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Author Topic: From the book I am writing.  (Read 2452 times)
Astral Energy 3
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« on: July 29, 2012, 18:18:18 »


I wrote this recently as a possible first chapter.  Smiley

Everyone has a story. 
Everyone IS a story.

I know. 

I also understand that everyone wants you to know their story.

I understand why.

It is because we all have a story to tell.

I also understand that sometimes the importance of each of our stories is swallowed up by the importance of other people’s stories which carry out across a variety of media, or medium, if you prefer a broader context.

Now truth is, through these medium of story channels, we do learn much which does add to the flavour of our own individual stories, and often we are grateful for the input.

The following is such a story – at least I do hope that whatever way it might have found itself into your story, that it will add to the flavour of your story, the story of your life.

Chapter One


There really is no beginning.  I understand this.  The closest one can get to having an illusion of a beginning, is The Blankness, and only unconsciously.

The Blankness is a beginning. 

It is from The Blankness that my first impression of individual existence derives.

I came into my existence as a 30 year old human male.  This was the impression I had of my form, and essentially it was the impression I had of my self.

I have since learned otherwise.  This then is the story of that lesson.

Upon my becoming conscious, I found myself to be The Blankness.

As my focus resolved from unconsciousness to consciousness, I began to realise.

I did not have a past.  I had no recollection of having ever being.

As I examined my situation I found that I was a form.  I was suspended in the blankness and I could feel my form around me, I could hear the breath of my breathing and touch the skin of my covering.

I could stretch the limbs of my appendages, and examine the nature of my encasement.

As I felt my body, I received mental images – and as these images crystallised, so too did The Blankness fade around me and my environment slowly changed, giving way to clarity and allowing me to understand that I had eyes.

What I saw was information in the form of light and shadow.

So this was my beginning. 
The illusion of it anyway. 

I turned my head to survey the surroundings.  I was suspended within a large grey hued sphere.

I understood it as such, and could see in the differing grey hues, outlines of objects still undefined.

Before I could fully focus on any of these undefined objects, they quickly faded as the light intensified around me and became complete.

Where there was once only darkness – that of the Blankness – now there was only light.
As I dwelt on this, it became apparent that both the complete darkness and the complete light were the one and same Blankness.

As I came to realise this, the light began to fade again to hues of grey, and outlines of images unformed once more showed me their potential.

I looked down at my form.  It was as I had felt it to be, only – as I focused it became more solid and appreciable.

“I am”

These were my first words – and where they derived I could not tell, but that they came from me – from the breath of my mouth and within the form.

The sound was the first I had heard.

As I spoke these words, the grey outlines began to become sharp and as I focused my attention on these, they became solid and intricate and colourful.

They also began to increase, as if coming into existence unbidden and relentlessly overlapping each other, filling up the sphere until the clutter began to envelope me and I felt a rising panic of claustrophobia which resulted in everything immediately disappearing as The Blankness itself erased the creations.

As this was occurring, I seemed to know what they were.  What I didn’t immediately realise was that they came from me.  I had created them, and I had also erased them.

These things I would learn soon enough.

As I began to adjust to my self, and my surroundings I began to create things, and then explore their usefulness.  This led me to create things with a purpose in mind.

As I learned to create purposeful things, I began to understand myself as a Creator.  I did not try to explore how I got here or what may have created me, I simply went with the situation, and allowed my creative abilities to manifest intuitively and meaningfully.

There was nothing outside of my existence in which to confer with, exchange notes, influence or direct me.  I just happened, and from that moment I made things happen.

I created things and gave names to those things.  I did not know how I was able to create nor did I think to wonder.  I simply could, and so I simply did.

Now I can tell you that for me, ‘time’ did not exist.  I did not take consideration in tracking my moments from the moment of my becoming and onwards throughout my continued existence.
Time still does not exist for me, for the same reasons.  Ultimately I understand this is because I do not concern myself with the thought of ‘not being’ anymore.  I have a starting point – a first point, but no end.

How do I know I will not end?  Because I understand myself and realise that I must have been the Creator of my own existence and therefore, why would I be the cause of my own erasure?

It was because of this reasoning that I made the discovery that I was not alone.

It might seem more logical that I would wonder at the possibility that I myself was the creation of something else, but this never entered my thought patterns.  The likely reason for this was that I had always ever been alone, and therefore the sense of there being someone else did not factor as a relevant in those thought processes.

At first all my creations were inanimate.  Shapes and structures.
I could create illusive structures, and often did in the initial stages of my learning – my manifesting creations into the sphere of my existence.
Later I learned to give these structures solidity and after this I learned to make them animate.

When I say ‘learning’ I do not infer a ‘teacher’ – I was my own teacher and understood myself to be my own teacher.  I was all that there was.

My creations I could keep as solid objects within my sphere or I could save them for use in some other moment. 
At first my creations were instant manifestations.  Then I started to enjoy dissecting them to understand the layers and complexities, and then I would create them from the foundation of this understanding and thus derive a sense of appreciation for their being and for my creativeness.

Moments were thus ‘counted’ as the ‘time’ between individual creations, and then between the aspects of those creations as I learned their complexities.

Nor do I now have any sure number to signify how many individual creations I have manifested.  Too many indeed, to warrant any significance to any number, or in which order they came to be.

Those things, I have no need for.

It was in these moments – when I had created significantly, where I began to enjoy the thoughts of being me, in my situation – when I first began to realise that I was alone to enjoy them and that I wished to share them with ‘others’ like myself and so the only way to make this happen, was to create those others.

I had learned enough to know that in order to animate my creations, I had to invest a tiny fragment of my consciousness into the creation.

In the early stages of this practice, I sometimes imbued too much and the creation would dissipate – literally dissolve and be no more.
It was a delicate procedure, and one that I mastered.

I resolved then to create an individual in my own likeness.  This was the most ambitious creation I had yet undertaken, and I was equal to the task.

Because I was now accustomed to starting my creations at the fundamental level so that I might fully understand the process of creating, rather than simply instantly manifesting them – I enjoyed the complexity and intimacy and art of the project as well as the sense of passing moments – extended as they were within the complexity of that which I was achieving.

It would be prudent of me now to say that the things I am describing are not actualities but near approximates.  This is to say that the language being used is quiet inadequate in its ability to portray a true descriptive, so it is necessary for me to convey as best I can in a context which is as easy as possible to understand.
William Waterstone ©2012

Think With The Heart - Feel With The Mind
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