Timeline, Interrupted

He woke one day in a state of mourning but didn’t know why. It felt as if Peter’s beloved newlywed wife had passed away, yet there she was sipping coffee on the couch, combing one of the cats. The other had been napping at foot of the bed, and after a stretch, curled into another ball of fluff for her next nap.

With everyone accounted for, he asked himself what was this emotion?

What is the cause?

Err– no, try again.

Peter asks of the universe, but there’s no answer.

Years pass, and this sensation would become just a footnote in his mind. Years become decades, and after a state of mind likely to be mistaken by a therapist as mid-life crisis, wonders how certain little things seem just a bit off.

Maybe it was him. Or her. Or them. Definitely them.

They were more than merely spouses or even soul-mates, for something had been confirmed on several occasions involving psychics and mediums, not always requested yet answers came anyway. They were far more than soul-mates; they were twin flames. If that wasn’t enough, one advisor with apparent mediumship abilities noted that the couple were more than just ordinary souls; they were literally out of this world and beyond imagining, as inter-dimensional light beings.

However, there was more strange stuff lurking.

Seeing an old cartoon, Janine comments that she thought it was “Looney Toons” with double o, not “Tunes” with u. Peter notes that he remembers it both ways from childhood and always figured they changed it along the way due to some copyright or licensing thing.

Others noticed that life seems a bit off lately.

Radio show hosts and bloggers alike perform internet searches and conduct interviews on the so-called Mandela Effect, whereby history records things differently than many people remember. The peculiar thing about this is that non-trivial numbers of people have the same recollection that contradicts the consensus view of history.

One researcher’s theory correlates concentration of populations with these observers to cities where early D-Wave quantum computers are installed.

Debate rages on internet chat rooms and message boards about whether the second Star Wars movie made contains the line, “Luke, I am your father,” versus “No, I am your father,” as is found in the video tape and disc versions of the film. Again, Peter debates having remembered the difference upon first watching the final video tape released before DVD and thinking to himself that the line was different. Since nobody else seemed to notice and not a huge fan to care either way, he kept it to himself all those years.

Same for whether the character Dolly in James Bond had dental braces when smiling at Jaws just before changing his allegiance.

Closer to home, one morning Peter asks, “Janine, while looking at me and without turning to see, what color is the construction crane out that window?”

“White.”

“Look.”

With a giggle, “It’s blue!”

“I also remembered it to be white, but it’s not just blue, it’s deep blue almost indigo. Not light blue. Not pale blue. Very much blue.”

“That’s so strange.”

“Because…”

“Because you know what I was going to compare it to, right?”

“The blue frame with the yellow hook reminds you of your school colors.”

“Yes, exactly!”

“But…”

“But I didn’t make that comment about that crane, did I?”

“Nope.”

“How strange!”

It goes on and on.

Clearly, reality isn’t what it seems to be. But we all knew that. These days, such tenets are well known from buddhism, from kaballah, from vedic traditions, and so on.

Reality is malleable, of course. But experiencing it is another thing.

Finally it was time to get some real answers.

Having rekindled his yogic meditation practice by this stage of life, he raises a precursor to the real question. Through his meditations, Peter learned that much of the time, asking the right question is key to getting a satisfying answer.

The picture painted for him:

That one day in the past, his beloved wife and twin flame had indeed passed away.

When deciding to incarnate into the Earthly realm of third density within which books and computers exist, they fully consented to the wheel of life and being bound by rules of karma.

They also were keenly aware by the age of maturity within each lifetime of their dharma or place in life and in the cosmos.

This was their tour of duty, but duty-bound by love for humanity from their native dimension. Along with many other so-called wanderers, the mission was to simply be here on Earth in these times. If you will, the mere presence of wanders was enough to raise the cumulative average of the whole population much like rising tides elevate all boats.

Two recent prior lifetimes had been abbreviated, so this final one was to be the happy reunion.

But something went wrong.

She died young.

This wasn’t part of the agreement for this particular lifetime– an agreement made prior to incarnating.

