The Code: HorIzon of InfInIty

HOI2_92 The Spur of Conscious on the Assault Course Shadowing Living Intrigues

2023-12-17T17:36:00.015+01:00

Synopsis: Horizon of Infinity: The Code

Igor, the best critique of my book, highlighted a challenge in commenting, "The book reads like a code!" The editor, but as the publisher’s final read, through the chapter increased in comprehension of the convoluted universe brought to earth. I thought to ease the burden by introducing the reader to the down-to-earth passage of 92nd. Chapter, the hybrid of a newborn’s birth of body and consciousness, for the readers' pleasure to assimilate, and leading backward a unique and complex captivating storyline of a self-explanatory title Horizon of Infinity, to strike a balance that allows readers to connect with the narrated Code of universal intelligence in chapter 1’s chemistry of a universal black-luminescence.

Subscribe + Comment = Editor, or, what age group of the reader, the gender, in a sentence your opinion. PS: Considering the writer’s profile, Thank You!

Flash Memoir:

The tempo of an azure bird-like flock grasps the mind, intriguing, and building up tighter and higher a rococo coif with an emergent silver lining. Not quite understanding that toddler a few months from the psychic cusp, outreaching for that child independent existence. A notion instilled that I cared recollect, though a twilight held at bay my mischief for an expectant changing weather.

That day, I walked the nascent town's short suburban arteries. Crossing a white grit lane, and onto the grass severing colonial avenue median from downtown to the lake. Across the way we walked through a series of Matchbox houses. Short of the cul-de-sac, my sister showed me through the gateway of a low wire mesh fence, and in the prolongation the paved path left turned for the perron. Prodded on, I stepped into the interior mesmerizing a white refractive ghosting off the walls. Glanced up meeting by sight the fluorescent tubes, in a scenic and cognitive progression starry dust system shocks anchoring to mind. At a life soaring pace, reaching out from a progressive soaring raw masonry. At dusk construction openings to a tenebrous infiltration kept at bay from home by candlelight’s aroused dancing shadows.

Stunned by clinical white walls, father's beaming eyes warming a shoulder cloak pressure, guiding me out from an indecisive toying of the surroundings. He twisting me around from the nurse at a desk in the far left corner and across the cubic reception room. At an acute angle from an adjacent closed door to peer in the prolongation of a doorway. Inching toward the shaded white draping, the bed corner jutted, impeding my way into the room. Moving up to mother's reassuring voice calling out, “Come, my boy.” There is nothing to be afraid of. To lay sight on her protruding dark tuft of hair from the whiteness in the far distance.

Relenting. Mother lured me every pace along the single bed. Swerving to stand by her meeting eyes. Eaten alive, I kept skeptic of the jack-in-the-box out to catch my feelings by surprise. Mother insisted, “It's your little sister!” The instant, I stole a glance across mother. Far in the crotch of her arm lies a tuft of hair framed a sleepy baby face.

The awesome shock waves of willful steel wool thunderbolts clearing my childish mind the intrigue at an evanescent pace. In occurrence my draining anxiety, soaking a downpour into the underground. Conscious thin on oxygen, meek at tracking back the recollection fabric of an ensuing peaceful everyday existence.

To imagine a little sister, or a daughter for that matter, awaking, in the perceptions of my cognitive infancy. A quasi cosmic wisdom fledging in concert streamline music that rhyme in syllables angelic voices. In the wake of a snow crystal’s barbing parsec-ray, like a frosted areal cable, glittering a winter light shimmery to mind a lifeline of dreamy images.

My daughter's bewildered startling dark wide staring pupils, buckled in a cerebral driver's seat her auditory and light of sight beacon at the leash of the parsec-ray. Succinct a sweeping inborn wisdom, registering astronautic space impressions, while reckoning with a paradisaic angle for extrasensory perceptions.

Volition casted a lifeline that expunging on a water glaze, without a ripple bouncy and buoyant. Ice sheet reflective of its proper narcissistic cerebral present beacon in conjuncture relenting subconsciousness to the interposing willpower. Whiskers that catty in the weather track through a light stifled cathedral, a lifelong deep jungle undergrowth, the décor of living conscious trails along eventful plants grown into thick territorial claims.

Hence, my childhood's smoldering bright sunlight school playground, which at break in the cast shade around a marble game, oozed the perfume off the fabric growth in oblivion roots of clustered eucalyptus trees.

Like a swamp forest vegetative biodiversity on starry nights, bait in an underwater unconscious root grid, waking the wellbeing of mind destitute organs. Each a master of its art, like stoker on rendezvous attuned to a piston of a bodily machinery. In the spirit of mechanizing gender transition, or with foresight on rolling the cusps of the seven-year life cycles. Waging a silent babyish survival campaign with a maintenance tool box at hand.

The jungle of the mind waking to a subtle exerting auroral puppeteering at first light and an evanescent elating night breath, smoking mountainous spongy canopies. The osmotic cognitive porous balloons of a living world branding the atmosphere. Lapsing to the magic baton of a radiant upcoming sun, light and sound reverberant through whiskers capturing the most flagrant moral prevision. Disposing a biologic clockwork for esoteric considerations and a psychic routine wash through mesh the biorhythmic stroking of spectral color waves, enticing and swarming the spinal cord at capturing every nascent body cell.

In my adulthood, I discovered while driving along a leading road in Champagne. The sight punching experience and membrane growth. Drawing across my journey and sealing behind that gigantic barrel vault of the through matter intestine. Trolling in by the crosshairs of my presence, as though bait on the ocean floor. Soon confused interacts. Like the compass of the mind, which on a routine cross-country train journey, swaps east bearings west, or vice versa. The mind at lolling pace twitching whiskers perceived by the auditory beacon of sight eventful. Mapping the labeled open virtual desk drawer, outreaching far and distant the lifeline of the memory vane. Waking up wayside décor of an unconscious dumping. Unwittingly transposing the hemisphere south and recollecting the perfume and daylight of the Highveld dry warm atmosphere. Metamorphosing a livid South African midday atmosphere, blending historic scenes ahead to a mere leading French country road.

However, fade in memory, I sought in awesome intrigues or deceptions that spurts cold conscious shocks. The criteria of the will to move into that futile bubbly two-way mirrored air lock. Gazing through a miner's tunnel and entering the period of my infancy. Recollecting the bodily pungent sweat stinging and linings my nostrils. Late in my adulthood, I associated the hot and moist weather to the summer solstice in the immediate months following my birth. Suckling rocking in mother's arms. Irresistible to the cupped hand on my head. Soft with increased pressure turned me back repeatedly to mother's growing distress. Reading her persistent thoughts, Why aren't you feeding? In insouciance, voiceless, inherent of her wisdom, I concluded, Mother ought to know! Her anxiety abandoning me, to my relief, falling into a conscious routine sleep.

Initiating the infancy of perception, materializing a ghosting dark crawl hand grips and foot treads. The willpower on the assault course through the field of the unconscious and dark vacuum universe of the mind. In the vicinity conscious is waking from sleep the cardinal crosshairs. Spinning the axis with virtual nimble fingers an anamorphic tying ropes with net knots. The dendritic dynamic nascent tightening bioluminescent motor, with a firefly effect, ephemeral firefly, and a prolific flickering of an apparent snowflake flurry. In numbers swarm. Densening into a sleek reflective luminescent plasma. Alchemical driving halogen lamp, a conscious cellular beacon of sight, bright and piercing rays, enticing radiating spikes breaking into the distance a pursuing pelting vacuum, with a contained glow far spreading an aureole spill waking matter.

An evolutive materializing landscape, seating a collective emergent silver lining shaping a mirage to mind at the eye of the emblematic bubbled torus. Spreading grass roots in similitude overhead grown wintry brushwood frosting an onslaught of a conscious spring infancy burgeoning firework spattering ideas. Spurring an osmotic broad minded canopy of wingy leaves fluttering a cognitive excitement brushing the warp and weft at the loom of the supraliminal waking fabric tapestry.

Staging the child of a blank cerebral white cauliflower, with the vehicular ray of volition fluttering overlapping flags wavering a spectrum of colors flowering a tribal activity. Emerging the clustered cloud, cognition riding a radiant exit pathway out linking across the countryside the next villages. Along the way caught by the eyes of a child with intrigue, and spilling the superfluous deja vu into the wayside décor.

A recollection from bushwhacked spoors, ensuing beaten tracks, to weather rutted trails, at liberating a cerebral activity. Given to focus upcoming novelties along chosen evolving scenic roads. Crossing the railway that channels afar memories. To continue through a strategic tenebrous network which closes in a materializing conscious taking. Understanding leaps through spectral vegetation, with an accelerating of headlights, peering in the night, cutting short bends, straightening stretches and speeding through shadowy forested paths. Increasing the lengths of “perception” fast advancing beyond the light beams. Construing in the aftermath faster expressway, gradually taking off and gliding, more enthusiastic sighs of hope, toward the eventual ballooning pyrotechnic thoughts.

Not that volition is losing grip, but its ecliptic casted lifeline, which at birth hangs that cerebral float in the generation millpond. Prolific, and fertilizing the submerged driving will. On the contrary, aged and depleted neurons, like a forest canopy in autumn scarce of leaves, for an organic intervention. Subjugated fewer in a neuronic hyperactive fever. The burnout facilitates to swamp the body in a dissonant choir. Collective the inadvertent neuronic porosity oozing the unconscious on the onslaught of the inherent spatial parabola, mirrors incognito simulated a singled out neuron – inconspicuous moon to enterprising smoky tentacles shadowing in and through the supportive spectral iron atom, mind crawling at leisure the universal pipe to a progressive emerging lattice.

Genie: From the Transcendent Source to Consciousness

2019-07-16T11:40:00.003+02:00

illustration:

featuring the genie and the lamp in the midst of the twilight zone to the extreme background darkness, shows the process of black-luminescent clouds, up to the brain in a sunlight activity -- representative of a dark force of volition arousing consciousness.

The paradox of consciousness sits at the source, the theory of transcendence which is minutely referred to in: The Code: Horizon of Infinity, which this article updates -- especially since scientists are still trying to figure out what consciousness is --.

I had a vision, which perception is best described by a hydrocarbon pool, by an infinite underworld blackness. the surface at first an oily slick smooth. but then the surface shadows movement. a tar blister arouse, swell to a bubble, which shaping the head with shoulder shaping suscitating a tar avatar. the ratchet tarry avatar surfaces gestures arms in an all out effort to crawl from the hydrocarbon quicksand, from the sticky tar back substance morphs into a zombie bust high sentient with sportive determination -- I sensed his force of an emerging volition, 'I’m coming out [of a pitch black hole in the universe,] nothing is going to stop me.' the phenomenon is engaging all my senses. my brain is like a stepping stone. But, I sense the zombie is after greater things. now as the zombie is morphing into yet another less density, he is devouring light, and doing so the zombie lightens up into the genie of consciousness, surpassing consciousness, the genie absorbing light, blends in, vanishing from sight into a transcendent subconscious light.

2017-11-02.Did life begin at one location on Earth and spread

2017-11-03T21:21:00.001+01:00

The history of earth shows me, a fireball at birth from mother sun, spinning into orbit, like a calf in the grazing field near its mother, everything has a source and like intuitive bristly sun rays play an important role maintaining the earth at a distance and wobbly in orbit. a black sun spot appears on the face of the earth, over the eons grew in size. From my emanating unconsciousness in that corner of the solar system, my conscious eye neared to notice a crust afloat on the smoldering ocean of lava, and such as hot crackling bread crust out of the oven, which flakes soldered again and raised smoking stack billowing black smoke. Seasonal films upon film lays layers across the expanding crust an enormous plateau afloat resistant to the wild tempestuous smoldering ocean on the face of the earth. Until, the seas rough up the thick crust like a raft and breaks up. The weather settles, the broken up crust lies like half sunken ship across the like a Pearl Harbor after the Japanese bombardment. During the subtle eons of to come, the shards of rolled over broken rocks to a rocky massif which molten valleys soldered and volcano spewed among plateaus. I watched the naked blue mountains exposed to the bristly sun rubbing away the rock surface. clearing on the rocks speckled quicksilver (spirit) and chemistry rock carbon growing molds, and feeding to domineer the lower regions of the hills. In the expanse emerged ahead of sprawling fungi, when the fungi domineered, in the heat of the still atmosphere, a grass blade sprung up. In the grass field, a few blades curled up, grow tighter together, and rolled up raised against gravity forming a plant. The leafs branch outward, hardened into twigs, the trunk harden to a dominant bush shading the grass. When the land is covered with bush, seeking sunlight a dominant bush metamorphoses into a tree, and I watched like time by the magical sweep of the hand over the hills, the hill cloak change in the weather from the moist blue rocky mountains, through the evolution of grass, and shrubs, onto a forest covering the hill.

For the evolution of plant life into a free roaming monster: elsewhere.

For the evolution of Man: elsewhere.

What is meant by black matter

2017-10-23T17:22:00.000+02:00

I refer to black/dark matter/energy as “Black-Luminescence” for the cause of a distillation luminescence, which is illustrated by the background image cloudy contours dominating area from a virgin universe, before the birth stars.

This illustration is a reproduction when my unconsciousness existence dawns in on a corner of the universe, giving me sight on and relative to the phenomenon moving pictures at the inception of evolution and traveling in time in the virgin milieu at a period of evolution in the universe. Noticing the distillation of luminescence out of the pitch black vacuum, wherefore "Black-Luminescence" stand for.

I observed the flaw (the ping of G-d's finger if you wish – G-d gives nature – Man a body – and through the mind takes all to Itself) or likewise a non intervention Aseity-Autodidactic motion of an awakening cardinal axes (illustrated dynamics by colors, and breaking the infinite [HorIzon of InfInIty] the very perfection of a fabric) to a finite drafting of an emerging blueprint, onto a chemistry of expanding axial pipes and the 9^th the middle sphere (counting backwards.)

in turn defined in the blueprint, are the auxiliary axes, these axes which are going to determine the sizes to which pipes and spheres will expand, at building a "Binary Sphere-Cube" module — (for more reading on this assembly line follow links from my Official Author Website and updates on the mechanics of the universe.

As the fabric of infinity is inexistent until the cardinal X-red axis is excited, planting a compass point, and drafting the correlation Y-Blue axis to a disk, and trailing the splitting with the Z-green axes a sphere into an expanding bubble, which is clearly demonstrated by blowing soap bubbles. (the latent in tandem like a pedal crank chainwheel a third synergize metamorphosing into energy.) These six pointed cardinal axes are a process of crystallization blowing up to a bubble and a Plasticine like ball, and source of the latent driving quantum dynamics to light and particles – (a driving intelligent cell.)

breaking at the crisscrossing center of the sphere, the cardinal axes are feeders expand to pipes with a drinking straw effect off the middle expanding the ball, and an alchemical distillation out of the vast pitch black vacuum of a plasmatic latex like film with photovoltaic properties, to which the magnetic axes are foreign, but not in their own properties drawing out of luminescence the modulating and colorless white auxiliary axes to expanding to pipe modules. In an ongoing process like invisible spiders weaves angel’s hair decoration, the web closes the sides boxing and structuring the chaotic ball in an armature.

By an evolutionary myriad of these binary sphere-cube modules pinpricks distant and gaining in numbers, cloud in the distance gaining luminescence, until the get so close to each other, forming a sliver mirror leaving behind the residue of black matter gaining its proper density – (this is the latest update: How the Universe Sculptured our Mind.)

The Big Bang is Wrong -- Here is an Explanation for the Origin of the Universe

2017-10-05T18:05:00.000+02:00

When I grew inquisitive how to trace my first memory as baby, I used the weather, that sweltering day, and the way mother held me feeding, to trace my emergent consciousness to the first few months after birth. Ever since, I have experience parapsychological and fascinating experiences, and classified my experiences under the title <How the universe sculptured our mind.> I can get people to understand my way of thinking, which is a little disappointing, to think one has to die, and wait a thousand year before something as marginal will be acceptable, which brings to mind the kabbalah.

Science is not keen on people who journeys beyond the stars, cost the NASA $5B for a telescope and they didn’t reach the edge and virgin universe, toward understanding its inception. I never came across a Big Bang, because the universe is hollowing out -- like a cave, maybe it gives the appearance of expanding. And I have travelled a many times as if destiny had selected me for the job, without pay — slave! No, I don’t feel like a slave, I’ve seen the wonders of our universe. to get one Idea across, from which scientifically everything can be proved without a doubt, matter to G-d is that first moment, a flaw in the perfection of infinity -- that slip, like slipping on a banana peel, and a whole world of hands are there to pick you up. The universe is autodidactic, without brain, without hands. Just a flaw launched evolution from a blueprint, drawing, and a module assembly at igniting and becoming an intelligent cell. OK, you’ll have to read 300 pages one paragraph at the time, each paragraph a book Official Author Website — but I’m still there to explain unresolved meanings till I die — don’t feel sorry, I know where I’m heading off for.

the birth of that one cell, in which we can notice human psychological behavior — to say, ‘nothing has changed,’ when from a universal blueprint six clone cells democratic selected a cell to be their master — the clan or its declinations. like a little village, out of the first circle of seven cells, how did a chief get selected, without G-d, he is the one coming out of the lot, known as intelligence, our mind, our spirit, it all trickles down, and this is mentioned in the kabbalah that the number 3 and seven is recurrent as magic. here is why.

the number three, is needed to bring synergy, and light feeders. light says energy, by the code 7. I think 1/3 of my book is spent on explaining such details and how I came about discovering them, to authenticate my work. I’ve work on this with burnout after burnout, my head telling me its too small for the job. well, this is the first neuron as we know it today. but scientist are still puzzled how it works, or rather the mind — that sums up the question doesn’t it, how it evolved is another Q!

the image is that first cell — which stem up with quantum mechanics, the dice is the system of exploitation of intelligence, and the slave, well they do all the work but don’t get any credit, until they themselves become a driving master cell.

