Chapter Nineteen – “City of Light”

V and I drift for a long while within the Void. It is at once like a memory and a presentiment of all other experiences—ever; but as always, the reality is only Now. Time has slipped away into inconsequence. We are enfolded and embraced by the great, grand, ineffable emptiness, the ocean of creation. Even in its holy, omnipresent grandeur there is also a tingling intimacy in every point of space. This is the vast Mother of all, the ultimate, universal ‘Mary’ and ‘Grace’.

In this grace we float on inchoate waves of inspiration. There is no thing, and yet there is essence of all things yet to be or that ever were. A gentle feeling of falling attends the floating. I realize now—after all my visits—why it always feels like I’m falling: The Void is ever opening below, into greater and more infinite depths. It draws us down into its bosom, beyond any estimation of what might lie there. The profundity is the falling sensation—inspiration yet to be formed. In this space, I understand at last, it is ‘opening’ that I’ve always interpreted as falling. I have at last grown comfortable with the Void! It is the eternal opening of Source, archetype to the vesica piscis.

I naturally lose mental memory of the experience as it proceeds. Nevertheless, there is an impression that feeds back. It is first and foremost bliss, indefinable and pristine. This, I was told long ago, is the feeling generated by returning from formlessness. It is a visceral reaction in counterpoint to the negation of all senses; paradoxically, it is also the root of original sensation. The bliss is nearly without form; it feels like utter peace. Yet it has a scintillating resonance toward all forms. Bliss is the feeling of Oneness as it crosses into duality and the manifold worlds.

As we contemplate crossing back, out of the peace, there is a stirring and a primordial stimulus to move. And so, I move. Within my mind I see an idea take form. It glistens like a dewdrop. I stare into it for a time, realizing ‘time’ again. We are beginning again. The ‘we’ turns outward into ‘me’, and me turns into ‘other’, which is V. Within the drewdrop, the idea shapes more detail; its texture generates a thought, a word, a voice.

V gives expression to the vibration, “Come back, my friend. We have been deep enough for now. You’re holding all the essence you can manage for the moment in that human body of yours.”

In my perception, she is nothing more than a smile at this point—an open, amused appreciation of my humble place in the universe. I don’t care. I accept what is, what I am. It is all well and good. I am at peace. Yet I do sense a change; the momentum is rising in us. Something is stirring. I look out and see the Threshold to the Void, the outside edge of Emptiness. It is a fantastical beacon defining an infinite horizon. It grows, as does the luster of time itself, into a form and presence.

At once, the beacon reshapes into a radiant aura. The grand Threshold space spreads beyond us into all directions, sweeping around a limitless sphere of nothing. It seems as though it might contain the Void; such is the play of paradox here—like atmosphere around a globe. Into this atmosphere we are drawn, wisps of sacred spirit sucked into the air.

We form our bodies, according to the inner design of this moment. The shapes are familiar and bring with them memories of who we are in form. There is V, ebon robes flowing with streaks of dark, bright crimson; here is my body, as it was eons before. Out of the intense night, we ascend toward the illumined place. It is a grand ‘city of light’. As I gaze upon its brilliance, it takes on new shapes and structures. It forms into another familiar image.

It is Paris again in fact. Only now, this city is truly a city of light. Every building, doorway and wall is etched in sparkling luminance. Even the cobblestones gleam with their own inner life. We come finally to stand on a grand boulevard—a golden Champs Elysée; I’ve walked here many times. Yet it is strange this time; though full of light and life, there are no people. The wide, long, shining avenue is empty. There are no cars, no bicycles, no pedestrians.

“Come with me,” V’s voice is a shock to my system, a fierce wind roaring out of the silence. My ears feel utterly new, unused to registering sound. “I understand we have an appointment with an old friend,” she adds enigmatically.

I jerk my legs to follow her. They feel awkward, unfamiliar. We have been buried in the formless for ages, it seems. I look down and see my body glowing in the same light as the city. The air itself is radiant. My eyes shine out the brilliance into everything I see. They seem to be participating in creating that vision. I detect thin streams of photon-like particles moving out along my sight into the objects around me. In reciprocation, they, too, shine back a stream into me, and the other forms. We are creating one another through our visioning. Everything is alive, and creating.

