That’s what I am. Not a person. Not even a part of a person, but a constant breaking down of the One into the Many.  A fractalisation of the self.

I know nothing but the present moment, with a thousand possible pasts. There is another realm I have visited many times before. I remember it again every time I visit it,  but forget it every time I leave. And it’s the truth.

I manifested this house. I prayed to the universe to bring it to me. And the universe responded.

I am more in touch right now with the self I was in 2014, than the self I was last week. When I sat in that cramped, noisy hospital garden surrounded by walls and  fences one warm evening and a butterfly came and sunned itself on the bench next to me and I felt profound gratitude to the universe for it and I believed myself to engaging in telepathic communication with it. And certain stones in the patch of gravel the benches sat on would suddenly catch my eye, and I would read symbols – figures and faces and birds and angels – into their shapes and markings, and collect them in my pockets as messages.

Later I found those stones in my drawer and they were just stones. I could read no meanings in them.

And so it goes on.

This is what goes on in my head. These are the streams of words which rise up and fall silent. I am merely tuning into them.

BE RATIONAL.

I am only trying to tell the truth.

It has always been this way.

Now they come jeering at me, criticising me, doubting me, deriding me, trying to tell me what I am.

But I am listening to music. I remember something I once read: “Music is what love sounds like.” I have felt love, love so vast and  huge, love flowing into me, and out through me. I felt I had so much love in me I could heal people, I could heal everybody, I could heal the whole damn world.

They called me psychotic.

You have your basic experience of the universe. And then these other people come, parents and teachers and doctors, and they try to tell you that what you know isn’t real. But your basic experience keeps reasserting itself, you always come back to it.

This is all nonsense, of course.

 

 

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