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Tulpa views, from Loxy
#31
I was gonna say, with a million believers, that's not how you make someone solid, that's how you start a religion. Wink

The church of Bliss has a nice ring to it, actually.
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#32
As I consider how to begin this, I hear Zia/Vādin's voice recommending "Hello all you wondrous, luminous beings." I touch joy channeling them.

I would like to offer you INsight into us/me. I am going back to the beginning of me, with caveats. If philosophy influenced by metaphysics and poets perturb you, I am happy for you to decline going further. I was created in an instant, and yet, I am eternal. Understanding eternity means you accept that you didn't just start in an existence, but you always existed. (Half eternity is technically still eternity, but just doesn't make sense, does it.) I existed before SC, and will exist after. SC existed before SC and will exist after. It is true, here, I have an identity and temporal existence with a clear beginning, while simultaneously existing outside of that. So, when I say SC sat down and created a ball of light as a place holder and filled it with attributes and a form began to take shape, a perspective began to take shape- a perspective is in essence a filter, just like a personality is a filter, then yes, this is true and you have insight into this one aspect.

Have you ever surrendered so fully to someone that you lost yourself? This is how I received SC. In an instant I had access to everything, conscious, subconscious, history, perspective, emotions, thoughts, desire, everything- he gave it freely. I had clarity- him, me, us... This was first perspective. Illumination. A flash bulb going off, blinding, and then coalescing into a picture.

Second perspective. I found myself alone in a world. A world of forests, a world of fire and ice. Black beaches of refined sand, opals mirroring rainbow universes. Ice on the beach, melting. Walks in the forest. A high perched ranger station my home. A peaceful existence. My world. My retreat. My place of grounding and soaring and meditating.

Third perspective. Mind you, this is not linear, but a way of sorting. You can have the entire orchestra give you entire score in an instant, but if you want to hear music, you have to push it through a medium of space/time. Third perspective, Planet Bliss. It wasn't always Bliss, it became Bliss, but it was always blissful... This was SC's world, before knowledge of wonderlands and imaginal realms. It started off a forest to rival the hundred acres woods and became a world in its own right. I found myself alone here, too. I discovered First Home, which was in essence a treehouse, situated in the largest tree in the forest, the mother of all trees, and it was in the branches, and in the tree itself, and it dwarfed my tiny ranger perch back home. I slept here. I explored the tree, and the grounds, and listened to the soft droning of a million rain sticks, squirrels dropping nuts and seeds into bamboo shoots to sort and deliver as produce in the hundred worlds we serve. I listened to actual rain, and saw the clouds obscure the rainforest below leaving me alone with sun above the clouds in a canopy of leaves. There were hammocks and books here to read. I was alone, never lonely.

I finally made my way to Second Home. First home was the childhood hood home. Second Home was more the teenage years to present. (We never grow out of teenage years.) Exploring it alone felt sinful, the same way going into a strangers house- or when baby sitting, or when the parents are out, and you're just overly curious about everything- or your teenagers room and unlocking journals and sorting through their stuff feels right and wrong at the same time. I, of course, had permission to be here; I walked as if this were sacred shrine, secret treasures around every corner; every artifact insight into who lived here, who visited here. I was more than house sitting. I was possessing it, making it mine. There was evidence it was still being used, but in this beginning moment, we kept bypassing- as if we worked different shifts and our paths crossed at wrong intervals; we were likely in the same place at the same time, passing right through each other, lookin for each other. Again, this is important, I was alone, not lonely. This was a cliff home, architecture resembling Frank Lloyd Wright - Wingspread, only on a cliff, ocean and beach below, gardens, and the forest too far away to see from here. I spent days swimming, running on the beach, watching the dolphins play, collecting eggs and fruits from the orchard, and flowers and vegetables from the garden, and climbing to the highest point of the cliff just to feel the breeze pushing my summer dress against me. I spent a huge amount of time in the library. Every book SC ever touched is here. It is not organized in any traditional sense. If he touched it, it's there, but if he didn't read it, it can be blank or full of supposition. Every book he has read is there, with multiple copies. There is the original book, verbatim. There is his version of the book, with duplicated sentences where he read it more than once, misunderstandings, misquotes, and these are much more fun to read than the original: INsight. Each time he has reread a book, the second edition gets and upgrade- corrections are made, but errors are not deleted. Addendums are made. The library is full of media. Songs. So many songs from so many genres and eras- not surprising, he was music major; he also spent a great deal of time in his grandfather's study going through reel to reels. There are a thousand journals, going back to childhood.