Ideas Mushrooms From The Brain – Hard Determinism – Not Ethically Accountable Of Our Acts

2017-08-21T07:54:00.000+02:00

The philosophy of the universe, which has a plan, from the blueprint emerging from an excited dormant texture. The stimulus of a point engendering an autodidactic laborious manufacturing of a photovoltaic cell, the driving motor of intelligence as we know today biotic functions. An exterior factor of us that exist transcendent long before we are born — each individual supernatural volition proper to us with a perception, find a body, and by the gift of a body, transcendent-volition by the force an evolutionary maturation stays behind at puppeteering each of our thoughts backstage of our spirit impregnated in our body. (when our body becomes too porous to contain the spirit, or by a premature death, in continuation the spirit carries the luggage of life, our intellectual properties, like a white dove taking flight from the temple of the head, and in the air loses feathers, spread down, to vanish like powder thrown in the wind the key unlocking in the supraliminal that acquired knowledge. The key freely available to the hypersensitive person (animal,) able to direct his mind, (like out at sea on a ship pirating another person’s brain,) fetching the intellectual property from that knowledge bank.

As we think, every idea that emanates from one's brain, behaves by a nucleus explosion (candle light)) that mushrooms the idea, which stems from the brain to the cranial exterior. (one can imagine blowing on a soap solution film and blowing bubbles,) each of these mushrooming thoughts get sealed in a bubble, and like a Chinese sky lantern, one after the other, in number afloat and carrying out thoughts into a corner of the supraluminal.

Before birth, the intellectual-spirit is maturity to the point that transcendent-volition in watching from a corner of the cosmos (The Zodiac,) and selective toward the parents, for relationship targeting the fetus, by certain proper criteria in view of the path of destiny.

At birth transcendent-volition impregnates that body (hardware,) with the installation of the ([OS] Operating system.) intuitively (the software) to make the system function in getting savoir-vivre knowledge.

Slowly as the mind develops with the newborn, the body needs to be fed, grows visibly for little girls a need to procreate, so we are given a “Beacon of light-and cochlea,” (induce electric power – or, the third eye,) which starts collecting cosmic energies at the month of the funnel, where the visionary mind sources parapsychology. the beacon of sight and cochlea [siphon] through the mind and is the middle force of concentration of the mind, at brain level with sufficient energy as to decide for itself (will power,) in the abstract the [siphon drain,] at such an acute concentration, onward such high concentration from the fore lobe of the brain, at emitting (laser like beams) the imperceptible “Parsec-Ray” of sight, that leads the beam of sight onto objects.

G-d gives nature – Man a body – and through the mind takes all to Itself

2017-08-16T15:32:00.000+02:00

'It's' given to nature a biotic paradise among all G-d's gifts to Man a body, which G-d takes all for Itself. Man is the only creature to abuses of his body, Man is the only creature who abuses the field that grow his food, and the water at which he drinks, and pesters the animal Man has nothing to do with, as if he jealously senses that G-d is puppeteering with Man's mind, aware his liberty is taken as a mere illusion, for Man is puppet of to pursued a predestined path.

A few weeks ago, I was having a nap, which means I'm letting my mind travel in those enlightening extraterrestrial regions of the supernatural. On such occasions I traveled beyond the stars, into the nursery of intelligence. On such odyssey to the edge into a virgin universe, I watched the hand of workmen at work, only there were no man, it all just happened without men, without factory, in an autodidactic assembly plant, one can imagine car roll out. only that the motorization where intelligent cell set into motion by mere codes and these clones in an extensive fabric through the void of the universal fabric were sitting there dormant. If you where in my place, you would also see there is no G-d but intelligence, therefor a universal blueprint, and mechanics which starts Man off in life as atheist.

the other day, and I'm reiterating that nap, and the amazing revelation, which like one's love cuddling up to me, a mere bear big, out of the air in the room, and atmospheric come spiritual warmth, without genre, without body, without shape other than fleecy creeping up laying up the crotch of my arm, and covering gentle my left thorax and the full flank length from head to toe like one's love dozing off. intuitive to the sound of It's thought, in an ephemeral moment G-d says, "Do believe now – I'm G-d!" and dissipates in the atmosphere – Here I can believe G-d presented Itself to me, but he has a purpose in me, though I remain skeptic divulging Its identity, for Man has abused Its name, fabricated the first pyramidal multinational by the power of religion, in stealth I live these unbelievable moments so pure one doesn't want to see the mysteries becoming soiled.

Apart my testing the supernatural phenomena that are presented themselves to me, my inquisitive mind in the puzzle ramifying the pieces over a lifetime, the bulk resolved, at understanding, while I have led a life keeping my distances from G-d. I can no longer keep quiet as Its name is being smudge amidst the horror of Man.

Were I to live a sincere existence in G-d-intelligent paradise on earth, picking up my laptop, with a satellite connection. heading off where Man doesn’t punish G-d, through the rainforest undergrowth in the depth of the jungle. There, G-d-intelligence manifest Itself by all Its might. I too fail to leave my Manly comfort, though I hang onto my childhood reminiscing over school vacations, after the brief G-d revelation, though living in the best of two worlds, I am sentient and perceive G-d-intelligence prowl – as a spirit of every organ of the flora and fauna, in Its milieu.

The Mind Expresses Itself By Nucleus Brain Explosion – For The Good Or Bad Enlightenment

2017-08-15T12:00:00.000+02:00

The atheist thinks – the theist prays – means to show reflection as an expression of the mind, which function a nucleus of the brain, an energy as though a virtual atomic mushroom. The hypersensitive creatures, feel the enlightenment or the spell of a curse, for the good or bad, when another person drive such a thought. The residues of such an atomic mushroom gets in the air, we breathe intelligence, the spirit of knowledge, G-d living amongst its creatures.

Where, are my thoughts, where are my Payers gone – meditation?

I heard this sound track in my mind reading your question… the question is why is this relative?

I talk to the trees
But they don't listen to me
I talk to the stars
But they never hear me

The breeze hasn't time
To stop and hear what I say
I talk to them all in vain

But suddenly my words
Reach someone else's ear
At someone else's heart strings too

I tell you my dreams
And while you're listening to me
I suddenly see them come true

I can see us some April night
Looking out across a rollin' farm
Having supper in the candlelight
Walking later, arm in arm

Then I'll tell you how I pass the day
Thinking mainly how the night would be
Then I'll try to find the words to say
All the things you mean to me

I tell you my dreams
And while you're listening to me
I suddenly see them come true

I hear the trees talk, I feel their spirit, and I feel the battlefield slaughter after the lumberjack with their machines have chopped the trees down and left the branches on the ground by the roots. Does this sound far fetched, I'm not going to elaborate further having made my point, how hypertensive I am to nature. That is the third eye at work, and when one is in touch with nature at that point, one is in meditation. What I can reveal is how technically it works. Since childhood, instead of concentration, I developed my sense of perception. And then in later life, I have been able to put words to these abstract phenomena. In other words, I'm not telling you to concentrate at getting to a higher level of mind over matter, rather infiltrate matter with your mind. Because it doesn't matter whether you are a believer or not, an atheist or a theist. I for one am a combination of the two, I don't get influenced by either, but I'm attentive to curses, and I do have my comic umbrella just in case I miss a spell thrown at me. I follow closely all these parapsychological effects, how a thought, or a prayer for the believer, has an effective virtual atomic explosive force from the middle of the head, which mushrooms just like an nuclear explosion – and telepathic – and spreads residues as if every little word turn out to be a bee. Coming face to face with one person, that a simple situation at reading the other person's mind, whereas in a crowd, each of those exchange of thoughts sound more like a beehive, depending on the crowd size in the hall.

Now let's bring G-d into the equation, and every form of life is spiritual, that is why I respect even an ant's life, for that little creature doesn't posses the same force or spread of thought than we humans do, nevertheless it is godly. That spiritual energy called intelligence is in the air amongst us, and another reason why each of us creature we feel godly with our acquired knowledge. The best living example is Mohamed the gift of his prophesy, he went a step further than the Jewish theism, he went a step further that xtians conjugating in a man a god, in his image he brought into being from nothingness, without name or being, a name god featuring himself.

In other words, nature is intelligent, where G-d resides – the spirit of nature, without gender, color, or race, G-d, It made sure we all have a different fingerprint. if one needs to think on how to meditate, or how to find one's Third Eye, the phenomenon is active backstage, doesn't mean one is worst off, it just means one has to trust in one's mind (Brain) and if one is dreaming, or ear voices, one is meditating via one's 'Beacon of Sight-and-Cochlea.

The Third Eye – The Tool At Reaching Out To G-D

2017-08-04T19:38:00.001+02:00

I only heard of the Third Eye of recent, but I referenced the mystical, esoteric 'eye and ear' which provides perception similarly to obstacle avoidance bat's cry. Only that the beacon in the depth of my brain, is like on emergency vehicles flashes a cycloramic evanescent light into the night, and like dropping a stone in a water well hitting the water given that extra radar dimension.

the virtual beacon of sight-and-cochlea – the sending light pelting in rotation and hit the photovoltaic nerve of another virtual beacon create a buffer zone and channel the communication of the cochlea part of the receptive brain's beacon.

during a three-month stay with an Hindu practicing woman, very religious, she though, having religion to teach me. as we chatted, I deduced from her dogmatic perception of the Hindu gods, I think through my paranormal experiences and wedging in a no god angle. We didn’t meet that often, though taking to the Hindu woman, she grew attentive, and mentioned that I live out my “Third Eye,” which wasn’t in my vocabulary. Did my research in the aftermath, to find a similitude with what I have been experiencing and mentioning in my work, as the 'beacon of light (to swap for cochlea) and sight.'

feeling the Third Eye, has come to me in many forms, which is pretty mechanical, the brain funnels cosmic energy into the brain, gathering concentration to the functioning of the beacon of sight-and-cochlea. though the brain has another function of acute concentration to the front lob of the brain, behind the eyes, which eyeballs concentrate and emit from the eyes invisible but all the same an invisible parsec-ray driving like a laser beam, the beam of sight, which pelts the objects at a greater speed than light, and punches our vision through space. I keep focused on a person 70 yards away in the neck. betting with myself, and awaking that woman yoga guru in front of a dancing group. I don't think I cheated selecting such a person, but this woman was far, than otherwise the person is a few stride upfront to fuse at the top of the neck, and won my bet when a moment later she turn around and looks me straight in the eyes.

Such as on the top of a emergency vehicle flashing in the night in a cycloramic rotation, the beacon of sight-and-cochlea in the head functions in about the same fashion – I am behind my laptop and connected to the Internet – we are in the late 97's, the technological debit of the modem then, is at a speed of 13.6 Kbits/s and screeching when activated. Which Instant Messages in its innovation is just sufficient for texting, no images, no icons! At the time, it resembles much the Quora setup of Questions and Answers. In order to study telepathy (godly reaching out intelligent tentacles amidst connected people,) I had my profile set up promising the caller wherever in the world that within 15 minutes I'll sketch a portrait. This is after I realized after a few months, chatting over the Internet, dawned in my head a few moments earlier that caller before the little texting window flashed the contacts on screen, with a subtle white cloud filling my cranium space. Which, was brought to my notice at first, at the end of communicating, the abrupt contact break, like a sudden dark cloud shadows the silver lining at feeling the temperature fall to a chill, all in my head. From sitting at a bar around the corner, for an evening glass of wine in the University Village, I thought reading minds, and telepathy was generated by proximity, and getting to be known over a few years and knowing and friending regular customers. There, I learned over the years that if the person come to me, they are read at heart and in mind. So, Mentalistic, I was ready to confront the hearth of callers. trials done in all discretion before committing myself openly to the Internet, there was on condition, the callers were to give me their birth date. And like hitting two objectives with one stone, indulging callers with their zodiacal characteristics, exclusive the caller's personality traits, as this is the fasted therapy to relax a person's mental block. Callers cut me off annihilating what they discovered about themselves. returning the next day or within a week, I knew by then the fingerprints stoking at hearth their energy. The caller's mind clearing the way to their soul, accelerated dawning the fleecy cloud sculpturing the caller's face all the clearer.

I lived in Lille, France at the time, and stopped my experiments when across the Atlantic, I described a student from the University of Plymouth, (the name features in my work,) My mind zoomed out of the white clouds, to featured in pastel color as a receptionist (student) job. Retrieved further than anticipated, entering in Connecticut her parents at the stoop watching over the twelve year old little girl running toward the bottom of the yard.

What I wanted, out of my experiment, were scientific records, dates and times and what we chatted about, to unveil these people, whereas, she sent me pictures in confirmation.

Vision is a passenger-scientific tool of the mind, which has kept me intrigued since infancy, over half a century in due course, with date stamps and records, compelled by psychoanalytic odysseys reserved for exploration by the deepest halls of my mind.

Here are some links for further in-depth reading, the core of a detailed work: “The Code: Horizon Of Infinity”

Video in conjunction with my work: YouTube 2:2 Video The Code: Horizon of Infinity

Books available from the publisher: http://sbprabooks.com/ivanbroes/

Book available at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Code-Infinity-Ivan-Broes/dp/1628574666

The Prophesy Of Enlightenment – Interface The Brain And The Cosmos

2017-07-30T13:12:00.001+02:00

In the nearby Jubilee Park, I cross a group of people dance under the massive trees to the sound of meditative music, in all appearance at finding spirituality, which I can't claim appeals to me. though I have been a dynamic dancer entertaining my body through phases of trance. Therefor, I can only imagine people's confusion at a take of 'control' of mind over matter of a relaxation process at reaching higher level of spirituality.

When enlightened, inspired, being among, living as a part, moving through the milieu and one's thoughts [prayer] are answered, with such prophetic dreams, or symbols that infer moral incident, visions showing the virtual reality. I set off hunting these parapsychological manifestations, which forecast an event proper to oneself. Enlightenment dawns the vacuum levitation, sentient of walking on a cushion of air, when I feel my mind free and higher level, spatial. enlightenment is being transcendent – few weeks ago, I lay stretched out on top of the duvet on my bed having an afternoon nap. in an hypnagogic state when my mind lends itself to journey afield. In the wake of sleep, when I'm receptive to free mental activities, free of a conscious interference. I've been revealed, big as a bear, without genre, without body, atmospheric ethereal and soft and teddy bear warm, the anamorphic body, arms and leg cuddling up my left and lie next to me. In an ephemeral trend of thought, expresses, 'Don't worry – I'm there.' a latent mother would say soothing an anxious child, revealing herself – the phenomenon of a notion expresses itself, "Do you believe me – I'm G-d," and no sooner dissipates.

The Philosophy Of Parapsychology – Mechanics Of A Conducive Prophecy

2017-05-20T13:15:00.000+02:00

existing in a material world which arouses impulsive expectations, at the level to expect 'what we see' of our world being 'normal,' but – we are the creatures of our forgotten scent. the perfume of our proper existence in the showcase of a virtual crystal palace, wafts our lair, walks us in all apparency through the atmosphere one's passage from one place to another. We learned to ignore the animal in us, the thresholds without hard and fast rules, all be apparent to rely on, and yet life is the product of such invisible source. I delve, by the free run of the mind and outer-body experience, into the realm of clairvoyance. The feedback to the senses, as simple or complex than the buildup of a thunderstorm, the invisible convoluted complexity by comparison to leading an everyday material existence, which shies scientist at understanding the conducive mechanism of our invisible life.

