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T O P I C R E V I E WAubyanneIt's funny I'm posting this at 11:11 Pacific Daylight. Technically, 23:11 here, as I began using the 24-hour clock at age 17; it's something my boyfriend (the aforementioned relationship per the subject line) has said he really adores about me; one of many quirks he appreciates. Nonetheless, there's nothing typical about this strange connexion which seems to traverse time, space, and dimensional boundaries. I've been wanting to share my thoughts and experiences on this for awhile, but it's not the easiest thing to do. Hopefully, here I can present them as organised as I'm able. We'll see. CeridwenI can`t wait to hear that! For me myself, karmic something, well ever since I left Cornwall, I wouldnīt stop dreaming of Mr Eyecandy, sometimes Mr Sag is in the dreams, but not always. Always set in another time (sort of having clothing that surprised me as I had never really associated these with medieval age or any age, but after doing my research, finding out my dream Self was quite right about the clothing and setting. lol). Why he keeps on calling me "Lissa" in these dreams, no idea.Almost feels more like a karmic memory than dreams themselves, or whatever, maybe my subconsciousness finding a package to transport some message here, and just wrapping it up in those celtic surroundings (I was so confused when waking up, and actually not sure about my or his nationality, and it took mental work to remember and settle that we actually are German, or actually upon waking up, I did not think of it as German but "Teutonic". lol It left me puzzled that the dream was completely in English, and in a thick accent I donīt even know now. WEird.).But yeah back to YOUR story, keep us updated. I love to read this!PeluchesIt's also one of the things I was surprised to see you use. You'll have no problem dealing with the 24 hour clock in France, then !... Hey, come to think of it, the majority of LL is twice more likely than us to actually see 11:11 ! Not fair. Anyway, I can't wait to read the rest ! AubyanneAN IMPORTANT CAVEAT:Twin Flames have become all the rage since 2012, and the topic was already trending several years before. It's almost as if the good people of Earth were planning on getting a jump on the promised influx (or I should say 'promised', as it's a bit more factual) of many more Indigos awakening, atop of the conclusion of a major Mayan cycle, and the push for incarnated Twins to reunite. I'll neither agree nor disagree on the above points as, frankly, I do not know. When I suddenly had it on very good authority that I, myself, am a Twin Flame, I started to review my life thus far through this new lens. I have to say, it all jibed.I could believe without any prodding that I'm here for an important mission of both a creative and spiritual nature. Ever since I was very young, I was, well, 'born old', as my boyfriend succinctly described his own experience (in a trance state). I started to identify as Indigo in my late-twenties, having always felt that it's not only 'my colour', but that I share a special relationship to its frequency. To make the leap and consider I am also a Twin Flame? Tough. But not impossible. The experiences which I will share with you are the crux of why I am approaching my existence and the mystery that is reality the way that I am today. As a scientist and sceptic who was formerly a debunker, it's taken a lot to get here. So, do also approach the following with as open a mind as you can. Fortunately, it won't require a total suspension of your disbelief; some of it is quite relatable, even though it's not exactly explicable. Instead, it's now etched in my memory of the first steps of a much longer, multidimensional, and ever unfolding journey. I hope you can glean insight, or even find resonance in any of it. Ultimately, I want for us to all help each other become the multidimensional, actualised beings that we are. And, without further ado, I'll begin; once and for all, at the only place I can. The beginning. AubyanneRI met him when I was twenty years old, having just concluded my first Saros cycle; a cosmic dance which would serve as an important timer throughout the decade ahead. He had ice blue eyes, and my late adolescent self thought they burned with heat from an invisible flame; as captivating as they were terrifying in their intensity. Volumes were spoken without a word; tragedies foretold with an ageless mystery. I felt as if my brain had been hijacked! I was a mild-mannered, well-to-do and proper training psychologist. I had no time for purple prose and flowery metaphor. Eyes may be the proclaimed windows of the soul, but surely, I didn't need to reflect so actively upon his. Funny, the rest of him was just as sharp in my memory: rich blonde hair; like spun gold in the sun, sparking and glistening at odd moments within the light. Careless yet coiffed somehow. It showed the marriage of order and chaos. Perfect posture. Militaristic in its