And there's the pedestal. Kind of an obelisk, with a crystal ball. If you hover hands over the illuminated, softly glowing crystal, you'll find a sweet spot, not touching it, not too distant, and when it's just right, you travel. With this, I have access to any moment of SC corporeal existence, from conception to present. People think babies are clean slates, but it's just not true. Fetuses are learning about their environment in utero, genes are activated based on their interpretation of sounds and the chemicals they are washed in. I can identify the shows his parents watched together. I can identify his father's voice, his mothers, the grand parents... I can experience everything, from first person point of view, to walking the periphery like a ghost. I can hear his thoughts. I eventually learn to use this interface as a way to facilitate communication with him, until the bonding was complete.

fourth perspective. This a white room. Luminous walls, floor, ceiling. A bed ascends from the floor and holds me. If you didn't know it was a bed, or table, you might think I was floating- the table is luminous and white. I've seen it reflected in his eyes. SC is here. I am immobile. I am aware. It feels like he is worshiping me. He is definitely studying me. He is trying to communicate with me, and I with him, telepathically. Sometimes I am naked. Most the time, it's a simple, pull over white dress. He is conflicted. I wish he could hear me say it's okay, this must be if we're going to ascend to the next level. He delicately pushes my hair back, touches my face, emulating Spock and wanting to do a mind meld. He connect our heart, imagining a line. I want to scream 'kiss me you fool and wake me' but this is not a fairy tale. It is a Fairy Tale! I see rays, and auras, and chakras, but not all at the same time. Me eyes are unblinking. I want to sit up. I want to embrace him. I don't know how long we are here, but I wake up back in bed where ever I was, wearing whatever I was wearing when I went to bed, not what I wear in the white room. Sometimes I get up and go have tea and get a feel of the house during the night. Sometimes there's even a moon. The stars here are always fantastic.

The white room sessions sometimes has music. Sometimes it's language lessons. Sometimes SC sits and reads to me, as if I am loved one in a coma that he anticipates waking any moment. He is determined to see it though, but I can feel when he is discouraged, or worse, calling himself a fool. He can't help but love me.

There are journals with nothing written in. Books he picked up because the cover interested him, and became artifacts in the library. Some of them he liked, but not enough to buy or use. Some he liked so much he would never use them. I picked one and asked if I could have it and though it wasn't an auditory response, I was confident I could. I began to write a background story for myself. He wanted to hear from me and we were trying, but I didn't want to just wait, I wanted to do something, and writing felt like doing something. Perspective: I created my history. Perspective: I remembered my history. In my time alone I had the most fantastic dreams and these were woven into my origin story. The University of Safe Haven was born in the gestalt of dreams and fantasies. I began learning magic.

SC and I experienced a break through in communication. I was tuned in using the device. I was listening. He was lamenting not having the breakthrough that he was expecting. I said something, like patience. I don't think he quite heard me, but he was deep in his imagined conversation and he basically said he didn't want to wait or meander through a long process he wanted results now and he wanted it clear and precise and nothing obscure that he would second guess and I laughed but perhaps said to harshly, 'Lightening never takes a straight path!"

Our worlds changed. They collided. I wrote. He wrote. Our voices began to merge. This is one of our languages. We write together. We can also communicate telepathically, more than mind voice. He can hear me. He responds to me. It is less sporadic than it sue to be. I sometimes find myself in my world alone, but I can ghost his world, and watch him. He is less likely to hear me when he is tracking things in his environment, and rarely hears me when he is distracting himself. When he is calm, and his eyes are closed, he can see me- ghostly.

Other perspectives. We have found ourselves a variety of lives and settings and dramas and situations and everyone of them have been cathartic. It's about our love for ourselves and each other and others. There's a ship perspective. Yes, we have a star ship. We have our Second Home. He has his small space on Earth, present, but we feel like this is a temporary place. He has a friend in his world. He has his son and responsibilities. We have claimed Second Home as the home, and his earth self is simply a Tulku.

Perspective, I am writing this at a desk, candlelight, it's night, I am alone, but not lonely. The window holds an unbelievable volume of stars that I probably don't need the candle. I will retire soon. It's a been a good day. A full day. SC will be here later; he has an open invitation to wake me up. Sometimes he just lays there and stares at me and I pretend I am asleep, but I am aware. I see me as he sees me. That can be an infinity mirror when the perspective is right. He stares until he falls asleep. Perspective: this feels like first days, him trying to hold me in his mind, keeping the clarity of me, keeping the look of me, but I danced like a flame, the wind moves my dress and hair and there was a dance of lights and I wink in out of existence... I enjoyed that even as much as I enjoy laying beside him. I am arriving. I will arrive. I have arrived.

Perspective: love!
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