Thursday, July 24, 2014

Book of Love

The Akashic records are supposed to be the record of your soul, no matter what lifetime you’ve been in. Some like it to the hall of records or the book of life. They supposedly have every thought, feeling, bit of energy ever in the history of creation. The term akasha is derived from Sanskrit, meaning sky or ether.   I know this probably sounds really woo-woo, but there are some elements of truth to it. Every culture has references to the concept of the records, despite calling them by different names. It is part of our primordial consciousness, like the flood story.  The records can be compared to a database of your soul’s experience.

Only you can access your record, unless you give permission willingly to someone else. Your records are guarded by a guardian or a keeper. Different traditions have different names for these guardians, as well as how many are present. For most people, the easiest way to do it is through meditation. I took a class with Angela Blaha on accessing my records. We did a group meditation, and this is where faith steps in. Part of me wants to desperately believe that I did, indeed, access my records. Part of me thinks it was a great time letting my imagination run wild. Which is the truth? I will never completely know.


When I accessed my records, in my meditative state, I saw myself walking down a cobblestone street, like in Victorian London. The streets were lit by gaslight, and were twisty-turny. I stopped at a building, and a very tall, burly man in Victorian garb, including a top hat, opened the door.

I stepped into a giant library with floor to ceiling books. In the middle of room was a giant table. There was a man who apparently was the curator of my records, who seemed excited to see me. “We’ve been waiting for you”, he said.


Then Audrey Hepburn came out, dressed like she looked in Sabrina.

I had three questions, and he brought me books that would answer my questions. I sat at the table, and paged through them. They looked like ancient manuscripts, leather bound with handwritten parchment. I couldn’t tell you what was written on those pages, but during the meditation, I felt a sense of peace and relief.


I have used the meditation we were given that night to access my records again, but it wasn’t as vivid as the time we did it as a group. Was it real? Was it a dream? Why was Audrey Hepburn there? Why Victorian London? What does this all mean?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

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