into growing into a large, hut-sized bulbous shape for the people to live in, they are also able to sing other trees into growing limbs vaguely shaped as chairs, tables, and other unrecognizable items that may be furniture. The trees they inhabit are always long-lived and alive. If a tree dies, the people living in it move out.
“Just imagine being able to sing your furniture into shape and form,” I project.
“Maybe it’s a long dormant possibility even for us.”
“I think we have a lot of conflict and confusion to deal with first. I get the feeling that the purpose and clarity of these people are undiluted by personal problems or every day affairs,” I say.
“I don’t think these people have any such thing as personal problems,” Treenie replies.
I am puzzled by her remark, but my attention is on the sphere. I am able to empathize with the respect these people feel for each other and Nature. Their whole life is a commitment to nature. Everything they wear, everything they eat and need, comes from their almost symbiotic relationship with the trees. And these, too, are human Beings. The silent inner commentary gives no indication of time values for what I am seeing. I get the feeling that rather than predating our present time, what I am seeing coexists with us in a different frame of an infinite Reality. I am unclear about this. Although our linear time structure is based on a concept of beginnings and endings, infinity must surely be based in a greater holistic Reality of timelessness.
As scene after scene unfolds, I become more relaxed within myself—as opposed to compelled calmness—and I am more able to empathize with these Beings. They surprise me, for they are without desire, without needs, even without real joy or laughter. They are blissful in the way they are, but they have no enthusiasm or passion. I perceive that their more ethereal, less physical reality reflects an overall lack of individual drive or desire to achieve.
It occurs to me what Treenie meant by her last remark.
“You mean that these people have a complete lack of any individuality, don’t you?” I ask her. “How incongruous, that collectively they seem to have so much, and yet at the same time to have so little personally.”
She is silent for some moments. “Yes, I noticed their lack of individuality at once. At least they don’t have our modern day hang-ups,” she reflects. “But I agree, it seems such an idyllic way to live, in harmony with Nature, yet many of our present qualities are missing.”
“What a different perspective it offers,” I muse. “No matter how misunderstood or misguided our personal power may be, within our passion and drive to challenge, to struggle against the odds, and to overcome, we hold the potential as individuals to experience Self as One with the All. To do this, I suspect that we need all the qualities we presently have.”
“Perhaps these people also experience themselves as One with the All,” Treenie suggests.
“As a human collective maybe they do, but it’s impossible as individuals without individuality. Maybe even Oneness has many levels of human expression.”
I feel admiration and love for the ethereal/physical people that I am witnessing, and I am made aware that their consciousness is with humanity today. All the qualities that they have brought into creation reside without our present soul awareness.
With this realization, the sphere momentarily goes blank. Once again it is opaque, and I can only wonder at what this means. Is this a past civilization that has ended? Somehow, I think not.
Gradually, the sphere again takes on new life and vitality. The semi-physical Beings and the gentle touch of Nature have gone. I am now looking at a scene dominated by rocks and desert, with oceans of distant grass waving in the breeze. I silently wonder if this is the same place at another time. As I ponder this, I get the feeling that I am seeing yet another frame in an infinite Reality, but I am sure that these frames are linked.
“This is different!” I project to Treenie.
No reply.
Another race of Beings throngs the area as they work with a causal ease. I learn that these are also a peaceful race, but whereas the earlier Beings had worked with Nature and the trees, these people work with minerals and water. In a way that I cannot comprehend, they use water to mine the land, taking it deep into the ground. From the commentary, I learn that some of our vast, subterranean caves of today are not the random chance of aeons of oceans and rivers cutting them out as we believe, but the deliberate act of another human race, unrecorded in our history.
I learn that each of the eras I am watching predates out prehistoric period by a vast span of time as we measure it. Long, long, before the beginnings of our prehistoric period, there were intelligent human Beings evolving and flourishing on our planet Earth. I am confused, for it seems certain that the frames of reality I am witnessing interlink the history of Earth into a vast, immeasurable, overall frame of timelessness. The commentary, however, gives me no clarity on this apparent paradox.
