As the summer’s heat burns the noise of conflict deeper and deeper into our chaotic game a new participant enters with a clear and insightful hand, The Holy Unknown. The final book in the Letters From 500 series is now available through Amazon and you can order it by clicking on the book’s cover, at the bottom of the Order Books page. In the meantime, we will offer excerpts from the book from time to time starting with the “Author’s Note” below.
It has never been more obvious than it is now that we pull into our conscious awareness the great possibilities brought to light by the wisdom of our future selves. This bothersome fly of the moment, that keeps buzzing around our head, is just a speck in the grand scheme of human survival and the next step in human evolution, conscious evolution. Don’t let this flick of time, our time, mark the ‘everything there is and nothing more’. Breathe in the words of The Holy Unknown and bring peace into your eternal soul.
Assist the Transition
Imagine … “You are sitting on a grassy bank beside a stream. Put
your hand in the water and feel it swirling around your fingers. Put
your gaze into the stream and the rippling flow. The flow is moving
from some unknown source toward some unknown destination. Stretch
your feelings out toward the unknown in both directions. Embrace the
totality of this moment and movement; it rests within the center of the
—Orange, Letters from 500, Vol I, p. 4
At last, we are at the end of the seven book series. In the beginning,
as I’ve said before, I really expected the correspondence to end
after one book. Then, later, I thought the third book was the end. Now,
according to all participants, this is manifestly the final ‘last one’. I
promise. Enough is enough!
By the way, this is a continuation of the story in book six, picking
up in midstream from that narrative, as though the two are one together—
so much so that the chapters here continue the numbering
from the previous book.
So, now, what is the upshot of all these Letters from 500 that I’ve
written over the past nine years? What was the intent, and what was
the result? Where does it go from here? A corollary question that
comes to mind is: What is happening in our world today? How have
the books addressed that? Are the perspectives on our time, laid down
in these dialogues, reasonable to consider?
People have asked me if the characters in the stories are real. Is the
story somehow real? Some want to believe the letters truly are from the
future. When I begin to answer such inquiries, I find myself shifting into
a kind of altered state. It’s as if the mere wondering about it sends me
into a new dimension, a very ‘sincere’ place, deep inside. Contemplating
a response demands I assume an openness and respect for all the
I might at first be tempted to dismiss those questions in an offhand,
joking manner. I might try to say, ‘nobody can predict the future.’
But then, that statement is so patently false I can’t do it. There
are clearly ways of forecasting the future; many have done it. Contemplating
the idea of where this material comes from demands—at least
of me—serious attention and as much honesty as I can muster.
On the other hand, if I get too serious in answering, another force
comes into play. It undermines my seriousness. I end up saying, honestly,
“I don’t know where it comes from.” The writing is not ‘channeled’—
as I understand that term—because each manuscript has been thoroughly,
laboriously edited over many months. I am a ‘transcriber’ of inspiration,
but also an active participant within it. An exact characterization
of how, and from where the words come, continues to elude me.
Then, too—I admit with conflicted humility—the messages and
stories, the flat-out wisdom in them, seem to have a lives of their own; they
do ‘come through’—from somewhere. There is sagacity in the teachings
of Omis and Orange and Green and Black that is far beyond my intellect
to compose. Oh, and let’s not forget the teachings of Mike!
I have witnessed the ‘life’ of the stories at close range for most of
ten years. The Letters have not taken the publishing world by storm;
they’ve not even risen into the echelons of new age journalism. The
‘teachings’—if that’s what they are—are quiet and subtle, even meek.
They weave into the dialogues and visions regularly; at the same time I
trust, they are met with my own personal skepticism and testing.
I must keep asking, What are these books? I certainly do not see
them as ‘literature’. They’re not simply science-fiction fantasy, because
they’re not pure fiction. They don’t really seem to be ‘novels’, except in
the sense of ‘novelty’; they have elements that ring actual to me. There
are divinations and predictions of the future—over the next 500 years,
and much more. But they are also not intended as prophesy or philosophy;
they have story lines—as meandering, spontaeous and quixotic
as they may be.
