AC 227: August 14, 2003 (Boston)

© 2004 Kurt Leland

I awoke from this one at 2:10 A.M.--an adventure in consciousness that began with my encountering a Gatekeeper. The first thing I noticed about his domain was that it seemed a lot lighter in atmosphere than most areas of the Afterdeath Zone I’ve visited. My impression of the energy of this zone took the form of sky, the sense of being surrounded by air and light, as well as high clouds in puffy clumps, surrounded by blue. It was as if I were riding in an airplane high above the Earth, although only the clouds were visible. I couldn’t see the ground at all.

The Gatekeeper was an older man with a fine sense of humor. He was thin and tanned, white-haired, with a short beard. Something about him made me think of northern California. He wasn’t at all like a beat poet, but gentle, considerate, informal, deeply spiritual, a bit of a loner, the kind of old-soul Californian I could well imagine having met in the 40s or 50s of the last century, before the counterculture redefined our image of that state.

The Gatekeeper lived in the Gatehouse, which resembled a small Craftsman cottage with a prolific garden, full of green leafy plants and large, bright, almost tropical flowers. The Gatehouse itself was surrounded by what appeared to be a hand-built stone wall--no masonry, just a pile of stones. And the ocean-like blue sky and clouds began on the other side of this wall, as if the cottage were on the edge of the sea. The Gate itself was a small wooden affair set into this wall.

When I came up to the Gate, no one seemed to be home. The Gate was closed. I couldn’t pass through it--as if it were locked by some force other than a merely mechanical one.

“Is there anyone here?” I called out mentally.

The Gatekeeper suddenly popped up, surprising me with his busy white head, thick eyebrows, and straw sun hat. He’d apparently been working in the garden. He was wearing shorts, sandals, and a Hawaiian-style print shirt.

“Whoa there!” he said. “Looks like company!”

The Gatekeeper got quickly to his feet and made his way over to the Gate, peering at me as he straightened out his slightly stooped back with one hand and scratched an itch on the back of his neck with the other.

“Don’t get much traffic away out in these parts,” he said. “What brings you here?”

I was embarrassed to say that I didn’t know where I was or what I was doing there.

The Gatekeeper smiled widely at me, as if he already knew why I was there. Perhaps he could see the reason in my energy field. I wasn’t yet aware of it.

“Well, come in,” he said, pushing open the Gate. “There’s no reason to send you back home again after coming out all this way. Might be something I can do for you.”

I entered the Gate and found myself surrounded by the garden, which was like a miniature jungle--the plants were taller even than the Gatekeeper, who was taller than I. The Gatekeeper led me to a little table with two chairs in the midst of the garden and beckoned for me to sit down.

“Where am I?” I asked, after the Gatekeeper had seated himself and crossed one leg over the other British-style.

“Well, that depends on where you come from,” he responded mysteriously, arching an eyebrow. “There are many names for who I am and what I do. But tell me, how do you see me? That will give me the best idea of how to respond. How you’ve represented my energy to yourself will let me know which tradition you come from and how I should behave.”

I explained to the Gatekeeper about his sky-like surroundings, the garden, the Craftsman bungalow, and his own old-soul California looks. Several times he slapped his knee in delight.

“Well,: he said when I’d finished, “I’ve often been perceived as God by those who imagine him to look like something by Michelangelo. But this is the first time that anyone has ever seen me as Dane Rudhyar!”

The Gatekeeper was extremely amused. I protested that I couldn’t recall ever having seen a picture of Rudhyar, a composer and author of books an astrology. Someone had recently loaned me a paperback copy of his The Magic of Tone and the Art of Music, a very rare book, which I’d skimmed and returned, while I was writing my fourth book, Music and the Soul: The Yoga of Listening. But I was pretty sure there was no picture of Rudhyar on the cover.

“You may not remember having seen such a picture,” the Gatekeeper said, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “But I remember that you did once, many years ago! It may not have made much of an impression at the time, but you wouldn’t have represented me in this way if you hadn’t had some prior, received image to work from.”

