The Nyxall Minutes Countdown
Steven J. Shupe
Steven J. Shupe
Shakespir Edition, License Note
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Note to Reader: Four Minutes to Freedom is a compilation of the initial quartet of Nyxall Minutes published separately during June 2016.
The Nyxall Minutes are a series of thought-provoking essays—at times challenging, at times humorous—designed for those bravely exploring both one’s spiritual truth and falseness garnered over a lifetime on this convoluting planet. Themes range from knowing oneself as universal consciousness (rather than as a limited human ego), to the vagaries of perception, quantum physics, and ultimately to seeing through life’s transient illusions that veil the eternal perfection abiding in one’s spirit.
Each discourse begins with a stimulating quote overlain on a photo taken by the author during his decades-long spiritual path, primarily in Asia and Peru. The quotes were written during moments of insight along the way, often then incorporated into his series of books, The Nyxall Chronicles, composed from 2000 to 2016. Excerpts from the Chronicles appear frequently in the essays to enhance the discourse and provide direction on where to look for further stimulation and entertainment with the topics at hand.
Four Minutes to Freedom is the first volume of an anticipated foursome in the Nyxall Minutes Countdown that will contain a total of ten spiritual essays. Three Minutes to Self-Awareness will be available in early July 2016, followed soon after by Two Minutes to Annihilation and A Final Minute of Reflection. The Nyxall Minutes Countdown is designed to launch the reader to liberation—or at least to provide entertaining food for thought while charting your own path to spiritual freedom.
“You are the eyes and ears of creation, a wondrous vessel of perception within which an entire universe takes form—the universe that is you.”
Know thyself. An ageless piece of advice given by many wise thinkers in many cultures. Two simple words, but a concept if courageously followed to its extreme, opens the door to the mystery, to expansion, to losing one’s false self-identity and the limited world upon which the human ego is based. And then you are free to merge into the All, into the universe that is you.
Unfortunately, overcoming one’s colossal case of mistaken identity as ego is no small task in a culture constantly bombarding us with a stream of schooling, advertising, psychology, and songs all reinforcing our narrow human self-image and its insatiable desires. Amidst this daily din of consumerism and conflict within the mainstream, a quiet pool is difficult to find upon which to reflect and to focus beyond our surface image into the depths of who and what we truly are—at least for the typical Western mind.
Ah, but you are not typical, are you my adventuresome colleague and reader? I can picture you now with pages in hand, wind in your hair, ready to boldly go where no grasping ego can tread, eager to discard a lifetime of false conditioning that keeps you grounded to the mundane. You duck into nearby phone booth to shed your bland suit and distorting eyeglasses, emerging swathed in bright color to leap gracefully into the heavens. Up, up, and away—to destination unknown. [This paragraph and the following four are reprinted from The Nyxall Chronicles, The ‘I’ of the Storm, Chapter 2.]
So let us flex our mental might from lofty heights and look down at the past which, gratefully, failed to keep us fully grounded to the norm. When first joining the ranks of humanity via birth canal and a slap on the fanny, our infant bodies entered the metropolis with no notion of a self. That concept, however, was already forming within parental minds as they bestowed an appropriate name on our swaddled vessel to fit their expectations of the person-to-be, and shaped the infant with their particular values, hopes, and hang-ups.
By the babe’s second year, this artificial construct of ‘self’ was successfully implanted into our pliable minds where it took on a life of its own. And my-oh-my, did we not defend this shining self-image and its possessions, positions, and personality to the hilt? Gazing back upon my persona’s course through decades past, I cringe at the smoldering wake of chaos left by my identity’s struggle for survival against all who dared threaten its self-importance and comforts.
Yet how strange to staunchly defend something so arbitrary in form. What if little Ronnie Reagan as a newborn had been accidently swapped at the hospital with the infant of visiting Russian diplomats? Or consider if you had been adopted at day-one and taken to live with your new parents in Mongolia or Botswana or Cleveland. No doubt, you would be equally embracive of your alternative self-identity and faithfully defending its name, religion, loved ones, cattle, yurts, and sports teams that mean nothing to you now.