Martine evoked Hilda, having met the woman in the course of the day, saying, "She's always been like a sister to me." Understanding a relationship with her brother Paul, fifteen years her senior and youngest of the 'Van Der Hoeven' clan of three. We chatted across a glass of wine on a terrace table and suscitated me to soar with a bird's-eye view, to an impelling countryside blind bend in the road. When the swell summer thicket green foliage, flash a red and gleaming a metallic squared out fenders shaped in the midst of the bubbly windows. Martine continued chatting, though she elicits the late sixties, through the model of car crossing my vision. Unconsciously, she piped me into an era to which she was witness, while in the present she impaired, saying curt and flat out indifference, "His girlfriend died!"
Martine evoked Hilda over the past week, leading me to drive the Audi outbound in pursuit of road pointers, on our way meeting her habitual fortune teller. We ahead a way out the residential arena, and through the industrial zone marked by the Volkswagen factory in Forest. Breaking through the cast shade of the southern underpass to the highway. in the ensuing bright midmorning sunlight, in a brief stretch of road curving off right toward the on-ramp, appears in a virtual glaze bubble, the motion pictures and recurrent red car, which emerges from the blind bend. The red flash across my way plowing straight through a farmer's yard to ram the left corner of the house and ceased a course underneath a large window.
The emergent holographic motion at the call of Hilda in a colloquial circle, bringing me every so often in tracking Martine's brother at the steering wheel in a face-to-face with his girlfriend. Judging from Paul's expression, with a reflective comportment of the woman sitting in an upright twist of the figure in the passenger seat. They both trailed an unaccomplished dispute stoke the hearth of fatality. Her surviving transient genie, evanescent as a demister, the scene a tale in wrath. Hilda seems to challenge the abstract psychiatric treatment, while Martine's brother carries the heavy burden on his bend shoulders. His baby sister left in all ignorance, with the living friendly talk, at recommending in exchange her regular session with the fortune teller.
driving along the city inner peripheral highway, in a daylight that set the mood of the moment, when hurtful to sight, a triplet of a cast concrete footed flocculent greenery of staggering apartments at scraping the sky. static as landmarks ought to be, through the chaos of a destined life.
Unimaginable, though upcoming through a few decades, such as an invasive flocculent green canopy, swallowing the conglomerate thinning toward the distant naked downtown. On my initiation, I headed through the western outskirts of Brussels, in a trickling traffic. In a rising anxiety over missing in an affluence of road sings the exit, potentially placing my Audi in the wake of a white Peugeot. adapting to a free driving mode, reading the driver's intent, shunting the white stippled lines underneath the hood. In a mode of contact surveying destiny, I locked in support a further car length up front, to the guiding red Citroën easing by the spiting concrete curb. in trio riding down by the vertical rising concrete off-ramp wall. slowing down in the bright afternoon dark casted shade toward distant standing vehicles.
Confident, I liaise passing the prolonging face of the upfront apartment tower my exit course by the right of a converging one way street, crawled on butting my way up to the emergent box road beneath the bridge. At the instant of halting for traffic at the red glow of traffic lights. I veered off in a suspect side road, teasing the policing red traffic lights to the thoroughfare, my way out. warping the curb. engaging the straight. borrowing a village era from the milkman and the coal merchant's horse drawn carts the narrow street.
From the point of a cuneiform wayside grass island, I ran sight up the historic cobblestone, smoothen over with asphalt, butting a tall brick gable end to the podunk row of townhouses. sweeping a peering eye across the way, by the tide of time, the terra cotta wall of townhouses, missing expropriated teeth, these interstices hence 'workers' houses, spreading the grass covered ground to the rear raised by an apparent concrete good at believing in a pedestal to the flanks of trio looming artifact.
Despite the occasional veil drop of a cast shade, reminiscent of that first passage to the end of the townhouses, clearing to a doubtful crawl, an apron confused from a doubling up width of the street. conjugating my entry to an emergent assuring driveway of a jaggedly coiling route to the carpeted lawns footing the towers.
Symbolic of a relationship in motion, the Audi sky-gray hood heads in view of a singled out squad. I placed my thumb through the steering wheel spoke, spinning my hand. Leaving the in-leaf row of cigar shaped poplar trees that marked a cul-de-sac, rotating the landscape over with the emergent moving traffic across the skyline, squaring up into the parking bay. pulling up with sight falling short on the concrete parapet wall, to a halt, with a lookout over the terra cotta row of rooftops, our course earlier through the rows of townhouse.
Martine, though skeptic at initiating into the abstract of life, she rose a head tall over the Audi rooftop onto facing the rear of the car. There, in unison we head across the driveway off side in the midst of the wide interstice, the far left tower at a stance stretching out a reflective facade. looming a sunlight medium of intrigue, to the disgraceful opposite facing tower, the rich oxygenated green bleeding lawns. breaking the bound over the juxtaposed horizon, at the expense of infinity, to fall into the mysterious depth of the azure sky.
Martine steps offside venturing for the light swallowing medium. a presage in the perspective of the grounded concrete stretch of the facade. from the girdled carpet of lawns, emersed in a moonlight the leading paving slabs, way toward a sentinel, which apparent trio of shrubs, punctually line up at the entrance.
through a glazed aluminum framed doorway, we entered the lobby, to the symbiotic spirit of the Tiger in Martine. in a few bounds, she faced up to a large grid of a labeled wall directory, pounced ostensible and random pressing a calling button. excited by a mere pause, at the crackle of a voice, she briefly announces, "Martine!" sprightly she heads off toward the reflective daylight. by magic, she meets up to the buzzing latch. At a length behind her, to the swing of the glazed door, clearing the interior further. She vanishes at the speed of a shadow around the blind corner. Catching up with her, at the instant of her retrieving finger to the glow of the calling knob, simultaneously pulling the elevator door, she seemed to move through the wall, where I followed her natural gait, a step into the cabin.
The door shut us in, sparing a brief thoughtful moment at a soft whining trawl into distant heights, to a stop. Martine pushes her way out, and sentient of the claustrophobic heavenly rattrap, in a pursuit tracking back three floors higher, through a whithered white corridor, a way out one section, ensuing an approach to a distant door light.
Rose Delbruyere's mother stood ready to welcome us, on that particular Saturday. She waves us through the hallway, onto a doorway into a transient personal lounge. well padded and bright colored florals against the white walls, for a moment blind of the black printed fabric backgrounds that emerges along the leader of a wood duco display cabinet.
When Rose Delbruyere emerged with the swing of a flash panel white door, partially obliterating the ghosts of passages to a singled out lounge chair. with a view across the window light initiating a intriguing lavish kitschy décor. sparse portraits from the cabinet onto the walls pictures family orientated. without a spare space, in the midst of fundamental Judaic relics, delicately confused in a Gypsy style.
By a visible eye exchange, Rose Delbruyere relieved her mother from duty. with a slight reverence hanging on the door grip, she pulls the door to a close, as Martine questions the daughter, "May he come in with me?"
"Sure," Rose Delbruyere answers, in an insinuative tone that says, '[there is nothing secretive in my prognostics – if you're OK with what the cards reveal.]'
Hiding behind her attained integrity, Martine by a sudden step heads by Rose Delbruyere and through the doorway. On her heels, I were to enter the estranged, austere and clinical white little room. A worktop stretching into the light of the window, free of kitchen utensil. I turned away after Martine, no where to lay sight and catch a curiosity, than the opposite wall, jealously sticking to a brown mahogany square little tabletop, embraced by a set of three wooden chair backrests.
Rose Delbruyere break the chill, saying, "Take a chair!" which left us with a choice, while she maintained the stoic stance of a reservation one and united with the chair in the light of the exit door. Martine hesitant over the choice. the time Rose Delbruyere grasps to glance across the cause of what occurs at the table, pointing eyes in a glowing daylight, saying with an ironic smile, "I leave the sash open to let the [bad] spirits out."
in the clairvoyant's retrieving regard, the beacon of sight and light (third eye) returned from reckoning with the Audi below the balcony, to an expiring patience. I moved on by Martine' shoulder. destined to elicit a spiraling finality sitting down in the coordinates of my spline, the back of my head toward daylight, which arouses Martine onto sitting. Rose Delbruyere following suite, releasing her clinch on the door lever. Gathered around a little table, the gleam of a shy blue wall of ceramic tiles, distinctive overseeing Rose Delbruyere brings her hand around the rear of a triple deck of tarot cards. From the genie of the blue gleam, appears to sight writing matter, I asked for a brief moment before. Topped with a ball point pen, while Martine at the point of an excuse while chatty breaking the chill, saying, "Hilda – my 'step-sister' – she recommended I come and see you!"
Martine's fluttering words, attained Rose Delbruyere, whose hand slips, dissimulating emotions, over the tabletop. Her hand brings the first deck of cards over. Centering, to meet a croupier other set of nimble fingers. raising the deck from a potential collusion with the wood grain. After shuffling the cards a few times, Her hand moves afar the table and pulls a straight streak of cards in front of Martine, saying, "pick twenty-one – with your left hand!"
Martine, straight as a corkscrew in the coordination of the present, picks at random the cards into a scenario of her existence. When Rose Delbruyere takes over the rite, in an apparent semitrance flips over the first card from the pile. pretty fast she briefs Martine, bringing by the next few cards her marital status to the resonance, to reason, speaking of "Children [my boys,]" into the equation. representative by the interaction crisscrossing our relationship, not to question Rose Delbruyere deeper. She gazes into the court in a three card spread, and brings up, "A married woman," and thoughtful, "Do you know a Libra woman?" she says. She frowns, the shadow in the darkness off a virtual bonfire light which Martine exercises in my life. Rose Delbruyere fingers curl up, one, and more, and in a circle unearth the sense of the top cards of a nine card layer. Frowning, at the similarity that holds with both of us, from which emerges clear and definite, "You're going to make a journey to that [my marriage] effect."
in the aftermath of note taking, questions, which answers Rose Delbruyere orientates outside the course of her reading off tarot cards. Coming down to a preludious conversation into the official 'marriage' over the spiritual wedding appropriated at the procreation of life. I track a way out these sessions, in supposition of holding my existence's destined course. no sooner out in the open air, such as the memory ramification in passage at autumn, the leaves wither and fall to the ground in oblivion.
From the grounded radicals, the recollection, such as a capillary effect that breaks in winter sap moving through the brushwood reaching the twigs. Rose Delbruyere weighs in the ghostly leave breathing the air of transcendency.
the trunk in the perspective of a country of origin pertaining the issued Final Order of Divorce. Rose Delbruyere spider crawled the court of tarot card, reading pyramidal a course of life, with branches bend across the seas.
over the hearth of home on another continent, to a sapling budding a spring season of experiences. She has vision of a growth and futuristic intermingling branches, though she lacks sight of the official refuted document by the local administration, that shadows a veil of doubt, for Martine brings up an indiscreet question, to spur on a journey and see for herself, asking me, "Aren't you still married?"
since I live abroad, lurks thin as air my annual intercontinental flight, leaving giant stepping stone treads of shy stopovers between continents. Pilfered from such a stopover routines, preemptive shadows the soft at heart a return. I'm driving my Audi, the gycloramic windows open to the world – a few months after I consumed an airliner ticket home to the issued office – relative to the period, cosmic, a breath elating a virtual soap bubble, which envelop the coordinated of my present new lifestyle, at the instance of heading to the Brussels International Airport.
Martine and I, we checked in our luggage, and with time to spare, turned our back to the departure concourse. step a moment later with friends seeing us off, enter the self service to the panoramic restaurant. old and bald, Smeets like a mother rubs her infant to bring up a burp, brings to attention by a hand rub of his bloated belly. Leads us to the self serving counter. he orders mush potatoes and a steak. Onto following our little crowd past the teller, dip a hand in his back pocket onto paying, as we head in view of the airfield to rest drinks and food on a vacant table. Jean-Francois Smeets take the last chair to be seated with a glass of beer at the round table. The snacks cleared, he express the moment, "Allee gij," motivating Christiane on her thirty third birthday, raising his glass. Martine's friend, the women joint, raised a bowl of red Porto, to my red wine a tinkling of glasses, and bringing Christiane a toast.
cheering time caught up with our flight announcement over the loudspeakers. we stand up, leaving me disillusioned over a takeoff we had no control over, and dithery head back onto the departure concourse. I rushed a farewell, scattering us, to be off with Martine. We pass the passport control, follow lengthy corridors, and taking a breath boarding the aircraft.
The cabin light on, the passengers settled, in a ritual of services by stewards, the air hostesses in distant aisles, without a thought bearing toward Rose Delbruyere prophesied flight than years later, and only referring to the epic of a pregnancy. Flying in an nightmarish episode, when the lights go off. dozing off, timeless seated abreast Martine, raising calm and elating in the prospect of an interminable flight. Into the night, my head in the fog, surging an obsessive cadence to leap an outer aircraft flight ahead. my body stiffened in the sense of shaping muscles hard to the mold of the seat, bar my terminated limbs, my hands and feet.
restraint to the notches of a dial, upon ten exhausting hour to touchdown. in an apparent slow motion, I watch out the window the remaining upcoming taxiing lag of time. imagining stretching my legs, in the upcoming Jan Smuts International airport, I reasoned myself, into a judicious standing up, over and again, through the rotating the buildings, facing up to the mirror effect of the sky we left behind, and blindly pull up, onto walking for the exit.
In the stream of passengers, I welcomed the endless corridors, and emerge behind queues. Martine slips behind a "foreigners passport" banner, which lines I cheated, for the "residents." Showing my identity, I moved on behind the row of control booths. Together we moved on, fetching our luggage by the carousel. Before meeting the cul-de-sac, clearing a pair of wing doors, the custom officer's piercing eyes didn't fail to make me feel guilty without reason. Where we passed the virtual gateway, where at lose of sight people crowded at a guardrail. The instant to skim the deep crowd, I lay eyes on a free moving head, none other than the baby of the family. My brother Ivo moved offside down the extreme right, as we meet the encroaching crowds, in the clearance, his hands came leading. with a weightlifter agility, he fetches our bags, and greeting us, "Hi – How are you?" in a sweeping movement turns around, leading us on by sight.
We cleared the crowd, Ivo leading us on the penultimate day of February toward a distant and deep peering rising sunlight, off side silhouetting figures, to a shining concourse floor. approaching the slit across to the glazed front, out door to the underside of the overhead deck. without giving a thought to the eclipsed moon of a winked out constellation, in the wake of a bright sunlight. neither wonder over the eve of the tenth day, a sunset is to escorting us by leading driveway above through the virtual gateway out the country onto our scheduled flight.
Beyond the concrete design pillars, gleams breaking a parking lot over the car rooftops. We weaved by long shadows, in reverence at our feet, until Ivo stopped by the trunk of his Mercedes. He loaded our bags, when such as pets cowered in the depth of a kennel, a few cement bags meet the giant deflective sunlight. At my surprise, he'll say, "For traction!" I'll deduce, hence, the apprentice, becoming fully fledged mechanic, insinuating, 'Weighing down the rear suspension!' timid, laughing at himself, he pulls down the trunk lid, onto moving on rounding both car fenders, to an hesitant door pause, at a lagging pneumatic unlocking suction, we progressed inside taking our seats.

Rose and the gypsy

Ivo reversed out the parking bay, to rotates a view of the parking lot, into the straight of the lane to a brief pause at changing in forward gear. heading off, we weaved a way from the vicinity of the terminal building toward a changing sky waning the fringing gray veil of a night. By intricate ways, in the gap to the distant cargo warehouses, wayside raised from the blurry ground fencing, radiant against an azure sky pretentious iconic bright colored fins.
Ivo veered at successive slip lanes, breaking through the shadow, entering the underpass, a transient passage to an emblematic axis, failing to break highway traffic, across to the town fringes of Kempton Park.
At the coordinates, like crosshairs on a spectrum of changing colors that spiral like a staircase around the sun. 'tween decks of the Chinese calendar starting off the year of the Monkey. In a renewing cycle points a dozen years earlier, in the vicinity of converging highways. A vehicular period attributed to my bright orange Mercedes, and driving in an outbound direction from Johannesburg toward East Rand. on my way breaking the boxed shade beneath the flyover. the shine of a reflective scorching summer light, spurred to mind, 'Stop!' I slammed breaks. improvised pulling over in the rough grass shoulder. At halt by the open door of the caravan. Skeptic, and lacking courage under the calling eyes of the gypsy guy. In the momentum, I entered, pinned down to a session, piping the coordinates of a transcendent daughter, into a lapse of time building up a force of volition at channeling toward birth.

Ivo and Caroline

from the main street entering downtown Kempton Park, Ivo veered us by a horseshoe ride, the leg that weaves a way by Rhodesfield suburban villas. At an upcoming intersection, to an open field off the right, to a local store and near a school. on the opposite corner, we crawled by the front yard grass to a church building. short of ending a spiral course, to a coincidental curiosity down the straight. Our stricken regard, bar Ivo across the hazy highway fencing, to the few lurking bright iconic colored aircraft fins.
We puled up the driveway through the front yard to a halt short of the garage door, focused by the series of large windows. the maid draws back the curtains to a boy looking out. the next window little daughters turned away their preying eyes, asking to themselves, 'Daddy – what have you been up to?' we stepped out the car, spare a brief moment at the trunk, to head for the footpath. the windows cleared, and at the kink, the children clasp their mother's skirt, who is standing by the open entrance door to the dark interior.
Ivo heads past the gathered little crowd, while in a brief exchange of greetings, to Caroline whisking off in and after indoor. In the classic furnished living room, Caroline heads off by an hesitant husband, into the leading corridor. Offside she enters, to take a stance showing us the girls' room. Ivo trailed behind, comes around the chattering women and watching girls, with their elder brother. As my brother poses the bags, indicating nearby the place on the floor for mine. without apparent rush, In his retrieving movement, Martine, and I, we'll meet the children in a game around the kitchen table fetch the Alsatian, and locking the guardian in the sleeping quarters, in a flash Ivo heads off, followed by the children dressed in their school uniform.
Caroline lingering in the house, while my mind urged me onto Peter Few. In view of negotiating with Jean while in 'town' a visit. mediator in a year long ongoing negotiation, in sight of the forthcoming school vacation, at giving our teenager boys the opportunity to visit their father overseas.
Caroline, leads me to a phone cradle, in a corner on a dresser between the formal and casual lounges. I dialed Perter Few's land line number. such as an extension of a correspondence over the past year, to the paradox of teenager boys asserting themselves from the iron clutches of their mother – the thriving curse, making my entry into the South African airspace, break through the spell, to win a brief moment with my boys.