exactitude. Commanding in a way. (No doubt, in part due to his upbringing in a military family.) Strong, while also lithe. Tall, but not towering. Yet something about his entire countenance demanded -- and deserved -- respect. Still, it was his voice I found truly exceptional. Remarkable. Unique. American-born, and yet, hint of an accent difficult to place. Oxonian placement and idiolect, but American dialect with the occasional British pronunciation. I wasn't sure why. But the voice itself ... the tone, timbre, and quality ... sheer elegance. Mellifluous. A rich, deep bass, resonant yet also agile. Capable of the sharpest octave jumps, slides, even trills, and a cavalcade of accents and impressions. A gifted mimic. Crisp consonants and lilting vowels. Hypnotic. Genuinely mesmeric. He wore a dark burgundy shirt; button-down. Polished cotton. (It was vivid in my mind, and so I recalled it with strange accuracy, despite my usual indifference to things as ephemeral as fashion.) It was freshly pressed; I could tell it. Black slacks, in equally impeccable shape, with a simple, understated belt, black leather. Everything in excellent condition for an elegant, sophisticated presentation. A man clearly more than a little compulsive -- likely legitimately obsessed -- with order. A master of self-control; quietly, but tightly contained. But it may have been his mind that boasted yet withheld the greatest treasures. Technically, a genius with Sherlockian level perception, detection and deduction. Voracious reader. Perpetual, lifelong student of anything and everything. Even an accomplished martial artist with an especially skilled hand when it came to wielding a sword from his fencing days. (He had to regretfully bid it adieu, as one of his other lifelong struggles, and hardly a passion, is scoliosis.) Insanely quick study, nonetheless, and still an expert marksman. Remarkable pianist as well -- though another love lost, due to the worsening of the condition over time. (By his thirties, it had achieved some severity. He was in his mid-forties at the time of our acquaintance.)I was ... fascinated. My young burgeoning profiler's mind was on overdrive. All had become silent and still. The room hummed with possibility; it was as if anything and everything might happen. I could have made him a subject of private study and personal obsession right there. (In fact, I may have, despite my adamant denial to the contrary.)I'd never seen or known anything remotely like him. It's as if someone took the good bits of Dr Hannibal Lecter and Leroux's Phantom, mixed in several helpings of Alan Moore's V with Sherlock Holmes, and finished off the cocktail with Doctor Who. He was strangely versatile and archetypal all at once. I was stunned. Enraptured. At a total loss for what I was even to do. He also didn't exist.Neptunian VenusI love your writing style, Auby!
Nonetheless, there's nothing typical about this strange connexion which seems to traverse time, space, and dimensional boundaries.
I've been wanting to share my thoughts and experiences on this for awhile, but it's not the easiest thing to do. Hopefully, here I can present them as organised as I'm able.
We'll see.
For me myself, karmic something, well ever since I left Cornwall, I wouldnīt stop dreaming of Mr Eyecandy, sometimes Mr Sag is in the dreams, but not always. Always set in another time (sort of having clothing that surprised me as I had never really associated these with medieval age or any age, but after doing my research, finding out my dream Self was quite right about the clothing and setting. lol).
Why he keeps on calling me "Lissa" in these dreams, no idea.
Almost feels more like a karmic memory than dreams themselves, or whatever, maybe my subconsciousness finding a package to transport some message here, and just wrapping it up in those celtic surroundings (I was so confused when waking up, and actually not sure about my or his nationality, and it took mental work to remember and settle that we actually are German, or actually upon waking up, I did not think of it as German but "Teutonic". lol It left me puzzled that the dream was completely in English, and in a thick accent I donīt even know now. WEird.).
But yeah back to YOUR story, keep us updated. I love to read this!
... Hey, come to think of it, the majority of LL is twice more likely than us to actually see 11:11 ! Not fair.
Anyway, I can't wait to read the rest !
Twin Flames have become all the rage since 2012, and the topic was already trending several years before. It's almost as if the good people of Earth were planning on getting a jump on the promised influx (or I should say 'promised', as it's a bit more factual) of many more Indigos awakening, atop of the conclusion of a major Mayan cycle, and the push for incarnated Twins to reunite. I'll neither agree nor disagree on the above points as, frankly, I do not know. When I suddenly had it on very good authority that I, myself, am a Twin Flame, I started to review my life thus far through this new lens.
