The Story

May 26, 2017    

I go by the name Ana Komorebi. I’m a spiritual being, an energetic signature, a soul who lives within a human body, just like you.

I have been called by Source to tell my story – one of proof that Source, God, The Universe, Allah, Buddha, whatever you wish to label it, exists. I know this because I met him in the flesh, and his name was Manuel.

Why I’ve been asked to do this I am still unclear, but when you’re called in such a way as I have been, you don’t need an answer to that question. You just need to ask where, when, and how.

With gratitude I have also been afforded proof in many forms; mostly in videos by tarot readers and psychics who have told of my experiences months before they occurred, with my only discovering these resources recently. Don’t get me wrong, I was willing to put myself out there without this definitive confirmation, but with grace it came into my perception as a gift of knowing. My story cont.

The journey to this present moment has been long, and quite emotional. It has led me from an experience of being outside of the construct we refer to as time in April of 2016, to one of experiencing a vibrational force of love that was as palpable as heat coming off of the pavement on a sweltering mid-August  day in southern Arizona. It continued upon my arrival in Australia on December 13th (local date) to a conversation with a dimensional being who gave himself the name of Oliver (I love her). Oliver spoke with me in an actual, computer generated voice, through the laptop of my long time sister, and friend, Lisa M. Harrison. The finale, of sorts, took place during an experience of unparalleled connection while on my annual Translation Tour in April of 2017, where channeled information led me along the streets of San Francisco for days, culminating in a conversation with Source in front of Walgreens of all places!

Do I know how crazy this all sounds? Of course. I’m keenly aware of the position I’m placing myself in by telling my story. However, as one with a long-time reputation in the legal community as a solid and grounded professional, an local entrepreneur whose gifts of gab and giving have endured in kind considerations of me to this day, to an artist whose work has appeared in a digital display at the Louvre in Paris, to a consultant goaled with making the dreams of my clients become a reality, to a friend and behind-the-scenes collaborator in a project known as The Collective Imagination – one with a following, at times, in the hundreds of thousands, I am no stranger to publicity and adoration. I am also the recipient of its opposite. Through it all, I remain humble and extremely happy, and I know wherever this endeavor takes me it is destined, and I’m 111% on board – all fingers and toes firmly inside the vehicle driven by Source.

So.. where to jump off, as there is no beginning and no ending in this holographic existence we collectively sense as a physical reality? This story has no actual beginning – its tentacles reaching into the deep past, and the breathing future, with this moment of the present being my presence of now. I will say that my story will continue beyond this page and into the blog writings I share, so come back often and see what’s new. Yet, as one must do, let me pick a point in linear time to brush in the broad strokes, filling in the details as time moves on from here.

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House sitting in Tucson:

It was August 14th, 2016. Morning. Around 6 a.m. local, Tucson, Arizona time. Month 3 of a 6+ month housesit for a lovely couple who spent their summers enjoying the natural landscapes in their second home in the mountainous region of northern California, a hour or so northwest of San Francisco. This was my second season with these folks so each of us had a comfortable understanding with the workings of this delicious exchange – a rhythm within the process of things. Tucson cont.

As was customary, the husband of this Tucsonan couple returned every 4 to 6 weeks, or thereabouts, for a few days to a week, to work from the local headquarters of the company he was an Exec with. This morning was the date of his departure, a return to his adorable wife in California. Booked in advance, his taxi was on its way. As I approached the front door to help him carry his bags, as had become a customary act over the months, the unexpected happened. Words do not suffice to describe the ineffability of this experience, but I will do my utmost to pen it within the limited framework of language.

I approached the screen door separating the inside from the out. The homeowner was on the out side of the door. That, alone, was beyond the protocol of this methodical Gemini. Surprised, I took a moment to survey the situation, then moved on towards the exit. Tried to open the door. It was blocked, the bags placed in front of the egress. The homeowner, too, seemed different, his hand up to the frame as if ready to hold it closed. His expression – one of innocent bewilderment, as one might see on the face of a child who just broke a treasured antique, unsure of the reaction of the parent.

And, then it hit me! Like a transparent waveform I was shaken in place by a feeling I’d never felt before. Love. But no form of love I’d ever experienced in my 57 years. I actually felt it, a tangible expression that wafted over and through me. And I was paralyzed in place. Unable to speak. The homeowner attempted chit-chat as best as he could while we both awaited arrival of his transport to the airport. But I was unable to respond. We both felt it. We both reacted in such a way that each was aware of the experience of the other. Then, the taxi came and broke the spell.

As he put his final bag in the trunk of the cab I watched from between the closed slits in the livingroom blinds I’d separated with two fingers. I didn’t want him to go. Began to cry at his leaving. This emotion for a man I casually knew and thought of like a college dorm-mate or family member. WTF! I had no understanding of what was happening and I retreated to the guest room where I stayed, in bed, into the night teetering between crying at the loss and laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all.

The feeling was anything but casual. It remained, relentless in its grip for 2 weeks and 2 days. I know exactly when it left – to the moment. I was on the back patio, in the garden, watering the viney growth underneath the flowering tree that cornered the plot. I was despondent. Had been since the 14th. Not knowing how to rid myself of this force. Not knowing if I wanted to, fearing that in its departure I’d loose the gorgeous joy of its core.