“Treenie, are you still with me?”
“Yes, my darling.”
“Do you realize that everything we are seeing of the past is somehow held in the present?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure that we need attempt to understand it. Better to go with the flow of it.”
I inner-smile my agreement.
The Beings in the image are short, sturdy, and fully physical. However, in a similar way to both the earlier ethereal and semi-physical races, all the mature adults conform in size, weight, and appearance. Again, the unmistakable imprint of personal individuality is absent. Whereas the semi-physical Beings had a milky-white translucency and were hairless, these people are black skinned with a definite tan pigmentation, and have black, frizzy hair. Perhaps that is because the semi-physical people lived under a sky of almost permanent cloud, while these mineral and water workers live under an intense sun. Although it defies logic, their sun is far hotter and more intense than our sun of today.
The ability of these Beings with minerals is all but supernatural. I watch as a molten, liquid mineral is propelled under tremendous pressure from a spout, where it points toward the sky. As the jet of molten liquid shoots in a thin, continuous stream up into the air, it is met at a calculated angle by an equal jet of water. Clouds of steam burst forth as the two liquids meet, but as they fall to Earth, the mineral is now formed into flat, paper-thin platelets. For some unfathomable reason, the platelets don’t appear to quite touch the Earth, drifting just above the ground in heaps, as though they were large silver snowflakes. All that remains of the water is a fine misty spray, for most of it is converted into steam on contact with the molten mineral.
As before, everything and everybody conforms to a certain rhythm and style. The dynamic of our present individuality is again missing.
“The phenomenon persists,” I say. “Even in these very human-looking people, there is not a real individuality.”
“I agree. It’s even more apparent in these people,” Treenie replies. “Only when you witness its absence do you realize how tangible and potent the power of human individuality really is. And it’s odd that there are no children or aged people. How is that possible?”
“It beats me!”
I gaze at the technology that is both beyond and before anything in our present time—not so much better, but based on totally different principles. Whereas I suspect that force is the dominating factor in today’s technology, this pre-prehistoric human race uses a natural harmonic. In a completely different way from the earlier race, these people also combine with Nature to draw forth the things they need for their growth and survival. And yet, these people also seem to be without any real needs or desires.
“I bet if I asked these people why they do what they do, they would not even comprehend the question,” I say.
“Yes. They seem to do what they do simply because this is what they do. It’s strange that their whole energy conveys this lack of a defined purpose so clearly. Equally, I don’t think that they would understand the concept of survival.”
Even as we briefly comment on what we see, the scene continues to unfold. Because of the intense heat, the dwellings of these Beings are deep underground, carved by water with a superb accuracy. This is not a matter of simply gauging out the rock with pressurized water, and then living in what results. Far from it. They know the structure, nature, and formation of solid rock to a degree that far exceeds our present understanding of the structure of a manufactured brick! When the water is “introduced” into rock, it tunnels and excavates to the exact size and dimensions that have been calculated and projected. This may be a simple construct, or one of amazing complexity. To perform this incredible feat, a group of the Beings enters a trancelike state, becoming the directive nexus in the merging consciousness of humans, rock, and water.
“I could make a fortune if I could learn how to control water like that.”
“Michael! Don’t be so frivolous.”
Some of the underground caverns are of such immense proportions that they can house a whole city of people. Within this, carved by the architectural expertise of humans and water, are many smaller structures that house small groups. And, within all this, the breathtaking flair of curves, archways, and sweeping grace must surely have been given birth again in our cathedrals of today.
Once more, the sphere goes blank for a few moments and then I witness an age of wind gripping our planet, lasting for what seems an eternity; unending wind of a ferocity that scours and levels mountains. I witness what appears as the ending of this age, and then, the birth of new life.
