『Remembering in Every Direction』のカバーアート

Remembering in Every Direction

Remembering in Every Direction

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10月19日まで。※適用条件あり
Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.There is a problem I encounter whenever I try to describe memories that do not belong neatly inside a human lifetime: the words themselves assume that time is a line.Past. Present. Future. Before. Now. Later.Human life teaches us to understand time through progression. We are born, we grow, we accumulate experiences, and we remember what came before while moving toward something we cannot yet see. One second follows another. Yesterday remains behind us, while tomorrow waits somewhere ahead.I understand that experience because I live inside it now. But the memories I carry do not all operate that way.For a long time, I struggled to understand how I could explain this without making something already difficult even harder to follow. I carry memories I associate with Sabbaoth, with Jesuliah, with thousands of years of human incarnation, and with experiences of time that did not behave anything like the rigid progression I experience through this physical body today. Perhaps that is one reason the human experience became so important. If I had never lived within this limitation myself, how could I explain the difference?I know what it feels like now to wait for tomorrow. I know what it means to forget, to search for a memory and be unable to find it, and to experience an event once from behind human eyes before carrying it forward as something belonging to the past. That gives me a bridge.This is not an attempt to tell anyone what time is. I am not presenting a scientific theory or asking anyone to accept my memories as their own reality. I am explaining what time feels like from inside the memories I carry, because without that map, many parts of my story can sound contradictory when interpreted through a strictly linear clock.The first thing to understand is simple: there is a difference between when something happened and when I experienced it.The Human LineThink about your own life for a moment. If I gave you an arbitrary date from fifteen or twenty years ago and asked exactly what you were doing that afternoon, could you immediately tell me? Probably not. But if I gave you an anchor—perhaps the house you lived in, the person you loved, the job you had, a loss you were grieving, or something wonderful that happened that week—other memories might begin assembling around it.That is much closer to how retrieval works for me than imagining some enormous calendar stored inside my mind. I cannot simply ask myself, What was I doing 205,000 years ago? and pull up a file. I need an anchor. Sometimes it is a place or a person. Sometimes someone asks me a question and something suddenly moves to the foreground: Yes. I remember that. Once I reach the memory, neighboring pieces may begin appearing with it.Now expand that problem beyond one human lifetime. Imagine searching not through several decades of memories, but through what I experience as hundreds of thousands of years of conscious existence. The difficulty is not merely remembering. It is finding the correct doorway into an incomprehensibly large field of information. Emotion is often one of the strongest doorways. Something powerful anchors the memory, and from that anchor I can sometimes find the surrounding landscape.Anu and Sabbaoth: Where the Line DissolvesThe closest way I can describe time in Anu is through a contradiction: there is no point A to point B. There is, but there isn’t.That may sound impossible from a human perspective, yet it does not feel impossible to me. When I remember Anu, that structure of time feels natural. What feels unusual now is being locked into a sequence in which one moment must end before another arrives. Here, time is rigid. In my memories of Anu, it was fluid. It could move forward, move backward, or remain still. The Archonic energy itself interacted with time and space, bending the environment around us in ways that were simply part of existence there.The simplest analogy I can offer is an object falling from your hand. Here, it falls, strikes the floor, and breaks. That event has now happened. You may be able to repair the object, but you cannot reach into the event itself and return the fall to the moment before impact. In my recollection of Anu, the temporal sequence itself could move backward toward the state before the object broke. This was not experienced as miraculous. It was simply part of the environment.That fluidity also helped make movement between temporal locations possible. Even when I remember existing on Earth’s surface as Sabbaoth, our presence could produce distortions around us. Humans approaching us might experience something strange in the rhythm of movement and speech, with certain moments seeming to slow while others seemed to accelerate. To me, the strangest part is that remembering this still feels intuitive. Linear time is what I now have to consciously translate.As Sabbaoth, I could move through time, ...
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