Saturday 1 March 1992

I hung up the handset, to the kitchen window offered a back yard view to be taken advantage of, to Martin's symbiotic lone Tiger. soon after breakfast, outside the back door, she crosses the grass. She steps down the pellucid sky blue pool. proclaims her first dip, which twenty five degree Celsius cold water, for native South Africans, is a risky adventure. I stand by Martine's kinky moments, till she steps out, and heads inside the house. getting dresses, while the black maid sweeps the house.
Caroline ready to shuttle off to work heads off outdoor. Imposing, the Mercedes, which eclipsed the midget blue Nissan 1200 pickup, now a vacant spot as we backed out the driveway, leaving me thoughtful, 'Each [personality] their means!' Martine and I, afforded in a bright sunlight ride downtown into the trickle of traffic. On the brink of Kempton Park, in view of the railway station, we swerve off by a slip way left and duck a passage in the shadow of the railway line. Emerging in the industrial zone, collimating the Spartan thoroughfare, we zigzag a way that brings us to a series of offices windows, at pulling up to a low forefront building barring in depth the industrial shed.
Caroline steps out the car, leads the way through the entrance of their Engineering Bom-Mach label. in the lobby catching up Caroline in the blind corner behind the open door. She entertains a troubled eyed young Indian, ghosting in the chair he left bend over accounting books. raised in the light of the large window to view the massive workshop shed. She thanks him, and heads off in the stretch of a corridor. By the open door, and again, she introduces the family relationship to a young woman standing bend over a desk, and shadows a groping woman seated across. Martine and I, moved on her heels to a door before the corridor kinks off to the rear, and introduces us to her sister.
Caroline through the flow of movements waves us in diagonal across the corridor, lagging behind to the clearing large office. a pool of daylight highlights by the large window picturing the street of our earlier arrival, to encounter a glowing desktop, which Caroline contours. Agitated in her shadow, the woman in a reprimanding posture, earlier across the corridor. She pressed her way speaking, the words that raised Caroline to dithering. the woman preemptive split a desk contour. insistent bending over the large desk, at the moment Caroline is writing off the pressure, and among the women arouse a part of my past. the desktop designed for the spread of construction plans. Martine and I moved away from the pair of visitors' high backrest chairs, hence I watched visitors sitting low across the wide desk, raising the sense of being undesired. We zigzagged our way through the staff kitchen from the administrative block out to a narrow alleyway.
across the threshold, I was bound to finding the foothold of another personality, in the world of mechanics. the light of an industrial gate, waxing the sleek effect of pressed metal plates, to the point of the matte gray sprayed undercoat paint. hence, a brother's dream, postponed, accruing films of dust. In the depth, of the naive stanced Volkswagen double cab pickup, awaiting to load a crate engine to embed in the platform. shines impressive like a ravaged black antiquity site, an amalgam of dismembered massive earth plant. from the bulk heavy broken bright painted carcases, the larger pieces staggering down, scattered afield to a rubble spread of the smaller greasy and oily shine of spare part. Divided by a surgical alleyway meeting the light in the rear of the shed at the industrial gate into the yard.
Proceeding by sight in the peaceful entourage, far from stoking morales, the alleyway through virtual ruins. The in-and-out production line floor, suscitates a silhouette between gateways. the white eyeballed black mechanic, points us offside. from a glimpse questioning the [little jewel of a brother's manufactured] compactor. Martine and I, head off, without giving the machine another thought, for the immediate call of the shine of a doorway underneath a thorny bush of shelved parts gathering dust in the corner. Approaching the light of the doorway, Ivo figured giant in his blues. From behind a little wooden desk, with a broad smile, he invited us in. filling the little cubic office, with a handset wedged by his left shoulder, the spiral cord trailing to the cradle across right, he takes notes. In the waiting with a panoramic view of the floor, I went on sitting down, and drowned in his extended call, placing a purchase order.
Ivo leads the way out his workshop, up the factory driveway toward the street. at the Volkswagen minibus, he hands me over the keys, as a token, 'Have a good trip.' He stands by, while I adapt the strange seated upright position over the concrete driveway surface. We pulled off with a hand wave, onto a while later, driving a way out the industrial zone for the circling suburbs. Questioning the absurd notion, of our brother Igor, naughty, uncured naive cowering that exempt him in childhood from blame. The transaction with Ivo acquiring the vehicle leaves much to doubt – the instant prevailed in the aftermath, haunting me, to questioning, 'Was I too preoccupied to perceive the signs, or destined flaw of [morality] wiping off the slate clean over an upcoming fatality, so that Rose Delbruyere omitted to notice the circumstance?'

Sandton city

from the East Rand, I drove in the axis, a tortuous way westward, through scattered bush that shadowed the wild spirit of the golden savanna. amidst two wrangling cities, jealously watching sprout from the veld the unimaginable ongoing progressive lifestyle that growing up implicated. A metamorphic tale of adolescent brothers and sisters, fading to extinction a past. find my way targeting on the horizon the rising lonesome tower. Hence, awaking our entry in a conglomeration, arousing a complex reference point learning over again.
Such as a coincidental return, in a swamp of buildings Sandton City in bright sunlight brought to discover the shadowed entry and drove through the undercover parking, as though, I never left the area. we pulled up in the midst of cars, step out, invited by the glaze to a bright tunneling glitter. Martine's eyes walk displays windows the mall through. She stops by the railing to watch the impressive atrium void. couldn't start imagining a comparative lifestyle. She notes, 'More posh than back home the deficient goal-orientation of the Golden Fleece Hotel!' as the glittery walls glides with a few cabins that serve hotel rooms.

Igor and Robyn

Martine and I, we returned in the spell of the exposed concrete, and drove off, at emerging from the cool medium of parkings to an energetic sunlight. veering off left into the street to zig-zag a grid outbound and westward into the suburbs. Closing in on the fringes of Johannesburg, like a mindset of settlers. hence, a sprightly development of reflective home, where people hoed yards and planted greenery. The green bloom and swamped habitations, frayed and shied away the white walls and blended into a predominant Afrikaner town. We weaved a way into these Randburg streets. Hence, fields of virgin bushland, Igor and I, in our adolescence, were riding up in our club jersey on Sundays to the start line of road races. By the tide of change, we borrowed the farm panel van. girls appeared sporadic, and accompanied road bikes and riding mates, and grew to crowd by the finishing line. A magnetic conservatism sets in, Igor marrying in the town of his English in-laws. He moved 'third time' lucky to the house with a white security wall.
Martine and I, we pulled up, stepped out the minibus, and rang the bell to the seclusion. Sasja, followed by Liska's curiosity cleared an invitation into the light of the opening door. Making our entry into my brother's home. By evening in the coordinated axes of a journey, over a glass tabletop that bears no reflection to our summer wear. Prolonging the day into the evening chatting on the terrace, over a glass of wine, a parapsychological invitation to us, lodgers.
To Martine' free spirit the bushes in the yard flowered, and the flowers amorously inspired, brightened by her touches. Far form a preoccupation outside family circles, the enclosure to everyday life, wasn't fluid, and warrant the strength of a system shock, at suscitating the thirteenth trump of divination, during a session with Rose Delbruyere. The fire in the Leo, which emblematic lackadaisical lion in the shade under a bush, Igor, bears in symbiosis the ambitious Rat. And, behind his studious regard – lurks one's profound characteristics – the predominant elements – his prevails, innocence, comfortably surrounded by his pack of females.
One is bound to see the transcendent proximity of false twins, offset by wed, though his wife Robyn host our visit, her mythical Dragon, saying, 'I rule and I'm invincible.' In brotherhood in symbiosis with wifes the moon in the Libra, weighs off a pair of boys against girls. Sasja preceded Lionel by a year, while taking distance, to Gavin two years to his youngest daughter Liska.

Destiny lies in ruins

emergent and free, the soul of mine wondered off, and as ghostly I treaded down a heap of rubble, measuring by the size of the surrounding raw sandy deep colored rocks of a peripheral wall, I related my place in a sinkhole.
A tricky way down on an antiquity collapse to a pile of rubble. the gravel of which accumulated finer at the bottom. when I deemed safe to tread, I lift my eyes. laying sight in the mysterious tapering down of the earth's crust to ruins. agape, the lips of antiquity, sporadic and scathed smooth the rough rocks. The masonry of a civilization, lures me on to the threshold of the cave.
My eyes adapting through the dark entrance into the underworld, to sensed the chill of a catacomb. Proceeding, unveiling in a soft light to seized my presence in an antechamber. cleared of defunct remains, which were never there, though brought to wary monsters in hibernation.
Skeptic, I paced without my feet lifting a puff of dust from a blanketed of eons. a daylight leading my line of sight, in the systematic gallery of a cloistered colonnade of leading archways. tapering off an evanescent miner's tunnel, in a stiffing daylight, blending closed infinity into blurry surroundings.
Behind the rising quoin, which runs without a flaw around the crown the archway down the other side. subject to my beacon of sight ['third eye'] silent paired radar echo to my integrated 'ears.' I conceded fearless off left the blind barrel vault and latent exhaust of an ensemble that projects a kiln. bearing a skeptic pursuit off my right shoulder, a preemptive regard launched in the coordinates. ahead of my presence, I focused around the quoin of large hewn ashlar that dressed the foursome archways. Following a lurking chill down the blind barrel vault. Outstretching, sensing the endless cold cowering lie to a latent source. of no concern, I stopped proceeding saying to myself, 'No [You'll find nothing] – not there!'
my sight in retrieve, and in the wake of my leading sight, I momentary relent concern bearing into the unknown. stepping straight taking leave of the transversal channel, my eyesight prowls on through the sturdy shouldering walls. huge and striking part of the up and coming quarters of stumpy abutments. Cautious slow, in view of the rising four quoins of the groin vault, I glanced in opposite to the air vent hollow, preemptive wary to fall prey. Peeking, I venture around the blind corner, in a latent transparent immaterial tunnel, sniff the secretive punitive cold. in the perpetual chill, I struck a definite latent at hearth stocking, and profiling the dire of an unknown soul.
systematic as I advanced through the gallery of massive supporting abutment quarters, and around the blind elevating quoin to the leading furnace arch, in the depth of the tunnel, I encountered a dragon breath. a few meager flames inoffensive killing the chilly spell in the far indistinct source of the tunnel. In a few sequences I learned to reach behind the dragon breath, approach stoking at hearth, tongues of convoluting flames, finger clasp into a fistful fireball, leading me to a variety of souls identify the spirits of various at heart clinching energies.
time and gain, I discard the vile angers of mild flamethrowers. Until, the stoker of a virtual steam machine, wrath at heart, roars, billowing a ball of fire up the channel. In the wake of the trailing barrel vault on fire, I found the stoker in hiding. perceptive of my approach, the instant of the malicious spirit falling prey of my sensors. I watched the impressive instantaneous fall back of the fire trail. vacuumed at length to die at the hearth of the stoker, hearing a distant person's living voice say onto itself, 'This isn't a good idea [being identified!]'

Lionel and Gavin

from the hands of the cosmos, I was beamed back into a tangible world, the fire blasts bypassed the conscious. the existence of maledict spells to resolve at the cumulus level, where minds weather a transcendent medium –.
driving the minibus on loan, symbol of a vehicular relationship, my subconscious unfurls the umbrella for cosmic protection. north bound in the tracks of the Voortrekkers to 'Halfway-House' an established town since the days of knight on horseback saddled a fresh horse at the relay outpost –.
In our adolescent years we found a car workshop and gas station on the spot. in view of the industrial zone, we swerved off onto meandering the wavy hills. Hence, sight of a magic sprout in the wild savanna, the sporadic shine of white and geometric villas. Until, 'Vorna Valley' resonates, onto rhyming with Peter and Rita.
we pulled up along a suburban precast concrete wall, on the grass shouldering the street. I stepped out and up to the paved apron. The driveway slipping underneath the gates, after pressing the calling button, watching through prison bars Gavin a number of lengths out the light of the entrance door, head up in the wake of his brother. Lionel unlocks the padlock, drops the ends of the chain, launching himself off on me into a long embrace. He left his place to Gavin, and onto calling Martine to join us into the Few-Whitehorn household.
boys anxious in childhood dreams, at the forthcoming realization, Lionel and Gavin lead the way. bushwhacking in an historic nurtured exciting atmosphere. they lead me across the threshold into an estranged household.
Although, in the wake of my boys, I hit an instant surge of skepticisms. Lionel turned around, killing by a regard my lurking anxiety of entering private quarters. Changing a light glowing concept, the virtual hallway bleeding across the ceramic tiles, in which my boys had taken a stance, opens beyond a familiar extended interior.
My naive outlook over an inert and silenced in house excitation, to fall 'in the wolf's mouth,' over the years excavating my proper lifestyle from the family, to Jean looming over my every move, though destined to lay her life in ruins –.

meeting hearts' mischief that lies in wait, which Ilona, in the moon sign of the Libra. hence, my session by Rose Delbruyere, sisterly, I inadvertently associated an highlight wrangling over money, as heart burning fever in which the means of a trio of Libra women brought confusion. visibly out of the equation my sister-in-law Robyn, falling flaw as a source. I skip identifying Jean's phenomenon. in the perspective of a motherly behavior for the good of her children. Transparent behind her acquired name, dug-in shyness, she averts the fluidity that pipes minds. Prevents clairvoyance, which other than a prevailing violent system shock, at bringing the tarot card tell, a deep hateful regret toward her proper person –.
silence lurks toward Martine bringing indoor her presence, while I noticed her shadow in the light of my 'Wind Mansion.' She keeps at bay, in the perspective of a family constraint, in return a milieu Martine is foreign to –.
Over on my left, beyond the round table huddled by half dozen backrest, Rita stands facing the kitchen window, lackadaisical busy over the sink. In an abbreviated glance, she saw the specter of her sister that ought not to be. such as echoes in distant mountains, Martine shadows out of the daylight at the entrance door. in the wake of her prodigious brother-in-law, a geisha – when minds fills the gaps of exorbitant lifestyles. to sight the plane of continuity, hence dating her sister – brief strayed eyes meet, and Rita says, "Hello –!"
In a prolonged wait, dawns in conflict identifying Rita a fever at heart, with a spell of malediction, at the kiln of a familial culture. Extinguishing through a notion over the boys, when the wall behind the teenagers that shadows a doorway, swings to light. Peter appearing from the passageway out of the sleeping quarters. Cool as our correspondence over fax machines, he greets me. When scatters than puppies from between his legs, two little girls head off in the direction of their mother out my field of sight. Peter and my boys group and lead in the opposite direction. Coming around the coffee table, come to sit on the couch in the midst of my boys. in diagonal off right, retrieved, inscribing through a virtual conversation pit, the rules in regard to my boys. Outnumbered, with only the noise of my prowess letters, powerless, I capitulated to Jean's exigencies.

Jelly and transparency

Rose Delbruyere destined at staging tarot sessions, with pride in her voice, at the wealth of living a subliminal integration. She pursues my proper equation at a transcendent level, at the choice of my existential direction, which I ought to see, and didn't. I arrived earlier in a down to earth frame of mind and accordingly, predictive, prejudging. In turn, I entered a cosmic programming, beyond my cerebral genes. inspired by the window daylight over my shoulders. Suddenly, I watched her physique unfold holographic fingers flip a card that she lies atop the three row of 7 cards. Checking out, she is a sibyl ghosting a lip talk, as her fingers spider crawl to a deepened read, without an echo. I grew conscious of the ephemeral instant, and sought to distinguish elements, watching her synchronized hand and arms, surveyed her distinct rubber doll forward out of the blue dress she wore, and taking the pulse of her breathing, expecting such as weighing up a woman's bust, her reaction. To my dismay, she continued picking cards, reading in total ignorance of her state of being, when a voice intones tells me, 'Look – she's pure [like a flawless diamond] – she's flawless honest [don't concern yourself] – you can trust her!"

