“Building the Mythica”

“IT’s all about building the Mythica”

“Which is, of course, a spell.”

"As I witnessed these things there was a tone.  A kind of static that I felt underneath.  The stories were not being used to empower the people, but rather to manipulate them.  To influence them towards purchasing things they did not need, to impress upon them standards that they could never reach.  It was not a song of love, nor of sanctuary but of sales, with no intention other than to perpetuate it's own existence at their expense."

"Why do you think that was?"

"There was a …. something was just out.  It felt wrong to me.  Oily.  Yet still with it's sparkle."

"Did you hate the media of Hollywood?"

"Not at all.  I love STORY.   Hollywood is a vessel for story.  The stories on the silver stream were like nectar to me, changing the shape of my world! I love all aspects of story! It's just that there is the Hollywood and there is the Holy Wood."

"The Holy Wood?"

"Yes" he said, beaming.

"The Holy Wood is where stories begin.  In the real events that happen in our actual lives.  What Hollywood produces is an echo of that, yet it is the Holy Wood that is their origin.  It is the place where mythic-things-actually-happen.  Where the real journey of consciousness happens that is modeled through a cinematic form."

"I realized that we traveled through a spiral of stories.  Through repetiions of karmic impressions in the ethers of the Akasha that played out across a multitude of lifetimes, all connected in the synchronicities of the path and the land." "How then, could we walk the path of new stories? One which sang to a brighter world? A new form of media needed to be created, one wrought from the stones and sinew of the Holy Wood.  From the place where stories lived."

Sort of like the shadows on the wall which flicker from a fire.  "

"Authors and artists are the vessels for the lightning" Peter said, "each receiving their portion of the larger light of Life itself along the timeline of their sacred story in the mortal plane."

"So … you're saying that ideas are bigger than individuals?"

"Yes.  Everything that happens in the mortal plane is a collective thing.  It's only the limits of our horizon that prevent us from seeing this."

"Stories rule the world.  More appropriately, stories create the world."

"How so?"

"What is a story but a chorus of meaning?" he asked.

"I don't understand."

"When we tell a story, we re-enact the original Word, the Word of Creation itself, speaking our intentions into the ethers.  It is the very essence of manifestation, the sounds that make up forms."

"What about visual stories?"

"Like the comic books I love so much?" he said, smiling.

"Yes."

"Many years ago I realized that the hieroglyph, the pictorial story, was a language that was shared by everyone.  One less burdened by the cultural intricacies and impermanences that made up human civilizations over the Ages.  It was a more pure form, one that spoke to certain areas of the heart and the mind."

"Ideas are never wholly singular.  Ultimately they cannot be, for there is no separation between our selves.  Each of us carries a piece of the fractal, each of us holds a fragment of the shadow and the treasure that binds us all."

"What do you mean?"

"It came to me when I was intrgued by the music." he said.  "I asked the question, who writes the song? Was it the lyricist alone? Was it the drummer? The guitarist and their lover coming up with a particularly alluring segment at the perfect time? Perhaps it was the coffee shop attendant who said just the right thing to inspire them all? Who is the creator of the piece itself?"

"I … i'm not sure." she said.  "I suppose it's all of them together."

Peter smiles.  "That's what I felt as well.  We were not a single song but a chorus, a melody of inspiration and change crossing the vastness of space and time."

"I see.  And how does this relate to healing?"

"In every way, for it relates to the passage of time.  To the beats in one's story of self-discovery.  To the characters we meet along the way and their significance inside that larger expanse."

"So … you're saying that people are the … the expressions of story?"

"Yes.  They are the embodiment of patterns in the Divine mind which follow certain archetypes and which arrive at very specific moments on one's path.  Moments of synchronicity and kismet that a themselves part of a larger Divine plan."

She thought about this, scrunching her eyebrows in concentrating.

"But …" she said after a time.  "How do you know?"

"How do you know what?" he asked.

"How do you know what purpose someone serves in your life?"

He smiled.  "You don't.  At least, most of the time.  Life has to be lived to find out."

"For years this looked like I was building a wordpress site that seemed in constant evolution, the form changing and shifting without anchoredness, yet in the subtle fields of the ether it was the shaping of a temple, a way of transmitting information that bridged the octaves between the worlds."

"And this was a thing of constant divination, for the Quest was occurring as I was recording it, weaving together the elements of the Mythica as they occurred for my in real-time.  I felt myself both as a thing of the past and the future, both the author and reader of glyphs of meaning which appeared on the source wall.  More than this, the events along my timeline were confirming it, happening in the kairos of divinations I was encountering along the way."

