Monday, 20 July 2015

The GATE


I wrote the book some little time after my mother’s death. Both my parents suffered the last few years on Earth—she with dementia, father with Alzheimer’s. They were both fine until they turned 95. Both had long, fruitful lives. The last years, though, were neither fruitful nor a blessing. When you wish someone a long life, be careful what you wish for. It might not be a blessing at all.
But there still were moments of joy.

The title “GATE” came to me when I discovered that when we produce alpha rhythm in our brain, a ‘Gate’ opens into our Subconscious. I capitalize the word because our Subconscious appears to be equivalent to that which members of various religions recognize as Heaven. A place where we wield enormous power, where all our wishes are fulfilled, where we are indestructible regardless of what folly we indulge in. People who learned to enter lucid dreams know what I am talking about.
Others… can learn.
As with all things in life, it is up to every single one of us. I, for one, cannot imagine a reality in which I could be happier, though I am told by more advanced beings that it is only the first heaven, of which there is an infinite number, though all those higher realities, or states of consciousness, are above the realities in which imagination holds sway.
I discussed the subject at length in Book II of my Aquarius Trilogy, “The Pluto Effect”. Later I took it further along in the “Olympus”, in which I opened Eden to the whole of humanity.
It all begun with the Gate.

My mother taught me that one can enter one’s personal “heavenly reality”, almost at will, with just a little, though consistent, effort. She discovered it seemingly by accident. Some people have gifts that do not reveal themselves on the outside. They are just integral to their nature. Mother was like that. She discovered it during the WW2, in Poland. Thanks to this gift she managed to maintain equanimity that belied the conditions and the mortal dangers attendant to her work. Neither her own safety nor even of those close to her ever influenced her decisions of what she considered right or wrong.
For as long as I can remember, she lived in that strange reality that lay beyond what is right or wrong. She lived by what was good and kind, without passing judgment. The rest she left to the benevolence of the Universe.

The GATE is a novel, hence fiction, but I doubt I could have written it without not only mother’s inspiration, but her continued presence years after she’d left her physical body. It seem that if we manage to get rid of most of our ego in the present embodiment, then a great deal of our psyche continues uninterrupted to the next reality. It did for mother. Or for me, each time I enter the Gate.
She continues to teach me things to this day.




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