Hazyview

with a sibyl's knowledge far out of mind, we hit the road, the concrete surface slips under the still black rubber wiper blades against the windshield, which road surface vanishes away underneath our sitting upright to the dashboard. Johannesburg's Southern Bypass Motorway without the hell of a shadow, surged a circumspect perpetration of the canned notion of the chassis. traveling with us, at an apparent loss of co-ordinates, along the exterior of the minibus, spurs in the roundabout to a sporadic metallic resonance. I tracked by hear, the entry onto echoing the interior of the vehicle. cluttering and manifest an orientation toward the front left wheel. knocking harder, and faster beneath Martine seat, the surprised warning at the instant of loosing control.
Far from sparing a reflection at breaking a bad spell inhibited to identifying the morale issue of a soul, in view of the prolonged downhill. My mind flash in the period of adolescence, the spectacular wave of hills, which Igor and I borrowed. Starting at the abutment of storm water drains beneath the road, we competed for the crests. shuttling on our bikes the country road to Pretoria, to spectacular track on the open road of traffic accidents. at the Kyalami wayside family farm stall, which car drivers reported. Ignorant, such a witness understatement, 'when experience prevails over prayers –' in saying, "a preacher drove!" over the minibus that lost a right front wheel, shunting the oncoming traffic lane, at tumbling head over tail into the wayside tuft grass, at finding the lie on the spanned barbed wire fence to a private property.
On an apparent peaceful ride, I'll soon discover the latent maleficent shadow which hung clandestine underneath the chassis as the desert concrete highway lies ahead. In a sun reflective white, the pair of concrete bands prolong scattered villas, which distinctive stole wayside a nestling in a blending whitish field of rocks. Given a promising long journey overseeing the valley, a way stippling through ripples of rusty Highveld grassland, to a frightful reminder. in mind resonates, 'The preacher who died – he slammed on breaks!' though my foot released the throttle, and irresistible shifted a feather touch of the fatal brake pedal. In the rear end compartment, the whining engine relapsed and sap the energy no sooner changing down gears, to free a sense of acceleration. sight roiling over the dashboard and on the road with a toppling over sensation. at risk of feeling the biting breaks, and to my silent relief, in the nick of time, we came to a halt in the security lane.
I stepped out, contoured the front, inspecting the wheel, under Martine's naive gaze. to my disbelieve finding the lose wheel, and catching a fright at the possible warn away threads onto jeopardizing our journey. I opened the door, pleaded Martine to move over, and fetch the wheel wrench and jack behind the seat. Preoccupied by my brothers, onto swearing hell and high at imagining the black mechanic earlier in the workshop, forgetful, after changing wheels. My initial fear attenuates, as each of the lug nuts rotating in the helix thread, to a balanced tightening. As in mind, I imagined returning behind the steering wheel, and pull off, I moved around the wheels, standing on the wheel wrench, with a body weight jerk for each of the lug nuts.
Riding along the hypnotic whitish concrete strip, up and down the gentle slopes, my foot floors the throttle, while such as children in the rear falling bored, the four engine pistons fails to rev up the dynamics at changing into top gear. the sun probed us onto a leading shadow, as the provincial highway runs into an interminable drag, before the median drew to a close and the lanes folded down into a two-way leading black tarmac strip. equidistant on our journey, we swerved off to face northbound land billowing up into sky space. At the crest heeding to a curiosity, we pull over by a tuft of shading bicentenary eucalyptus. Martine at the touch of the historic remainder, which stippled by far Voortrekkers trails in our cause. the countryside reminiscent of pioneer driven oxen drawn cart from a sun scorching earth, her hand on the burned black bark, and a few massive trunks in depth she stands amongst lush growth of green grass from the recent ravaged veld fire.
We pulled off, fetch the shallow wave length onto the remote skyline. at length of time approaching the mountain range into being swallowed by the hills. Not before, the plains break up at the foot of the massive, into an agglomeration of town streets. we take a break on the porch in view of the remnants of the pioneer outpost. After a snack, we ride outbound Lydenburg's main street, straight up the piedmont to the whining engine. mountaineering into the mischief of the road, ceaseless changing up and down gears, at leading a passage through the mountain pass. In the heights, as the leading road vanishes into a mystique fog of the 'dragon mountain' at the tail end, Martine calls out, "Pull over – I want to get out."
in the rear the engine idles, as I watch unveil Martine's mysterious intentions, pacing in summer mauve clothes a short distance up front, onto pressing an arm's length vanishing into the bristly wayside. The tightly hedge seeming to pull her over by the hand, as she steals here and there a trumpet white lily. Going on picking and gathering long stalks, to a sweeping bouquet in her left hand, when I joined her at the toll of air chilling me to the bones. hanging out until she walks back, to crawl to the comfortable interior of the minibus. We had apparently pulled off to Martine's earlier persistent stop calls, that I followed her once again from afar to her figure in whole pressing the stalky eden of nature, picking these scattered white and purple turk's-cap, bundling up to a latent awareness of a listing, protective over the wild species.
Arriving at the mountain ledge, facing the Lowfeld, the road brought us onto hanging along the dark vertigoes face a descend along the escarpment wall, through the pinnacle of the Long Tom Pass before meandering a long descend. Short of the town which borrowed the name from the down stream, we swerved off right at the road bearing sign.
Driving in the shadow of the night trailing on us, such as a latent prophetic meandering, interpreting Rose Delbruyere co-ordinates of the Sabie river, at twins with the national hillside road. we borrowed the secondary back roads. plowing through banana plantation. gliding through rolling hill, Martine pointed to a slip road off on the right. finding ourselves heading up a dirt track to a train wagon perched on the hillside. Halting on the earthworks into the hillside, to step out, and along the blue railway car to the edge of the terrace. After standing a brief moment, satiate a rising constellation of lights, the delta slumps the town of Hazyview in a night lie, we fetch the leading tarred roads, after turning away from the hillside.

Hazyview

on the moonless night the wayside shadows dissipated behind into the umbra of the passing headlight. Such as a flashlight sweep, brushing the leading tarmac aside, off right targeting a roadside apron. we placed our faith in the short of the up creeping dirt road. Until, arouse the specter of a hand etching the structural members, materializing a bridge crossing – .
emblematic over an abyssal fissure, the abutments of the period, sums up a fax exchange of correspondence digitally stamped. Measuring the spans over the means of a transaction during the late months of '1991.' Inconsequential to the abyssal depth, the lagging confusion over bank authorizing transfers in an advancing technology, while leading into the creation of the abyss, by the eventual transaction making up the deposit to the acquisition of the number fifteen on [French] Queen Marie Henrietta Avenue –.
remotely blind, over engrossing financial consequences, Martine and I, in a subtle pursuance of an evanescent road. leading tracks at the reward of a few distant soft shinning windows. Approaching, to pull up aside the lair. headlight dying to a graphite sketching, coloring the depths of shades, bringing forth a flocculent ground crown, from which around the front, rises, inherent to mother, her exulting voice from a distance, calling out, "[Flemish] They're here – Ho, you are here [at last!]" sprout father and mother from their lie in wait, and particular to their gait, rushing at our encounter.
Martine didn't laugh then, masking her mother's Flemish heritage, adopting the 'General Civilized Dutch' in greeting, "[Dutch] Hello Bon'ma (Grandmother – nick named by the generation of grandchildren,) Hello Bon'pa (Grandfather!)"
My old folks, curious enquirers, father by a silent watch, mother twinkles in her eyes, thoughtless rolling words. they lead a way around a natural grown perron of tropical shrubs to the shabby house, and symbolic embraced our architectural deed, making our entry to a soft light. Martine a bouquet of wild flowers at hand, fuzzy in mother's eyes, as nature provide her everyday exotic and bright. as she overlooked the bouquet, not to swamp a jolly-story, Martine lies the bunch of wild flowers on the first surface, the dining room tabletop.

Sabi_Sabi

where Africa in the morning awake with the songs of the birds, mother leaves us behind, not without a latent forethought for the wellbeing of either children of hers. She drives off, by father's choice, his, the gray 1980 Volkswagen Jetta. Hanging up his butler's apron, father takes his chair at the head of the table, to an open hearth, to a random stone masonry rising to the hanging family coat of arms, bearing the five blue lilies. He finishes with us the breakfast he prepared earlier. a while later, as guardian of Ilona's Alsatian. Heiger leads a way out the house. The dog highlights the night before path across the bridge. Brings dimension to symbolism, as the dog fearless along the shallow bank, enters the murky water of the crocodile infested stream. proudly Heiger leads the trio of us, humans, return up the gentle farm land slopes, a workout way, and such as calling in on his master at the dining table. snout rubbing a thigh, saying, 'We're back!' tolls the phone, calling eyes to the corner. Father lifts the handset from the cradle, and after a few words, passes me on Ilona at the other side of the line.
As though I merely said, "Ilona invited us to the Game Reserve," I sought in mind the latent road of a few years before. Recollecting a glimpse at that ought not to be structuring in the chaos of nature. The pipe up, I hurt sight at the emblematic elephant head on the wayside sign, in rusty disguising colors oddly striking a gritty dirt road splinting from ensuing the tarmac. the sand road curved left for us to pursued a path inland, the Krugerpark in. Coming to a bend off to the right, clearly in the lens of a theodolite defined geographic coordinates, void of heavy earthwork machinery into the wide and whitish road through a shallow thick bushy valley tapering off the run to a futuristic forecast traffic. We came to the point and conceded fearless to the bushveld on the receding road. The mind knock at loss of the wild rustic trek, to pull up through a stockade the driveway sand wash the bay of a kraal out through interstice of thatched bungalows. struck by oddly shining pointers, welcoming us to the Sabi_Sabi Games Reserve estranged such as neon light in a nigh street. we entered the door clearing another world, appropriated to a white woman in a khaki dress behind the straight lines of a barring reception counter.
She glanced at us, as it dawn on the woman, announcing, "Is Ilona here – She's expecting us." Her child's stupefied regard, going for the offside doorway light, became ephemeral busy, repetitive hesitant at crossing the threshold. the receptionist gathered her courage and vanished in the light, to an imminent appearance that didn't happen. Until, my big sister, Ilona shows up stirred, apparently bugged by the inconvenience of a little brother, who just budged in.
Ilona's stern expression dissipated, as she grasped control, that predominant element of her Libra, straight as the accounting figures bound to balance in the end. Perceptive as a toddler, the big sister which knew the moment to take my hand and leading me on into a blaring fanfare, and reared within that intersecting Electra and Oedipus complex with our parents. I watched her rising grin, as she books us in, needless to ask a question, while in her wake, the receptionist sends us off with a black porter. On the way by hut high trees spread canopies to our bungalow, I couldn't begin to imagine getting up at five the following morning.
Before the trees orchestrated a morning chirp, Martine and I, were ready and stepping out into the night, heading to the spot of our arrival. Waited at bay as people trickled up, boarding the all-terrain vehicles. Pulling off, turning around, onto driving out around a distancing stockade shacking as we drove the wilderness in. we left the bumpy tracks, for a rocking and rolling off track penetration, to a stop. the ranger stepped down, gathered the folks. Over a coffee break, watching an ongoing changing twilight. we climbed back into our seats, the vehicles dispersed. the leading black tracker, to rangers communicating over breaking radio voices, while watching the sun pencil rays arouse the horizon to the bush lurking with the shadows. Herding with the animals around a water pond, when the skies announced a sun scorching ground. by midday turning up at the lodge, to walk under a thatched roof crossing other guest to an open air luncheon buffet.

The Spar

By late morning, Martine and I returned to the crossroads of a few landlords, to a latent downtown, and veered right a zig-zag way the block down a cul-de-sac. Sway right and away from the rural store, to pull up at an high security fence. stepped out, head along the flanks of the minibus toward the rear, in view of the broad white fascia camouflage across the industrial building. Entering underneath the Spar logo, which colors plastered across the storefront bargain prices. Peering out for my sister, in the light of an office alongside the row of tellers, asking Ilse at sight, "[Flemish] how are you – where is mother?"
"You'll find mother in the storeroom," Ilse answered.
On my way through chock-a-block shelving, off the leading aisle in the depth of the store, we crossed Gearard coming off the delivery bay, challenged a moment to greet, onto treading up a few stairs, at find mother, her symbiotic Capricorn shy to her Monkey, fumbling eyes and hands through a giant carton. My greetings in vain, as Martine exults a musical lyrics, saying, "[Flemish] Good day Bon'ma!"
"[Flemish] Ho – you are already there," mother says in an insinuating tone of voice, 'Time is flying away?''
"I have a customer waiting!" Mother says, and no sooner, she has sight of herself at the mercy of Gerard, unapologetic suscitating a let go free expression, at the thought, 'That can wait.' Mother enters the magic world of surprises, facing Martine and saying, "[Flemish] Our Ilse and Gerard invited us for dinner –. turning her eyes fixing me, ads, "You better be on time – you now how it [punctuality] is with them!"
by evening mother drove up in the Jetta, and while greeting, and chatting, in the instance of vanishing in the badge colors of working clothes, reappearing a moment later she emerged from the doorways dressed for dinner out.
father took the steering, taxing us at dusk the bright contrast local sand road, across the intersecting asphalted provincial roads. After a short ride cleaving rolling hills, mother in a self mocking tone of voice with a serious taint [how could it have happened?] say along the hillside sweeping road, "[Flemish] Here in the bush – they had to come with a tow truck the next day to pull the ditched car out."
"It could have been [fatal] worse – She walked all the way home," father infers at mother's habitual gradual ascend after work, at the threshold of a changing landscape.
"[Flemish] The worst – I had to leave the car – thieves stole everything from the interior – Lucky the boot was locked," mother said sighing, 'it could have being worst!" Negligent of the mountain's nipple of Ilse and Gerard's lookout post over a cloak of dense bush to the river. we came around entered the imaginary private property leveling off to the point of the convergent dirt road with the Sabie road blacktop lie. void of traffic, we pulled across up at the gate. the grill rolls over behind the wing wall, and moving up the paved driveway to the sprawl of the white house gradually filling our field of sight.
Unlike a touristic guide, defining traced coordinates, in the aftermath of a session with Rose Delbruyere. her mentioning "water," left me imagining my wildest dream. Standing high on the cliffs overseeing the awesome ocean calm and pacifying. Then again fearless on the ledge to an awakening temper –.
living with the perception of bushwhacking my way through a latent juggle such as after we stepped out the car. proceeding to house lights that shed the path of a leading force to-and-fro work. Where notions dawn, relating a prophesied bid from the strength of blood relatives, attaching relevance to the property cloak of bush. shy beyond the in-leaf flocculent swells of front yard in the tropics. Not ignoring that across a farmers' irrigation channel, bush is home to uncovered ground, the property borrowed, such as the latent water frayed earth crust to bald black boulders that vanish into the streaming Sabi river.

7 i's

I laid to sleep the scenario of my imagination, Martine and I, on mother and father's heels, cross the threshold to an inseparable hallway clearing a white and glittery dressed dining table. Cluttered into the far exit corner of the room, amidst a family of Jack Russel Terrier, bursting out of joy, eyes sparkling, out of a 'liter' of five, to seven, short legged sprightly jumps alternating a head-to-tail lap dance. Ilse sits dressed in a Spar dustcoat, unconscious, in the path of recognition by the ghosting maid. She parades evanescent and emergent enterprising in the light of the night-hall. The doorway timely dressing the table, where short of the doorway, Ilse occupied fondling her pets out of a lifeless diurnal red wood house furniture.
Ilse, inadvertent in a symbolic forbidding passage, short of the maid doorway light, timely taken leave for the night way through the kitchen the back door out. warning her visitors, for the least of greeting her husband susceptible to be distracted. Apart our parents, nevertheless apparent customary at standing by. Martine and I, dangled at the loose ends. And as for myself, held at bay, the far wall vanishes in a two-way mirrored transparent glaze, outlining Gerard's dynamics hobby shifting worktops over blurry utensils. Waiting, arouse a sense of guilt, after my idle hand and a cerebral fading concentration.
Gerard peeks through the doorway, and away from a taxing job, calls out, "Hello [everybody!]"
the joy in Gerard's voice, stupefying, hard at imagining myself. I perceive preparing dinner, to the extent of aching arms and dorsal muscles, feet in gumboots, sweat drying on my skin while shoveling a concrete pour into place under a summer scorching sun at the zenith of the day. Empathic over his tiring day at work, thawing my guild, at sharing his culinary labor with our little crowd. The Ox in him comes to drops out in shame of the Cancer's emotions, brining his glance down to fix at Ilse, implying, 'Get your family seated – I'm about to served up.'
Hence, the children of a large family reared around a dinner table, timely a widowed granny addition by father's side at the head of the table, and by mother among us toward the other end. Father's authoritarian voice and critique instances around a meal. in a virtual tumbling from upstairs a way the head size age gap. He comes onto us, stutter over the initial "I" calling down to the seventh who menaced his authority. the out of control gaffe, break lose his stern expression, breaks through the Capricorn's dry sense of humor, falling upon his soul.
Gerard little signs that purfles envy billowing waves, sarcastic tainted such staggering remarks, 'You have a slim figure.' Distorted from pinpointing a profound sensitivity of the possessive Cancer, onto cowering behind the strength of purpose Ox. Gerard in Martine, he leaves to understand his subdued massive blob of a body. absenting Martine from his shifting glance, he marques the head of the table chair, shifty on me, in a monotonous sand grounding voice, his words spell out, "Why don't you sit down?"
Gerard sits down, I follow up on his invitation, off his left taking the free chair, to his launching gazes down the length of the table, leaping two cooking pots. the message passes to Ilse. In response, she lifts the lids in turn, dishing up, to his per-emptive call, "Bon appetit!" ensued by an impact of icicles falling and shattering amongst us. The chill between the couple has nurtured mother's culpable bearing. The silence she begrudges, mysterious and profound hence against father, for not having considered her intuition. her daughter Ines in the current of a tragedy, which brings mother rolls out words, shying from hearing her thinking mill (how she could have avoided the tragic death.) Which, raises Gerard with as many contradictions, onto animating the table, an evening alike many others.

