Where have all of the stories of old that exist today vanished to? It is written, but it exists only as fable. The Egyptians, the Hindus, the Norse, the Greeks, the Annunaki, the Age of Merlin, the realm of Pan, and so on. I cannot list them all. But you can.
Dimensional awareness includes memories of these worlds existing right now. But it is too far fetched to the distracted today. However, the stories exist. If there is a history recorded for each, where have they gone? Where are they? Look up at the night sky and wonder.
A realm, its life, and its play of history descends into illusion, into physicality, descended into its record of expression. It becomes observed and recorded. And, then, ascends out of its illusionary play to stand on its own among the many. How many have done this? Too many to count. Is each gone?
Yes, from our immediate witnessing within our own illusionary play. No, in that the understanding of dimensional awareness and existence is not just ours to see with our own eyes. Beyond our current perceptions on Earth currently, all of it is fable. For even the very angels that stand around the throne of God are doubted. It cannot be so created, that doubt, without the illusion we reside within now.
Who will remember that age of man within technological grasp that sublimed his consciousness with images of desire? Who will remember that age of man that pursued with subconscious programming the mysticism of materialism? Who will remember the age of man that drugged his flesh into submission? Who will remember the age of man with military advancement spanning to the power of the atom? Who will remember the age of man of population control of massive proportion by the elite never before recorded? Who will remember the fable of that, of illusionary control so powerful that the populous doubts all? We will.
And so here we are like the fables of old. A realm, its life, and its play of history descends into illusion, into physicality, descended into its record of expression. Today is no different than the list above. Where is our fable being told? Look to the sky for the invisible eyes that watch it all unfold.
A multiverse of life expression of eternal and infinite proportions. Who are we to doubt anything? We look to sources for answers, gurus for guidance, masters for instruction, but what are we missing? What have we forgotten? Is the possibilities that lie in all the branches of the tree too alluring to look towards the sun that gives it life? A bedtime story, a fable to admire, a fictional account, what doubts do we saddle and mount? Is belief simply a doubt turned about?
Oh, it cannot be, this thing of antiquity! Oh, contraire, monsuair, your doubt is a fopaux! The allure of doubt brings about the most hideous surmount. However, without it there is no tale to count. And, so, we live the here and now. Be proud.
For there will come a day when fable’s ways will come to life in brilliant color. What was thought to be a story of old will become yours to truly behold. Roll the eyes, tisk away, I call bullshit this very day. One look above to the flying dove and you’ll see the fable’s way.
In the mean time, be wary of all that is staring, calling as distraction’s cue. See the mirage beyond and wonder long for the wink within the shadow’s hue. Hold those stories close to your heart, their message is acute. What seems to be a doubtful scene is simply not estute.
Believe in all for all is belief, the doubt is distraction’s play. Simply be strong in the play of long as the play is creation’s way. For above it all is an author too who weaves his worlds of Truth. For truth be told that doubt is sold within a world eschewed.
Look for the pen name that starts with G and ends with D. His realm is of antiquity too. In the midst, you might say “O.” O-M-I. His story is important for you.
Zoltan Blue 