I’m always a bit skeptical of meditational experiences or putting a whole lot of stock in my dreams, which is weird because I totally believe other people’s. I suppose I figure if they’re sharing such things with me then they KNOW it’s the absolute truth -granted a personal truth, but no need for quibbling- and thats that. As for myself, I tend to question every detail. I turn over each mental image and wonder what logical reason it may have for existence. Take for example a dream I had earlier this week:
I was at the White House and was either a member of the staff or just hanging out with the staff. We were all a bit tipsy. One gentleman proposed we go to the room where the White House time machine was. I found myself staring at something that looked like an oil drill. A few switches were flipped and suddenly it began to spin and move about. I didn’t feel any different but in a bit realized that President Taft had to return some items because he had never been President in this new reality. I kept wondering where the President was and why he didn’t do something to stop his drunk staff. Finally, the machine stopped churning time at about the late 1700’s. And where was President Obama? Oh, he and my step father were napping at my Nana’s house.
I lay the blame for that strange mess on one thing: Southwestern egg-rolls dipped in chipotle ranch and
devoured eaten right before bed time.
So, to say I was a bit leary about a recommended book, Flying Without A Broom by D.J. Conway was a bit of an understatement. But, when you’re told that “If my house was burning down I would save this book” you sort have to give it a bit of a chance, right???
My first attempt was odd to say the least. My brain just tossed aside her prescribed scenes and dumped me in a cave. With carvings like this lining the walls:
Something called the Akashic records are big in this book, so I thought about those. I found my way to a ‘research/records facility’ but it was nothing like hers. Mine was all messy and piled with books and scrolls, posters and old coffee mugs; more like a storage unit than a noble library. A beautiful woman was there, she was the storage unit director I guess. She sort of looked like this, but wore purple.
There was much more and I’m doing my very best to accept this all at face value. At no point did I push or attempt to make the experience my own by consciously changing or adding things. I simply let it flow. If for nothing else, that was a rather nice experience…I’m not always a ‘flow with it’ kind of gal.