And now here he was. Thirty. Working in construction. Gets to see his kids every other weekend. The fun dad. Drinking on a Tuesday night after work and then he’ll do it all over again tomorrow. Work. Drinks. Bed.

Her heart felt compassion towards him. She knew all too well that feeling of “what now?” when her own story took an unexpectedly sad turn. She remembered that dark year when she almost took her own life. She remembered her own story of work, drinks, bed.

He touched her hand again; him gaining comfort from a woman who let him talk, a human willing to listen. His aspects switched gears — he forgot about his sad story and started sweet-talking her, looking her up and down as though he was mentally making a new story for the night. 

At that, she knew it was time to go. She allowed one more kiss on her hand, thanked him for his company, and then turned her back toward him and made her exit. 

His story followed her for some time as she went through her daily tasks that involved other people — grocery shopping, visiting the post office, meeting with her acupuncturist. She observed other people’s scripts, the characters they played so well. The arc accepted by mass consciousness was real — birth, awareness of the character as seemingly separate from its parents, pseudo-independence as a teenager, partnership with another human in the form of marriage or something else, a peak in the physical and mental body at some age, and then a decline, leading to a kind of preservation by what’s commonly termed mid-life, then more preservation, maybe grandkids for some, and then the inevitable death of that character.

Was this “human condition” beautiful? Was it sad? Did it even matter? That damning arc. Sheer madness. Fucking boredom. It had made her go out of her mind, so to speak, in more than one lifetime, including this one. And now here she was, this time quite literally out of her mind. She recalled the realm working years; she had been well aware of the work while it was occurring. She knew the gravity of this story arc was now dismantled, but mass consciousness still wanted to believe in those old narratives. It’s all that many allowed themselves to see.

She thought about Adamus’ See Change event. What a brilliant title. For if the human didn’t allow change, didn’t see it, then change wouldn’t occur for them. Or maybe it would — slowly, over time — but they wouldn’t ever notice it and experience it in its fullness. It was a matter of perception. If you see ugly, you get ugly. If you see beautiful, you get beautiful. It was one of the oldest adages known by humans: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Perception creates reality.

She sighed as she wrote this — releasing it all and easing back into her own dream. Her dream, her reality, was a story of renewal. No more needing to die and be reborn to write a new story. This was the new Greatest Story Ever Told, beginning with a capital G. The story of renewal — dancing with her soul, writing new aspects and facets at her whim, experiencing the sensuality of herself, whenever and whomever she wanted to be. For, what else could there possibly be in this new reality, other than, I Am God, also.