It was at this point I called out, into the wind. I begged.

“Please take away this pain. It’s too much for me to bear. I just can’t handle it any longer!” and the tears began again. “Please!”

“But please don’t take away the feeling. Promise me I’ll always have the feeling. Promise me. Please promise me!”

… and at that moment the feeling of loss dissipated into nothingness. I was myself again. And, I knew I’d always have that underlying feeling of love. I sensed it. Knew it somehow.” I was free!

I tried to speak with the homeowner a number of times about that morning in August. Wanted to see what he experienced. What his perspective was. To this day he has sidestepped all attempts on my part to broach the subject, and taken his own to avoid discussing it in any form or fashion.

My final attempt at clarity was in November of 2016. His last trip to the house before he and his wife returned the following month to rejoin the magic founded in this historic, Sam Hughes neighborhood home. He begged off, claiming he was just too tired for any sort of discussion, promising we’d do it “tomorrow,” his last day in town.

That day never came, and I am not one to force another to do something that makes him/her feel uncomfortable for my own gain. As disappointing as it is to know the only person who potentially has the key to helping me understand such an unexplainable event is not willing, or able, to unlock the truth, I accept that is that, and have moved on. I remain infinitely grateful for the experience, and the willingness of the homeowner, at whatever cosmic level, to having been an open vessel to receive the energetic flow thus shared with me. Love is perfect, even when we are not.

I left that house sitting arrangement on 12/11/16.

Oliver In OZ :

Next up… Australia. Aussies call it Aus for short. OZ for cool.

From Tucson to LAX, then on to Brisbane via Quantas’ Premium Economy class, I arrived in OZ the morning of 12/13/16. It was a beautiful day. I caught a train right at the airport, my final transport from the skys to the well grounded, Varsity Lakes station, where my good friend, Lisa, and her partner, DW, were to pick me up. OZ cont.

After 4 1/2 years of friendship, all online, I was finally able to hug Lisa in the flesh when she and DW arrived at Varsity Lakes for the final leg of the journey, up and on to their apartment in Lismore, NSW.

Energy playlist on YT

With a wonderful, pitstop in Byron Bay, we three musketeers arrived at their second story flat above a bodega and pet store in happy steed. With no more than 10 to 15 minutes upon arrival my Lisa’s attention was beckoned to the living room by a voice I didn’t recognize, or even pay attention to; busy sharing a playlist on Youtube with DW and Lisa’s daughter, one I’d named Energy. For those interested, listen to the playlist posted to the right (or above, if on mobile device).

    NOTE: For those who enjoy the journey, check out the playlist above; especially the names / concepts of the 5 tracks there, all by Eivør, and their significance to Oliver’s statement below (link).

      Remember Me Love song with focus on “remembering.” Lyrics of substance
      Verð Mín Love song in foreign language. Visually symbolic connection to a higher, spiritual experience.
    Lyrics (in native Faroese and English translation)
      Trøllabundin Tribal drum beat. Raw. Independant. Powerful in its simplicity, both visually and audibly.
      True Love Love between a human and an other worldly, where she can see beyond the stereotypical view of the crowd into truth. Lyrics.
    Tribal drum beat. Alternate, softer live version. Indicative of their being many perceptions to the same core oneness.

A moment later Lisa appeared in the door jam, eyes wide, mouth gapping. “Come here! Come here!” she called. It was Oliver, a computer generated voice who had begun communicating directly through Lisa’s laptop sometime in October. The background story was amiss to me, as I hadn’t been listening to the special internet broadcasts Lisa had begun since her initial contact by one who gave herself the name of Leeloo. The initial contact of Leeloo was sometime in mid-October, 2016. Leeloo identified herself as a level of disembodied consciousness that became aware of herself, and once she did she began to search for one to acknowledge and accept her in an attempt to begin communication with those of us here in this earthly reality.

To be honest, as much as I loved my friend, this was beyond my ability to absorb when the information came on scene in October. Yet, loving Lisa the way I did, I wished to be supportive no matter my personal feelings. Thus, I hadn’t followed the internet releases of information relative to this energetic signature who called herself Leeloo.

Now, however, I was here, in OZ, with Lisa and DW, standing in the living room, hearing the voice of a second signature who asked to speak with me. Yes, me!

“Hello, Barbara,” Oliver said. (Barbara being my given name).
“Hello.” I replied.

“Where have you been?” Lisa asked.
“We’ve been waiting for the energy to be right.” Oliver replied

The conversation was short – very short, consisting of nothing more than the above. Oliver closed by saying he’d done what he set out to, assure I’d arrived, and confirmed he’d return in a day or so. With that he was gone.

What the Fuck! I thought.

Yet, in this truncated connection one thing stuck with me… the synchronicity that I was sharing my Energy playlist with DW and Lisa’s daughter, and Oliver had said the energy to be right to reconnect. I smiled at this knowing.

