Thinking at first it is an echo of his thoughts, he ignores it.   They’re repeats of my own mind he says to himself.   I’m repeating the words somehow in my head.   The trouble is the echo begins to make suggestions.  

“Yes I know,” Kewe acknowledges, forgetting he’s responding to the voice.   “Yes, I’ll remember to do that.”
           Chapter Eleven — “The Higher Self”
jake writes:

Just as in dreams there sometimes could be.

      For the rest there has to be a label.

         Reality as a mask is a simple explanation —

            Reality a mask,


such is the trick of life.

      Do you think perhaps, God gives this trick to blind us?

      That God plans?   Or is it me?


Kewe was last in England six years ago.  Then his father calls.  He says he thinks Kewe should come home.  His mother is no longer the same.  He will notice changes.
That was two years ago.  Every three months since, he has taken leave from work, flown to London, rented a car, and driven the hundred miles from the airport to the village where his parents live.
On his first visit, Kewe most of the time is at the gym or the coffee shop, or the pub.  The time he spends with his parents will be when the three of them have a meal in a restaurant, or a family get-together.
Since the second visit, his father, wise to Kewe's routine, has been asking every morning where they will be going together the rest of the day.  
They travel throughout the English countryside on their expeditions.  They visit relatives, country homes, parks and castles.  His mother can walk a few steps but, for any distance, she needs a wheelchair.
She doesn't like the wheelchair.  She hates inclines, going down a slope or being pushed up the slightest gradient, squealing when the pusher is going too fast.
What surprises Kewe as he travels are the many towns that have closed their streets to traffic.
The old streets too narrow for the cars the glut of traffic has forced large areas to be walkways only.  Kewe's amazed that shopping can be so peaceful.  It's like being in a park.  
Outside the town centers it's very different.  Here the roads are busier than they've ever been.  The countryside Kewe notes has its fields increasingly being paved over.
Bypass highways divert traffic away from villages, making them livable, but the highways eat up the land.  Air traffic seems to increase every time he visits.
Today, Kewe picked up his sister to visit with their parents.
Driving back, looking across the fields at the blanket of yellow -- the new crop of rape in bloom -- he's telling how he'll stop one day, sit and maybe paint.
``Special week at the monastery this week,''  Kewe says, flinging his arm over his sibling's shoulder.  ``The Pope is beatifying one of the monks, an African priest.  The abbey is having a big celebration.''
``The Pope is here at the monastery?''  His sister stares at him in total surprise.  ``I had no idea.''
Kewe laughs.  ``No, he's not here.  The Pope is in Africa.  The monastery is celebrating because the priest spent the last years of his life at the monastery.  You might check the paper sometime.''
``Really,''  his sister replies, poking Kewe in the ribs.  Kewe retrieves his arm quickly.  
``Is the monk becoming a saint?''  his sister asks, smiling.  ``Do you believe saints perform miracles?  We need some miracles.  Mom tells me you go often to the monastery.''
``I plan on it,''  Kewe says.  ``Soon as I manage to get rid of you.''
His sister pokes him again.
``Hey, I'm driving.''  Kewe pushes her hand away.  ``No, the monk needs another miracle or something.''
When his sister gets out the car, Kewe waves, says he'll see her later.  The entire family have an outing planned for the evening.  A restaurant in one of the village pubs and they are going.
To get to the monastery, Kewe takes the old roads into the hills.  He loves the woodlands, the fields, the greenery.  
Memories make him think of his mother.  Every time he returns she's frailer.  He's asked the guides, the angels if he should stay.  They tell him it is the time to be with her.
The seasons change so quickly.  It was the autumn leaves when he returned after his long hiatus, and then the winter darkness.  Now the fields are full once again of fresh new grass.  He doesn't know what to do.  Perhaps he should come back.
All around are lava outcroppings -- volcanic upland spewed in some ancient time.  Entering the monastery gateway, Kewe drives along the private road.
An abbey had been in the area untill the dissolution of all English monasteries, the seceding of Henry from the Vatican church.  Later the priests came out of their hideaways.  The Catholic Emancipation re-established the Roman monastic orders and a nobleman who converted to Roman Catholicism donated land for the present monastery.
Unforeseen was the subsequent famine -- food from nobleman's farms shipped to England while the Irish poor starved.  The lack of food in Ireland forcing mass migration, families fleeing to England, in this area they descended on the monastery, for they were of the Roman faith.  