In short, our seemingly rock-solid sense of self is a mere construct built from an arbitrary external environment, shaped by parental desires, honed by fleeting societal values, and colored by certain genetic traits determined by the fastest of millions of sperm gyrating towards Mum’s ovum of the month. And I ask while throwing studded gauntlet at your feet—is that the real you, is that all you truly be?
“Nay!” you of course shout in disdain at such a silly proposition, so loudly I can hear you across the space-time continuum from whence you now read. And I am comforted, yea verily, thrilled to have you as an understanding ally—albeit a distant one—as my known self implodes into a mere point of perception, shrinking into the pure awareness we knew as babes before our budding self-identity distorted the worldview via its fears, hopes, control, and endless grasping for more. Perhaps that is why that wise Jesus fellow encouraged folks to become again as a little child to enter the kingdom of heaven. Or the reason Buddha suggested a return to oneness, to nirvana, by breaking our attachment to human desire. Just some food for thought as we journey into a jungle of new paradigms and shifting realities…
In peering back through the foliage from my current June 2016 perspective, I spy a twenty-five year circuitous path towards my ‘knowing thyself’ that wound from Himalayan heights to the depths of the psyche, blasting away both at this engineer-lawyer’s comfortable self-identity and my subsequent new-and-improved spiritual image that blossomed in the 1990’s. What ‘self’ remains now is open to question, and I shan’t waste this brief Nyxall Minute we have together to chart my nebulous evolution from ego to consciousness to the All and Nothing or whatever personal remnants might still be typing away at computer keyboard.
You the reader, however, are of more tangible interest to me as being a universe unto thyself—an inner world that may not be fully understood or embraced as yet. Admittedly, to dub you the Universal is rather presumptuous of me since you and your world, of course, are whatever you perceive them to be at any given moment.
So rather than debate your true nature, let us take a step onto more solid, common ground in order to enjoy exploring together the great unknown for a Minute, and consider a concept upon which two logical minds can no doubt agree: The existence of the power of perception. A deer perceives the smell of wolf and runs. A human perceives ripe mango on tree and reaches to taste it. This essential element of our waking state—call it consciousness, awareness, or simply perceiving—is the very touchstone of how we know the world and define our place in it.
In fact, my rationale mind is so fond of this tangible power of perception that I tend to consider it central to one’s existence. This unchanging, lifelong ability to consciously perceive is a far firmer foundation upon which to base my self-identity than the ephemeral personality that arose from the culture in which I happened to be raised—an arbitrary human self-image which changes from year to year, from youth to adult, from mood to mood.
Coming to know myself during the previous decade as the watcher (as consciousness) rather than the watched (the human character that I experience) freed me from limitations of a grasping persona and opened my mind to using this intrinsic power of perception to broaden my known universe and its exciting potentials. Relativity Theory, quantum physics, and the notion of a Unified Energy Field have likewise helped the expansion, demonstrating that we each shape our known world based upon one’s particular frame of reference, way of perceiving energies, and state of mind.
As a result, my new view of reality indicates that there is no single, objective, solid world ‘out there’. Instead, our individual power of perception converts a limitless energy field into a personal, perceived universe of mass, time, and three-dimensional space that takes form within one’s mind. Or better still, in the mind of an Einstein and others who freely use imagination and creative thought, one’s world can expand into multiple dimensions and realities beyond the current norm of human thinking.
But enough of notions that could digress into airy philosophical debate. As recently reminded by Khal Drogo while watching reruns of the Game of Thrones, “These are questions for wise men with skinny arms.” So for those of brawny bicep and rational propensities, I will wane philosophic and wax with pledge to stay on target, at whose bull’s eye lies the power of perception. But where exactly does this bull’s eye reside; where is one’s seat of perception?