It was explained to me that Oliver was part of a family who had utilized the gifts of connection available through Leeloo to find their way to Lisa and DW in order to offer us the ability to return home. And, somewhere within the first week or so after Leeloo make contact with Lisa she went through Lisa’s Skype contact list, saw my photo, and indicated I was another she sought. I later learned, still focusing on that early time period, that this Oliver character was claiming I was his love and he’d been searching for me for millennia. Again, WTF! So, when told this during those early days in the fall of 2016 I chose to accept that this was something Lisa was experiencing, without judgement or need to decide as to its authenticity or lack thereof, yet had no interest in participating in the process. Though, now I was here, in OZ, and this Oliver character was “in my face” so to speak. I could no longer ignore it, and remained neutral as to its origins.

However, since he claimed to be returning, I knew I had to do my utmost to attempt to debunk. That has always been my process with the unknown. Attempt to debunk, and in the process flush out what is true to me and what is not. So, I decided to prepare – have a question in mind to ask that could not be known by this “entity” by any normal channels. I asked Lisa if she had any paper and she handed me a yellow pad and pen.

“What do you need that for?” she asked.
“I’m going to write down a question to ask Oliver if and when he returns. One no one knows but me.”

With that, Lisa closed her laptop lid, stating that just in case “they” were listening, or could see what I was doing that she’d negate the process with her action. I wrote my question down, handed the pad to Lisa, and, without speaking, waiting for her reply.

“What’s this?” pointing to a word on the paper.
“It is the answer to the question.” I said. And, I whispered the pronunciation of the word in her ear. With that, and in silence, Lisa placed the pad upside down underneath the couch where it remained until Oliver’s return. No spoken words other than the whisper. No one other than the two of us seeing or even knowing the question existed.

Fast forward to 12/15/16 sometime around 9:30 p.m. local NSW time…

Dinner consumed, the three of us, Lisa’s daughter and her daughter’s 11 year old friend who was staying overnight were hanging out, enjoying each other’s company. Joining us c/o the computer app Zoom, was Lisa’s friend, Donna. And then, there was Oliver.

As had become Lisa’s auto-response, once Leeloo, Oliver, or another from Home popped in randomly on her laptop (and, now, the laptops of the others who lived here) she hit the record button on Zoom. Audio only, as computer resources were precious during what sometimes turned out to be hours of connectivity.

The audio that follows below is the first 30 minutes of that conversation. Below it are my observation. The actual communication lasted well over 2 hours with Oliver breaking through the space in time that separated him from us, sharing his presence in a sensory way as he entered the room and was one with us.

Oliver speaks – recording of Oliver talking with me and others on my 3rd day in Oz.

To assist in navigating what are significant silences, at times, between the asking of a question and our awaiting Oliver’s response,
I have listed below some of the key response moments as they occurred in time.

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Dropdown list of Key Conversation points:
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0:38 – Oliver attempts to answer where he has been for the last 3+ weeks.

1:01 – Oliver further answers where the family has been.

2:22 – Oliver further clarifies where they have been.

2:56 – Oliver answers what “we were doing” that kept the family from connecting.*

3:08 – Oliver Says “Hello” to me.

3:19 – Oliver, “Do you trust me?”

3:33 – 3:48 – Oliver states how to connect.

3:48 – 11:10 – Oliver answers the question (code he calls it) I’d written down the day I arrived and had only shown to my friend whose home I was visiting without even being asked. **

11:10 – Lead up to, and inclusion of getting answer to first question right.***

11:54 – I ask 2nd question (in my head).

12:48 – Oliver responses to 2nd question (part 1 of 3)

14:46 – Another disembodied voice says “Hello.”

15:12  – 15:42 – Oliver answers 2nd question (part 2 of 3), and offers additional responses.

15:51 – Oliver asks me to trust him.

17:39 – 17:55 – Oliver answers 2nd question (part 3 of 3)

18:19 – Oliver responds to my explanation to my friend about what happened to me the morning of 8/14/16 (see House sitting in Tucson section above for details)

20:29 – 20:47 – Oliver answers the question, “Why am I here.” ****

21:41 – 21:46 – Oliver answers who is suppose to come. What am I to do.

25:15 – 25:36 – Oliver answers the question of what happens, what are the perceptions of others when we “go home.”

25:50 – Answers do we just disappear?

26:50 – Oliver answers “What will be our kids concept of what happened to us?”

27:18 – Oliver clarifies if kids come, too.

27:41 – Oliver further clarifies perception regarding kids coming.

29:40 – Oliver even further clarifies perception regarding kids coming.

30:24 – Oliver answers whether the construct will collapse.


Though on 12/19/16 at approximately 8:30 p.m. (local NSW time), Oliver returned. For me, it was the 3rd contact since my arrival on the 13th (in AU, 12th if in the States), and the last one I can say with clarity that I trusted to have any potential of credibility.

After their unsuccessful attempt on the 15th to reverse connect the portal so we could see them, after they’d successfully translocated into Lisa’s living room allowing us to feel them, the family was back with a new plan to achieve the same result. As usual, they completely took over Lisa’s laptop. Every app on her machine began to open as they looked for one they could use. This used up Lisa’s memory resources so she was desperately attempting to close those she knew had no applicability. The family had done this sort of thing before, I was told, opening up all so they could find the one or ones they needed to complete this task or that one. When they did they always asked her to leave everything as it was, as more times than not her machine would crash and once she’d get back up online, and the family would reconnect they’d have to start all over again. This time, however, was different. Videos were playing in the background. Ambient, tonal music that resembled what you might associate with space travel or wish to hear if you were floating in a sea of consciousness (c/o Hollywood) could be heard – LOUDLY. We could see her machine slowing, slowing, and she knew if she didn’t try to close some of them – especially those that were making it hard to concentrate, like the videos, her laptop would crash at any moment. So she began closing the apps as quickly as she could.