“How could you possibly know?” I asked, confused by the Gatekeeper’s great sense of assurance. I did vaguely recall having seen an album of Rudhyar’s piano pieces, which I didn’t buy, perhaps twenty-five years earlier.

“That’s it!” the Gatekeeper said, smiling--having apparently read my thoughts. “You’d heard about him for years and were curious enough to want to know what he looked like, because he was interested in both music and the occult. That was enough to lodge the memory deeply within your psyche.”

Once again I asked: “But how did you know?”

The Gatekeeper replied, looking directly into my eyes: “I am the world’s memory.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Or at least the Guardian of that memory,” he continued, winking.

“Perhaps you’ve heard of akasha?” he asked.

I said I had. I understood it to be an impressionable nonphysical medium that contained a record of all of our thoughts, words, and deeds on Earth.

“Well,” the Gatekeeper responded, “this zone of what you call Otherwhere corresponds to that record. It’s not, technically speaking, part of the Afterdeath Zone. But like the probable worlds you’ve visited before (the Gatekeeper winked at me as he said this, apparently having access to that memory too, even though the adventure in which I first encountered these worlds--described in chapters 15-17 of Otherwhere--had occurred fifteen years earlier and I certainly wasn’t thinking of them at the time of our conversation), they’re directly accessible to all human consciousness, in or out of the body, focused on Earth, or in the Afterdeath Zone.

“Problem is,” the Gatekeeper continued, “practically no one knows this plane exists. If they’ve heard of it, they don’t know how to get here. I might as well be posted on Mars for all the traffic I get here.”

“But I’m always hearing about mediums, for example, who claim to be able to read the Akashic Records,” I protested.

“I doubt it,” the Gatekeeper replied, sighing. “If it were true, I’d have a lot more to do here.”

“Then where do they get their information?” I asked.

“Well, if they’re not intentionally or unintentionally making it up,” the Gatekeeper replied, they’re probably picking up on the soul’s own memory banks of its past lives. That’s fine, if all they want is karmic tendencies. Such information, of course, is limited to the soul’s own self-understanding, which varies according to its level of development. Only here can you get the big picture, unbiased by karmic tendencies or the soul’s level of development.”

“What do you mean by karmic tendencies?” I asked.

“Stuck places,” the Gatekeeper replied. “Say, the tendency to take things personally. That can show up lifetime after lifetime, creating a distortion in how certain events are viewed. At a certain level of development, the individual may be ready to come here and see what was really going on, simultaneously, from all the perspectives that were involved.

“People at the single-point consciousness level--at which most of humanity finds itself--aren’t ready or able to see events from a multiplicity of perspectives. Doing so would be too threatening to their identity structure, which is mostly made up of reactions, both appropriate and inappropriate, to what’s going on around them.

“Midpoint and multiple-point consciousness of course would have no trouble expanding its perspective on such events--and so are both able to find their way here and are welcome to browse. These levels of development see events as energy transformations, having come to identify themselves as something more than their reactions to other people. So their identities don’t dissolve under the impact of seeing themselves through others’ eyes.

[The terms single-point midpoint, and multiple-point consciousness were explained to me in AC 213: April 24, 2002 (Boston), which I haven’t posted on this site yet. Single-point consciousness is just beginning to sense itself as an individual consciousness. Midpoint consciousness roughly corresponds to the Facilitator level of development, in which it’s possible to see any event clearly from one’s own and another’s perspective, without loss of one’s identity. Multiple-point consciousness roughly corresponds to the Overseer level of development, in which it’s possible to see events from every conceivable perspective without loss of one’s identity. The Gatekeeper himself appears to be at the multiple-point level of development.]

“Now you understand why I get so few visits here. Most people aren’t developed enough to make--or survive--the attempt. But this brings me back to my initial question: Why are you here?”

