The Illusion of Reality
Old Wives Tales
Once there was a man who lived deep in the lush woods of Norway. Majestic ice-capped mountains, their peaks stretching towards the heavens, wrapped their grandeur around the woods, cradling them in a valley. The man was middle aged, and had moved to the woods after a terrible tragedy had shook his entire world. His wife had killed his two children and then herself.
That’s how much she wanted to leave him.
The biggest thing in the news that week was the event. The country couldn't seem to focus on anything else. Suddenly, an average accountant working for a private surgery in town had found fame. After the news broke everyone he knew either looked at him with suspicion or pity.
“Why did she kill the children? I knew that lady… there’s no way she could have done this, it’s always the husband. Poor man, I wonder if he’ll ever find work again.”
The authorities did not file charges against him. No evidence of his involvement existed at all. In fact, he had been away to see his sister when it all transpired.
He went by the name of Frank.
He adopted the name Martin, after his late father, to escape the overwhelming noise in his head. He sold his house and moved 300 kms to the north, into a secluded forest where he had once taken his family on holiday.
That was that.
Months passed and people forgot about a man called Frank… Martin rebuilt his life from little. He purchased a cabin at the edge of the forest. He foraged for mushrooms, berries and eggs in the morning and fished at the river in the afternoon.
He chopped wood and carried water for a fire and bath. After supper he sat on his porch and watched the blue sky disappear into the halo of northern lights. A peaceful existence fell upon him.
For a little while.
Martin woke up with a severe headache after a night of excessive pill-taking and drinking. Unable to sit up straight, he threw up on his pillow.
Several things happened all at once.
He had a satellite phone stashed somewhere, and he could hear it going off like a siren. A log from the fireplace had rolled its way dangerously close to the rug and lit the fabric. Dogs or wolves (Martin couldn’t be sure which) were either barking or howling outside his door.
Pulling himself up this time without falling over, Martin stumbled his way through the cabin. He poured water over an unlit rug, answered his satellite phone but there was no one on the other end. Finally, he got his hunting rifle, opened the front door but didn’t find any dogs or wolves to scare away.
He could swear the scene was real. The man who sold him his cabin told him many stories of ghosts. Old wives tales, he thought. Stumped, he listed the events of the morning in the nightmare-column of his consciousness and slept the day off.
It went to hell from there.
Next day, Martin woke up refreshed. He performed his usual duties around the woods and cabin and had a quiet day to himself. Except something was niggling at him for hours. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his cabin was on fire.
Several times during the day he rushed back to his front door to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. Martin blamed imaginary wolf pups for scaring away the fish when he failed to catch any. At the cabin he kept watching his satellite phone nervously as if it was about to go off.
He paced his cabin nervously that night, and several nights after that.
His mind raced and he felt himself sweating in the dead of winter. He’d rather not think about it, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. After days of relentless agitation he let himself take a walk one evening in the cold darkness without a weapon.
He even forgot to lock his door.
Soon he found himself running. He ran for what felt like hours. The sky was mocking him. No green halos ever appeared for angels.
The news story flashed live in his memory, as if it was yesterday. He was a survivor, that’s right. What choice did he have? He was doing the bare minimum.
‘A tragedy like no other…’, the report trailed off.
When Frank was a little boy, his mother used to take him and his sister out for treats every Friday. A corner shop owner had taken a liking to their family and gave the kids ice lollies in exchange for their continued support. The corner shop lady, Saro, was failing at her business. Everyone in town knew this, but no one cared enough to do anything about it.
But, Frank’s mother was a kind woman.
On the weekends, Frank’s mum would chop wood and carry water for Saro. An old shop with little inventory and too much space made the store even colder. Not to mention Saro would secretly sleep there.
The bank foreclosed on her home the year prior, leaving her with nowhere to go. Some days Frank’s mum had blisters on her palms from clutching the axe too long. She came from comforts and had soft hands. But, Saro was a dear friend and the blisters always healed.
Frank was happy for his mum.
His mum was a lonely woman. Their father had remarried and only visited them a few times in a year. Eventually, months passed and a sort-of relationship developed between his mum and Saro.
Frank’s sister was louder about her dislike of Saro than Frank was. Their schoolmates bullied them when Saro moved into their home.