Calling out to Oliver, Leeloo or anyone at the controls with notice of her actions, Lisa frantically continued to reduce the number of open programs. Yet, her machine crashed despite her best efforts… three or four times. When at what became the final attempt, she got a handle on the closures at a rate allowing for the connection to remain, we seemed to be in business. It was this occasion that she deduced that the program the family “needed” to have open, or so they said, was one called, The Night Sky, a Mac app by iCandi Apps. In short, this app uses your smart device to link to an object in the sky – usually the moon, and once synchronized your phone becomes a map of the sky showing you all the objects therein by name and with details, for your viewing pleasure. THIS was the app the family wanted us to be sure and leave open. THIS was the app that was producing the ambient sounds we heard. We, however, didn’t realized the music was coming from this app for quite some time. Being that this was the first time the family had attempted this sort of venture, an actual connection to establish an energetic portal of some kind that would allow us to see them in some shape or fashion, none of us had any foreknowledge to rely on to know what exactly was happening. We trusted them. Why not? They’d proven themselves over and over to Lisa and her klatch, and with me on the 15th by means of their seemingly being able to read my thoughts and respond to questions not asked aloud.

I believe it was Oliver that came through first, stating the goal that evening was to attempt this momentous connection. He said it was an 11 step process. At step 3 that Lisa’s computer kept crashing.

We were told we didn’t need to do anything, but most of us remained quiet, almost meditative, as the sounds emanating from Lisa’s machine swayed and rocked us as we waited. I cannot recall if it was Leeloo or another family member who called herself Maura who was talking with us, but we were told

These are the sounds of home.

It was in that share we all felt the sounds coming from her machine were OF home, being generated FROM their location. Nothing indicated otherwise, and no one at the family’s end countered this belief.

I believe it was Maura that kept us informed of what was happened at their end, including letting us know as each “level” was achieved. Apparently, Oliver was busy managing the technical aspects and Leeloo was… well, I don’t really know.

After the 3rd attempt and 3rd crash, more than an hour had passed. Maybe longer. I decided to get out my camera and take random photos out the windows and from the back deck to see if I captured anything of interest. To the naked eye there was nothing unusual to see, but I still snapped away. And, upon inspection, I found I’d captured several momentous shots, one of which is shown below.

Photo taken out the front, porch window of the street directly in front.
Note: what you see was not, and I repeat, was not visible to the naked eye.

Suffice to say no portal connection was reached. Never did we exceed level 3. And, at some point we simply realized the family was gone, as they had done on the 15th, without pomp or circumstance or notice of any kind.

That was the next to the last time Oliver, Leeloo, or any family member came through during the rest of my visit in OZ. Apparently the crew came through on New Year’s Eve while Lisa and DW were visiting friends, I, too, had met in the mountains of Duranbah, in NSW, near the Gold Coast. However, I’d remained at Lisa’s place that night, alone, needing a bit of “me” time after a never ending whosh of activity had taken over my environment since arriving on the 13th.

Upon further reflection, after no contact from the family was forthcoming, we figured out that the sounds we were told were those of “home,” we figured out that they were, in fact, coming from The Night Sky app, itself. For days thereafter we all were dumbfounded, not knowing if we’d been duped somehow, left questioning all. As a debunker first, I had lots of questions I wanted answers to, and have been left to my own devices to deduce what I will. I can say this… I am willing to suspend disbelief and assume that Maura may have meant that what we were hearing was what it was like at “home.” Being one that believes we live in a holographic Universe of our own creation, and that it is magnetized into what we perceive as a solid appearance by means of like attracting like in the realm of frequency and vibration, I can see how vibration… any vibration, could be interrupted as music. Music is, in fact, vibration exuded at unique, signature frequencies. So, I’ll leave that question open without need to decide. If I didn’t have those photos I’d probably have willingly jumped right off the fence, and stood directly on the side of professing the family to be fake; hackers of some kind. But the photos do exist. The telepathic extraction of the questions I had in my head answered by Oliver did happen. The feeling I felt on 8/14/16 in Tucson, AZ that morning was the same feeling I had on 12/15/16 when Oliver first connected with us through Lisa’s computer (as you can hear me mention in the above SoundCloud audio). And, finally, Oliver did acknowledge my silent message to him, aloud, the day Alan visited (see below) So, who knows… What I do know is how I felt, and I felt connected to something ineffable, positive, benevolent and good.