Ines

Beyond the wall of creation – such as taking these lives, like sapping a source, blind to the ramification, as we were reared with a sister out the litter, and left alone to deal with the disappearance of the father of her children. We were reared with a mother jibbing instincts didn't bear to lie out, and perceived witchy without scientific exactitude, which father brought to doubt. mother sees the living soul of her child, from the comical eccentric girl, which smothers the insensitive hearts, being a daughter, bearing out grief –.
beyond genetics, I imagined my driving curiosity – and on the provincial road toward the capital, at an apparent gate to downtown Nelspruit. I turned off at the traffic lights from ensuing the thoroughfare. Pulling up in an early morning parking lot, timely at the opening of doors. Through long assertive strides, I rushed onto eying promotional posters through the portal into a mall lingering night air. along my way, by the sheer number to a sufficient absorption of a Saturday paranormal fair, from the surprise effect and deflect. Approaching with a long time nurturing curiosity to the erection of a promotional stall, which in mind obliterating the point of intersecting to the main gallery. Hence, the fall of a latent idea. Like a chargehand shadows on construction site, a man come up and around the front. From a distant stance surveying the exterior presentation of the stall, I found the stranger in my path, and accosted the figure with a lingering question, "Where [Who] did I get [inherit] these paranormal manifestations from?"
the man's big eyes didn't see me, which brings me reminiscing such a brief encounter with the Chief rabbi of New York. On par with their myopic lens that takes the eyesight back, with the eyes wide open, subduing the universe, which stands for Rose Delbruyere while gliding in the light of time. Scarce on words, the man stares ramifying the past. fetching timely at the hearth of a soul, leaving no doubt, when roll over his lips, saying, "Your grandmother – she was a very good person [bourgeon the gift of clairvoyance.]"
'She is a Scorpio!' raised to mind. "She never…" I started saying, before falling fool what the man tag as 'good.' Never recalling grandmother addressing me a word, for all the 'good' I envisaged mother.
Children reared by mother's occasional 'hypothetic' forewarning, which predestined fetch of such a tragic ambush which caught Ines' husband, for a combative fatal terror from amidst co-ordinates between hell and heaven without apparent tangible or fast rules.
despite pursuing the 'good' human preached, Ines barred, the Pisces in her moon in symbiosis with the Goat in her year, taking her hyper-sentient spirit in her exclusive retreat. or, by oversight of a profound cosmic insight. Ronnie left his life, as a sergeant in the special police task force, stationed near the northern borders, with three other officers, at random of three co-ordinate, which cast before dawn, from grazing that return route from patrol.

Prophesied pregnancy and 19 September 1993

given to 'respect the tools of nature' at breaking the force spells, from a worldly pervasive environment, Martine and I, in a latent retrieved home, summarily withered the fever of tempers. With the forbearing deep blue escarpment wall to stand in sight. approaching in our field of sight on a horseshoe trail through the piedmont town of Sabie, on an outing with my old folks. We cruised at leisure, to pull up by the sightsee. Paradoxical, coincidental we stepped out to walk up to the 'bridal veil.' Signaling without being aware at the time, the symbolic transcendence of marriage to dawn on us.
Hence, in the bare and cool little white kitchen, Rose Delbruyere prophesied a pregnancy, too abstract hence, the moment of renovating the townhouse, such as a cosmic cradle preparing a baby's room. the thought suscitated a heartthrob surprise sparkling to Martine's eyes. And, reappearing in the third deck tarot spread, which means 'imminent,' and Rose Delbruyere says, "The card are affirmative!"
reflective of a phantasmagoric high rocky cove taking father's life in the sprinkling of the frayed threads of water to the pool, disappearing in the pellucid waters at the level of a cosmic new generation –.

name Louis

I awoke with an extended glimpse through the window. At leisure glanced at first light, sentient of the upcoming day's mood. picturesque and shy, mirrors in the twilight the peering across the cut out collage, the eyelids of a cosmic eyesight.
silhouetting the nigh cowering up the rear facades of the neighboring row of townhouses, I assimilated a wintry plucked naked dark brushwood yard treetop. sentient at the tick of time, the day dawn with precision co-ordinates, sketching a spell in transit, and choreographic stage sitting across the window sill, to an emergent two-way mirror, lining the hearth of intimacy.
Golden penciled sun rays fetch in hiding the night shading. In a rising glow of sunlight, the gray distills, brushing and brightening streaky green weathered terracotta roof tile discolorations. Accruing the angles capping party walls, and off rear facade brickworks, the saddled warped and aged roofs.
my eyesight in retrieve, perched sentient of the backyard hollow, and backing up through a streaming blue and white striped and deeply engulfed curtain folds. purfling in hiding the sharp edges at the raw hands of the renovation, Martine's decoration.
By the distant brash of the sky, the tread of sunlight jumps the window sill, and across the aisle embraces white butterfly wings. angelic at the touch of the voile curtains, imposing a planted body of the yellow oak post in view diagonal across. dawns the shadowy range of muddled up bedding to the extent of a sleeping lizard along half of the king size bed.
Without the sign of a wiggle, until seismic aroused the befuddled bedding, by the roll of a tuft of hair. meeting Martine's driving idea through her sparkling eyes, to a pause. spur after a restful moment, a wild dragon twist and clumsy drag of the eiderdown, rolling over and rising after her eyesight to a fixation, that says, 'I have something to tell you!' Martine stages a shoulders' leap overbearing on an elbow prop, palm's her jaw in a cupped hand, and sprightly as a sun stroke, in an over and done tone of voice, announces, “Do you love the name Louis!”
ceased in a flash of surprise, into an equatorial sunlight, where the black secondary suburban street disappear from sight the course of mother cycling to and fro work in the night. Shy as the main arteries reflective of a moonshine, as apart distant native villages from our childhood White [colonial] suburb. A '[native] (house/garden) Boy,' dressed in white (a White man's clothes,) explosive in the middle of the street graded by the lava sand, off the purlieu volcano silhouette in the background with the brash of the in situ quarry.
The black man monkeys in arms and legs, running up wildly calling out, “[Swahili] Your grandmother, your grandfather!” I didn't quiet grasped the alarm in our quiet little town. In the passing the native heads on downtown, leaving me with my curiosity after the unrelenting and insistent finger point the house that ought not to be a hazard. renovated from a cement block shack to a villa separating a pushy girdle of lawn, the bushy vacant parceled surrounding plots.

Grandparents Somers'

From around the dense bush, I wade across the front yard grass, identifying Ant Carla's hands in the bloom of the oval flowerbed. I tread the few steps at pushing the front door left ajar by the leaping off 'boy' heading up home a few blocks down the street, before his recourse.
Shyly, discovering by the slit up the hinging door, the estrange daylight sprawling an extended window glow, gleam the sizable terrazzo tiled floor, frightful cowering into the cast shadows underneath the skimpy wooden furnished dining room. At liberty, a pace indoor, by a leading sweep of sight with the plane of the door swing. along the back and plain white wall, I butted sight against the red wooden door, which shelved the former shack, and let be, to pad the backrest of a couch and virtual room divider.
In the light of the distant door, I found my way prowling by sight around the door leaf, up to the huddling coffee table in the shadow of the couch, and onto the flash panel the door deflecting a blind light. Coming around the door jamb, I lay sight on the sculptured figure of my grandmother sitting on the far edge indenting the sleek bedcovers which outlines the double bed from the seat high and lighted window sill.
skeptic of '[Flemish] the thin grandmother' as we children differentiated the Somers' from father's side. I don't recall ever been addressed an inviting word, picturing offside in the light of the large rear window. bend over, elbows propped on her thighs, arms resting along her lap, hands and fingers convoluted in the fold of her printed dress between her knees. her cheeks softly rolls a few tears. Her dreary regard in fixation a distance short of pointing out the floor. Out of the simplistic sculptured figure, pictures her ankles and the shoes she wore. a confusion arouses. Intrigued by the puzzling outlines, my mind fills in the gaps, to notice the facing soles of a man shoes, paired, standing lopsided on toe caps.
my mind targets questioning the vamps against the laws of physics, standing at an acute angle, and a diamond pattern of socks that exposes the ankles from the double folded trousers cuffs showing a logic direction of grandfather's suit, and the ensuing dressed figure stretched out in the shadow of the blind aisle toward the head of the bedstead, and retrieved without disturbing the air.
In that child withdrawing a twisting body and mind from around the fatal bedroom doorway bringing the armrest of the couch in my filed of sight, as the force of a winter gale wind brought mother from behind the entrance door. taken in by the swirl of the times, to Martine arousing the zombie of grandfather from his grave. In need to justify my reasoning, and resorted to a curt question, "Why Louis?"
"It was your grandfather's name," Martine instantly replies.
In the light of the window, I watched Martine, sentient of my bereaved mother at the loss of her first born son. in the wake of mother frightful of losing a son again, my life wasn't exempt. haunted by the living shadow of death, of a four month old brother, who sporadic dawns on me by a conducive name.
I foresaw at maintaining the purity of a transcended-volition, at the choice to infuse her fetus, from the leash at flaw of a contagious death, toward the freedom at exercising a living purpose proper to the soul. Raising the absurdity of her conviction, I ask, “What would you do, if it's not a boy?”
“I know it will be a boy. I know! I feel it's a boy!” Martine kept repeating.
“Would you be deceived, if it is a girl?” I asked. And, in as many time over and again, than Martine maintaining her stance she succumbed to doubt. I grew to wondered over her assertiveness, to a rightful genderless spirit, thinking to myself, 'The alternative to a boy, is a transcendent-volition lurking aggressive, to the existence of a tomboy.

Genie of Telepathy The kinetics connecting minds

2017-03-13T16:12:00.000+01:00

Genie of Telepathy

The kinetics connecting minds

While every effort is made by the principal author to create short, self-sustained articles unique in its genre, imbued in a metaphysical context, terms or words may lose their meaning elaborated in a fundamental work in: The Code: Horizon of Infinity, of which this article is an excerpt, at updating, or ongoing tapping in that field of thought.

One can best imagine the concept of telepathy through a moon in a summer azure sky, as a remote peering eye, insistent, energizing itself a noticeable force at the hearth of home. Residing the yolk of one’s identity, effective synergizing one’s proper motorization, to a virtual monocle octopus, and by one’s transcendent-volition, a genie of curiosity stricken feeding tentacles, spread volition too wide and weak to arise visibility by the rule of a universal blueprint --.

one’s brain teaser, proper to oneself excited in assembling pipes and balls* to an emergent [illustrated Atomium] space-station, from which octopus dynamics feeds our mind literally a part of the form of a dual resolution--.

our physical body a can on earth (matter/hardware,) which brain is subject (to the arc of parallax* (interface) and the parsec-ray* (microwave) elsewhere developed.) in space (immaterial/software,) the genie manifests a transcendent-cognition, within that cradle (hearth) of our proper module of a space-station and particular subconscious self;

given eight options of ‘thought’ (spacial directions,) [illustrated by the Atomium] the first of nine balls, at the center [being in the 4th dimension*,] from where like octopus tentacles, the genie of the mind quasi escalates or descends the pipes, goes due east or west, in whatever perspective, and however one wants to outreaching directions from a static point in the cosmic ocean. Dwindle alternatives to fewer, and manageable by the brain capacity, until these options became conscious by the mere intensity of concentration, if only holding the last two option left--.

This says that in clairvoyance, a fortune teller has the gift to tap into our subconscious and literally follow our trend of ’thoughts’ (the life choices we’re bound to make,) our destined ‘road signs’ which clairvoyants are able to detect.

We think we are smart, while the genie of our transcendent-volition (the supercomputer) is relativizing in the background what is too heavy a concentration for the brain to sustain. switching on and off when it gets too hot in our skull, which is conceived to absorb and funneling by degree of concentration, mirror beyond the world at large, that channeled intuition, dreams, visions, and clairvoyant -- therefore, it is imperative to keep our mind that spanking new mechanical working order (from prejudging,) in achieving a thru clear picture of the transcendent transmitted meaning. in order that the piped down information, captured by the brain doesn’t get warped and distorted, as visitor inside another universe [piping to the ball of yet another Atomium/space-station,] home to a particular being--.

As the tentacle of one’s transcendent-volition reaches no matter how far one’s child is, or a father, or mother, sisters or brothers, a friend are, one can only perceive the effect of docking in the other direction, as recipient of the outreaching genial tentacle. Feeling that opened sluices of communication, the pouring pressure by passing a cosmic ‘World Wide Web,’ channeling that remote softness of love, or the sullen grief, the anxiety for what matters, intuitive entry in that ‘server’ of the mind the parapsychological perception alike the latest (moral) news.

the snag is that for most of us humans the Extra Sensory Perception is fade. we have lost that entrance animal of our transcendent-volition. given extra tools, instead of hooves, we have the gift of fingers, and a flashlight in the night instead of an howl’s ears and eyes hunting prey. We are degrading, relying increasing more on assistive electronic devices (apart handicap,) robotic excel in a single field than a general surviving kit, fewer since ancient time with a minimal of tools, who mapped likewise the zodiac, and created a g-d beyond the threshold of understanding.

Updated

THE ARTICLE

The Code: Horizon of Infinity

by Ivan Broes

(*= the meaning is developed) From the original works published in ‘The Code: Horizon of Infinity’ Essentially written as the founding mechanics of our universe, from which point, every aspect of our existence on earth, that intelligence is universal, and everything about life seems to fall into place.

READ MORE ON OUR WEBSITE

The Aniconic volition grip in a monomaniac nestling of a cosmic cradle

2017-02-04T13:48:00.000+01:00

This chapter sums up a parapsychology of a cosmic birth – by the energy of light starts an aniconic transcendent volition through the mouth of a vortex funneling a zodiacal house with an increased concentration coming down to matter – apparent absent – the mood is seen haunting, possessive and shaping, in the targeted possession of parents to be in preparation of a baby's room for the homecoming of a new born. In the abstract of the real, transcendent, the infant and mind to be born, makes the choice. This character's side effect show through my daughter's elusive strength of mind – that soul before she was born, which like a bird weaves the twigs at the end of a branch, come sun or rain – in a show that intelligence is life – at dealing with the malicious forces as that transcendent volition is nestling, destined at offering a particular derived moral path, by infatuating, influencing, meddling, and prevail to home in on the narcissistic side of cognition, at readying a show of existence.

The Sunbeam Vector And The Genies From Morphotic Scenes At Periods Of Various Times

2016-11-07T12:05:00.001+01:00

Existing Before Birth – To A Conscious Taking Stage – By Death Closing The Circuit

2016-09-22T18:28:00.000+02:00

One starts an existential journey in the loft of the supraliminal. the region where one is prophetic over one's existence, from there our transcendent-volition tends to puppeteer, destined to relay the medium from space at influencing over one's physiologic will power. Before getting on the stage of one's conscious existence one needs to get born. Permeating a fetus, and before exposing the wish of our soul. Bringing wonder to the mind, dancing in the limelight the medium transiting along bristly sun ray that aliment receptive photovoltaic neurons to consciousness. The body ages, and in a dying porosity sunlight terminates the photovoltaic electrification of the neuronic cells, and the mind in flight disintegrating to an evanescent consciousness, looping one's little life experience to a growing knowledge bank, in one's living existence free to spy on a universe of intellectual properties.

The Moral Twilight Zone Of The -mind- Suscitating Objective Symbols

2016-08-21T13:54:00.002+02:00

Twilight Zone Where The Mind Triumphs

I can't stay indifferent to a life path elucidating the odyssey of morals through the vortex of the mind. Emanating in perceptive artifacts. Picking the pieces of a dream, or a light concentrated reality vision, down to palpable revealing transparent symptomatic transgression. These historic living secretes are too hallucinating to be ignored.

Illustration: The back ground is a relative twilight zone of morality highlighting the source of interactive relationships to the mind in counterpart of a transcendent message objective speaking through physical and tangible dear possessions, vehicular, real estate reading like a book the symbolic meaning of relationships.

Synopsis:

Such is an aspiring Gypsy foretelling my missing child, which evoked me into a search for my daughter. I hunted through the ramifications of my life, clairvoyant driving meaningful in the spell of her expressive emblematic morals, which interacts with possessive objects toward relationships. Under the influence of her puppeteering transcendent volition, through incidental and varied connection to mothers, she bedazzles me doing fascinating heartthrob manifestations in three successive striking physical six-year old little girls, implying such as an angelic voice, 'Look who I'll be – I'm existing as a volition – I'm manifest myself, while nurturing through a cyclonic force till I'm a worthy gift likewise of a body.'

Are We Responsible: For Our Wits Plunged In A Synergy Of Think-Tanks Minds?

2016-06-26T14:22:00.000+02:00

I can’t express too often the zeal of originality as my mind sources those esoteric perceptions from resolute concrete established realities. The diachronic volition, which discrete mirrors a conspicuous bird’s-eye consciousness, waxing moon like in the azure sky. Emanating through eons of laborious life testing organ – the mind revert the material process dissolving synthetic bathing in a crystallizing ocean – breaking the energy of dead matter along living substances, at discovering the iridescent tinted kinetic to apprehend the unimaginable saga ghosting a range of simple physic expressions.

Who Is G-D – Investigate – The Profile Of A Transcendent “bionic” Laboratory

2016-05-15T20:51:00.002+02:00

Man evolved like a jungle and cultivated his forest, placing his hopes in a dominant tree orchestrating his ultimate belief as a milestone, rendering intuition as the magic baton of a governing G-d. In the age of light the tenebrous depths unconfused the bedeviling ephemeral shadows in the tints of reality such as observing in a Two-Way Mirror time changing in an evanescent reflection of oneself disappearing in the light of a virtual world. A phenomenon intercepting religions, erroneously blunt built an interpretation of evolution, hailing “creation!” – at the source of an emergent flaw, an inflammation, which autodidactic and precipitating an evolutive cancer, exciting a universe blueprint, gnawing at the precision structure, recycling a gravitative infinite miniaturization, of which Man is the product of time – blind to the fissuring foundation of such an elaborate belief, fragmenting to rubble the anchoring theory of the Big Bang from a lurching ideology as the beginning of all times. Creation as a curtain in reflective Judaism at the subliminal threshold of the supraliminal For those people strong enough to bear the drastic ideology changes of a theory, of religious values ingrained and persistent, to prosper in a scientific existence, puppeteering one's proper esoteric strings at living one's proper values.