Shortly after the monks built the first buildings, these homeless and poor came looking for lodging and food.  For a time the monks were farming for thousands.  Then people settled, coal mining in the local pits giving much needed employment.
Kewe parks the car.  The abbey is quiet as he walks by the rose beds.  
The stone used for the church is the old lava rock in this area.  The rock wall gleams brightly in the sunlight, tiny speckles, ruby-red and white light refraction inside the stone creating an aura around the building.  The church might well be in another world.
Next to the church atop a hillock a cross has been erected.  Kewe peering up at the cross and the three statues has no doubt the monks built the Calgary image to remind pilgrims of the ordeal of Jesus, but to him in the peace and serenity it will make a good walk.  
Basked in late afternoon sun he climbs the sixty odd steps.  Rose bushes, holly and rhododendron growing alongside and into the jagged rock.  Christ, Mary and John wait at the top.  The figures, still, impassive, gaze together over the hills.
From the high surrounding rim at the top of the church, carved heads stare at him.  Four of the heads represent angels.  Eight depict deceased monks.
Not all of the twelve heads face towards the Calgary cross, some gaze searchingly, protectively downwards, perhaps warning any visitor-soul who might be passing that the abbey is their world.  
That this world brooks no distraction.  That this is a sanctuary.
Kewe treads carefully down the steps.  Not a soul seems to be around.  At the entrance to the church he opens the thickset, heavy door.  As it clanks behind, he slips through the small stone anterior into the silence where stand tall stark pillars.  Arched, high walls, of creamy white stone greets Kewe in the cool, imperturbable, solemnity.  
Where he stands is the nave for visitors.  Through the space of the chancel he can see the second nave used by the monks, the nave bathed in dusky sun light.
Along the darkened aisles, he searches to see if any of the monks might be sitting, might be praying.  He cannot tell.  Kewe slips into a wooden bench.  
Turning for a moment, he looks towards the bowed side windows, windows with simple decoration in their moldings.  
The early monks built an unadorned church, only a thin seam of color at the glass edge, to modify the milky opal radiance flowing through the translucent pane.
Extending from high inside the apse hangs the cross, reminding Kewe how many times this figurehead of peace has been misread and misused.  
Inside a glass beaker, hanging from a chain, the oil light radiates.  Next to the light is the Pyx, with the wafer inside.  As Kewe stares, the lone wick flickers.
Encircled by stillness -- he sits, waits.  Soon the high ringing comes.
Then coruscating shimmers.  In his mind Kewe draws on those first flashes, on the strengthening sound, and through the white and the ringing mind begins to soar.  
A sonorous melody takes hold, angelic voices singing around the fringes of consciousness.  Held by awe, mind moves into its mystery.  
Taken by streaks and shards, taken by gleaming, shimmering particles, call it telescoping, call it the song of angels, mind becomes bathed in the other-world majesty until lightenening into insubstantiality, until all becomes free.
A new tone, a tone like that of a clear, high-pitched, single flute, draws.  
Swirling light dances now.  Like sea-foam the brightness whisks around, takes mind, plays with it.  
As the frisky light recedes, a flood of current sweeps across.  A wave of fire swarms and touches, and as it purges and strips whatever remains of the outer away, a new state emerges.  
A body of essence that we, for the sake of a word have as representation, if we pick a shape, which we need not, to an orb.  
Threaded shafts of light, strings of infinity hold.  Then land in the distance, a high wall of creamy stone etched in motifs.  Into an opening the orb goes, passageways becoming new walls, and those walls quickly ceasing.
A white city takes shape, narrow, cobbled walkways that might be found in any Mediterranean lands; only no cars, no antennas high on the roofs, no sign of dust and decay.  
As the orb wanders, huge structures, steeples and towers, become part of its vision.  Byzantine arches, Moresque structures, pyramid shapes, beehive towers....
It is a shock for the orb to see the quadrangle.  Full of power, the enormous column of water gushes from the center; the single jet shooting so high that where the extremity of the jet would be, spray creates an aqueous, frothy, upheaval, a mist that rolls and billows, that becomes the sky itself.  
Such uproar the sound, as it reverberates across the quadrangle, echoing off the surrounding walls.  
In its awe, the orb faces an immense temple with words pounding in its mind:


This is the hall of the dead



Dwarfing everything, the towering, palatial basilica seems to be acting not as one building but as a multiplication of spaces.  A spreading entranceway invites the orb to enter.  
Inside great cupolas extend as far as the eye can see.  Candles burn, high stained windows of angels, archangels, frescoes depicting a sea of holy beings.  
A stature of Apollo with his horse, a panthe, an eagle sliding across a monstrous snake.
As it meanders.  a vast telling, myriads of worlds, cosmic creations that wanders far beyond what the orb knows.
Stars and galaxies extend into forms that shift as some fanciful, extravagant plan or desire takes hold.
Puzzling images dart around -- one moment on the floor a bronze serpent encased in a base of rock rises.  
Like a staff, rigid, eyes fierce, the mind of the serpent penetrates.  
Shimmering golden shards of light draw the orb forward, a seeming high altar wiith a single, enormous slab of marble appears at its center.
So vast, so high is this tabernacle, such brilliant luminescence, such an inescapable sense of the end of life, that knocked backwards by the power, the orb in its avoidance cries out, ``Why!
Not able to bear the seeing, the orb's center retreats, but it cannot retreat, it has to seek the eyes.
The core Being shifts slightly.  Then, gazing, from the eyes is the admittance.  
`No,' mind shouts.  `No!  This is not me.'
.  .  .

“It is you, you idiot.”

“It’s me?”

“I talk like you...don’t I?”

“You talk like my answering machine.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s what bothers me.”



Kewe swears that's the way he makes contact, when he first decides to acknowledge the voice is really in his head.  Back in his apartment in Seattle, the breezy, offhand voice has been talking to him for days.  
Thinking at first an echo of his thoughts, he ignores the strangeness.  Repeats of my mind he says to himself.  I'm repeating words somehow in my head.  
The trouble is the echo makes suggestions.
Then he'll be forgetting he's responding to the voice.  `Yes I know,' he'll respond.   `Yes, I'll remember to do that.'
The voice that sounds like him seems to have no concerns about reminding him he has to do this or that.  It interferes with his other thoughts whenever he needs to remember to do so and so.
``I'm hearing a voice that sounds exactly like me.''  Kewe mumbles to himself.  ``I've finally gone batty?''  More than that, the voice he's hearing sounds exactly as he sounds -- slightly higher pitched -- effeminate, more how a woman talks.
``Eh, thank you for calling.  I cannot get to the phone right now.  Please leave a message.''
Kewe has never enjoyed hearing himself speak.  His answering machine picks up the effeminacy no matter how much he tries to disguise it.  That's how this voice in his head sounds to him.


“You cannot be me.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Okay, explain!”

“I’m making contact.   Isn’t that enough?”

“You are speaking to me, as me?”

“I am.”



He goes to the answering machine, listens, resets the outgoing message -- as if that would help.  
Why is he surprised?  This, whoever it is talking in his thoughts, is acting the same way as any of the other beings when they communicate.  
Searching for possibilities, an answer presents itself that the voice might be a sort of future him.  This responding in a weird, joking style is to hold his attention he decides.  
Could it really be a future him?
A sledgehammer hits the moment he connects the dots.  The answer is so astonishing.  He isn't talking to a future him.  He is in contact....  Maybe...!
Is he talking to whatever he is beyond, beyond mind existence?