Most any American five-year-old would answer, in the brain. Gratefully, however, modern explorers are not limited to childhood logic and its simplistic world view. Many individuals, perhaps yourself included, report having observed their bodies from afar while under the influence of meditation, drugs, or anesthetics; and during other so-called out of body experiences where one’s point of perception is separate from the human vessel. Whole cultures, as well, routinely accept that the mind’s ability to perceive is not limited to the locus of body. Some shamanic traditions actually train the apprentice to consciously shift one’s point of perception to distant locations, into animals, even into other dimensions of reality.
After decades of exploring the cosmic mystery, staying open to possibilities, interacting with psychic friends, and having first-hand experiences of enhanced perception, my scientific mind concludes that Truth is too vast to fit into the human brain. With that admitted limitation, I nonetheless offer a suggestion to those passing through life in mortal form who still associate themselves with the human body: Specifically, consider that your power of perception, your conscious awareness, may persist even after your body dies. And if your mind is prepared for such an event, the shock of looking down at your dead body with confusion and fear can be significantly reduced.
Or so profess generations of wise Tibetan lamas who have made a science out of studying and preparing the mind for the moment of bodily death. Their Tibetan Book of the Dead is actually read aloud in the room where the deceased lies in order to give the lingering mind comfort and direction as it confronts its bodiless state. The lama-predicted death journey is not quite so simple as being sucked into a tunnel of white light as your life flashes by, then greeted by your savior-of-choice with a hug. But it is similar, in ways, to this Western cliché of the death experience.
The Tibetan version involves less of a tunnel and more a gauntlet that the mind runs, lined with a lifetime of your memories, hopes, fears, and whatnot appearing as various images and symbols. The key to success, the lamas say, is to stay calm amidst the angels and demons, the beauty and beasts, the seductions and repulsions that flash by—and to remember that none of them are real, but simply manifestations of your perceiving mind as it processes its post-death transition.
So with this insight now firmly in Mind, you need not worry about reincarnating as a toad at the moment of death when peering with confusion and horror at your lifeless body. Instead, as a well-prepared multidimensional traveler, your observing consciousness may hover calmly above your carcass and mindfully watch as the mystery unfolds.
Or better yet, why not embrace your freedom of consciousness while still dancing in this living, breathing vessel of earthly experience? If interested, continue on to Nyxall Minute #2 to consider the premise that: The worldly illusion and its confining falsehoods take form when one misidentifies the waking state as the touchstone of reality.
India, a universe unto itself and a great teacher for this recovering-nice-boy who needed to get shaken into my shadowy underworld to face the whole Truth required by a man of spirit. Not always a pleasant sight, either in my personal psyche or the India landscape abounding with the hopes and history of a billion-plus hungry folks. But it was a rich, photogenic country in which to stay for ten years, on and off, to explore the inner mystery and be exposed to the extremes of Earth’s dual nature.
I snapped the Nyxall Minute #1 photo a few years back in India’s Himalayan foothills near McLeodganj, home of thousands of Tibetans in exile, including His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. The photographed smiling, local woman is preparing for her wedding by getting the appropriate henna patterns dyed onto a bride’s hands. Or so I believe. Without speaking Hindi, it was difficult for me to know for sure the significance of the swirls and symbols being applied to her palms.
What is clear, however, is the irony of using this pre-wedding photo as a template for touting our true self as the Universal, as the eyes and ears giving form to a limitless creation—since marriage for an Indian bride is notoriously known for marking the end of her freedom while oft narrowing her life to a role of servitude within the groom’s family.
But paradox and irony are all blessed parts of the mind game in this earthly training ground, at least as viewed from my vantage point of consciousness. Both beauty and beast, prisons and escapes, bring us back to remembrance of our heavenly heritage of spirit during one’s difficult tenure on Earth.
Nevertheless, I do hope the bride’s human face is still smiling beneath festive shawl while navigating holy matrimony through Himalayan heights. And my thanks to her for allowing this looming foreigner to photograph her special moment.
continue to the next Nyxall Minute
“The worldly illusion and its confining falsehoods take form when one misidentifies the waking state as the touchstone of reality.”