The filaments of illumination coil and twist into shapes; they transform, congeal and gather into a kind of fluid solidity. V and I are walking in bright liquid, slowly but surely ahead; the air is thick with light. I follow her lead as she flows down the avenue and turns onto another boulevard. It is the Place Clemenceau in this Paris-of-light. And now we stand before a shimmering Grand Palais, the towering edifice with a vast glass roof; we wait at the bottom of the wide stone steps of the entrance. On the far left I see the Seine and the Pont Alexandre III. The light and air continue to thicken around us.

I try out my voice, which croaks a bit, “V, uh, who is it we’re waiting for? And what is this place? It looks like Paris, but I sense it is something else,”

“It is the deepest memory of Paris—in its light form. We’re in the Hall of Memories, the Akasha, remember. We’ve been here together before.”

In a flash I know who we’re waiting for. In that same flash, the air grows even thicker; it congeals and rushes down into a solid form on the stairs above. It is a giant humanlike shape—with wings, standing nearly as tall as the stone columns of the façade. Almost too bright to behold, the wings spread far out from the body and then slide quickly back. Solid and transparent at the same time, Omis, the angelan, bows his great head to greet us.

“Welcome again, dear friends,” his voice booms in both sound and light. As he speaks, every form around him shimmers and vibrates in resonance; sparks cascade from each surface. Our bodies, too, quiver in rhythm to his sound. He laughs, “It is a beautiful form you have created to represent the Akasha on this occasion. I commend you on your good taste.”

“Omis, it’s good to see you again,” I stammer. “What do you mean though. We created this? How?”

“No. I’m saying that you, individually, did this; you must truly love Paris. You humans are so unaware of your creative powers! I would remind you that we all create by listening, noticing, witnessing. Observe your essence in the moment of its presence. Presence is the fabric of all creation—shared by every soul. It is Source speaking from within you. Listen to the silence. Listen and awaken to the creation it affords.

“Yes, your innocence brought this identity—the City of Light—together for the arrival of your outer form and persona. Coming directly out of the Void, as you did, it adds profound impetus to the manifestation. And may I say, my son, this is precisely what you have been studying: It is death and it is presence.”

My brow furls involuntarily. “Uh, excuse me? Death and presence? What do you mean by that?”

Omis laughs cheerily. “I only wish to point out that it is all Source—coming or going; there is nothing apart from Source, neither immanent nor eminent. Presence and death are prime passages into your awakening; they, together, are the fundamental portals for Source. Through their acquaintance, you may claim your rightful, conscious place in the creation matrix.”

“That may be ‘fundamental’ for you.” I squirm.  “But just how do I ‘claim my place’? And just how do I become aware that I am creating this akashic vision of Paris?”

The jovial angelic creature laughs again and gestures to our surroundings. “You are aware of this place? You do see that this looks like Paris? Am I correct?”

V is smiling, but remains silent as she watches. I shake my head and answer, “Yes, of course I see that.”

Omis continues, “What you see is what you get! What you get is what you comprehend; comprehension is creation, plain and simple. Instantaneously realized and made manifest in your awareness, it is a function of presence—especially here in the Akasha.”

I interrupt. “Please explain how ‘comprehension’ is creation.”

“Look to the root of the word for some guidance: It originally meant ‘to grasp or lay hold of—together’. To comprehend your environment is to share the holding of space itself. And we do this with all other beings. You and I, and each other face of conscious Oneness, join our powers of sensation and vibration—whether our minds are aware or not—in the continuous task of co-creation of all forms. Every form, and particle of a form, is a vibration of comprehension.”

He seems to ignore my growing consternation and carries on with his baffling explanation. “Listen. Do you hear the light in your eyes, the light you are sending out?”

“What? No. What do you mean?” His words make my mind do somersaults. His language has become so ‘angelan’! “Wait. There is a sound? It’s very subtle—around my eyes.”

“What do you hear?” V asks firmly, seeming to project a force upon my awareness. It is working on my sensibilities, activating and refining them. Gradually, clarity seeps into me; it’s like the light of this city is itself illuminating my thoughts.

I stop and listen to the softness around me—in the glow. The vibration of light begins to cross over into sound. My ears seem to be registering other senses. I mumble an observation, “What I hear is like a breeze moving over blades of grass, a whispering lilt of subtle sensation, turning the streaming air into delicate music.” This ‘sound of light’ is smooth and simple, a little louder and clearer each time I blink or turn my gaze. Am I just imagining this? I laugh. Of course, I’m imagining all of this! It’s all coming straight out of me!

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Omis replies crisply. “Listen first, then look at what is happening inside and beside your vision. Then trace the flow back to Source.”