Governing Matter: The Fine Tuning Of Light Dictating Visions

2016-04-11T19:36:00.000+02:00

The illusory spectrum of dreaming, ranges from the magic of visions. Such as the innumerable experiences since my childhood, involuntary opening telepathic sluices, dictating, channeling and without options perpetrates targeted hard realities*. I stand on that crystal mezzanine, like a beacon light, at the center of an all out field of sight atrium, a dome which, cuddly and invisible of my proper world I knitted through time. Too, is an exit – the passage through the universal engineered glass curtain wall for that virtual existence. Switching over a decorticating architecture, unstitching each of the particles off its mass making. Objective, polarizing luminosity and transits through worlds apart, like a gift wrapped in an aura the moving reality life without gravitative matter.

While every effort is made by the principal author to create short, self-sustained chapters, unique story, in some cases particular terms or words may lose their meaning imbued in a metaphysical context, excerpts, related and ongoing elaborating articles, elsewhere fundamental details are published*…/...

Following a lead across worlds

With an evening sunlight sprawl across the horizon. The day's energetic grip releases hold over my besieged brain. Pillow cradling through the twilight, when mischievous as a child my mind crawls off. Seeking a stimulating playground in the night, crossing the threshold of the dome of my living atrium, confused in the penumbra, in a retarding light pollution. The principal organ digs hibernating at the foot of trusted sentinels deeper in the umbra, while sneaky in tenebrous zodiacal worlds, in a brain sucking vacuum cleansing the organ of light pollution. My mind stretches out further under the auspices of my transcendent-volition, sleuth of morales, in the deed stalking, concretizing a subsisting cognitive intent. Genetic reinforced, on par policing, pointing in the supraliminal depth of space to a woven silk, on the trail of cheating on the vows of their couples.

My mind in retrieves from the edge of the universe, forfend the morning penumbra of a tenebrous dying toward the threshold of a daybreak atmosphere. The blind sunlight gravitating an aural tease permeating my deep dug in brain, dawning shadowy auroral veil umbrageous swaying the mood.

Consciousness dawned me to an astronautic view. Swooping up by sight a low laying countryside quilt. Lost and cruising on suspended in flight over the silk strands to straggled spidery web villages along the way. Stealing a jetliner migrating route without borders, and in time reckoning to several countries behind. Speeding upfront, seeing on the horizon a brilliant white brush stroke. Growing, to hinting my whereabouts in due course. Approaching the intimidating rising alpine mountains. Keeping a steadfast altitude across the spiky white plateau ending with a rolling sight over the ridgeline. Lowering by a Jetman in flight from the curved mountain range, nearing soften flanks, sweeping along appeasing green slopes. Slowing down, finding a source and glide in pursuit of the sky reflective metallic meandering silver stream. Wondering downstream about a series of indicative cascading surfs, to a morning gray-blue expansive glaze, on an autopilot paraglider swooping toward the bank of the wide spreading aside crater lake.

Hovering in view of three wide spread resort chalets reflecting the first sun rays off a crescent of golden facades in mountain flowing rich greens. Before by degree of atmospheric turbulence, adulterating the treacherous scene. My puppeteering transcendent-volition conscious wheeling points the middle chalet. Moving up on the eave cast shade on the brick wall. Penetrating the girdle wall above the corner of a top floor window. Emerging cowering in a discrete corner of the room. Waiting for the telepathic lure to the occupants of the apartment, to showed up in diagonal across the master bedroom. Reckoning at the fraction of a moment with naked footsteps, without emotive distortion approaching up the stairway for the open door. Instantaneous collapsing, as insistent pelting sunlight crawl millipede bristly into the day a persistent energy wiping atmospheric lucidity – but for memory storage, a driving force at recollecting the event.

Meant to Illustrate:

Rising from the looming pitch black universal infinite texture, luminescent plasma gathers light. Entering into that background to the earliest universal blueprint with a model of a (space station/Atomium) cell. Through the illustrating and through spinning silks emerging a neuronic drive – hanging along the angles exciting the cell architecture into a universal lattice – spreading the palms of spider webs. By telepathic/vision reference; highlighting on the right, holographic geometric still artifacts permeating the left room of the apartment. In opposition to the simple transcendent sphere, nurturing through rotary whipped up strings, a ball ghosting the dynamics of a cognitive motor cell.

Technically Abstract:

By size an apparent cosmic atrium. In occurrence, an evanescent and emergent two-way mirror. In effect, a soap bubble, a crystal liquid glazed solution, the threshold of a changing sunlight. In the context of the bowl dissimulated through matter, the dome spatial like an ocean aquarium alive with a range of living bright colored see through species.
A knowhow crossing of the threshold: In pursuing the magic of two leading rays; (2) The parsec-ray, which at the fraction of an instant outreach across interstellar distances, and breaks unscathed a persistent course through; (1) The purfling sun ray, which at the touch is stripped off the electric insulation wire naked – spectrum of rainbow colors, which spiraling cascade of small squarish flags on the wiry ray, sailing by a sinuous breeze deep troughs, in a fine drizzle streaming down like a row off roof tiles and intercepted at the gutter – a 'vise-grip wire stripper' of sunlight rays to naked bristly runs on course, of energetic millipede crawl the earth.
The supraliminal zone: In the snowflake shaped region of space amidst the universal architectural array of tangent spheres. At the epic of one's transcendent-volition force, puppeteering a moral repercussion subduing one's proper will power – .
- In stealth a first aid transient messages across worlds, but more dramatic the conscientious spell of a thought, or a curse. In lieu revert the force of matter by the filtering minds, pilfering residing sense of existence. By degree of polluted filters, emotive interference like atmospheric distortion, leaves the imagination with absurd shapes and colors which, ongoing through the interface of brain funneling concentration crosses cells thresholds of body disciplines.
- Vision is a passenger-scientific tool of the mind, which has kept me intrigued since infancy, over half a century in due course, with date stamps and records, compelled by psychoanalytic odysseys reserved for exploration by the deepest halls of my mind.
  
  Starting this chapter of the Odyssey Of The Mind (OOTM.-2.71) series of articles. Here are some links for further in-depth reading, the core of a detailed published work: “The Code: Horizon Of Infinity”
  
  Video in conjunction with my work: YouTube 2:2 Video The Code: Horizon of Infinity

Transcendent a Ring Revolution the Gravitation Treadmill of Quantum Motorization

2016-03-02T17:22:00.000+01:00

At the source the universe is autodidact, and stems the fever of a synergetic trio of elements. Driving a ring I deduced from a vision decades ago the apparent misleading slinky coil spring which crawls in circles. Illustrating a moment in time, the composite exterior to a bicycle wheels by tandem spheres. An inner charged combustion chamber whirring the bolting rotary motor driving quantum dynamics. The ring seen as the driving chain, and such as a track bike fixed cog cranking the pedals, treadmill, accelerating into a wispy toroidal specter. A propelling notion that transits a sunflower crown of petals. Multiplying appearance out of a virgin universe. Shimmering en mass a nascent sound/gravitation movement waving across fields vanish over the horizon.

Understanding Transcendent Quantum Dynamics At Reckoning With Cognitive Psychology

2016-02-13T07:20:00.000+01:00

By writing this article, it became clear that quantum dynamics and gravitation dynamics are not related, and illustrating as such that separation by a transcendent embryonic cell, reckoning this vivid tapestry of the mind – imagination, kicks my mind back 65 billion years into a pitch black hibernating universal fabric. The perfection of nothing, dotted by an eyesight presence. Flawed. Suscitating an inadvertent wake up call. I asked myself a simple question; How? Seeing the universe gets about void of raw materials, without the hands to maneuver, and headless erects an assembly plant, furnishing with workbenches, and bringing the tools about to manufacture an ignition key. In absolute discretion, infinity without imagination in a turn of events ignites whining up an alternator. Sparking off in a combustion chamber fuel, and six in a series of attuned pistons, rotating a crankshaft. The breath of a purr, rev up, evolution pulls off, accelerating, amassing and swarms a transcendent-volition, a way through a zoological decors exploring a phenomena toward the birth of life on earth.

Addendum:

While every effort is made by the principal author to create short, self-sustained chapters, unique scenarios, and a self-sustained story, in some cases particular terms or words may lose their meaning imbued in a metaphysical context with related articles.

Meant to Illustrate:

1Background depth:

Given the rocky peaks as a preemptive perspective into the far distant depth of all times. The universe source of evolution, like a child seated at a maternity school table needle pricking a glossy black paper. Black-Luminescence, an invisible universal glaire that 'heated' coagulates into a white substance, emanates one after the other a starry light evoking an emerging pattern. In numbers tightens, in density a magnetic Milky Way, which sleeks out to a silvery water mirror.

2Angle's hair:

Blustery ethereal and magnetic locks of silvery angle's-hair from afield. Invariable like crocheting the threads of an axial dynamics emanating from the invisible fabric in a pitch black universe. In the vicinity, and auxiliary, to the open air structural Atomium, a virtual spider spinning silks in the square light of a window casing, processing a lens shutter at the six facets and boxing in a sphere.

3The Module:

The Atomium distinguished by coaxial modules, the erected scaffolding pipes clamped at the end over the crisscrossing axes by virtue of a ball of fingers. Emanating the auxiliary assembly of a universal blueprint a space-station the cubic armature of a binary system. Eliciting the blueprint circle in the transversal-axes – in the crosshairs, initiating, and transposing the cardinal X, Y and Z-axes – which, like molten glass suspended in the middle of the module. By the pointing crisscrossing coaxial pipes, to the virtual lips of six glass blowers. Each in turn breathes, and heart throbs a bubble to balloon.

4Colors of the cardinal axes

The emphatic bluish-bubble home by the Atomium outlines, suspended by the coaxial crosshairs a 100% dynamic red animated cardinal axis, like a flying star in a twilight zone – through a quantum field. Which like a bird striking a plate-glass patio doors, breaks the red axis in an apparent pillow fight scattering down. The laser like beam in perpetual disintegration give recourse to the 66% Y-blue and 33% Z-green cardinal axes, while the trail of a window reflection the passive course of the axes.

5Spinning tops

Three spinning tops shown by a long shaft an active anti-clockwise prongs starting in their respective axial color. At the height of a piercing force, the resistant red in a greater size, declining to a blue and onto a green. Stems a single spinning top alternating in crosshairs the coaxial spokes of the wheel, attuning [active] driving axle to a numerological sequence by a pleiad of dice. Regressive, fine tuning three strokes clockwise, a short shaft [passive] completing one cycle of a rotary motorization.

6Orbital particle rings

In the crosshairs, like planting the point of a compass exciting a propitious fabric. The other arm hinged and tracing, such as an intercontinental aircraft crossing an azure sky. A coaxial friction red hot cometic light particle trailing a laser beam race in the wake of a tapering out dispersing contrail dense at the thrust of jet engines. Contrary to an effective transcendent far afield in the vast vacuum of a virgin black universe, smoky luminescence coagulates and drags tapering down in a trajectory. The jet engine scooping up by virtue of a booster extrusion die, and in the axis cast the cometic light, pursuant on a Globe of Death courses, orbit a nascent heart throb wall of an expanding bubble, innumerable rings of revolving particles.

The image inset:

7A fistful pleiad of dice

Each of the die emanates an historic evolutive clone of a ball – and alike children at the start of a new school-year – relevant maturity of a principle binary cube-and-sphere module. Such as the logic rule of a puzzle ending boxed victorious in matching six die tiles. The image illustrates in a bubble a shooting of seven dice. In partnership reckoning with their racial coaxial color, characterizing playmates with a pouch shaking a hustle of marbles. Draw an opening hand in a pool by the passive and active line up with the seventh and odd one out of dice. Lagging behind the principle peripheral playmates starting off casting a focal homologic one-pip face to the middle monochrome of a die. In a game for keeps, and fine tuning of a universal numerological raster, equivalent to a polarized shutter to a coaxial color at determining which of the schoolmates matched the ray of light of a master in the making by accumulating a set of pips that configures a die.

Technically Abstract:

8Synergetic start up

Pinging in the scope of crosshairs an awakening axis out of infinity to an underlying universal blueprint. The opposing crossbars prongs on planted posts delimiting an excited axis drawn taut to extremes. Motivating a perpetual texture, encompassing a field of circles to spring to tangent points. Black-luminescence awakening in simultaneity; activating the breath of glass blowers while outward spreading a coaxial conducive wire. Inductive synergetic filament heating red hot a resilient element blowing at the crosshairs, in tandem a soap like solution bubbles. Evolving to animate a pair of clones mass gain balls into hustling forthcoming, either a Slave vis-a-vis a Master position.

9A Self-reckoning cell:

By virtue of an accidental arc welding flare mutating in either coaxial red, blue or green, the tubes breathing a heart throb bubble. Morphing a potential mature plasticine solid, pressing the pips by the processor of an architectural pleiad of dice in a numerological harmony. Printing an integrated circuit and fiber optic activating photosensitive boxed shutters to reach the cycloramic eye. With colored eyelids filtering lenses and fine tuning coaxial wired switches. Zeroing in, flashing the beacon of sight cranking a virtual six-cylinder crankshaft. Timing a transcendent mechanical recourse of the evolving cardinal axes. Which coaxial rod of pistons, after ignition of the slave dice chambers, launching the rotary motor. Flipping off the coaxial claws with a domino effect, scheduled a spinning top velocity and driving the master moment to the adjacent slave dice into a futuristic expanding movement.

10Quantum dynamics

At the momentum black-luminescent traffic ceased solid such as coaxial pencil points in the crosshairs of a bubble integrating a practical six-pointed sharpener. In the axial active and passive hue alternating an axle torque, for a dynamic rotation with the coaxial spokes of a wheel. The instant of needle points in a head-on collision, the moment points touch to spark off an arc welding flare at consuming the flux – like a simultaneity of cars approaching on a four ray monorail intersection. At a lightning velocity and a timing off a fraction entering, a switching platform, and meeting a plummeting and a projecting cars in an elevator shaft. Cars in a perpetual crash, unclogging a virtual molten glass, an effective gas bubbling underwater arc welding, flaring in smithereens, bright as a star in the night, such as whittling pencil leads to dust and sleeve wood shavings – .

The sporadic flare, a fist punched blasting off crystal residues, denting the lining and scoring axial pores in the film. Specter of an octopus, tentacles wiggling a growth on the outreach, emphatic vivid in the forth dimension, a code seven and shy automation key.

Tentative a body and in the diagonal auxiliary axial braces, in a symmetric drafting the magnetic gantries. In order to determine corners clamps and the coaxial scaffolding pipes. Structuring cantilevers from the central and master die pillar for the adjacent evolving clone bubbles emanating out of a virgin universe.

Home to a mutant breath of oxygen, mischievous subjective to a myriad of crystalline residues. Such as a faucet spouting a tube in a bowl, and swoops the water, which converted to a dramatic sextuplet. Sputtering like droplets from a mass, fringy crystalline into sprightly projectile ricochet inside an expanding octuple digestive balloon.

Timing the ignition for the first needle point to flip off. A directive domino effect waking up a dynamics in the adjacent bubble. While continuing a sequential coaxial transmission in rotation to a six point cycle. Revving up, such as a combustion engine, the block interior mechanics susceptible to an auto acceleration suscitating an evanescent dynamics, ghosting a ball – a bubble reaching simultaneous maturity to the constraining octuple magnetic lattice. Sparking the emergent crankshaft ends by the firing bolstering red hot particles and bolting of a rotary friction. Bearing the conceptual enlarging looping trails at the rate of the heart throb expanding balloon. Visibly orbiting rings along the cardinal planes, together with the cutting through body diagonals and final quantic momentum of the binary module.

11The mechanics

Historic a transcendent auto-reckoning binary cell, whereby dotted clone slaves democratic select their chief. Spreading the individual dynamics by a domino effect. Enlightening native villages in the jungle, amass and nurturing a tapestry of swirls. Widening a social structure, with influential busy circles quasi cocooned. A single spacecraft in the midst of a quasar cloud spreading and breaking a synthetic gassy red hot and cold blue to a fluttering starry dotted butterfly wings that matured one's transcendent-volition – .

Morphing forth adumbrating a harp with raised hands. Fingers on strings that break through a starry umbra dome, to a messenger of music from the puppeteering transcendent-volition. There, purfling a reverberating cord by a single embracing mountaineering water drop descending, in the midst of an innumerable orchestrated twilight passage through the zodiacal jungle. Caught in the weather near the ground, the binary cell released grips to hang in the fog. Progressive along a cyclonic turbulence. In a thunderstorm regurgitating raindrops. The binary cell jumps obstacles, to leap and spark off, carried along the scintillating lightning and awakening a fetus to birth.

Inhibited of experience, transcendent-volition puppeteers biorhythmic light waves impregnating the new born with the binary eyed cell nestling for a neurological existential awareness. Finding a cognitive recognition by the genetic blueprint. Scheduling functional growth, and body health, ripens in the light of curiosity by growth incentives. By arguments stimulating the sound of the linguistic mind. Ageing within a porous skin, in death oozing the visitant spirit, which binary cell full of joy escapes and leaves behind the life long restraining corpse. Impregnating an oxygen molecule, flirts with currents, feeling master of the universe. Sharing the breath of air with the living, at accessing the supraliminal knowledge bank, and the first industrious sun rays portrays an atmospheric daily morality.