Fascinated as I was by the Gatekeeper’s explanation of the function of this zone I’d somehow stumbled into, I still had no idea of what I was doing there. The Gatekeeper smiled gently over my confusion, then said, “Funny thing about memory. If you stick around here long enough, you might find yourself remembering things that haven’t happened yet. So, let’s see. If I were to try to remember your visit here, I would say that I took you on a little journey to help you answer a question that you didn’t know was bothering you until I pointed it out.”

The Gatekeeper was looking directly at me, elbows on the table, hands in front of his face, eyes turned inward, as he kept bringing his fingertips slowly together. I still had no clue what the question was to which he was referring. I searched deep within my memory. But, as usual in my journeys to Otherwhere, I didn’t know what had motivated me to go there until someone told me or the journey itself made the reason clear.

“Three and a half,” the Gatekeeper said. “Does that ring a bell?”

I had to admit that it didn’t.

“Well,” he said, smiling, “enough teasing. That was part of the answer, which of course you wouldn’t know yet. The question has to do with the extent to which the people you meet and become involved with are genuinely connected with you from past lives. Someone you know seems to think that just about everyone she meets and likes must have such a connection with her. Over the years, you’ve lost interest in whether anyone you’ve met has had this sort of past-life connection with you.

“The true answer is three and a half--which is to say, somewhere between everyone and no one.” The Gatekeeper gave me a roguish glance. He was obviously enjoying this. But I still didn’t know what he was talking about. I recognized the question, however. It had occurred to me, fleetingly, the night before this adventure occurred.

The woman to whom the Gatekeeper had referred is in my channeling class. The night before this adventure, she had attempted to channel some past-life information for me about someone I was curious about. I wasn’t sure what to make of this information. The woman had been very specific, but I didn’t feel any sort of deep connection with the person I was asking about.

The Gatekeeper let me muse for a moment, then gently interrupted me. “There are four ways in which relationships of various kinds develop between people. The first is through their making a contract, while in between lives in the Afterdeath Zone, to meet each other in their next lifetime. That’s a mode that you’re already familiar with from the relationship between your parents, as well as that between your sister and her husband.

“Such relationships can develop on the basis of so-called love at first sight, or can gradually insinuate themselves into one’s life. In the latter pattern, you have a chance, in a sense, to compare the deep feeling of connection with that person with the less deep ones with other people. Eventually, you’ll come to sense the greater feeling of comfort, relaxation, and desire to open up that comes along with such a contract. Also, in this manner, the relationship won’t feel forced on you, at the ego level, by the soul. The ego, you know, always wants to feel as if it has a choice. This sort of relationship will usually have past-life antecedents--sometimes a great many of them.

“The opposite extreme, you could say, is the development of a relationship with someone you have never been connected with in any previous lifetime. When I said ‘three and a half’ earlier, I was jokingly referring to this mode of meeting people as the ‘half.’ In this kind of relationship, you have a certain set of needs and the other person has a similar or complimentary set of needs. The network of souls, by which your needs are satisfied, is able to bring you together rather easily.

[The network of souls is a concept familiar to me from the Charles material. It refers to connections in nonphysical reality between the larger part, or soul, of each of us that is focused there while we’re incarnated in physical reality. When we have a need, our soul broadcasts it to the network of souls in a way that will help us satisfy it--setting up, at the soul level, the connections we’ll need to make here on Earth for that to happen. Coincidences and synchronicities involving other people are often signs that the network of souls is operating on our behalf.]

“A relationship of this sort may or may not last. You can certainly grow out of it. Relationships of the first type, however, are likely to last a lifetime.

“In between these two extremes are two other types of relationship that can involve past-life connections. The first is one in which no contract for growth was made between lifetimes, but a past-life connection, perhaps of some urgency, does exist. Such relationships are often built on the basis of unrequited longing--a relationship in one’s past-life history that for one reason or another was never able to get off the ground or fulfill itself.

“This sort of relationship waits for a lifetime in which the two people involved are brought together, as if by chance. There may be a sense of recognition. Often the conditions of the prior lifetime will be repeated, so that the earlier unrequited longing has a chance to surface. Eventually, a deeper connection is established that allows for a sense of fulfilment of that longing.