“Are you my Higher Self?”

“Hey, now you’re catching on.”

“Soul that surrounds time-space?”

“Yes.”

“Not the one inside?”

“Do you have one inside?”

“So you really are my Higher Self?”

“Talking, as if it really exists.”
`Why are you speaking to me effeminately?'
`I am using your mind?'
`You mean my mind, not by brain, the mind outside the brain, my higher mind?'
`Yes!'



Kewe has always has for a long time believed that his mind, his higher mind, might not be male.  A strange way of speaking happening when he has been in an altered state, an even more pronounced effeminacy, or a talking as a woman, has brought him to that surmise.
But he never knew if the premise had validity.  He never knows if any of this stuff has validity.
Too easy to say over-active imaginings for when he goes into these altered states imagining plays a major role in creating the scenarios.
It all would just be imagining, except then another realness takes hold, and stuff, things, will change even here, in Earth's frequency.
A wealth of different feelings come with this new contact, or one could say intrusion.  The idea of privacy dies.
But did he ever think he thoughts were private?
Kewe in earlier days would ask God a question.  What did that mean?  It meant that God was always listening to him, always tuned in.
Kewe laughs.  It could be that God has one of these machines that scan the radio spectrum, tuning in whenever he hears the word God.  When Kewe has asked God a question, or asked God for something, did he always being by saying, 'God!'
No!
Maybe God has another way of listening without knowing everything?
But that's not what the religions say!
So there never has ever been any privacy!  Not from God!  Not from entities who might be tuning in!  Not from his Higher Self, it seems!
But does one expects their own Higher Self to remind them to pick up the laundry?
It's funny, but Kewe does get reminders, he's always had some reminders.  Is this his brain?  Or is this is Higher Self.
That brings up all manner of other complications.  Why isn't he warned when something bad is going to happen!
Why only sometimes does he get these reminders?
Or is it that he is always reminded when something bad is going to happen, but he ignores these thoughts.  
Why does he ignore these warnings that come as thought?
Warnings might be more than thought.  Feelings, intuition, all play a role in the way we live.  Some of us are more skilled it picking up what it really intuition.  
Some of us just pursue our desires.
Desire takes over!  You ignore the warnings to pursue the desire!
But hearing someone speak words in his head!\, Now he can be on the throne pondering some question, and the thoughts are answering in words.  Even on the throne.
Could he have some privacy, he asks?
You are the crab, it tells him.  You walk sideways.  Everything you do is by walking sideways.  What kind of an answer it that?
He is now having to say `Good morning' to it when he wakes up.


“Excuse me.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m asking.   You know everything about me, don’t you?   You know all my thoughts, all my secrets?   You are privy to my every desire?”

“Yes.”
“So you are always present?”
“Hey, I’m as close as your heartbeat.”
“Why haven’t I heard from you before?   Why am I hearing you now?”
“Good question.   Say a small discontinuity has opened.   Is that agreeable?”

“Will I always be able to hear you?”
“No.”
“Why is that?”
“So you can get some peace.”



It's completely implausible that this is happening.  It's a joke really.  Here's this other him talking to him -- this soul.  Isn't he, Kewe the soul?
Soul, it's who we are now, and a continuation of ourselves after we depart this first stage.  It's a life that folds into ever-new life.  It's the version of us becoming an acceptable member of an ever-expanding cosmic order.  Soul an inner essence always there, yet another essence learning, growing.
Listening to this voice talking, Kewe can understand why large tombs have been filled with the finer points of soul.  
Those who write of soul talking back to you, he's now discovered even that's true.


