The Keeper of Memories

The Keeper of Memories

My grandmother’s death happened so secretively; nobody knew how she died and nobody ever would. I mean it’s what was expected because that’s how she lived her life. She kept secrets that would’ve changed the pattern of her destiny, but misery loves company. The truth sets you free if that’s your perception. Family secrets break families, and she made sure ours was severed. There were always constant battles of knowing the truth, and who got what inheritance. Family members were waiting for her to drop like the ball in NYC on New Years. That made her sour. She was the type of tart taste that burned your tongue and made tears come out of your eyes. How could someone of such intellect, intelligence, and knowledge of astral travel be a paradox of perception? A very somber sight to see how the illusion of money’s power overcame the power of love. It makes you question if there was ever any love at all to conquer the love of power. I killed her with kindness, and understood the different personalities she had to have for the various situations life threw at her. The love I had for her was unconditional and that meant I loved her negative equally to her positive.

Her funeral came and went as fast as a flying saucer moving through the sky not wanting to be seen, but just enough to get a glimpse of its existence. Her mind dwindled into the depths of herself, or wherever your mind goes when you die. Death finally knocked on her door. With a stench of solitude she was swept away to dust.The time arrived when the family was to sit down and discuss matters of inheritance. Books were flung, papers were tossed, words were cursed, punches were thrown, and expectations were shattered. The disrespect was distasteful, and no amount of money could erase the history created that day. No amount of money could bring anyone the class she always wanted us to have. I never desired anything from her except to pass happily and peacefully. Sometimes we would talk about how maybe she could visit me to hint where she’d gone after life.

I remember meditating with her every Sunday morning through sunrise. The sun would break through the clouds, getting higher than the birds as the time went by. We would reach a point of zen that was so peaceful, it was better than holding your head under water to find silence. We breached boundaries within ourselves that would travel faster than the speed of light through time and space. My favorite place was a library-like structure. It consisted of marble pillars that would sit on the clouds and kiss the exosphere. We didn’t need air to breathe because only our energies were permitted to enter that zone. It filled our souls with memories both familiar and unknown to me. There was no moon to admire, or sun to bleed into the night because this field was out of time.

Her energetic notions were far from subtle. The first mental deposit I received was a physical deposit in a private bank account of twenty thousand dollars along with the deed to her house. I was to receive increments of twenty thousand dollars every month for as long as I lived in this house. Of course there was a catch; the location of the house was far away from what I called home. I contemplated the offer because I had no prior knowledge of this house that existed in Oregon. I’m just a pregnant woman living in Miami, but nonetheless, I drove myself to Multnomah Falls: my new home. As I was doing research to find out about where I would spend the next few chapters of my life I read some interesting facts. Wasco legend has it that the chief’s daughter sacrificed herself off the Multnomah waterfall to the Great Spirit. Discovered in 1805 it is known as the tallest waterfall in Oregon, and luckily I have a view of this majestic scene.

As I arrived at the locale I could feel the energy from the ground being fed to my surroundings. The house was ceremoniously composed of wood and stone sitting on 15 acres of land. I had never seen this house let alone known of its existence, but it obviously held value. I opened the door receiving a pleasant scent of earthy and tangy odors. It felt so familiar, yet I didn’t know it. It had windows covering the walls of the house. You could see nature from any angle you situated yourself in. There was a letter on the island of the kitchen with instructions. I was to tend to the land by reading books containing sacred information. There were instructions on where to find this one book in particular. I followed the guidance written that brought me to a banyan tree in the center of the yard. It was encompassed by sunflowers in a perfect circular pattern arranging the sunflowers from tallest to shortest. Advised to follow the pattern of flowers in order of height, I did exactly that.

The sunflowers led me to a rock on the ground the size of a skull, but shaped like a pyramid. At first glance it looked brown and shiny, but as I dusted it I found a rainbow of colors. It was brown, red, orange, with streaks of grey, yellow, green, blue, purple, and black. It appeared to be a rock, but I couldn’t take it out of the ground. I took some pictures of it and went back inside forgetting about the remaining instructions. It took me by surprise to learn the rock I found was a crystal. Specifically a crystal called zircon with a tetragonal shape happened to be planted by the Banyan tree. This tree was the length of a skyscraper, and appeared to be hundreds of thousands of years old by the amount of vines and roots immersing from it. Its width was as wide as what your eyes could see in front of you. The zircon crystal transmits healing, balance, and spiritual grounding. They are one of the oldest crystals found on our planet showing chemical fingerprints of the developmental phases of our planet. I took some gardening tools I found in a closet and went to dig up this miniature time capsule. As I was led back to the crystal to dig up my findings, my findings doubled. The pyramid that presented itself above, also materialised below. The instructions briefed me to remove the crystal and dig seven inches deeper into the ground.

I hit something at the end of the seven inch dig. It was heavy and had black leather. I recognized the black cover had four corners, a title and pages in between; it was a book. The title read The Akashic Records. I was dazed with this new found treasure. It was a physical copy of the Akashic Records. I had visited this place many times before through meditation and reiki. Never in a million years did I think there was a blueprint of this metaphysical plane. The Akashic Records are an abstract of all human knowledge that was now under my protection. The instructions ended with a simple explanation “Tell not a soul”.

I spent my days protecting the origin of knowledge with every organic compound my soul was composed of. My days have come to an end because you’ve received this letter my son. Now the knowledge has transformed as has its’ keeper. May you enjoy your new role as the keeper of memories. Remember, tell not a soul.

The End