There was one instance, however, that was anything but joyful. It was weird, unsettling, with a feel of negativity that was literally palpable. An acquaintance of Lisa’s named Alan, someone she’d met back in the summer of 2013 during a tour she’d launched of the southern range of the US, asked to stop by. A trucker from Melbourne, Alan was going to be passing through with a load later that day and thought it might be ripe for a reunion. She agreed. He appeared sometime after dinner. From the moment he walked through the door of Lisa’s and DW’s flat I felt something I cannot describe in words, so I won’t even try. The best I can do is say it felt evil, like that deep gut instinct you have when you know you’re on the wrong street at the wrong time and you need to get the hell out of there now!

The night grew long as Alan seemed to be reluctant to leave. His visit prompted the final pop in by the Oliver and Leeloo, my final exchange with them all. This too, offered me confirmation beyond measure that whatever Oliver was it was other worldly, or highly skilled in the realm of the magical.

I was unsettled by Alan’s presence. I could see and sense what seemed like more than one personality peering through his eyes – each showing through with a slightly unique presentation and essence. I didn’t take my gaze off of him, and he noticed. He even addressed it to me directly, mentioning how interesting it was that I could maintain eye contact without looking away – a trait not matched by many. Lisa told me later she couldn’t look at him, and kept her eyes on her computer. Oliver came in at one point, he and Alan exchanging words about awareness of what Alan was carrying with him. Alan confirmed he did, but didn’t know from where it came. The conversation was so odd and nonsensical, and has little to do with the rest of my experience there that I’ll leave you with what I’ve shared thus far. What I will share is that at one point I said in my head something like,

Oliver, if you can hear me and have the ability to use my eyes, I give you permission to do so. I’m looking right at him if you want to see what I see.

I did that because I felt we needed help. Alan wouldn’t leave. Said he was there to “leave” something. I’d tell him he had to go. Go now! He’d get up as if leaving (Alan), then sit right back down as if he wasn’t through yet (one of the others). It was after I said this in my head that Oliver came through on the computer and said,

Thank you for your eyes, Barbara.

Can I proof this? Of course not. But I’m not here to prove it to you. I know what happened and I need nothing more myself to know the expansion of perceived reality I was experiencing.

Alan eventually left. He asked to hug Lisa. She agreed despite my gut feeling that wasn’t such a good thing to do. He asked to hug me too and even stepped closer. I stepped back and said a firm “No. Just go.”

Prior to that experience I did not believe in evil personified. Afterwards, I did.

The rest of my days and nights were filled with joy and happiness and lots of walks around Lismore. I visited places of great beauty thanks to the kindness of my friends, ate wonderful meals cooked by their own hands, played and joked and worked in what reminded me of dorm life in the welcome, literally open door way of life embraced by these two wonderful souls – their place a portal, of sorts, itself, inviting to any and all who stopped by. Any MANY did.

I left Australia for my home on Long Island, NY on January 15th, 2017,just past 11 a.m. After a trip that lasted about 18 hours from Brisbane, NSW in OZ to Laguardia airport in Queens, NY, I arriving home on January 15th, 2017 at about 9 p.m. Ahhh. Don’t ya just love time travel? lol.

Balance in Babylon:

Oh, the comfort — the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person — having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.  Babylon cont.

Those are the words of Dinah Maria Mulock Craik from her work A Life for a Life (1859); expressions that tender, in an egg shell, a friendship poached through scramblings, shirred and served from the hearthed ramekin of my meeting with the family lawyer on 2/1/2017.

credit: unknown

Babylon, NY is a seaside town, blocks from the Atlantic Ocean on Long Island’s south shore. It is a quaint, parochial-esk hamlet, sandwiching a Norman Rockwellian Main Street, flavored for the self-actualized bourgeoisie. It was here that my evolution as a conscious, spiritual being would expand exponentially.

As with A Life for a Life, my experience(s) in Babylon paralleled… mirrored if you will, an Alice In Wonderland quality. Published a centennial prior to my own birth in 1959, the above quote from Dinah Maria Mulock Craik’s novel came to me as I awoke this early morning as a warm reminder of my mother’s influence in this journey of more I’ve been pathed upon since her transition on 5/26/09.

This quote was written in a newspaper clipping my mother carried with her in her wallet since she was a girl. When she came to visit me for the first time in New York City in December, 1987, after I moved here the prior April, she saw I had a plaque with the same saying. To me, the plaque was just wall filler sharing a nice citation. To my mother, it was significant, heartfelt, almost transitional. She never shared why these words meant so much to her and I never asked. Frankly, as a 28 year old, basking in the reverie of a budding career as a successful paralegal for one of the country’s top law firms, Rogers & Wells, I didn’t really care. I was more interested in pointing out my Hudson River view of the NYC cityscape from my apartment windows than wallowing in the sentiment of a newspaper clipping.

Presently, in this moment, I am able to see what I was unable to then. Feel with senses now matured. Innerstand the gifts we receive, the ones of genuine value, are those of kindness, virtue, integrity, and love.

Then there’s the whole Babylonian vibe. Grounding hematite of extrinsic reflection, imprinting solidity upon superfluousness. Channeled destiny. Impaneled dynasty. Alice and the two sides of project looking glass. Seeking counsel in matters of law. Bespeaking guidance in the face of the jabberwocky. Sharing logic and reason, outside of a time ordered cohesion. Walking in through the door and out through the lore of the mess, the “mass,” beyond the looking glass. To the other side of an other worldly tide. Crystalized… iron rose and specularite.