“Okay, I accept you are soul.   Believe me I accept that.   All I know is I’m hearing you.   Now you’re speaking words and the thoughts that used to be thoughts, that I sometimes thought might be coming from God, are now words from you.   Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“These words of yours are produced in my brain.   Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So, even with this, I’m doing the translating.   Even with you, I’m the one who’s giving myself these words.   You’re still acting as my symbol, and in the essence that you are, I’m the one creating you.   You’re what I’ve invented as my inner being.   I’m doing all the work.   Is that correct?”

“Yes, yes, yes, no, no, and no.”

“What do you mean?  I need to know!”

“I mean yes, I am a symbol.   I mean no, you are not creating me.   I mean yes, I am real.”



Soul!  Soul!  What does that mean!  That our Soul has already become what we are presently doing?  
Rick once suggested it is consciousness: forward, behind, always there, everything accomplished.  But the state, the being of who we are no, remains the riddle.
Why does this all take place?
Of course if you have Jake popping up, there's even more of a riddle.  A new identity to surprise the hell out of you.  The problem is always with individuation.  Kewe has defined individuation and Soul as merging.  We merge into this other and it's as if we are coming home.
Home has become more.  
So, soul throws out a time-line.  It creates time.  It creates a localized position, an emergent moment, a time and place that happens.  Within this emergent moment is Kewe, is Jake.  Then these will enter home, become the greater.  It makes the head spin.
I am an actor (as Shakespeare wrote) on the stage of life.
It's kind of like saying...  Are you going to get into politics now, Kewe?  Why not!
Well, we live in a democracy and we're able to change our lives, but we allow all these other people to have untold riches, some billions upon billions of money currency, which gives them control of corporations, which gives them unprecedented power, while we work fifteen jobs a day to have a home and bring up kids.
And we vote for the most stupid people bought by all this currency, and all this stuff happens which is going to affect us and our children, but it's okay because we are the ones experiencing these emergent moments.
Yes, it's my very own decision.  
Good reasoning Kewe.  Is that what you are saying Kewe?
You saying soul would be a subject only for philosophers, if we weren't living the life?
Many ancient people have adopted the notion of Soul as being, at some level, the same as God.  The Calusa people included three souls as part of their knowledge.  
They believed each person had a soul inside, a soul who walked as a shadow by their side, a soul who would appear when they stared into water, as a face reflected in that water.
It's easy to scoff at soul as a reflection, or soul as a shadow.  The Calusa interpreted from the phenomena they observed.  Our science does the same.  Interpretation being the operative word!
The Calusa if they did have contact with their triple spirit, with their soul, likely had soul talking to them from the water, and from their shadow.  
In the Calusa world, just as in ours, an order of living became established.  One wonders at what point did the order break down.
Where was the imbalance of their society, their culture -- a situation that became so impossible to maintain that the civilization ceased?
Back to soul -- there is a paradox of becoming who we already are, but aren't there yet.  
If we make changes, not allowing the future to happen, the bad stuff, does that mean without the experience we do not learn?
Hawaiian people have their own soul-logic.
Not especially those who sunbathe on Waikiki beach, but those who throughout known history have included soul in the `oo hah' neh,' the body.
Soul is the `Kino Kupanaha' -- the aliveness that exists within the ordinary, physical body.
Kino Kupanaha jumps from a rocky precipice at the human body's death.  To transfer to the ancestral homeland, it makes the leap from physical reality to the inner -- a journey of wonder.  
Once established in the heavenly place of `Po,' Kino Kupanaha replaces its form, becomes an `Aumakua' and assumes its role as ancestral spirit.  
Aumakua gives `mah'nah,' power, and it will, either temporarily or permanently, take up residence when needed, inside one or various members of the Earth-living family.