Here are some links for further in-depth reading, the core of a detailed work: “The Code: Horizon Of Infinity”

Press release video: YouTube 2:2 Video The Code: Horizon of Infinity

Books available from the publisher: http://sbprabooks.com/ivanbroes/

Book available at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Code-Infinity-Ivan-Broes/dp/1628574666 and : Google Books

The Code: Horizon of Inifnity blogs

A Landslides Uproot a Tree And Out The Marsh Resuscitated Crawls A Dragon

2016-01-02T19:08:00.001+01:00

Cracking the mystery of a universal natural and tedious process of the evolution of the species. taken care by odyssey of my mind. Tapping on this occasion, to experience the period when rooted vegetation ruled the earth. From a blimp's-eye view, on a fast track, I view in the spirit of moving images an uprooted tree metamorphosing and writing the genes changing from a vertical existence for a horizontal metabolism forging a way into the animal kingdom.

From a psychic spatial perch, I witnessed a receding torrential storm that set in motion extreme devastating massive landslides. I turn sight left isolating the slope and focused after a slow starting forest slide, the acceleration bring down individual trees. Such as speeding children on skateboards, falling, tumbling and tuning wrestlers in a mud bath. Uprooted trees, now fleecy in leaf canopies rolling over, now easy lying logs on the slide down. From both hillsides trunks and canopies bogged down and like a glacier, upcoming viscous the liquefying mud washed through the valley.

A dead silence reigned at the foot of the hills, in the aftermath of an appeased tempest. At sight a battle field strewn with fell tree corpses. Then, in a glitch of time, across the ravaged zone, silty smoothed, by the soft instinctive strokes of tides lies an emerging beach sand. In an extreme placid weather, the waters regurgitated to the verge of the shores, floating apparent dead brushwood. A spring revival root new grass blades conjugating a mighty volition of vegetation that sprouted wild and scattered, a plant life by the spirit of its ancestral forest.

Shifting sight right across the cove, to single out a massive tree floating on the verge of the shore. Timeless in a marshland, hibernating a season proper to itself. The exposed sunbathing trunk, morphing bark above water level into protective rudimentary dorsal scales. Branches plunged under water, autumn breather leaves discolored, suffocated and drowned. Thinning out twigs, to a virtual wintry knuckled brushwood – awaking ant nests feeding calls, of cognitive cells, at resurrecting and rebuilding a horizontal orientated digestive organ.

Twiggy and knuckled, sprigs tread at low tide on the water bed. Stepping a sensory pad touch on a rich mineral soaked ground, bonding a vegetative existence. With rising tides, leaving the floor bed, and on the lurch for extended periods. Greedy and seeping, regenerating swelling fodder channels, off the inherent capillary filaments through innate branching brushwood. Circulating and accelerating veins flow, converging increasing arterial volume. In the evolution of the species, snaky in a shaping trunk space. Amidst branched-forelimbs, and the carrot root tail, from spreading hindlimbs, emerges the anaconda digestive organ.

In marsh lies the magnificent spirited spring canopy, blooming rich oxygenated translucent greens. Like the wind in the woods, incentives whispers, evoke a clearing in the spatial fleece – the outermost cleaved shoot of the fell tree, shaping in a leading mouth cavity, the shy organ. By an extended tranquil period, bathing in sun light, the cerebral fleecy crown breaks away at the collar a head growth from the shouldering fleecy branches.

In an ongoing concession, glimpsing at the glitch of times. Such as flocculent clouds against the blue sky. High winds stretch evanescent veils in smoke, and smoky, reappear rolling over consolidating expressions changing figures. Breathing leafy fleece, branching off the trunk pulmonary organs integrating seamless a developing torso. In pair, outer knuckled dorsal ribs, branching off fear flight membranes, stretching wings at escaping through the air.

By the innate spirit prevailing freedom, organ monsters gather in defiance, the heart throb, the inquisitive eyes, shaping a motorizing trunk. Home in the currents of the tides, brushwood limbs exploitative in water depths and skulking for prologued period. in receding waters, with digits growth that shaped tractable sharp claws. Digging the muddy floor bed and forging along, sloughing the remainder bark and leaves. With foresight beyond the shore on the ancestral high wooded lands. Instinctive the dragon crawls in the spirit of integrating the vegetational jungle, for an animated species to deploy in an upcoming zoological empire.

Earth – The Dying Child Of Mother Sun

2015-12-15T23:25:00.000+01:00

Synopsis:

To think that at the beginning of times an arc welding concept is at the source of evolution. That inception is at the core, when the base and rod are each other consuming and fusing. When particles spattering off into space a virtual flux and the genetic growth of the sun.

The mind journeys into the evolutionary arena of an evanescent matter. exposing matter in that virtual reality. If only to experiment with a LED light the other dimension behind a plate glass. In the realm of the unconscious, the mind moves into the remote areas far from the cerebral home of concentration.

Without time, nor dimension, vision grasps the wild spattering sun, which flawed through growing to the current stabilized dynamics. In the maturing process, the sun regurgitates stillbirth comets, and planets early to their death. The nascent fireball, and latest child of mother sun, which over eons fast consumes. the dying globe in a depleting energy, manifesting the period surging scales of crust, up to the launch in orbit of earth as we known today.

Addendum:

While every effort is made by the principal author to create short, self-sustained chapters, unique scenarios, and a self-sustained story, in some cases particular terms or words may lose their meaning imbued in a metaphysical context in tandem with related articles.

Meant to Illustrate:

The image of a bright sun and sunlight fading into the sourcing Black-Luminescent background. Earth is shown as a dying fireball, in a period of cosmic stability, emerging a cooling cow patches corals from a rough smoldering ocean a global transformation.

As distant rocky mountain raised their naked blue peaks over the horizon, in trance sight on their approach. Without realizing in the process my state of vision of a premonitory view to my surroundings, which were going to be home. Hard to tell the purpose of those visual messages, than the assertive mind, and my fascination of the quiescent moving images. The ensuing analytical burden, to discover how our existence morphed into shape.

At a period when time is measured by an evolutive cosmic change. The solar system entered maturity. Bristly sun rays skidding from getting a gripping on the smoldering surface. Pressured the infant fireball on the sunspot to take distance while developing cooling outlined cow patches. The dying adolescent globe exposed a growing resistant surface, and pushed further away. On the penumbra face, an ice cap formation advanced the regional cooling process. The ice gathered weight, initiating a roll, and meeting sunlight icebergs melted. Glaciers came streaming rivers into a smoldering rock that soared steaming atmospheric clouds. In alternating periods dust falls, laying films in layers, chimneys punctured a fragile continental crust.

The globe topples over and wobbles off to bristly sun rays that row through a raw smoldering ocean. A few of the bogged millipede crawls to grips over the ledge. The energetic bristly sun rays cross the plateau. Dive off and lose traction at the other end. The continental rafts on boiling seas breaking up. On the lurch deck chunks sail. Granular and shards rocks roll. In the waking up of a pearl harbor naval cemetery, the smoldering seas appeased. From the disaster continental decks with smoking stacks stabilized. Chaotic peaky vessels squeezed in the midst, gathers jutting shards of rocks at various angles toward space, and the globe toddles in rotation.

At the bottom of the abysmal gully, red hot soldering the seams, the continental plateau rebuilds, for another forthcoming breakup to the mood of smoldering ocean currents. Vapors rise, precipitation wash, and rivers carry in their flow sediments which are deposits in the cooling seams. Surplus waters plunge evanescent, the rocky beds under mounting ocean.

The virtual living dark shard blue rock of ongoing changes over eons to icebergs luster, by incessant needle pricking sun rays pelting bare quicksilver pinpricks on the surface. Bringing to view a period to watched a living ant nests dynamics eroding the hillsides. Rubbing the angles to organic ground and arousing a grass speckled green. Bleeding an evanescent raised sediments deposits, beneath the valley floodplains where meander a silver thread.

Nature dressed the hills with an invasive grass blades green cloak, which dominant leaves grew apparent flutes. Bringing en mass plant, to stand up against gravitation. Metamorphosing in a medley of brushwood textures and color at the spreading of bush species, to sight the scene evolved to a majestic forest of trees.

The day that I stepped on the trail of the troubadours coming to town, the loop of the river at my feet. Climbing to oversee the cliffs from the paraglider launching site. The sleeping waters in the meandering riverbed, in the years to come. As I grew to realize my mind had journeyed evolution, destiny had another surprise installed for me to discover, from the point of view, which became a passage on my hikes across the highlands.

Finally:

Here are some links for further in-depth reading, the core of a detailed work: “The Code: Horizon Of Infinity”

Video in conjunction with my work: YouTube 2:2 Video The Code: Horizon of Infinity

Books available from the publisher: http://sbprabooks.com/ivanbroes/

Book available at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Code-Infinity-Ivan-Broes/dp/1628574666

Why not read 47 pages on: Google Books

View the pictures in a sequence of evolution: Flickr

The Evolution Psychology of Human Instincts

2015-12-07T20:44:00.004+01:00

Vision is a passenger-scientific tool of the mind, which has kept me intrigued since infancy, over half a century in due course, with date stamps and records, compelled by psychoanalytic odysseys reserved for exploration by the deepest halls of my mind.

Watching a rococo coif rising over the horizon, the birth of volition, innocent white cloud underpinned with a silver lining, angelic and changing, such a phenomenal force transcendent and cosmic, one's transcendent volition emerges at such great distance, like a jellyfish cell through infancy into a tropical thunderstorm, the magnitude of one’s volition manifest at maturity, by the electric force, and in the precipitation phase, a spiritual avatar permeating a fetus to birth. In a shell, a cerebral volition for the unconscious state to express itself. By the gift of a remote body, one's transcendent volition is the home of consciousness, housing firewalls against unwanted cosmic and intrusive peers. By the beacon at the epicenter of an infant's head, flashing a cycloramic light beam, streaming to beam sight, one's transcendent volition keeps in view a cognitive contact. Shrewd, able to pirate a vast open-source knowledge bank in the supraliminal, a bank of living experience gathered, in the zodiacal garden of evolution. Instinctive transcendent volition reaches out. Today's generations are reaping the faculties, which each individual contributes to through the build-up of technological advancement.

Meant to Illustrate:

The butterfly wings span out as our evolved transcendent volition from the web of a quasi galactic cocoon, which came together by the virtual fabric of a single cell, which is represented by the evolving clones of these plasticine balls circling the corners of the evolving blueprint spheres brought forth from a virgin universe.

Cells evoke a dynamic domino effect, such as skaters on an ice rink, life skating through the passage of time, which is represented by a glass sheet, as the current living generation generates across all species of life.
The butterfly wings that emerge from a cocoon that clouds together into a mass, divides and flattens by a galactic swirl into hot red and cold blue wings, one's transcendent cognitive volition – the soul of volition.
The plate of glass, in a balanced transparent light, , from a two-way mirror effect, mind teasing phenomena, by a virtual reality – a representation of the volition of puppeteering Man, the mind jumps that physical manifestation to its source – one's transcendent cognitive volition. Clairvoyant and derivative, surpassing the boundary of reality – psychic tools given to access that virtual reality where there is no time nor dimension, existential as one's ‘present.’
The image illustrates a glow in a lava formation, quasi matter formation, at its heart a galactic-cosmic neuron burning out, a virtual cancer and universal cycle of a transcendent volition, quasi cerebral.

Technically Abstract:

A mother to be, her embryo develops a cerebral beacon¹ of light, and sight calling forth, an emergency blue light ambulance in motion in a pitch black night, from that organ center. A telescope crosshairs from a ship on rough seas, tracking a waxing face and an ephemeral eclipse of the earth spinning through seasons in orbit under the auspice of the force and choice of one's transcendent volition.

Transcendent volition relies on the flash of the searchlight of the cerebral fetus to a mature beacon, to align and focus to the point of birth. After birth, and through upbringing and the span of a lifetime, one is addressed by that parsec-ray, an umbilical cord, as the object of a parallax in the limelight of our transcendent volition, shoulder whispering a hint of moral compass, the mischievous willpower, stationary and reflected in the arc of the parallax, a satellite dish, and by a cosmic dimension as flat as a sheet of glass. Transcendent volition stays connected, overseeing our wellbeing, through the zoological gardens, remote connections as one moves through the wild screams of the jungle in the depths of the night, and by day, a sailing veil shadows the sunlight’s color and casts misfortune, the crystal clarity of the cerebral beacon left in the lurch. Out of the crosshairs, comparative to jet lag, the snapped elastic of the sourcing of our transcendent-cognitive volition.

In answer to the question:

By a flutter of butterfly wings tattooed with one’s volition, puppeteering fingers, playing at the harp, voiceless manifests at the bristle of the sun’s rays, such as the lights of a music fountain. Virtual water drops along an optic fiber, and at the end, needle prickling, the parsec-ray in motion like a laser beam cutting through our dense path. These fractions of time, rhyme syllables, notion of words, the timbre of the messenger orchestrating in a cadence to exalt the understanding of phrases. One's mind dedicated to the forgotten cerebral beacon, in picking up these psychic extra-sensory perceptions, reaps the fruits of its visions, or angels’ whispers, the derivative of dreaming, our instinct in the first degree, as a tool in our survival kit.

The Code: Horizon of Infinity

2015-09-16T18:47:00.000+02:00

The Code: Horizon of Infinity is an awe-inspiring metaphysical narrative steeped in science and poetry. Delving into both the a priori and phenomenological dimensions of cognition, this odyssey of outer-body experience treks through the boundaries of time and space, surpassing the synthetic structures of empirical consciousness with almost supernatural finesse.

Mr. Broes traces the foundations and constant process of creation and re-creation from the primordial to the biological, taking the reader on a textured and colorful journey beyond the myopia of the self and into the realms of oceanic connectivity through the self. Employing complex metaphors and haunting imagery to illustrate this ontological and cosmological program, The Code: Horizon of Infinity proves deeply personal for the author while, at the same time, wholly universal.

It is clear from his text that Mr. Broes is an astute philosopher and gifted poet, presenting heightened concepts in the form of narrative and narrative in the form of heightened concepts. There is a hint of Leibniz and Heidegger in the writing, with flavors of Holderlin and Nerval to give it a literary flare; and yet The Code: Horizon of Infinity defies categorization or clear precedence— it is extremely original and entirely compelling in its own right as a startling breakthrough in modern thought. A scientific exploration of the beautiful and daunting— and a beautiful and daunting exploration of the scientific— I truly cannot recommend this book more highly.

—Charles Asher

#TheCode:HorizonOfInfinity

The Code: HorIzon of InfInIty

HOI2_92 The Spur of Conscious on the Assault Course Shadowing Living Intrigues

Synopsis: Horizon of Infinity: The Code

Subscribe + Comment = Editor, or, what age group of the reader, the gender, in a sentence your opinion. PS: Considering the writer’s profile, Thank You!

Flash Memoir:

***

***

***

***

Genie: From the Transcendent Source to Consciousness

2017-11-02.Did life begin at one location on Earth and spread

For the evolution of plant life into a free roaming monster: elsewhere.

What is meant by black matter

The Big Bang is Wrong -- Here is an Explanation for the Origin of the Universe

Ideas Mushrooms From The Brain – Hard Determinism – Not Ethically Accountable Of Our Acts

G-d gives nature – Man a body – and through the mind takes all to Itself

The Mind Expresses Itself By Nucleus Brain Explosion – For The Good Or Bad Enlightenment

The Third Eye – The Tool At Reaching Out To G-D

The Prophesy Of Enlightenment – Interface The Brain And The Cosmos

The Philosophy Of Parapsychology – Mechanics Of A Conducive Prophecy

Rose and the gypsy

Ivo and Caroline

Saturday 1 March 1992

Sandton city

Igor and Robyn

Destiny lies in ruins

Lionel and Gavin

Jelly and transparency

Hazyview

Hazyview

Sabi_Sabi

The Spar

7 i's

Ines

Prophesied pregnancy and 19 September 1993

name Louis

Grandparents Somers'

Genie of Telepathy The kinetics connecting minds

Genie of Telepathy

The Aniconic volition grip in a monomaniac nestling of a cosmic cradle

The Sunbeam Vector And The Genies From Morphotic Scenes At Periods Of Various Times

Existing Before Birth – To A Conscious Taking Stage – By Death Closing The Circuit

The Moral Twilight Zone Of The -mind- Suscitating Objective Symbols

Synopsis:

Are We Responsible: For Our Wits Plunged In A Synergy Of Think-Tanks Minds?

Who Is G-D – Investigate – The Profile Of A Transcendent “bionic” Laboratory

Governing Matter: The Fine Tuning Of Light Dictating Visions

Following a lead across worlds

Meant to Illustrate:

Technically Abstract:

Transcendent a Ring Revolution the Gravitation Treadmill of Quantum Motorization

Understanding Transcendent Quantum Dynamics At Reckoning With Cognitive Psychology

Addendum:

While every effort is made by the principal author to create short, self-sustained chapters, unique scenarios, and a self-sustained story, in some cases particular terms or words may lose their meaning imbued in a metaphysical context with related articles.

Meant to Illustrate:

1Background depth:

2Angle's hair:

3The Module:

4Colors of the cardinal axes

5Spinning tops

6Orbital particle rings

The image inset:

7A fistful pleiad of dice

Technically Abstract:

8Synergetic start up

9A Self-reckoning cell:

10Quantum dynamics

11The mechanics

A Landslides Uproot a Tree And Out The Marsh Resuscitated Crawls A Dragon

Earth – The Dying Child Of Mother Sun

Synopsis:

Addendum:

Meant to Illustrate:

Finally:

The Evolution Psychology of Human Instincts

Meant to Illustrate:

Technically Abstract:

In answer to the question:

The Code: Horizon of Infinity