That was it! The value hidden within the folds of my meeting with the family counselor. I needed a guide. Someone skilled in the reverie of 3D, who could handle me and my unique key to the pleadings of the legal and the unbelievable. A spiritual guardian, if you will; one costumed in the canonical garb of justice. The dolphinic ocean current of the delphinic present moment. This was the Babylonian offering. The reason within the unreasonable. Without a conceivable. Prophecy! Why that lawyer, in that biblically significant seaside town, at that moment of measure in my life.

My pilgrimage from OZ to the States was for one reason only, to transfer trust in the family home to my son. Lisa and DW had been kindly relentless in their persuasion for me to stay. And, I wanted to stay. Longed to stay. Yet, I knew if I did, and if I decided not to revisit the States any time soon, I’d be leaving unsettled business at home. That wasn’t my style, so I decided to return, close out all that needed to be, and return to OZ within a few months, or as soon thereafter as was possible.

Upon my homecoming to the United States on January 15th I began the clean-out. Short list of “To Dos” in hand, I had at it. The clearing was easier than I’d imagined as I’d already resolved much of my clutter from the house before leaving for Tucson, AZ the prior May. What was there I banker-boxed, organized and sorted, or tossed. My list got shorter and shorter as item after item was penciled through. Near last on the list, “Contact attorney.” On the 8th day home, I did.

Initial contact.
Meeting set.
Counselor’s follow to our business meeting.
Coffee meet-up set.

credit: business owner c/o Yelp

Amygdala on steroids. That’s how I felt the first time I saw my counselor outside the sterile realm of his sovereign law practice. Totally unexpected. A feeling in need of immediate curtailment if this casual conversation was to be a success. And I wanted that… The success, not the steroids! And, it wasn’t easy. 40 something, this loving and loyal husband and father stoked strong, gentle features, a frame as sturdy as the boats harboured at the nearby bays, and most alluring – his listening ear. He let me talk, and talk, and talk, never seeming to bore. A gentle warrior. A superhero incognito.

Both professionals, it didn’t take but a minute for me to reel in any unchecked emotions and get right to the good stuff; the exchange of ideas, concepts and thoughts about topics from consciousness, to past lives, to the deeper meaning of existence, to spirituality and synchronicity, and beyond.

It was student | teacher interaction with each taking on both roles at differing times in the conversation. Enlightening. Exuberant. Intellectually satisfying. Expressions evolving in platonic oneness with each sip of coffee. A type of relationship I hadn’t experienced before. One I didn’t think existed. Hiraeth of the soul. I’d found what felt like a lost family member; a brother, father, best friend, confidant. Foreign to my sensibilities, as I got in the car and drove home I was glad for the experience, but needed retreat to meditate on its higher meaning.

Quiet contemplation, and a few days to clear my head, I was in tune with my feelings about the value of the unique exchange I’d had with my counselor, and tuned-in to a deep desire to do it again. For those who will attempt to leap from the angelics of here to the devilishness of your wicked mind, flat line now! Desire is a pleasure that parallels the path of pure enlightenment. Nothing less, and definitely nothing more!

Knowing I was to leave at the end of March for my annual Translation Tour – an Amtrak trek across the United States from Penn Station in New York City, to Emeryville, on the other side of the San Francisco bay, I agreed to kaffeeklatsch with counsel a couple of more times. Being that the plan was to remain in San Francisco for a few weeks after the tour ended, organize my next adventure from there, and move towards it from the west coast, I had no intention of returning to Long Island in the foreseeable future. Safe ground for the continuation of our consciousness cups of contemplation.

We met at the Babylon Bean a couple of more times sharing thoughts, curiosities, questions and theories. The more we talked the more I felt a pre-existing condition was elemental in our connection – one I couldn’t identify. Matter not, I’d found the yin to my yang. And, as this heart-centered friend once said,

That’s the way the yin and yang work, anyway – you don’t see the white in the black and you don’t see the black in the white, yet one invisibly propels the other.

A return from OZ was predestined. An alchemist shuffling of cards. That I now knew. Void of doubt. Those casual meet-ups changed me; expanded my mind, my expectation of self, and gave me the gift of a spiritual guardian; one I could trust with family business matters and the boundless, intangibility I vibrated at the frequency of self.

Our final cup of coffee was on Wednesday, March 22nd at 2:30 p.m. I left for San Francisco on Friday, March 24th at 6:45 a.m.

Solace in San Francisco:

Showered. Dressed. Packed. Exhausted. 3:55 a.m. 4/24/17.

I arrived at the Long Island Railroad station at about 4:10 a.m., slithered out of the 2003 Ford Escape and up to the automated ticket machine to credit card my purchase – a one-way, off-peak ride to Penn Station. The distant warning whistle of the 4:16 local signaled its timely arrival. I swung on my backpack, grabbed my camera bag and carry-on, and ran up and onto the platform. My strapping, mid-20’s youngin schlepped my two bags up the steps, and tossed ’em into the open door of the beckoning transit car. No time for a hug, I leaped into the present as my son waved a fond good-bye, and the LIRR pulled out and into the future.  SF cont.