More in the style of sheer imagination, the books describe the next
26,000 years—and the past 26,000. Also, way beyond that, they depict
the very last species to evolve on Earth—the Ozuli—five billion years
hence. We are also told of a fantastical, ‘Grand Reunion’ of souls, over
nine billion years from now.
I do not claim the reality or truth of any of this. The point of the
Letters is not to be ‘right’ or to ‘convince’ readers to believe in anything;
the point is to open up a perspective, a portal, if you will. I and we—
speaking from the point of view of the characters in the books—only
want to deliver a broader sense of the future that can be creative and welcoming,
If the information does have a life of its own, then we shall see
signs of it. I believe there’s already evidence in fact: We are undeniably
living through a great storming time all around the world. Along with
this, people everywhere are waking up in growing numbers, one way or
another; we are all being ‘informed’ into the Information Age. People
are seeing the dark side in political, economic and social realities,
dredged up from hidden darkness, like never before.
Like it or not, we can see that our civilization has crystalized and
may well be crumbling; our institutional and ecological environments,
our value systems even, are imploding dramatically. Events in the
world are pushing governance up against thresholds of impossibility.
Humanity is being brought into the light of day—of awareness. Never
before has human beingness been challenged to such an encompassing,
menacing degree—yet in a potentially, vastly enriching way.
There is clear honesty in the material of these books. Woven into
the composition of the dialogues is a transcendental essence of meaning
and inspiration. I know, because while writing them I was also reading
them—over and over—during multiple edits. I studied what they
said. As immodest as it sounds, I have become a student, as well as a
critic of my own writing! Not because they are mine. But because I was
finally able to hear what the muses were sending.
Doing this work has been a wonderful, playful, exhilarating experience.
I cannot imagine not having done it. It has been the fulfillment of
a life script, etched on my soul; the essence of it was there long before
Letters from 500 began precipitating down into ink on paper. Now that
it is out in the physical world, I honor its form with deep appreciation.
I truly love having been involved in it. I cherish the characters in the
stories. I love the stories. Most of all, I love the world that we are all
building together. I am firmly persuaded that humanity is creating a
bright and wholesome future.
From the dark place we are now, light will emerge, inspiration will
seep out into the awareness of curious, conscious explorers, near and
far; it has already begun, Stefan reminds me. I do feel the destiny. Orange
has explained—from her perspective—that the coming generations
will use the information to assist the transition into our new species,
beyond humanity. At that point, the Letters will belong to them. I wish
For my part, it seems I will remain in a less-awakened state this
lifetime. My skepticism, they say, has played a precise role in their process.
Since I often put up resistance to what they say, the friction is a
kind of grounding for the material. Whatever it takes, I’m happy to do
what I can—even if it means I am playing the part of a troglodyte.
I can’t seem to help myself: I will continue challenging what
they’ve told me—and what I’ve written—if it seems too improbable or
abstract or patently impossible. I want to make sure their messages have
been put to the test in my mental laboratory, such as it is.
I am driven to make it more sensible—even after endless editing.
Couldn’t I have put that sentence in clearer wording, with more sensitivity,
more insight and understanding of the message? I will continue
to doubt myself, and the cogency of what I’ve alleged. In the end, I
can only fall back on my own sense of enjoyment in the writing—and the
fact that it is finished. It’s the best I could do at the time, in my time.
I welcome you now to read and listen to the last episode of my peculiar
adventure. May you find within it a means of honoring yourself
and honoring all of us who are on the grand journey of the human
species. May we each share in the bright, sweet goodness that is surely
soon to come.
R. L. Potter,
Swarthmore College campus, Pennsylvania, December 1, 2017
NOTE on the narrative conventions: I write these letters in the second
person when I’m addressing my friend from the future, Orange or ‘O’. I
know it may be confusing to the reader; I’ve tried putting it other ways
during editing, but that hasn’t ever felt right. From the beginning, these
Letters have been a bizarre form of correspondence between O and me. I
ask, therefore, that you indulge us in this. When I say ‘you’ in the dialogues,
I am speaking directly