Akashic - Ages of the Akasha | Into the Mythica

“Everything starts with the Big Picture” said Peter. “It’s the ocean to our droplet, the larger perspective on what’s going on with our lives. To understand the stories in the soil of the mortal plane, we have to start here in the stars.”

They walk out to the edge of the library, where outside a vast swirling pool of stars and geometric patterns can be seen.

“What defines our stories then?” she asks.

“Ages.” he said. “Ages in the Akasha. The vast celestial viewpoint of why things are they way they are and their timing. It’s the big picture, the viewpoint on the conditions of life from a celestial perspective, seeing the shape of the ocean of consciousness and it’s turbulence as the source of the challenges facing the people.”

They walk out to the edge of the library, where outside a vast swirling pool of stars and geometric patterns can be seen.

“What defines our stories then?” she asks.

“What are those patterns?”

“I call them aka” said Peter. They’re the patterns of consciousness that exist beyond the Ages.”

“What do they do?”

“They define the shape of our stories.”

“Everyone’s stories?”

“Everyone’s.”

“How?”

“It’s structural.” he said. “It has to do with how the human form is constructed. At what makes it what it is, but to understand it, we have to start here. In the big picture. In the rarified perspective on the Creation that is the vantage of the akasha.”

“Why?” she said innocently.

“Because the big picture defines the little one.” he said. “Who we are, what we consider our civilizations and the entirety of their idea of knowledge, in fact everything we experience in our individual lives and their legends in the soil of the mortal plane is defined by what’s happening in the stars, defined by the Age of the Akasha in which we exist. Right now, if I were to use the vernacular of one of the systems of thought i’d encountered while down there, I would say that we have been in an age of darkness, one of confusion and distortion, what some would call the ‘Kali Yuga’.”

“The Kali … who-ga?”

“You-ga. ” he corrected. “As in, it’s all about ‘YOU’.” he said, in something that was both a smile and a sneer. “It is an Age of selfishness, of self-interest without regard for the collective, where the people are distorted, living in fragmented lives in a desperate bid for resources and fighting over fleeting systems of belief. It is a great darkness, one whose champions are defined by the strength of their soul and the will to do what is right in a world of broken hearts.”

“In the mortal plane people have a very small concept of time and history. It’s a place defined by ignorance of itself, by the lack of memory of the times that have come before or that which will come again. The people navigate through half-imagined realities, unaware of what is true and what is a hallucination constructed by a drifting mind.”

“It comes down to perspective on this. What we are experiencing on the mortal plane is a small part of something much larger. Who we are, what face what gender, color or other surface aspect of our story is itself derived from that larger thing of which we are a part. Yet as we incarnate into the human form, as our soul takes on a body within the cycles of Nature, we forget this thing. We lose access to who we actually are, and are defined by a journey of remember and forget.”

“Why is that?”

“Honestly i’m not sure. Perhaps it is a collective trauma, perhaps it is simply the process of biology and the causality of incarnation itself. Whatever the reason is, the people are defined by memories, by what they remember, by what they don’t, and by the flux of inspirations coming to them from the Divine intelligence that speaks to all things.”

“Did you forget?” she asked.

“Of course. My life has been a constant battle to heal the splintered mind I was born into. Such is the battle we ALL face in the changing Age.”

“So you’re saying … the people remember the earlier Ages?”

“I wouldn’t really call it a memory.” Peter said. “It’s too fractured for that, too distorted by the patterns in the akasha which define the current Age. Human consciousness flickers like a candleflame in the wind, grasping moments of revelation out of the shifting which more often than not quickly fade into the chasms of forgetfulness. At the same time, we remember everything that has happened to us across all time. We just can’t access it, despite the fact that it’s influencing our lives from within.”

“Why?”

“Again, i’m not entirely sure. I think it has something to do with authenticity. With being what we’re meant to be in this lifetime, in whatever body and culture of consciousness we are born into.”

She looked confused.

He paused for a moment, then turned his attention to the starscape outside the library. “In my experience, the human condition is defined by memory. By what we remember, by what we don’t, and how the experiences that linger within our memories define our lives.”

“Let’s look at a small framework of time.” he said. “Let’s say … ten thousand years. Better yet, a hundred thousand years.

“The lack of perception of the ethers of existence creates a very myopic viewpoint.” Peter said. “Recall what I said about the Kali Yuga”

“You-ga” she said, grinning.

“Yes. The markets, the media, the economies and ecologies of the world are defined by the Age in which we exist. Hence, the stories are about the ‘you’ more often than they are about the ‘we’.”

“So … human civilization is just a …. a blip?”

“I consider it a work in progress.” he said with a smile.

“Well, if we’ve been living in an Age of distortion and darkness, what came before this?”

In response they walked onward, the clouds shifting beneath their feet. The images of the world as it was faded away to reveal a beautiful, glittering city of Goddesses and Gods beneath a rainbow.

“Behold” Peter said. “A memory of the times before. Of the Golden Age that was and will be again.”

“It was a beautiful time then.” he said. “A Golden Age, where the people related to each other as expressions of the Divinity that sits behind all things.”

“What happened?”

A tear fell from his eye. “It crumbled.” he said. “As it always does.”