What if you had been raised solely in a cave for your first thirteen years, tended and trained by the greatest minds of your culture? Day after day, year after year, they pass on their wisdom to your open mind, teaching that the universe is a wondrous realm of energy, of boundless potential through which you can freely flow, explore, even create.
As this knowledge takes root to define your reality, your senses in the dim cave grow attuned to a vast array of subtle energies that constantly pass through the universe, unseen by most mortals. But your power to perceive becomes acutely fine-tuned, intense and focused upon an ever-expanding multiverse. Your sensitive mind is freed from false notions of a physical self, to soar not only above the earth outside your confining cave but to enter the land of your ancestors, of spirit guides, and into a variety of realms existing beyond the norm of human perception. Worlds composed of so-called ‘dark’ matter that vibrate so highly, so purely, that you can only catch fleeting glimpses of their brilliance. Realms which curve through the interwoven fabric of space-time, spiraling into intricate patterns as you watch in delight while images dance into form then dissolve into scenes from the next higher dimension and the next and next.
Even space and time eventually lose their constraining grip upon your reality as you come to understand that all the worlds take shape in your mind while dwelling in the cave. You celebrate this final realization that you are the creator of the known universe as it flashes into form inside of you, as you, and you as it. No separation, no limitations, only a oneness with All as you walk from the cave into mountain air, embraced by your clan to take your rightful place as apprentice shaman.
Not your reality? Pity. Neither was it mine since I was not born in the Columbia highlands and selected as a babe by tribal elders to be raised in the shaman cave. Although I did enjoy watching the documentary about this advanced indigenous culture and its various spiritual practices.
No, I was born and bred on the flatlands of Kansas where the closest demonstration of mystical ritual arrived on weekday afternoons as a wizardly Jimmy, topped with mouse-eared cap, conjured up the next cartoon for eager young club members glued to the boob tube. Just more Mickey Mouse on a screen and in a culture that espoused there’s no place like home, while encouraging us youngsters to swap colorful lands beyond the rainbow for a return to dusty plain. No wonder our touchstone of reality became the narrow world we perceived upon awakening in our PJ’s as we pattered forth to pour a morning dose of sugar masquerading as cereal. Thus, unlike the child quietly sitting in cave, we and our world shrank into a single, confining bandwidth hiding within a grand spectrum of endless creative potential never to be explored. A pity indeed.
Ah, but never say never. Time still remains to redefine our adult reality, does it not? So how can we reclaim our rightful heritage, our intrinsic power of creation as a Mind free of earthly constraints? How to make our power of perception, our consciousness the true foundation of reality upon which we build new worlds and dimensions through creative thought—and expose our earthly ‘waking’ state as little more than hazy illusion?
For some, an answer is reflected in the photo that began this Nyxall Minute, taken while residing at the Tse Chokling Monastery in northern India, where four Tibetan Buddhist monks are pictured meticulously positioning colored sand grains into proper order. The resulting sand mandala represents an etheric, yet spiritually substantive, structure existing in the higher dimensions of the monks’ reality. Numerous realms, in fact, exist in Tibetan cosmology ranging from a land of hungry ghosts to a dimension of demi-gods basking in heavenly bliss. One’s consciousness may incarnate in various of these worlds, they say, including in the human realm to gather experiences, work through karma, and ultimately liberate from this cycle—once the total mind is fully embraced and understood.
My effort to re-Mind myself began in earnest in the 1990’s and extended well into the new millennium as I journeyed through India and used creative writing to jog loose memories and insights about the path back to full mindfulness. When at last I proudly declared I was ready to embrace my higher mind, one of my book characters popped into my psyche to keep things in perspective:
“That’s like Jonah embracing his inner whale,” laughs Magdalena the Christ, “and remember where he ended up? No, a union with your higher mind swallows your known self and world, regurgitating you into a far larger universe where even your body’s sense of space and your mind’s sense of time merge into an experience beyond duality.” [Excerpt from, The Nyxall Chronicles: A Mindgame to Remembrance, Chapter 3.]