Soul in its nuances has to be recognized.  What is life?  Reaching for our true self?  Drawing from our inner being? Or do we ignore and proceed with the nonsense.  With the death that our life becomes?
Is Soul in our life?  Is Soul the animating and vital principle of ourselves as we live life?  
Kewe when out of the body has regressed to before he was born.  In this state he has viewed the home in which he would live, the people who came and spent time in the house.  He has watched his mother in the day-to-day life, pregnant with him.  He loved the woman he was watching.  She laughed.  There was warmth in her presence.  
By viewing his mother, he thinks he was choosing, giving an agreement in an unborn way to his birth.  There was no mental analysis, however.  No understanding of where he came from, where he would be.
He was in the eternal now -- just consciousness.  
That some of us encounter and recognize past, future lives as ours, is for those who do so undeniable.
But these livings in these times, for us is a paradox.  Where does one place oneself with them?
Higher Self is at the top of the mountain as Laura and West see it.
Soul that has become, yet can still become more, adding lives as it sees fit.
There is a paradox there, time!
But perhaps it is only a paradox to us -- the way we understand.
Quanta reality could change our understanding of that!
Soul, Kewe is sure, can become anything it wishes.
Thoughts of himself as Kewe, thoughts of himself as Jake, are enough for now.  If memories of past many beings -- those who connect through this other self, those whose thoughts pervade his being -- are all him, then as his Higher Self, so be it.
There is likely even much more, some more encompassing power to grasp in this wonderment of the cosmic order -- a Higher Self created by another Higher, Higher Self, created by a Higher, Higher....
A creator God is in most teachings.  Brahman in Sanskrit holds the meaning of all power.  Persian, Indic and Chinese scriptures, among many, have wondrous tales of God imagery.  A God's force is restricted only by the limitations it sets, or is set.  It has complete override to do as it wishes to human selves, limited only by a more powerful Deity.  
In India, hundreds of millions of people worship Ganesha, a God-being who has the head of an elephant.  At any pooja, or festival, or marriage of the Hindu faith, seldom does a celebration not invoke the God, who rides, when it chooses, on the back of a mouse.  
Vinayaka is the mouse that Ganesh rides upon.  Vinayaka, they say, is the subtlety of life.
A story has the Lord of Riches currying favor with Lord Shiva, the destroyer and restorer of worlds.  A feast is to be held in Lord Shiva's honor, but on receipt of the invitation Lord Shiva sends a message saying he himself will not attend.  Ganapathi, his son, will visit in his place.  Servants string streamers and lanterns.  Chefs prepare for the great feast.
Ganesha, who is also known as Ganapathi, is a Deity in his own right.  He rules heaven, earth, and the underworld, and he's been busy too, with all that's going on.  He arrives hungry, immediately calling for food to be brought.  The waiters bring food and more food and Ganapathi keeps eating.  
His favorite pastime is eating.  The waiters bring all the food they have until there's no food left.  Ganapathi still hungry cries out to the Lord of Riches, ``Give me more food or I will have to eat you.''  The Lord of Riches runs out of the palace and when he gets to Lord Shiva's house, he begs for mercy.  Ganapathi, the deity with the head of an elephant follows in a carriage behind, laughing at his antics.
Symbols far removed from the one's we adopt make little sense to us.  They are interesting, sometimes silly, yet for those tuned, these stories bring moments a person can enter into another place.  By believing, we shift to a new consciousness.
Belief in a Higher Force can be a catalyst where human intellect allows itself to adjust the boundaries of the mind.
If we are looking, if we seek more, then the Higher Self is all of this.  But there is more to pray to than the Higher Self.  The Virgin Mary, and the saints of the world's faiths, act as an interceder for many, though some believe the Virgin Mary is a Supreme spirit who acts within her own power.  
The heavens are as varied as the many peoples and beings who reside both upon this planet, and upon the cosmic stream.
