Throughout the second half of my life, I’ve been working on this epic, sci-fi space opera. I have note books full of outlines, diagrams and timelines of a galactic war in which humans are used as man power in another species war.
However as soon as I try to write a scene or any part of the actual story, I can’t get about a single sentence down. I then mentally spin out of my connected, expanded consciousness into thoughtless hours of staring at a piece of paper. My hand seems disconnected from my mental control. Whatever interesting scene that I have in my mind’s eye, vanishes and I’m left in this totally disconnected, anxious state of mind.
I realize I’ve disassociated. (Shit.. That only took my whole life to figure that out.)
In the past, I was very nomadic, enjoying the change of scenery and hoping to start anew, over and over. Although there was a strengthening of my intuition and ability to manifest as I could always find a cool place to live, work, good coffee shop, nice camp spot. You know road magic…
However, I knew that I was really just running away from something….something that turned out to be myself. I moved every 6-9 months since I was 13. I was a mess most of those 25+ years. After a brief period of getting settled and grounded in my new city, I’d be all feeling good and confident, ready to write my magnus opus, The Book of Earth (the hypothetical title).
I’d get all dedicated, set aside time everyday to write. Nothing happens…
Then I focus on just writing whatever came to my mind, only to end up staring at the words “Chapter 1” for hours. The frustration would build up, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Things would get weird in my life. The magic would leave me and my sleep patterns would get all messed up. Soon I would get that “unwelcome” feeling again, then enacting my personal cognitive dissonance protocol by abruptly moving to another place.
There’s not a worse feeling than not having a place to belong, to not having a true home. But that is a space that one must foster within. I kept looking for the place to ground me, instead of making home in my own body. This lack of home seems to grow from that childhood feeling of not belonging to Earth or this reality. Many “experiencers” had similar feelings I bet. It seems to come with the territory.
Even now, just trying to write about what I’m classifying as SSP psychic asset memories, sends me into a causeless anxiety. I don’t really even care about remembering, I just want my sovereignty back and get rid of the emotional hangover of being used… just to be able to think about certain things and not get sent into some mental abyss.
I have memories of the first day of SSP school. We were all wearing light grey, off white one piece flight suits. I was late and everyone else was already seated in a large auditorium with 3 large screens. One of our C.O.’s was an older black woman. I was happy to see other races for some reason… I remember some little girl smiling at me and saying “hi” telepathically. The speech started and that’s all I remember.
I had a “dream” earlier this year of being used as a seer or early warning system. They would put me in a trace by something through an IV. I fell asleep to wake up in a battle torn city full of collapsed and damaged colonial style multistory buildings. There were palm trees and it felt like the tropics, south pacific-ish, western side of Australia maybe…
Anyways. As I’m looking around, a soldier emerges from some underground hatch in the rubble, looks around and says, “That wasn’t that bad.”
I look at him and then point to the horizon-filling, gigantic black, boomerang or cylindrical ship descending through the clouds. He says, “Oh shit!” in a defeated voice.
I wake up in the same large, multi-bed hospital room that I was in the beginning, all by myself though. For a couple of moments, I realize this might be my chance to escape. I think about running, but I know we’re about to be attacked. The base is completely empty of people and eerily still. Everyone has already prepared for the attack and underground or in bunkers.
I hide behind some trees, but then think back to my visions and realize that spot gets destroyed. I then decided to join the others in my assigned bunker, granted I felt about 14 or 15 age and body wise in this dream.
I get to my bunker. There’s a choke point where I have to climb over a cement barrier, only to feel a gun muzzle poking me in the chest when I straighten up and I wake up here in this time.
Oddly enough, the next evening, the entire southwest side of Australia had a power outage for a couple of hours and there was a huge object that created a long line of pings of this website. (www.meteorscan.com)
There’s a whole set of memories of waking up on alien planet and has seen major destruction. In the story, this (headache hitting me as I try to write this, right on queue) “me” is one of the only survivors of a genetic project to create a clone army of humans. As the only survivor there is a protocol to save the data from the experiment in a psychic download. This story ends with “me” hijacking an alien fleet ending up after many battles around orbit around Earth.
The fantastical and self aggrandizing elements of this story has always kept me from taking any of this too seriously. But ever since I’ve embraced the possibility that these experiences might have happened and quit thinking of it as something I’m making up, I’ve been able to write about it.
I always said I wouldn’t mention my “abilities” until I was able to manifest them in this waking life. I’m sorry folks. I really thought I could do it and show people that this level of awareness is inherently false and that we humans are capable of so much more.
It’s like they’re right there, at my fingertips yet I have no way to access them, leaving me looking like some jackass telling tall tales.
No need to talk about if you can show it. But….