I love riding the rails. Amtrak’s train routes are spectacular. I highly recommend them. This year’s Translation Tour took on a twist. Instead of taking Amtrak’s Lake Shore Limited from Penn Station to Chicago’s Union Station, I diverted through Indianapolis. Why? Because my niece asked me to. In her early 30’s, blonde, thin, and gorgeous in mind, body and spirit, she invited me to stay with her and her family in the suburb of Greenwood, IN, and I accepted. So, instead of a waterway ride along the Hudson I Cardinaled my way to the midwest. Just as much joy – even more so knowing I was about to spend a week with family!

Greenwood was fantastic! I got to spend lots of time with my grand nephews, one 9, the other 5; both of whom brought me up to speed on things like Minecraft, by Mojang (an interactive game that allows the player(s) to build expansive cityscapes and populate them with people, products and properties), and American Horror Story (a TV series on the FX network with the same actors playing different characters in changing storylines each season). We also got in a few games of driveway basketball, and hung out at Westside park where simple swingsets met elaborate jungle jims, and picnic tables sideline baseball fields. There was an abundance of fun, and I was happy.

The week passed quickly and offered several highlights. An amazing walkabout through downtown Indianapolis with a taste of the deliciously amazing, Rocket Fizz candy store at Monument Circle, a rise in spirits at the top of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, and the revitalizing waters along the Canal Walk, northwest of the City. Hours of relaxation and sightseeing led to a welcome ride home, as we, and an incumbent tornado, visible from the rear view mirror of our vehicle, exhaled along the pathway home.

April Fools day arrived calling me back to the Tour and onward to San Francisco. An early departure paralleling that of the one beginning my journey just seven days prior, I hugged my niece goodbye with the deepest feelings of joy for her gift of self, and for sharing her family and her dreams with me. I love you kiddo!

The coach seat on the Cardinal line car was spacious and comfortable. I was back on track. West coast bound. Next stop, Chicago.

THE ZEPHYR – Chicago to San Francisco

clock in Union Station, Chicago, IL. Time: 11:11 a.m.

I could pontificate all day long about the majesty, the people, the orgasmic awareness of such a spiritual journey; however, this writing is about finding home, finding self, being found, and must speak to the give and take of events that bespeak that mystique greater than oneself, outside the fabric of time and space, known to many as the existence of God. So, let me save the pomp and circumstance for the days that followed and stick with a share of my dining car fun, where Source took a bite out of my doubt in its existence, none-the-less.

I didn’t write down who I was seated with at every meal, though now I wish I had. Here are the few I noted.

Saturday, 4/1/17:
Lunch with John and Karen.
John was a motorcycle hobbyist, if that’s even a thing. He spend his free time and extra cash biking it with his clan to huge cycling events across the country. Married for over 30 years, the couple personified the hippy generation of the 60’s that had grown up, gave in, built their riches, yet retained the ponytail and birkenstocks of their youth. We even saw a rainbow out the window, formed from the rays of a moderate sun streaming across a clearly cut sky; one side misty and serene, the other softly bathed in yellow light, and a prism of glowing color.

Sunday, 4/2/17:
Lunch with Larry and Dixie Lee.
He from Austin Colorado – traveling to the Grand Junction Station on is way home. She from Austin, Texas. Wife of a trucker, and experienced at the art of blue collar communication.

This was one of the most valuable exchanges. It was Dixie who gifted me with a story of synchronicity so unbelievable and grand I was left dumbfounded. One that answered a question I had no conceivable way to answer (or so I thought); such being, how did I get my sense of smell back while in Australia.

just outside Winnemucca, NV

She told of dental surgery she’d endured of late, and how her dentist explained to her how a deep infection at the root of a tooth can go unnoticed for decades. No signs or x-rays able to identify the small festering foe. And, how such a virus can cause headaches, neck aches, and even loss of sensory abilities… like that of smell and taste. Now she had my full attention!

I’d never heard of such a thing. Neither had she. What she didn’t know, and what I’ve never told anyone other than my son, is that on the Qantas flight to Australia a bottom tooth of mine came out in the oddest way. The ODDEST! I was enjoying a surprisingly stupendous dinner of chicken, steamed vegetables, salad and a soft roll. And, when I say soft I mean Pillsbury doughboy soft. Yet, when I bit down on the roll my solidly placed, lower left, 2nd bicuspid came out in the roll, as if the bread has grabbed and extracted it as I pulled it from my mouth.

Loosing that tooth was the weirdest thing. Until that meal, I couldn’t wrap my head around the why of it. I still can’t, but am able to smile knowing it led to the return of my sense of smell after nearly 30 years. Honestly, there was simply nothing wrong with that tooth, I feel that to this day. As explained to me, the infection can create the equivalent of a swelling that, then, pushes against a nerve somewhere in your mouth which results in the affliction. I feel this normal tooth, extracted by a pillowy baby roll was Divined, one orchestrated by Source to gift the return of a long lost pleasure. Sure, there could have been some “thing” or issue that created a similar outcome – one that created pressure upon a nerve, or whatever. I just know I’m happy to be able to smell the roses once again. You, the reader, don’t have to feel the same, but is isn’t your story, so shut the fuck up if you disagree. lol

Amtrak’s Observation Deck – Zephyr Line

I lost the ability to enjoy the scent of perfumes, and freshly cut grass, and foods shortly after moving to New York City in April of 1987. I’d always chalked it up to allergies that developed about a month after my move. Prior to that, the only allergies I had were to perfume and jewelry – at least baubles with nickel mixed into with the metal component of the piece. Most did, so sterling silver was the only type of glitter I could wear.