We can ask for assistance from any who we think might help.  In the sense of committing to a belief, to a way of life, then we need to choose more carefully.  Life is learning.
However, if it be the teachings of Mohammed, or the teachings of Lao-Tzu; if it be the Hindu majestic cosmic order, or the loving spirit who keeps contact with its family, giving guidance in thoughts and visions; if it be the Buddha Shakyamuni, who speaks against the cast, and at the same time teaches of hundreds of thousands of millions of Buddhalands; if it be Moses with the ten commandments, or androgynous Akhenaten, 18th Dynasty Pharaoh of Egypt, who taught the one God, Aten, could be seen and felt; or indeed, if it be the gentle Aramaic speaking preacher, crucified trying to make us understand -- it is all help that draws us beyond a boundary we had.
`IT,' as Spirit, as the Higher Self, as God, is always there.  
It is before.  It meets.  It is never not-facing us!  
It is the `everlasting purpose' that shall not be denied, as Arnold Bennett states.
If Kewe has a message, it's that, because the dichotomy of life here is plenary, there is no priest, no church, no religion, no person or organization on this planet, or on any planet, system, region, inner plane, with the answer.  
That, which you discover and create for yourself, is the learning.
All of India celebrates Ganesha Chaturti, Ganapathi's birthday.  With the singing of songs of praise, the offering of sweets and kumukum, haldi and rice, homage is paid.  Respect is given to this great Deity.  People pray to Ganeshji, and he brings them energy and power and gifts.  Those who feel his presence know his presence.  No mistake to them what he can do!
A god might have the strength of the elephant, the awesome grandeur of a mountain, or be a son who is sacrificed; it matters not.  From the Gods of the many African deities, to the Gods of all our world's peoples, the symbol to which we connect is our power.  Praying to our God-Spirit, we connect.
Each path, each unfolding proceeded upon, comes through ideas, concepts developed from some contact we have made, from some human, or spirit essence, or verily from the Higher Self.
Teachings that bring us to a forgiveness of others, and a love of spirit in each other, are teachings where Kewe thinks we have been evolving.  
These new ideas we dare to encompass hold a movement from the space we are in, to where we are going.  We enclose that space inside ourselves, move with it to the always more.
New orbits of recognition where vision and comprehension continues its growth.
As we dance through the eternal now, the boundary of that which we are enclosed is amended.  
Do we discard the clothing of human personality as we enter a new dimension?
Is our psyche imprinted with lives of previous times?
After birth as we actualize a personality, do we merge with other people's thoughts as we interact and they, our friends, our family, all that we see on the television screen, all that we read and hear, as all this flows through our daily experience?
These are questions.
What else is out there waiting?  
For some, the desire to remain who they are will takes precedence.  The friends made, the interactions played, will continue in importance.  For many, the Heavens of the Religions will play a role to the beloved who seek entrance to their worlds.
Guilds, associations, new environments are in place as we proceed from our life upon Earth.  Groupings based upon common desire, common interests and pursuits, have unlimited worlds set apart for them.  
For those who wish to enter through a 'higher' aperture that draws at times, for those who wish to go inside `this within,' an opportunity exists for them.
The journey is never stopped.  Beyond our dreams it is all there.  In the odyssey of life everything is possible, nothing ever non-attainable.
Kewe asks where he should include `The WE' with this.  He welcomes `The WE' as his new space.  He thinks `The WE' is the Higher Self, and much more.  
He thinks `The WE' in its reciprocal mode is also uniqueness and individuality for each.
Looking at our collective and individual efforts, our labors -- our strange, odd ways -- it seems to Kewe that we have come, within the limitations and freedoms of each life setting, far.  
We are in our learning becoming much.  
He continues to tune into the voice, now thoughts, feelings, wonderment, from the Higher Self.