"Can you give an example?"

"Surely.  My favorite is the divination from the priestess Anya Lei during the "OneLove" festival of 2016."

"What happened there?"

"Anya was a priestess strong in the divinatory arts, and i'd both gotten a reading from her and a video of the reading that was part of the documentation of the Quest."

"So …. the divination was a confirmation?"

He nodded.  "Yes.  It felt like the archetype of meeting a fellow oracle while traveling the underlands of the Mythica and receiving information that affirmed my efforts."

"Hieroglyphs were for me the blend between the gravity of meaning and the pictoral language beneath words, the forms and feelings of distilled sound that were the glyphic arts.  For me, this came from the comics.  From the panels and the space between panels that defined a larger form.  It was akin to the notes between time in a musical piece – something that spoke to the temporal nature of mortal existence."

"I get that." she said.  "My aspect says it's the way our stories are arranged in space and time."

He nodded.  "This was the beauty of the comics for me.  They showed a snapshot of a moment connected to other moments within space, within the whitespace between the panels of our stories that is the Akasha.  This inspired me deeply, and I saw them as the modern hieroglyph, capable of bridging the octaves of perception and opening the people to a deeper world."

"People do that in fiction all the time."

"Yes, but the Mythica wasn't built with fiction.  She was built with fact.  With real events seen in the deeper significance and shown through a medium that was the message itself."

"Everyone speaks their own language.  Everyone has their own wall of meaning.  It is up to each of us to discover the way our legend speaks to us, for such is the path of self-knowledge itself.”

"How does this relate to our personal language then?" she asked, watching the lights moving across the human-looking form on the wall.  "Are these the chakras? The meridians? I don't understand the framework."

"It's not about that" Peter said, softening his gaze on the shifting stars.

"Why?"

"Because things are made from things.  Our golem in the earth plane was made from the sounds of Creation.  Through the glyphs of form in the ethers of the world.  We are made from language itself.  From the word of the Divine and it's ripple across time's sand.  Our frameworks are dialects of the true language."

"More than this, our stories repeated, the chorus of a song across the vastness of time.  Our lives were a carousel of patterns whose harmony and dissonance lasted far longer than our various incarante forms."

"Our stories are made from glyphs in the sands of time." Peter said.  "From the lines of cause and effect which form the constellations of aka and the gravities of meaning.  Each has it's own significance, it's singularity within the oceans of ether and it's proper time.  Yet all are ultimately scratches in the sand.

The scene changes again, this time showing Peter standing by the wall of hieroglyphs crackling with lightning. As it flickers, Peter speaks "There was a sense beneath the shifting forms … a lightning beneath language that gave rise to the sound of form and it's judgments etched in time's sand." "Wait … a lightning? In the … sand?" "In the sands of time, yes.  In the places far beneath the shifting sandcastles of civlization.  Beneath the cultures and their languages of interpretation.  There was a first order thing beneath the shifting forms, a principle which gave rise to expressions themselves.  Something deeper than the shape of language itself."

"Such were the ripples of reality, shaping of language from the gravity of mass itself."

"What made this so important?"

"Because what we experienced as our manifest world was a symptom of this root.  The outward expression of our inner substance manifesting as our personal reality.  What looked like equations of language in the subtlety of the self expressed itself on the surface as the conditions of our lives.  This was the axiom of form itself, that what was above was below, and what was within was without expressed in element form as the ripple of one's raindrop into the ethers of form itself!"

"Because it is the language of the land" he said patiently, "the portal between worlds.  By changing the language of one's inner world we change the landscape of the outer.”

"These were the coordinates of consciousness." said Peter.  "The locus point of mass around which orbited a world.  From this gravity grew an endless carousel of conditions … an endless stream of stories.  Yet where was the place where the language met the land? Where one could divine their position within their own narrative? What was the nature of our placement on the World Tree?"

"It was this understanding, this charm of making that underlay the Mythica." he said.  "The subjective mechanics which would express itself through the website and educational media network.  Such was the tantric technology that empowered the device herself, a way of seeing and ritualizing one's existence through the hieroglyph of the divined mind."

"That sound complicated."

"It was.  And also, incredibly simple.  We live in the perspective of ourselves.  And to a much greater degee than we are often aware."

“And yet” he said, “There was something bigger. Something deeper going on that I couldn’t perceive at first. It wasn’t just about my story. It wasn’t just my sense of fragmentation. It was something happening to us all.”

“That sounds hard to realize” she replied, but he interrupted.

“This was something bigger. Something hidden in the threads of the weave. A Great Story.”