I am deeply puzzled by this. More powerfully than ever, I get a sense of timelessness, yet what I am seeing suggests the end of an Age.
I share my speculation with Treenie. “How can you have timelessness alongside beginnings and endings?” I ask. “It just isn’t possible, surely.”
“I think I know what you mean, but perhaps you are too preoccupied with time and timelessness. And who knows? Conceivably it may be possible. It occurs to me that perhaps both realities are happening. Perhaps we are witnessing different root-races in the development of humanity that belong to our far distant linear past, yet, at the same time, are also an ongoing part of human development in other frames of a greater infinite Reality.”
“Talk about pondering the imponderable! I think I’ll call it Mystery, and leave it alone,” I say, watching the sphere as it continues to change.
Again, in an era prior to our prehistoric age, another race of humanity is to be seen. This time, the sun is weak, the climate cold. I cannot see any oceans, but rivers of great width are as prolific on the land as are the lines on a human hand. What seems odd is that most of the rivers run in uneven parallels to one another, seldom crossing or intersecting. Many of the rivers are of solid ice, while the others flow with a slow, sluggish power.
I now watch a nomadic race of people as they wander the Earth. Of average height, their skin is a yellowish colour, their hair black and very long. They are slender, yet the long, stringy ropes of muscle on their arms and legs give evidence to immense stamina. These people are very well adapted to their lifestyle. Although their limbs are bare, their bodies are well wrapped, but I am certain that they are physically male and female in the manner of our present human race. Despite clothing, the sexual differences are as obvious as they are today. Also, for the first time I can see young children, adolescents, and the elderly.
“Are you happy now?” I ask. “The whole family is here. You know, it seems to suggest that those previous people were somehow assimilating into human physicality without being sexual, or reproducing in that way.”
“Hmmm, you could be right. I don’t know how that’s possible but it makes sense. Maybe they have to develop sexuality before individuality can come into expression. I wouldn’t say this race has a highly developed individuality, but it is definitely evident,” Treenie replies.
The vegetation is mostly coarse grass and scrub, while the seemingly endless vast plains between the rivers writhe beneath the touch of a ceaseless wind that scours the land. Animals are visible everywhere, but I can see no birds. Defying any logic, all the animals I can see are of a single species, like a very large cavy, or guinea pig, approximately the same size as the present-day tailless capybaras that live by the rivers of tropical South America.
These tame and docile animals are used by the families to carry packs, to pull sleds, and to feed and clothe the people. Even the wild cavy-like animals are without any fear, calmly ignoring the wandering nomads as they browse on the plains grass and scrub. Without the animals, the nomads could not exist. The nomads’ attitude toward their own animals is almost sacred in its concern and attention. Despite the fact that the animals do all the pulling and heavy carrying, they are slavishly catered to by the wanderers. I watch in astonishment as an animal is taken for food. Once separated from the others, two of the men wash it in what is clearly a ritual of chant and prayer. Next, two women approach the animal, and the men depart. Sitting next to the calm creature, they croon to it, sweet and low. Affected by their crooning, I feel that a door is opening into some other dimension, such is the power and intensity it evokes. Maybe it does, for suddenly the animal rolls over, dead.
I am affected by what I see—affected by the power of the connection between the women and the animal. This is not a betrayal, but a true exchange of energy.
There is emotion in my words as I convey this to Treenie.
“They harmonize with Nature and the animals so that all needs are met in perfect synchronicity. Today, we exploit for profit, with little real concern for the animals.”
“Maybe, but this sort of skill is lost to us.”
Mentally shrugging my agreement with her, I learn that the animals willingly surrender their life for the people as they are sung back to spirit. Like the previous races, these people also express a deep reverence for Nature.
Again, the change.
No wind to purge the land this time, but ice. Unrelenting, rock-shattering glaciers of ice.