“All the way back to Source?” I whine, picturing a laborious mission. “That sounds like a long journey.”

Omis shakes his head at my denseness. “Source is not far away. Hear me now! Source is right here, right now. Feel it! Know it! It is never anywhere else.” He watches my eyes and my brow. “Yes, we may sometimes use verbal and mental descriptions, like ‘deep down’ or ‘below, in the Void’, but that is to convey a sense of reverence and honor, not distance. The reality is that Source is Now; it is immediately here; it is the presence.”

“And it is death?” I query, already answering for myself.

“Absolutely. For Source, all is Oneness. There are no separations, not in space, not in time, not in death. Your human view of death is that it cuts you off from your life and from one another. From Source’s view, death is the opening and portal to Life, the ultimate Earthly passage.”

I nod appreciatively. He could go into a whole treatise on the subject. I pause and decide to retrace my thoughts back to the former topic. “So, please tell me how I can learn to know that I’m creating everything I see?”

Omis answers, “Make the connection to the light and presence you send out from your eyes, as you just did. Bear in mind, your eyes send it forth, but they are not the origin. Listen within your sentience for signals from Source. It is not unlike your astronomers listening to cosmic echoes of the Big Bang. This is where the sound of light originates. It is the vibration of authentic being. The Big Bang has never ended, nor has Source. It is in you and of you right now—just behind your mask and persona—the false consciousness of the mind!”

At last I sigh, “Well, Omis, you always turn my awareness inside out. I accept your invitation to connect with creativity and Source. I can recognize now that—in the sense that I am Source—I do create everything I see. What you’re telling me is overwhelming my mind at the moment. I know enough now to place it into a seed-link and open it up for consideration again later.”

V interjects, “Do I detect a note of human separation in that realization, my friend? Reconsider what Omis is saying about your personal, creative power; it is not different from Source. The two are identical. The only difference that can exist lies in the thought of separation created by ego.”

Omis nods to V and continues, “Every authentic, creative act is from Source within you. It is immediate, in the moment. What you project out returns back to you—from beyond time—before you have ‘time’ to realize where it is coming from. Through the eyes of human separation, where you see an outer and an inner world, it can appear that you have not created what you see. But that is illusion, as is the time it takes to see falsely.”

I stop and ponder. “You’re saying we create our reality. I’ve heard that said by teachers before, but…”

“I am not saying you, personally, create reality. You create within the reality given to us all.”

“What’s the difference?”

Omis says, “Reality brings us Life and presence; it brings us Source. It defines the parameters within which we can create. Our powers of creation do not extend beyond what is real. If you would desire to have a pocketful of diamonds suddenly, or to be the emperor of the world, it might well not be in alignment with reality. Your genuine mission is to discover what lies at the heart of your destiny, and manifest from there. That is authenticity. Find out what draws you closer to Source. Otherwise your attempts at creation are but masks of separation.”

“’Masks of separation’! I get it.” I stop and take it in as fully as I can. “Thank you, Omis, for that; and, by the way, thanks for inviting us to join you. So, please tell me why we’re here? I know you must have something up your sleeve.”

The great shining being stares directly at me, at the same time deflecting my request. “Speaking of creation, I understand you are beginning to feel a resurgence of your own personal creativity.”

I glance at V and wonder, “I guess you’re right. Of course, you’re right, Omis! But I’m only just getting it, right now. Strange, it took your words to trigger recognition of what’s already happening in me.”

I pause to consider. “I guess, it’s like the creativity of Source we were just talking about. I didn’t see my own creativity because I’m trapped in this model of time—before and after, outer and inner events. But, yes, I am indeed feeling a renewal of my creative energies.”

V answers, “We can all see it in you. You have kept it hidden from yourself for some time because of your resistance and limitation. But that’s only on the surface. It is time to let it flow up from the depths. Always remember and draw upon authentic being. This is the true creativity. And it is the real Life.”

Omis replies, “V is so right. The flow is like a damned-up stream in you. Release it, my friend. That is why we’re here in the Akasha. Let’s take a look now into V’s project, the Life of Source.” He sweeps his long, graceful arms out wide before the Grand Palais, the sleeves of his robe hanging open. There’s nothing up his sleeve! I smile.

In that gesture, all of Paris disappears suddenly and the scene around us transforms completely. We are now standing somewhere else. The great Hall of Eternal Memories, the Akashic Records— familiar yet always inscrutable—is what we see.

ⓒ 2014 Robert Lee Potter

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