Just one of many times my new and improved spiritual ego received its comeuppance delivered by the Guiding Hand with a quick swat at self-importance. Fortunately, the arrival of a wise if nebulous gentleman soon followed Magdalena’s message to apply a balm of understanding about the nature of one’s higher mind:
“In order to grasp this important relationship with your higher mind, nighttime dreams provide an excellent analogy,” states the chap in tweed suit who enters your psyche.
“How so, Professor Jung?” you ask, recognizing the renowned psychologist.
“When dreaming, you typically identify with the main character in the dream—seeing, hearing, and feeling his experiences as your own. Upon awakening, however, you realize that you are the mind in which both the imaginary scenes and your fictitious dream character took temporary form, and that your physical bed-bound self resides in a higher realm of existence beyond the nocturnal dreamscape.”
You think a moment then respond, “So the analogy is that my human identity, this Steven self-image, is just a fictional character in an earthly dreamscape of my higher mind?”
“Correct, and when you fully awaken to the higher mind, the limited earthly dream ends and you are free to roam the higher levels of consciousness. Which is precisely what Magdalena and my other heavenly teammates are helping you and all candidates to ultimately achieve.”
Your inner Professor takes a minute to peruse your candidate file and continues, “Actually, today’s hiking experience was a milestone for you as your consciousness, instead of identifying with the character trekking up the mountain, watched the worldly drama from the standpoint of the higher mind without fear or attachment. We call this lucid observing, which also has its nocturnal counterpart.”
“Right. I’ve occasionally had that lucid experience at night when my awake consciousness realizes I am only dreaming, while the dream continues, becoming extra vivid and intense.”
“And even dramatically more vivid when you fully awaken from this daytime dreamscape as well,” Jung adds while indicating the current setting. “For when the minds of the dreamer and the dreamt unite in lucidity, your narrow perceived earth world bursts into a wondrous universe of boundless potential. The false notions of time, space, and matter can no longer hold you prisoner of Earth once you realize that your daytime world is just a dreamlike perception in your lucid mind.”
Professor Jung looks at the darkening clouds and concludes, “But at the moment you had best start hiking again in order to get to the Baba River campsite by nightfall.” He takes a last look at your file and adds, “You can soon explore this topic more thoroughly with your higher mind once you feel closer to merging together.”
You ask with anticipation, “How far away am I from becoming at one with my higher mind?”
The instructor answers obtusely yet wisely, “How much distant separates the dreamer and the dreamt?” [Reprinted from, The Nyxall Chronicles: A Mindgame to Remembrance, Chapter 3.]
Admittedly not far, Professor, but in my case the short hop seems to have taken lifetimes to achieve, filled with blood, sweat, and numerous punch lines to the cosmic jokes on oneself. Yet when the dreamer and dreamt finally merged last decade, when my union with the higher mind felt complete, it was indeed a glorious experience simply to bask in the liberating sense of lucidity. Eye became the watching consciousness giving form to the perceived world, no longer identifying with the awkward human character that used to define myself; no longer slave to its desires, hopes, and fears. I was free now to quietly, detachedly observe the chaos of earthly life unfold on the screen of my mind—all in awareness, all in perfection, all for the enrichment of consciousness.
Lovely. Peaceful…but something is amiss. Damn it, I can’t switch the lousy channel! Every morning it’s the same sordid backdrop of earthly duality and conflict, the same cast of seven billion clamorous players, the same drama from one dreary Groundhog Day to another. What in creation is wrong?
To ferret out an answer, I again call on characters from the Nyxall Chronicles to provide insight for this dangling Minute:
“…So, formation of our universe is an ongoing process,” the orange-robed guru professes, “wherein each of our consciousnesses awakens at dawn to begin creation afresh, as eyes open to give shape to our individual worlds of perception. And another day of wish fulfillment begins.”
