Considering the length of my life, I’ve only arrived recently. Considering the arc of my life, that may be surprising. You might presume that I should have come in long ago. And it occurs to me that the word “should” is closely connected to that word “presume”. Perhaps, and I do believe this: I did arrive here earlier, but was not aware.
I am now. Aware . . .
I am in a room. It is cavernous, the floor stretching further than I can see. But, I have learned that I can see something out there, if I move in a single direction. And there, out there, as I move (especially if I move too far, too fast) I see barriers. On all sides.
I have moved quite freely within this space, and in each direction there is a barrier. There appears to be no ceiling, but I have the very clear sense that it is a room. And there are two doors, I think. I believe there are only two doors, but only one of them can be opened now. The able-to-be-opened door leads to or from the temporal world, the one you may be reading in. But, you may also be in this room, reading. I sort of know that you are, actually. The other door, leads to . . . what? I will tell you what I know about it in Part Two. Or Part Three. Or . . .
The barriers I would not describe as walls at all. They are not flat, not vertical in every way, but they are like walls. More like fixed curtains or veils, So, for ease of writing, I will call them veils. And there are doors in the veils. Work with me, as I am describing a place using words that are inadequate.
As I said, I came in through the one door, and it seems to be the back door. I want it to be the side door, however. I am writing, so it is the side door. That other door is clearly the front door, the true door, however, and whatever I write about it, it is true. Please know that it is True.
+ I was led into this room, I am sure of that. I am = sure that I was willing, and > sure that one must be willing. And once willing, you will be led: willingly led into this cavernous room, bounded by veils, with one true door out, and a side door in.
The room is populated by countless people. In the distance I see persons unknown to me. I see groups of people too, groups who never seem to disperse. I see lone individuals who seem to be part of no group. And, I see people I do know. Some of them surprise me when we meet in this room. But, I also see friends, and I expected to see them here, once I became accustomed to this room, acclimated to the surroundings.
And, I see you. You are here as much as I am, I believe. And we have had our moments in this room, you and I, and I will write more about that in Part Another.
As for the comfort of this place, it feels just right. And, comfort is not the word. There is a sense of safety, of security, and what, of provision? It is as if I could ask for something, and it would be given. Something like that anyway. The environmental conditions are maintained, I suspect, by something like a geothermal system. There is the constant faint sound of substantial movement below. A current of some sort. As I said, the sound is faint, but the volume of the [patience, my friend, a description of the what is elsewhere] being moved is stunning. It is under, yes, but all around. It is non-linear. Not unpleasant, but it is never silent. It may be a rush of a warm wind, or the flow of a warm river. It is both: wind and river. And I say “warm” because it is ideally suited to everyone here. The wind/river sustains these conditions that are perfect for each and all.
In terms of chronology, there is very little sense of time in this place. And you know, or you will soon, that time exists, but is no master at all, even in the temporal world of physics:
t = t0/(1-v2/c2)1/2
Time only deserves a minuscule t . . . except in the beginning (e.g., of a sentence).
As I said earlier (not so much in time, but in space, on this post), I have moved quite freely. There is not a trace of fear, no hesitation, as I move around within the room. When I first arrived, it was unfamiliar, so there was some caution or care taken. Looking around for guidance, some signs or symbols, as we do when we travel, was my modus operandi. And that is how I’ve always traveled in the temporal world. Just do it. Keep moving. Look around, read the signs, sure. But, for the life of me, I cannot stand still.
You have noticed that there is some Latin up there (e.g., modus operandi). And that is significant. I mentioned some groups whom I have seen in this room. I have at various times considered trying to join one particular group among the many here. I have slipped in close enough to them, to hear them speaking.
Their language is Latin . . .
Come back for Part Two, in which we describe the movement in that undercurrent.