For the first time I am grateful that I cannot run or feel real fear. In my normal reality, I would desperately run from the scene that unfolds before me. I see a city of clay, yet it is built on a prodigious scale. I get the impression that I am watching something from a horror film, for the race of soldiers walking in file though the city leaves me chilled and frightened. Each man is about twelve feet tall, with a corresponding width to his shoulders and depth of chest. They are giants—and they, too, are human. I feel an inner shudder pass through me. The brutality of the soldiers is so palpable that I try to shrink into invisibility.
Shocked, I project my thoughts to Treenie. “My God! What do you think of this?”
Silence.
“Treeeeenieee! Can you hear me?”
Silence.
The buildings that line the streets are so large that even the most squalid are built to the proportions of our churches and museums. I realize that this is a slum area, for no matter how foreign it appears, the signs of poverty are universal. Way out in front of the soldiers, people scatter, running for cover and shouting in harsh, guttural voices. Most of these people are smaller in stature, but even so, they are all over nine feet tall. Overwhelming everything is fear—a fear so powerful that I can feel it emanating from the image that I am compelled to watch.
I learn from the inner commentary that the soldiers wear a type of armour that is made from a metal-like substance, lightweight and flexible. It gleams in the sunlight, yet its reflection is fear. The soldiers all have a dark tan complexion, their features harsh, arrogant, and without any trace of compassion. Suddenly, a large rock comes hurtling from a huge window, striking one of the soldiers in the face. Even as he falls, a projectile like a large flat plate comes spinning from another window, its razor edge nearly severing the neck of another soldier. Without a glance at their fallen comrades, the soldiers rush into the building, each drawing a massive broadsword from a huge flat sheath strapped to his back. Each vast sword is about five feet long and about half that in width. Used as both shield and sword in a dazzling display of power and skill, the soldiers deflect a few more missiles and wade with flashing, bloody blades into the screaming people pouring out of all the neighbouring doorways. I sense a feeling of shock, as though such an attack on the soldiers is almost unheard of.
What happens next I will never know, for thankfully, the image blurs and changes, yet it remains with the giants.
Urgently, I try to communicate with Treenie. “Did you see all that? Are you still with me?”
Silence.
I can now see a pastoral scene, reasonably peaceful, yet the domination and control of the many by the few is obvious. A few of the soldier types are overseeing other pale-skinned giants as they work on a farm. Two huge animals, looking vaguely like a cross between a reptile and a horse, are pulling a cleverly designed plough-like implement through the soil. It rips the soil with ease, while others of the same strange animal combination are being used to fell trees and clear the soil of its natural vegetation.
The trees are no larger than the trees of today, nor the vegetation more abundant. Insects swarm everywhere, far more than is natural or normal today, while animals of a strange warm-blooded, yet reptilian nature seem to be the dominant animal form. Again I see no birds.
All traces of a harmonious relationship with Nature are gone. I learn—with a shock—that the odd reptile/horse combination is a result of genetic manipulation. The animal pulling the plough is huge and very powerful, and it seems to be extremely cunning. I learn that these animals constantly try to kill their handlers, but to little avail. One of the reasons for this extremely aggressive behaviour is that they live in constant pain. These animals are created by the giants in laboratories, and such is the divergence from Nature that the creatures pay a price in pain. Pain is their companion from their manipulated birth to their eventual death.
I wish that I could get some comment from Treenie. Is she still with me, or has she woken up? “Treenie, are you with me? Can you see the giants?”
Silence.
Slightly bothered by hearing nothing from Treenie, I watch as scene after scene in the life of the giants gives me an overall picture of their horrendous culture. In a time that far predates our prehistoric era—and yet, somehow continues to coexist with now—humanity is struggling to become human. The cruelty is not limited to the dark soldier race, for the persecuted pale giants deal with one another in a similar manner of careless brutality. The men treat women appallingly, and they in turn are harsh and intolerant with their children. No children are ever born from an act of love; they are the offspring of the couplings of lust and sexual dominance. Our modern-day animals show a far greater regard for their offspring and family than this depraved race of giants.