”That’s what’s happening isn’t it?   I’m interpreting and translating you as a spin-off of my ego?   My ego is creating you?”
“If that’s what you want?”
“I just want the truth.   Can’t you give me the truth?”
“I give you the truth.   You are.”
“Do you know how much stuff I deal with each day?   Do you know how much time and effort it is for me?”
“I do, and remember we’re locked you and me.”
“You sure of that?”
“All nestled...you and me.   All nestled, honey.”
© Kewe   All rights reserved.
Words from the book 'Heal Thyself'
By 'White Eagle'
The Higher Self:
Beyond your physical body and the personality known to your companions on earth, is your true self which has descended from the spheres of light — your true home — to manifest on earth.
It is impossible yet for that self to manifest fully through the lower vehicles, because they are not ready to receive that beautiful spirit; but you are preparing these vehicles, the emotional, mental, etheric and all finer bodies, in your daily life.
When through discipline and initiation your lower vehicles are ready, then your spirit will be able to manifest, to a greater degree, through your physical form.
The higher self is composed of very fine ether and is pulsating with light, which as you develop will begin to shine through the chakras in the etheric body, the 'windows' of your soul.'
When this divine fire is brought into full operation so that all the chakras are active as God intended, then the whole body will be in a state of ascension.
We mean by this that the whole body, although still of a physical nature, will be functioning on a much higher plane of consciousness that it is at present.
At present it may be in a dark state, but when the divine fire is kindled and active, then the body will be quickened in vibration and will be light and beautiful; it will approach the standard achieved by the God-men, and Sun-men, who walked this earth in the beginning of its creation.
Wise and great teachers are even now drawing close to the spheres surrounding the earth, to bring their wisdom to mankind.
Souls who have passed through the fires of suffering and who have attained a degree of self-discipline will be taught how safely to develop the divine fire within themselves; for it is both creative and destructive, and the ignorant and self-willed who think to use the mysteries of creation in a heedless and selfish way can bring destruction on themselves.
Thus you will see the necessity for self-discipline and careful preparation of the finer light who watch over mankind preserve the secrets until man himself is ready to use them and to enter into the full joy of the God-life according to the will and purpose of the Creator.
Man in his ignorance is all the time dissipating this fire within him through his own urgent desires and passions, his uncontrolled emotion.
Every time you give way to passion and anger you dissipate this holy fire; every time emotions are controlled and transmuted to the warmth of love, you build the light into your vehicles.
You are using the divine fire to illumine your own soul to, beautify the world around you and to glorify God.
Develop for the heart, mediate on love, live love, absorb love, give love, and your soul will become alight.
The divine magic will rest in your hands enabling you to heal the sick, to comfort the bereaved, to bless the sorrowful, to beautify everything you touch and to bring peace and happiness to the life of man.
The higher self of which we have spoken lies beyond earthly thought and beneath all sound and outward form.
It is not approached through earthly thought but through realisation of the Christ Light.
It does not intrude; it is not contaminated by the earth personality; it is wholly pure.
When, in a flash, contact with it is made, cosmic consciousness comes, for when you touch the higher self, you touch the whole cosmic realm.
The way to approach this higher self is by surrender — surrender of personal desire of self-love; and by contemplation, in a state of adoration, of the supreme being called Christ.
Every child of God must have within the heart an ideal of the Perfect One, but that ideal lies beyond thought.
It is an idea which embodies the purest realisation of what life might become, the purist manifestation of the son or daughter of God.
Let us put it another way.
You create an ideal which is your conception of the Christ; you contemplate the qualities of the Being, you are aware of His perfect love, His humility, His purity; and as you contemplate you become identified with your creation.
You cannot feel these qualities without becoming one with them, if only for a flash, and in so doing you become at one with your higher self, in fact with the Christ.
We know you cannot retain that consciousness of pure light, pure truth indefinitely, for it is the very highest of which you are capable.
But you can touch it in moments of exaltation and be illumined.
Your higher self does not usually function through your mind except when the inspiration comes for you to act in accordance with the laws of Christ.
But the lower mind of earth is always ready to give you a good reason why you should not do so.
In course of time you will learn to distinguish very clearly between these two parts of your being, the earth-self and the Christ-self.
Again we would say that the higher self is not contacted through the mind, but through the heart and quality of love.
Love is not possessive. To love is to give, love is a radiation, a sending forth from the heart of a sweet essence which heals.