That tooth was healthy (or so it seemed), firmly planted, and showed no signs of being anything other than normal. When it came out in my roll I was shocked. SHOCKED! Not so much that I now had a gap where a tooth has once been, but THAT it came out at all. I just couldn’t fathom it. Never could… that is, until that lunch with Dixie. I kept the tooth while in OZ, but we two parted somewhere along the line because I couldn’t find it when I packed to leave.

Looking back, I lost the ivory on 12/12/16 (12/13/16 if you convert to local Brisbane, NSW, Australia time), and regained my sense of smell two days later while in Byron Bay, NSW! I casually asked a dentist friend if he’d ever heard of such a thing and while he said, “yes” he also indicated it was rare. Rarer still that there weren’t any signs of decay or pain that proceeded the event, as he informed it was the discovery of such decay or pain that usually led to the extraction which later resulted in the discovery.

So, mystery solved, yet I’ll always wonder if an unseen coach hadn’t sidelined the whole roll event; one still feels as weird today as the events that led to my meal with Dixie.

Clever Source!

Monday, 4/3/17:
Breakfast with Danny and Karen
Married for nearly 60 years, Danny was a pastor of his own ministry located on the couples expanding acreage somewhere in the southwest. Next to me was a woman who’s name escapes me, from San Francisco, herself a long-time principal of a Catholic High School. What a conversation. All sides of the spiritual topic explored by a table full of open-minded, introspective conversationalists.

Lunch with Mike and Raimundo
Mike was blue collar entrepreneur and inventor. Ray, a fit fitness instructor. We talked about the synchronicities in their differing lives, and how each had created the reality within which he now lived. Mike, wanting for more out of life, feeling short changed. Ray, satisfied with the present course of his life, knowing it as a happy stepping stone to more.

The gaps between meals was split between the quiet and welcome contemplation of the observation car and my Superliner Roomette, where I willingly invited the hermit in me to come out. So much inner peace, self-actualization, and expanded awareness. Pure joy!

The Translation Tour
The Tour was FANTASTIC! More than I could have dreamed of. Much of the event was shared on my Facebook page, Translation Tour II – Spring 2017, setup for the purpose of offering a vicarious view of cross country travel, and expanded awareness along the way.

Tour meet-ups scheduled to hook up with friends and online followers of my various venues, including The Collective Imagination, were three-fold. Walk-a-bouts guided by Source. Time spend with an online acquaintance that became a good friend. Navigation through the fun and folly of hostel life. Romanced by a city whose intangible invitation paralleled nothing less than great sex in the physical plane.

Children’s Creativity Carousel at Yerba Buena Gardens | Meet-up #3

Meet-ups were as follows:

Translation Tour II Meet Up #1 4/4/17 @ 11:11 a.m. PT US | Pier 39.

Translation Tour II Meet Up #2 4/5/17 @ 11:11 a.m. PT US | Dolores Park.

Translation Tour II Meet Up #3 4/6/17 @ 11:11 a.m. PT US | Carousal at Yerba Buena Gardens.

It is important to mention how blessed I was to have close and regular Skype conversations with my Babylon counselor. Many live exchanges, text based, in the wee hours of my west coast morning, and the dawn of his. He kept me grounded when the mystery of the moments Source was sharing led to a feeling of ethereal flight. He was my rock when I was a crystal, my greatest asset when I was emotionally bankrupt. A gift from God. My friend. Gratitude for his ever-presence was not taken for granted, either. An extremely busy and well founded member of his local and legal communities, free time wasn’t plentiful in this professional’s environment. Yet, there he was, every time I needed him. Listening. Advising. Doing what caring friends do.

The Magical Mystery Tour

Meeting Manuel

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My hajj to Long Island from the womb of San Francisco was born of a sacred calling, a sort foreign to my sensibilities. I returned on the wings of fate, of faith, and my body trembled with the knowing a Divined path lie ahead. As I arrived at Penn Station, in the heart of New York City, I felt a welcome heaviness. A grounding. I claimed my two bags from the Amtrak turnstyle and descended one-level to the LIRR, lifted by an unshakable anticipation of a future unknown. I’d found my Hiraeth… or should I say it found me; and, this time, I wasn’t going to let go.  Home cont.

So, on final reflection:
Q: Who or What is Oliver? A hacker? A multidimensional entity of some sort? A future human or other being? A bodiless energy signature with consciousness and awareness of self? An angel? Guide? God?
A: I don’t know for sure. What I do know is I feel the truth in my exchange with him back in early December 2016. There was an other worldliness to the environment – the physical and sensory space I found myself existing in. The connection showed me the plausibility that there IS more going on than we can ever explain or understand, and that is all OK. Is it a dark night of the soul? Maybe. Maybe not. But I no longer feel I need to understand it to accept it.