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Explore Your Wonders

by Kaylin 4 months ago in humanity

Little Black Book Chronicles

There are many things I could be doing. That long dirty checklist is fast in growing. Yet I live mostly in a savasana pose, dreaming about the adventures I’m living in a parallel life. Or perhaps, in a fantasy universe I created with my wondrous assistants: the clouds. Whom I watch zoom and shapeshift through the atmosphere faster than flies.

I’ve long been dreaming about exploring the seven wonders of the world. Thus far, I’ve only explored my own inner world. Wondering what it would be like to swim with humpback whales, orcas, sea turtles, and dolphins all in one day; and, sitting in a meadow surrounded by hummingbirds and bumblebees the next. I allow my wonders to flow through me. Curious what the sensations of these experiences would feel like in my body. I suppose I’m a smidge like Walter Mitty, but also nothing like him.

My life is a mystery to me. The universe is a vast creature expanding the greatness of my being. Where the stars meet space and at times I wake up with drool on my face. Yet I perpetuate my life with stillness and instead of burning that checklist in a fire of action steps, I dream of a space that is truly peaceful for me. Where the mountains speak to me and the whispers of the trees nourish my soul.

I’m the keeper of the keys, but what does that mean? Will completing that growing checklist tell me? The latter was a rhetorical question. I am clear I can tap different dimensions and realms. Yet I hibernate like a bear in this world, pretending to be what I’m not. I have the most unusual talents and gifts. I’ve considered utilizing them to create a business, but I’m brilliant at allowing my flavor of dyspraxia to eat up all my ideas like the hungriest polar bear alive.

I explore the wonders of my universe within the universe of my half-a-pint sized little black book. I theorize there is a book written for each person. Alas, the task is to find that book and soak in it. Not everyone is successful in completing this task. Those who do are transformed, no matter what size the transformation is. After all, how can transformation be measured? When anything transforms, there is transformation.

I’ll tell you a not so secret, secret. You ready? Books speak to me. Wow! That lifted the inflated weight from my chest. Thank you for being here for me while I shared that. Listening to what books have to say, has been ravenous for me. I simultaneously enjoy and resist going into libraries and bookstores for that purpose. I cannot turn them off. They won’t be quiet. Even when I say, “one at a time please, I only have two ears and one heart” they jibber jabber and continue on.

The funny thing about books, is that they don’t listen. They are created to speak and share. They never ever ever EVER give up. They jump up and down demanding attention. All the books I’ve ever known are frivolous with me. Except, my little black book. It listens. It receives me the way the earth, receives the sun. Have you ever had a book listen to you with immense presence?

The space of presence possible inside my book, is insurmountable. I’ve poured the pages with my unique creativity, ideas, possible inventions, vulnerabilities, questions for the universe, and a doodle, or four. Have you ever dared to explore the wonders of you? I have and I desire more. I’m juiced by the discoveries I find about myself. Then once upon a quantum entanglement of time, my book spoke freely to me line for line.

“The kindness I see for the world reminds me of the ocean. Is the ocean aware of itself?”

I wasn’t surprised to hear my book speak. Instead I asked, “How do you know what the ocean is?”

“On page 13 you wrote a poem while you cried. The water and the salt from your tears ebbed me like a tide. A memory stirred inside me, as you wrote about the ocean on page 6. For if you listen to me, the roots from the tree I was created from drank from the ocean in a land before now. The energy of that is present in me still and some-how.”

“That is beautiful! I’m suddenly flossed from words. Can you tell me what does it mean to be a keeper of the keys?”

“Oh my darling, read my pages filled by you. Listen to yourself. It is there you will find, what has been looking for you.”

“That could be scary.”

“What if it could be exciting?”

“What if I find I’m horrible?”

“My love, what if you find your brilliance? What would you choose next?”

“What is my brilliance? I wonder…”

“If you listen… you may hear what you already know that you think don’t know, but that you actually know everything about. Knowing is beyond words, beyond thought.”

…In a parallel multiverse, not as far away as you may think…

There are things that not even I know, and I am what is called a keeper. My capacities go beyond what can be defined. Which is to some length of measure, unfortunate. Or so I think at times. Being undefinable means I have to really tap in to what I know that no one else knows. I have to tap into what no one else can discover, except for me. It can feel empowering, and it can feel wobbly indeed.

What I know is that it means that I can act out things that I’m aware of and go hitherto in wondering what it was actually about for me. Being a keeper means that I carry a book within me. At all times. My book is not like any ordinary book. It was birthed for me from the molecules of the universe. It is my guide, an internal map that does not physically actualize itself into physical existence and, yet it is I.

As a keeper, I filter stardust of information about the skies and the molecules that transcend all time. What I am a keeper of is a mystery, even to me. I indulge that mystery. It’s smooth the way a butterfly cascades through air. I’m not invincible, but my capacities are.

It is foretold that a keeper can move mountains, literally. It’s not as if I can just pick them up off the ground and move them around as I please. The deeper truth is that as a keeper I have the ability and capacity to move the molecules of what the mountain is being sustained by. It’s not about forcing the molecules to show up the way I want. It is about asking them what is possible to create together and allowing them to show me.

The irony is that what has been foretold about keepers has never been told by any keeper themselves. For keepers cannot transparently communicate what it is, a keeper can or cannot be and do. Until that day, that one mysteriously miraculous day. When I broke the wave of the groove.

I dove into my book and I asked, “what is I?

With no response, I began to notice my breathing was faster. I began to feel my heart flutter. What am I going to do without a response?


There was a rushing of noise behind me. In wisps of golden black dust, my book stepped outside of me and into the form a girl. Not an actual physical, tangible sort of girl. She was a hologram projected from another world. No. Not another world. I stepped closer. Something about her essence matched me. I realized she was from a parallel reality. It was in that moment, that my book spoke to me with massive sound waves.

“You have a gift for her, don’t hold back. She’s been waiting. She doesn’t have access to your magic, the way you do. She is another version of you.”

I knew what the gift was. I knew. I took a breath of light into my lungs and permeated the space between the molecules. I infused the molecules of her, with my energy and presence. Watching her read every detail in her little black book, as she melted, I asked the universe to gift her 20 thousand dollars or more. I asked the universe for this gift for her, so she could explore.

I laced her essence with golden streams of light, bringing her back to her center where her wonders could be explored. The molecules and I played and played some more. When I felt the gift was completely manifested. I telepathically communicated to her, "open your little black book and explore".

All her ideas, all her creativity painted the pages with the vessel of her pen, they harnessing her energy. She was free to choose: read what she wrote and embrace her brilliance like it was her wealth, or the pages could morph into 20 thousand dollars for her to adventure the world.

I wonder what she will choose, I thought. Will I ever find out?

Universe show me.

Read next: To the Max

I enjoy writing. There's magic in the crafting of a beautiful expression created with words. I'm grateful I have the ability to express myself this way.

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