“Discharging such longing, built up with many people over the course of many lifetimes, is a major karmic preoccupation, you could say. When the Upanishads say that what you desire will keep you bound to the cycle of death and rebirth, they know whereof they speak.

“In the absence of a major relationship contract, the people you meet to whom you have a particularly strong response will probably be of this type. If you care to come with me, I’ll show you what I mean.”

The Gatekeeper took me to the side of his garden opposite the gate and beyond the house. As we wended our way through the profusion of growth that surrounded us, I found myself considering why I was seeing the Guardian of the World’s Memory in such a setting. The Gatekeeper looked back at me, apparently having caught my thought.

“It’s the Garden of Eden,” he said, winking. “Or, it’s supposed to point people’s awareness in that direction. That story represents the genesis of humankind, and of course the Akashic Records that pertain to humanity go back at least that far.”

I’d also noticed that as he walked, the Gatekeeper was a little stooped and kept one hand on his lower back, as if it ached. Before I could ask him about it--I’d never seen an advanced consciousness on the Other Side who appeared to be in pain--the Gatekeeper announced: “That’s your perception. I said I was the world’s memory. Your kind has been around for quite a while. You see me stooped with the burden of all I know, as if I were carrying the heavy cares of the world on my back.

“Actually, I couldn’t care less about those supposedly heavy cares. At my level of development, the motivations behind most human endeavor (except, of course, for genuine scientific and cultural advances) seem to be pretty silly. That’s why I come across to you as such a tease.”

“Were you joking about the Garden of Eden?” I asked.

“No. As I said, this portion of Otherwhere has been around since the dawn of human consciousness. You perceive it as a garden because this is a zone dedicated to growth. Nothing will accelerate your growth and expand your consciousness like exposing yourself to the true perspective on human affairs contained in the Akashic Records. That’s why you see these plants as positively rioting in their own growth.”

Behind the house was another Gate, and beyond it an ancient vehicle was parked. It was open to the air like a Jeep or dune buggy. The Gatekeeper got in on the driver’s side and motioned for me to join him on the passenger side. Once we were inside the vehicle, it began to move, climbing the banks of clouds as if they were sand dunes.

Up, down, and around the clouds we raced, as the Gatekeeper explained that each cloud bank represented an information-storage bank. The records it contained, however, weren’t arranged chronologically. Each cloud bank represented a group of psychologically related souls.

“The last kind of connection between people,” the Gatekeeper explained, “consists of closely related groups of souls, which tend to incarnate together over and over again to work out certain kinds of lessons that require a relative consistency of viewpoint in terms of culture, time, and place. Individuals of this nature would also seem quite comfortable with or familiar to you--even if, technically, you had never met them before.

“Consciousness, however, isn’t organized in relation to other aspects of itself in ways that you’re likely to understand at this point in your development. Just as clouds are continually dissolving and reforming, so can your consciousness change its association with others. You’re not necessarily a part of a single--for want of a better word--‘oversoul.’”

“For example, if your consciousness was not only part a certain group, but was also caught up in the huge storm clouds of World War II, that membership will be imprinted on your associations with others who were also there, lending to them a sense of familiarity or recognition, even if you’d never met them before. And so it may be with the imprinting of various epochs and cultures.

“Think of the elaborate cross-indexing system of a library. If that were as visible, multidimensionally, as the books in their stacks, you’d have some sense of how the Akashic Records work.

“Each of the cloud forms in this sector of the World’s Memory Zone represents a different organization of consciousness. You may be a part of more than one of them. Your perceptual abilities at this point in your development cause you to see these clouds as separate entities, apparently unique and distinguishable from one another. Yet their seemingly spatial arrangement is an illusion.

“It would be much more accurate to say that your consciousness is a complex wave form that vibrates on a multitude of planes simultaneously, each plane carrying a portion of its identity and corresponding to its membership in some larger association of souls. Your consciousness’s direction of focus, based on its needs, will determine which group memberships are most valid to you at a particular moment--and which souls you’ll tend to recognize, when encountering them on Earth. This will be true whether you’ve had a past life with someone or have simply been imprinted in significant ways by having been present, unknown to each other, during certain epochs of Earth’s history, such as the Civil War, or the plague years.

