Sunday, July 03, 2005

Drawn to the Roof 

When I was 4 or 5 years old, I figured out how to climb onto the roof of the building that one of my cousins lived in. When I spent the night there, I would wait until my uncle and aunt went to sleep, then I would talk my cousin into sneaking up on the roof with me. He was a cautious and well-behaved little boy with a healthy fear of heights, so it took some effort to talk him into it.

On the roof, I could run almost the length of a city block, jumping from building to building. I would stand on the ledge and let the experience fill my senses. The feel and smell of the wind; the city lights; the night sky filled with stars; the quiet; the feeling of being alive within an exquisite mystery... I remember it like it was yesterday.

My mother still has nightmares about it though. You see, invariably, someone would see us up there and call my uncle in hysterics, at which point he would climb up part of the way and carefully talk us down. Each time we got caught, I devised a new strategy to evade their vigilance. In the end, I wasn't allowed to spend the night there ever again.

Why am I telling you this story?

Why am I telling you anything at all?

This is an important part of my conversation with the vision mind. And this particular story is an illustration of how it functions in me. It leads me to precarious places, removes fear, illuminates the soul, inspires determination, and gives me the ability to persuade people to follow me. It's hard-coded into my being.

If I were like the unscrupulous people I write about here, I could do some real damage to this world. But I'm not intrinsically motivated by power or wealth. My "code" has a specific function, and I've seen the nature of it in visions and dreams. I'm fulfilling it here to some extent, although I have a feeling that there's more to come. The vision mind paints me at the center of a storm that I can only describe as cataclysmic.

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