And thus it began…

Peter having realized that his twin flame and new wife had passed away, something awoke in him. Perhaps his soul didn’t drink enough from the River Lethe, because this isn’t the sort of thing one typically recalls.

Not yelling but booming, “This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

After a brief pause, he continues in the same projected voice that could be heard throughout their Denny Way apartment building, throughout the western face of Capitol Hill and all the way to top of Queen Anne.

“We had an agreement!”

Birds could no longer be heard chirping. Traffic noises were muted. This goes beyond silence.

To his left, the main door to the apartment opens. An impeccably dressed man walks through, and the door closes itself behind him. Beyond well dressed, his garments display patterns like the finest paisley merged with the most intricate celtic knots but with multiple layers. Each layer is black. Black on black on black– but so deep that it’s almost luminescent.

“You called. I answer.”

Without looking, “What’s a fourth density being caught between realms doing here, walking about?”

“Time has been stopped.” He raises his hand like a race flag to be dropped, “It can continue, if you’d like.”

Peter lets out a sigh, then after holding it out for a few heartbeats, takes a restorative deep breath.

The uninvited guest says, “We could restore your lovely bride– bring her back, if you like.”

“Lu,” turning only his head to look this fellow in the eye, “You don’t mind the informal name, do you?”

With a smile, “Everything is negotiable–”

“This doesn’t involve you.”

The man seems indignant, “Then consider me your emissary.”

“You should leave.” With a slow blink, “Now.”

“Perhaps I might convey whatever it is that you’d like to request? Broker a deal, perhaps?”

Ignoring the man, Peter re-configures himself into a posture not unlike a crucifixion pose. Standing upright, legs crossed at the ankles, arms extended outward, elbows bent such that forearms and head resemble Neptune’s Trident. Fingers are gently spread with forefinger touching thumb.

With another three deep breaths, he looks up and says, “Enlil, Enki. Zeus, Poseidon. Or whatever you two are calling yourselves these days…” Much more forcefully, “I’m talking to you!”

A pause. Nothing but silence is the answer.

After another breath, “If you don’t fix this now… I will.”

Still nothing.

As if physical position or orientation was anything other than a side-effect, Peter’s hands roll into fists tighter than the most accomplished martial arts practitioner’s. His arms start to be drawn to the core of his body, and head rolls towards chest.

“Oh, no you don’t,” says the other man with a less confident, almost quivering tone and starts running at Peter.

Before the man can complete those few strides, Peter’s whole being executes something from beyond this realm. It can only be described by first understanding that his natural form would be akin to having essentially a complex heart rather than seven distinct chakras. The transformation being performed is essentially drawing energy of the twelve petal heart chakra down to the four petal root chakra, which is like pushing the Sun through a cosmic meat grinder.

*   *   *

Twenty-two years later, Peter opens his eyes from a half lotus meditation posture.

Peter goes and sits in his study next to his wife. “Since early childhood, I’ve always had an awareness of `be careful of what you ask, for you just might get it.‘”

“Yes, I remember you saying that.”

“So then, I wouldn’t have wished long ago for something along the lines of `anything would be better than this,‘ whatever this may have meant at the time, right?”

“Where are you going on about?”

“In my meditation…”

“Yes?”

“I may have found an answer about the Mandela Effect.”

Reorienting herself, giving full attention, “Really? Do tell.”

“First, what the one psychic said…”

“That we really are inter-dimensional light bulbs?”

“Yes. That. It’s true, apparently.”

“Okay. What about the Mandela Effect?”

With a sigh Peter says quickly, “It’s my fault.”

“How? What… did… you… do, mister?”

“Remember when we were first married, and I said I had a feeling of mourning?”

“Yes?”

“Apparently, I really was in mourning but didn’t like that– didn’t like that timeline.”

“Yes…?”

“So I… interrupted it. Fractured it.”

“And so we have the Mandela Effect.”

“Basically.”

“Why am I not surprised to learn that it’s all your fault?”