“Now, here we are,” the Gatekeeper said as we stopped on one of the dune-like cloud banks. “Come with me.”

We entered the cloud bank and I could see that it was made of a myriad of luminous particles rotating around a central core. I seemed to be on the edge of a galaxy, however, not a mere rain cloud.

The Gatekeeper brought me deeper into this galactic cloud and directed my attention to a bright light that was only a couple layers out from the center. It seemed to be locked in a complex orbital pattern with another bright light, like a double star.

“Those lights are the souls of your friends Steve and Beth,” the Gatekeeper explained. “Do you remember the story of Francesca da Rimini and Piero from Dante’s Inferno? They’re supposedly doomed to swirl around forever without rest in a cloud of desire because she was married and he was her brother-in-law. They requited their love and were murdered by her husband. That story has some bearing on Steve and Beth’s relationship. Not literally, as in a past life. But they’ve been brought into orbit around each other by unrequited desire from a past life in which they were unable to be to each other what they can be in this lifetime.

“So Steve and Beth are closing a switch, so to speak, in their past-life histories. Yet they never would have met if Steve hadn’t lived in and around Beth’s home town in Connecticut for several years. If Steve had remained in the Midwest, he may have found someone there with whom he had a similar history and would perhaps be working off that unrequited desire at this time.

“Thus, you see, there’s something both fated and arbitrary about this sort of relationship. It’s both in the stars, in that the two parties were fated to meet at some point, and created as if by accident when they stumbled across each other in a particular lifetime--without their soul’s having made a plan or contract that required such a connection.

“Now, perhaps, you can understand why I said that you saw me as Dane Rudhyar. He was both a composer and a writer on astrology, just as Steve and Beth’s relationship is both a compositional product of their apparently accidental meeting and fated by the stars. In other words, I was teasing you even then about the question you didn’t know you’d come here to resolve: why their relationship felt both right and wrong to you.

“Steve and Beth also belong to some other similar organizations of consciousness, which makes the feelings of resonance between them extremely strong, and brings them even closer together. And their growth needs in the present lifetime are well-suited to each other. This all bodes well for a lifelong relationship.

“What the actual past-life connection may have been isn’t important. I just wanted you to see what the interactions between people look like from the perspective of the Akashic Records. That’s the kind of relationship I expect that you’re looking for yourself.

“Now you have a sense of what that kind of attraction looks and feels like. It’s not as compelling--or possibly frightening--as a between-lifetimes contract. It’s much more intense than an attraction based simply on the growth needs of the moment. You’ve been looking for something like Steve and Beth’s relationship without knowing what it was. Now, perhaps, you may be able to recognize it when it comes along.”

With that, the humorously smiling face of the Gatekeeper faded, as well as the sense of being surrounded by galactic clouds and the vehicle that had allowed us to traverse them--and I awoke.

[Shortly after I had this experience, I did a search on the Internet to see what Dane Rudhyar looked like. I found a website with a copiously illustrated biography of the man--and not a single picture on it resembled my image of the Gatekeeper. Even stranger, I spent several months trying to track down another copy of Rudhyar’s book on music to see whether there was a picture of him on the cover. When I finally did, I rediscovered that the whole front cover was taken up with a picture of the composer at his desk, behind his piano.

How could I not have remembered the cover of this book when I’d had a copy of it on my desk for several weeks earlier in the summer? It seems that the Gatekeeper was not only teasing me about looking like Rudhyar, but had also suppressed my most recent memory of what Rudhyar looked like so that I could think back to an earlier one I’d forgotten. As he said himself, the image of Rudhyar was a clue about the question I’d come to him to resolve.

In spite of his teasing, I’d found the Keeper of the World’s Memory to be the most delightful being I’ve ever met on my journeys to Otherwhere. I hope I’ll be able to find my way back to his realm sometime.]

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