Time is not a reality, but rather a concept of measure. It is an impression. Time is a flowing continuum, an expression of separation among events that occur in the same physical location but that exist simultaneously in different dimensions or on different vibrational frequencies. It is the shifting of an individual’s perspective that creates the perception of the existence of time. Human beings sense and record changes within their environment by means of this illusionary linear concept. It is only an individual’s relationship to what is perceived as the past that presents an awareness of what has been, however once this awareness exists, it then allows the past to exist in the present; in contrast the anticipation of a potential possibility is what creates the future and with the awareness of this possibility allows it to exist in the present, in this way the past, future, and present exist simultaneously in one single moment and that moment is perceived as NOW. My favorite old book shelved in the public library explained how there were individuals who transcend the common linear relationship with time and in essence stepped out of time:
“In the process of study, and while anxious to solve the perplexing concept of time, a few words in explanation of certain individuals endowed with mysterious powers and occult knowledge were recorded; these words were not written for the public, but only for those of their own teaching. These Sages of the occult were able to fashion a space between the realms which superseded the time illusion. They were able to effect changes in a future that did not yet exist and while within the created space were not governed by time, neither were they controlled, nor in any way degraded by it. Instead, time was a tool utilized by them – not an absolute, wielded by them. Within this fashioned space everything was shown to be a tangible and visible actuality.”
– page 180, Sacred Magick
This knowledge mesmerized and fascinated me. It explained and coexisted with the other ideas and concepts that I had been researching and contemplating as of late. It even clarified how I was able to do the things that I was able to do in an educated and scientific manner. As I enthusiastically continued to devour the words written by Mina Germond over a hundred years ago I nodded with deep personal understanding.
The chime of the doorbell echoed throughout the quiet house bringing forth a wave of frustration within me. On the weekends when my parents were comfortable enough to leave me alone in the house while they attended a dinner party or charity event, I desired and enjoyed uninterrupted solitude; when that precious and rare time was upset by a visitor or other individual I was always annoyed. It would take time to refocus my concentration, which would ultimately shorten my time alone. I briefly considered ignoring the doorbell in hopes that whoever it was standing outside would leave if no one answered as there was no clear evidence that there was someone in the house. I glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Who was it at the front door at this time of night? It was clearly too late for my parents to receive a casual and unexpected visitor. From my bedroom window, I checked the driveway, expecting to spot a parked vehicle but saw none. That was certainly peculiar. The doorbell chimed an additional two or three times as I left the sanctuary of my bedroom and moved through the museum-like environment of our house towards the front door.
Antique curio cabinets lined the upstairs hallway each held a collection of items such as: Burmese glassware, Clarke Pickett ceramics, Song Dynasty Chinese porcelain vases, and Royal Doulton and Dahl Jensen figurines, all of which Mother purchased from numerous antique shops and estate sales over the years in an effort to fill the ugly void of her life with beautiful things. The doorbell chimed again as I continued down the main staircase; Mother had it refinished the first year her and Father moved into the house, the smooth banister slid beneath the palm of my hand, my bare feet were caressed by the carpet as I descended. Standing a few feet into the foyer, I turned and glanced behind me, appreciating the unintentional effect of my Mother’s decorating; the crimson carpet created the appearance of blood cascading down the curved staircase and into the foyer. The doorbell chimed for the fifth time as I approached the front door, the porch light filtered through the sidelights and fanlight above the door casting shadows on the Oriental rug. This unexpected visitor was clearly intent on gaining the family’s attention, but for what purpose?
I opened the heavy wooden door without first determining who it was, remarkably aware of how furious Mother would have been with me if she knew I did so. She was constantly commenting about strangers with their malicious intentions concerning young vulnerable females, but honestly, you and I both know, that I was neither young nor vulnerable. Whoever it was standing outside, insistently ringing the doorbell was most likely unprepared for me and my mounting frustration. I was surprised to find Ryan, our neighbor’s youngest son leaning against one of the four columns of the curved portico smoking a cigarette and holding a small bottle of Fireball Whiskey in his free hand. He physically appeared older than he was, easily passing for a young male in his early twenties however his speech and mannerisms were clear indicators that he was, unlike me, a typical teenager.
“I see your parents have left for the evening,” he stated plainly, as he flicked his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk leading from the driveway to the porch. “And won’t be back until after midnight.”
“And?” I was unimpressed by this boy and eagerly desired to get back to the book I was studying that currently lay abandoned in my room.
Ryan was the youngest of the three Fuller boys birthed by Meredith Hawthorne Fuller and the one least liked by the neighbors. His brothers, Kyle and Tyler had moved out of their family home last year; Kyle decided to attend Princeton University and Tyler applied and was granted an internship with Microsoft in Vancouver. Ryan at sixteen was finally an “only child” though not the recipient of the lavish attention a younger “only child” normally received; this was the prime motivator for Ryan’s continued outlandish and destructive behavior, his nonverbal screams for attention that both parents continued to deny or ignore. My parents, more than once, had visited our neighbors demanding retribution for property damage caused by their neglected “only child”.
“I know they keep you on a tight leash, so I just thought that you might be up for some fun.” He held up the bottle of Fireball with a smile and a raise of his eyebrow.
“Really?” I crossed my arms. “Why’s that?”
“Well, I know you don’t have many friends,” he paused, “If any at all. Everyone knows about you.”
“And what is it ‘everyone knows’?”
I could tell by his probing gaze that he was silently trying to establish if I was oblivious to the popular town opinion of me or if I was pretending to be ignorant. I didn’t think he could determine; I know I was difficult to read, and I wouldn’t have preferred it any other way.
“You haven’t heard the rumors?”
I decided to be gentle with him. It was brazen of him to come over and confront me after the countless nights he had been peeping into my bedroom window, the one that faced his house. I’m certain he was unaware of my knowledge of his nocturnal voyeuristic tendency with his binoculars. As of tonight it seemed as if spying no longer satisfied his sexual appetite.
“I’ve heard them,” I stated plainly. “So what’s your point; that because everyone in town believes I’m psycho I’d have no friends? Do you believe everyone in this town to be so shallow?”
He nodded his head. “Well, yeah, don’t you?”
I smirked. I most certainly did. Shallowness and ignorance ran rapid in this town with very few residents escaping that contagious disease. Shallow minds were susceptible to manipulation from outside influences and it became a pandemic when one shallow and ignorant individual influenced another individual which easily perpetuated through families and reached into neighborhoods until almost the entire population was infected. It was sad to witness but made life easier for unique individuals like me to live and play.
“So, what type of fun are you suggesting, Ryan?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you’re up for.” He held up the bottle of alcohol once more. “Some Fireball and music, I know you like music; I hear it from your bedroom when you have your windows opened. So, why don’t we start there and find out what else we might have in common?”
I opened the front door a little wider so that he could enter the empty house.