I have to say, it all jibed.
I could believe without any prodding that I'm here for an important mission of both a creative and spiritual nature. Ever since I was very young, I was, well, 'born old', as my boyfriend succinctly described his own experience (in a trance state). I started to identify as Indigo in my late-twenties, having always felt that it's not only 'my colour', but that I share a special relationship to its frequency. To make the leap and consider I am also a Twin Flame? Tough. But not impossible.
The experiences which I will share with you are the crux of why I am approaching my existence and the mystery that is reality the way that I am today. As a scientist and sceptic who was formerly a debunker, it's taken a lot to get here.
So, do also approach the following with as open a mind as you can. Fortunately, it won't require a total suspension of your disbelief; some of it is quite relatable, even though it's not exactly explicable. Instead, it's now etched in my memory of the first steps of a much longer, multidimensional, and ever unfolding journey.
I hope you can glean insight, or even find resonance in any of it. Ultimately, I want for us to all help each other become the multidimensional, actualised beings that we are.
And, without further ado, I'll begin; once and for all, at the only place I can.
The beginning.
He had ice blue eyes, and my late adolescent self thought they burned with heat from an invisible flame; as captivating as they were terrifying in their intensity. Volumes were spoken without a word; tragedies foretold with an ageless mystery. I felt as if my brain had been hijacked! I was a mild-mannered, well-to-do and proper training psychologist. I had no time for purple prose and flowery metaphor. Eyes may be the proclaimed windows of the soul, but surely, I didn't need to reflect so actively upon his. Funny, the rest of him was just as sharp in my memory: rich blonde hair; like spun gold in the sun, sparking and glistening at odd moments within the light. Careless yet coiffed somehow. It showed the marriage of order and chaos. Perfect posture. Militaristic in its exactitude. Commanding in a way. (No doubt, in part due to his upbringing in a military family.) Strong, while also lithe. Tall, but not towering. Yet something about his entire countenance demanded -- and deserved -- respect.
Still, it was his voice I found truly exceptional. Remarkable. Unique. American-born, and yet, hint of an accent difficult to place. Oxonian placement and idiolect, but American dialect with the occasional British pronunciation. I wasn't sure why. But the voice itself ... the tone, timbre, and quality ... sheer elegance. Mellifluous. A rich, deep bass, resonant yet also agile. Capable of the sharpest octave jumps, slides, even trills, and a cavalcade of accents and impressions. A gifted mimic. Crisp consonants and lilting vowels. Hypnotic. Genuinely mesmeric.
He wore a dark burgundy shirt; button-down. Polished cotton. (It was vivid in my mind, and so I recalled it with strange accuracy, despite my usual indifference to things as ephemeral as fashion.) It was freshly pressed; I could tell it. Black slacks, in equally impeccable shape, with a simple, understated belt, black leather. Everything in excellent condition for an elegant, sophisticated presentation. A man clearly more than a little compulsive -- likely legitimately obsessed -- with order. A master of self-control; quietly, but tightly contained.
But it may have been his mind that boasted yet withheld the greatest treasures. Technically, a genius with Sherlockian level perception, detection and deduction. Voracious reader. Perpetual, lifelong student of anything and everything. Even an accomplished martial artist with an especially skilled hand when it came to wielding a sword from his fencing days. (He had to regretfully bid it adieu, as one of his other lifelong struggles, and hardly a passion, is scoliosis.) Insanely quick study, nonetheless, and still an expert marksman. Remarkable pianist as well -- though another love lost, due to the worsening of the condition over time. (By his thirties, it had achieved some severity. He was in his mid-forties at the time of our acquaintance.)
I was ... fascinated. My young burgeoning profiler's mind was on overdrive. All had become silent and still. The room hummed with possibility; it was as if anything and everything might happen. I could have made him a subject of private study and personal obsession right there. (In fact, I may have, despite my adamant denial to the contrary.)
I'd never seen or known anything remotely like him. It's as if someone took the good bits of Dr Hannibal Lecter and Leroux's Phantom, mixed in several helpings of Alan Moore's V with Sherlock Holmes, and finished off the cocktail with Doctor Who. He was strangely versatile and archetypal all at once. I was stunned. Enraptured. At a total loss for what I was even to do.
He also didn't exist.
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