Village kids harassed them when the women finally married. All this happened so fast. Frank was only six.
Then.
One day when Frank was walking home from the school bus stop, a loud noise distracted him. Several things happened at once.
A siren was going off somewhere. A neighbor’s dog was barking so loudly it made Frank tear up. But he swallowed hard and blinked them away. He could smell something burning.
He hurried home to find himself entirely engulfed by smoke. The neighbors hadn’t bothered to help. Everyone hated Frank’s family. He heard screaming, so he dropped his rucksack and ran to the back room by the kitchen.
Saro was trying to protect someone from Frank’s mum. His sister was not present. Even through the smoke, Frank knew she was a stranger. He heard shouting from his mum…
‘I was your only friend! She will never live here…’
Someone fired gunshots.
But the shouting carried on. Frank's heart pounded in his ears as he realized someone had tossed a gun around the room, dangerously close to his feet. He picked it up gingerly as if picking up a burning twig. If only Frank could see what was happening.
But the shouting increased to deafening levels. He just wanted his amazing, kind and generous mother to stop hurting and without even knowing he had done it… it was all over.
In the woods Martin’s heart raced as he did. Only when he tripped on a root and fell did he remain down on the forest floor and let himself cry for the first time since he was six.
He counted his breath and let it settle. He had married a woman he’d met at the surgery he worked for. She had a long history of mental illness. The clinician was his friend, that’s how he knew.
But, he wanted to save something at least once in his life.
Marriage led to children, who also needed lifelong disability support. Martin was fine with that too. Eventually, as the years passed something stopped being fine.
His sister - who was still in school during the fateful events of that day - had moved on with her life. She had a respectable family in a prosperous side of the country.
Martin resented her, but never let her see it. He drank and he strayed. He secretly hatred women, but never let it show.
After one visit from his sister’s place, Martin had come home to find his wife had killed her children and herself. She had left a note explaining she had known about Martin all along. She felt his distaste for her in every aspect of their daily life. From rushed school drop offs, dinners and dissociated intimate moments.
Martin hid the note and took a long walk in the dark.
He felt like he was six years old again. Reliving the moment when he threw the gun into the kitchen fire and ran out of the house. The police failed to find the killer of three women, so they suspected Martin's father of the crime, but didn't charge him.
The karmic loop had found a way to close.
The Illusion of Reality
In the ancient text 'The Bhagavad Gita', Lord Krishna says that karma is complex. He believes that humanity's spiritual growth cannot fully understand it.
It must solve itself. Our reality creates illusions that serve only one purpose. The closing of our karma.
I’m, of course, paraphrasing. So, why is Karma our friend?
Because of the LAW OF ONE.
We are all parts of a divine source. Each of us experiences a unique reality.
We are trying to close the loop. This way, the ONE can return to its original whole state.
In tech terms, several pieces of information (souls) in space-time are sharing their algorithms. They do this to fill gaps in their field. This helps create a larger image that goes back to the central AI for processing.
This is the Illusion of Reality.
When we have evolved past our human bodies we’ll remove the 3D headset and put on another one. The Illusion of Reality will update like an ever-changing Rubik’s cube. Artists will create new images where souls project their data into consciousness. This data breaks into fragments and then comes back together as ONE, again and again.
We have no choice but to befriend karma. Whether we are aware of it or not, we often scream out for what lies hidden inside us.
Frank-Martin’s story is no different.
Frank wanted to escape his reality so badly as a child, it had no choice but to follow him into middle-age.
BUT, what if Frank had talked to the police? What if, as an adult he had confided in his sister. Who would blame him? What if he had chosen someone less vulnerable to marry.
Truth is, it’s impossible to blame Frank for buying into the illusion. Each one of us came here to balance our actions, and it’s why we are alive at all.
What Frank didn’t know is that when we accept our reality as it is, something amazing happens. The illusion collapses. You satisfy the needs of the ONE, and karma outlives its purpose. When that image is complete, you’re free to build a better one.
When you FEEL, you HEAL.
In the end, if it all gets too complicated… just remember this. Pretend as if you are the only one in the universe. Now, play as if you’re six. Everything is well.
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