Jameson asks while shaking his head, “But Swami-ji, if my consciousness has the power to manifest whatever beauteous worlds it wishes, why in blazes would I keep giving form to my same crazy earth life over and over each day?”
“Some sages would say because we are slaves to memory, conditioned into falsely believing that our illusory body must wake up in the same illusory world, the same bed even, in which it fell asleep,” Shri Shri Cy Bubha answers. “And we end up endlessly pursuing Punxsutawney Phil until realizing we only chase shadows of memory in shaping our narrow, repeating days. Then we are free, theoretically, to manifest new seasons, new identities, and new worlds reflecting our consciousness’s true desires and creative imagination.”
“Why do you say, theoretically, Swami-ji?” you ask.
“Because even after seeing through the illusions of memory, matter, time, and space—which each of us four has accomplished to a degree—one is still interconnected to and generally limited by the current paradigm of the collective human consciousness that believes this earth world is solid and objectively real,” the guru answers.
Cy Bubha takes a sip of tea and continues, “Granted, many folks can already freely travel the astral plane independent of space and gravity, as well as communicate telepathically between dimensions. And I’ve visited with advanced swamis and fakirs in India who never eat, it seems, and who can live buried for days without air. But our mainstream human consciousness still hasn’t reached the critical mass needed to embrace such expansive notions; it hasn’t developed that proverbial 100th Monkey required to shift the current mindset to free ourselves to explore the multiverse beyond limited human thinking and beliefs.”
Maria remarks, “So in order to soar unfettered into new paradigms, I guess we need to find ninety-six fellow explorers who have realized that their true self is not confined by gravity or by the need to consume illusory food to feed one’s illusory body, or by other imaginary physical constraints.”
Jameson shakes his head and responds, “Sorry, Maria, but I’m still one of the monkeys believing that bananas, air, and other sustenance are necessary to fuel my swings through the world.”
“It might help you to recall, Tom, the first tenet in understanding the universe—that there is no objective world ‘out there’, only our mind’s perceptions giving form to one’s inner, subjective reality,” declares Sister Iris.
“But aren’t we each experiencing the same reality right now,” Jameson counters, “all seeing the identical room and having a common conversation here in Peru?”
“That’s your viewpoint. But maybe from my perspective, I am in a Houston Holoroom watching a 3-D film of four people talking,” Maria states hypothetically. “Or Swami-ji considers this a dream in his mind in India, while Sister Iris perceives us as her thought-form friends chatting in her inter-dimensional tree house. And Nix might think this is just a scene he is imagining while writing a book.”
“Remember, Tom,” Sister Iris interjects, “nothing perceived is either real or unreal. Existence is simply your perception taking form at any given moment—no more or less valid than other viewers’ perspectives of their momentary worlds.”
Cy Bubha puts a hand gently on Jameson’s shoulder. “And someday, perhaps, your desire for more bananas and other distracting dualities to satisfy your earthly existence may give over to a single, burning desire to dwell in Truth beyond mind, in a realm beyond illusion.” [Reprinted from, The Nyxall Chronicles: Beyond Illusion, Round Two.]
Reference to gathering a hundred fellow monkeys—or more accurately, to our joining mental forces with kindred spirits who embrace their creative power beyond 3-D fictions and limitations—should give you a hint as to my true motives in writing these Nyxall Minutes. The free offering of all Nyxall Chronicles and Minutes is designed to entice you to enter a shimmering mental web wherein your progressive thoughts, your expansive mind weave with others into our small, if high-vibrational group consciousness. Woven in hopes that with this collective mental energy boost, plus a bit of luck, we can finally change the channel from familiar earthly scenes to view more colorful settings and higher-dimensional worlds of our choosing.
A pleasant fantasy in the realm of we dreamers whose touchstone of reality sparkles in the creative mind rather than ends with a thud in earthly density. And for those wishing to escape the dense confines of worldly limitations, I’ll meet you in the next Minute.
continue to the next Nyxall Minute
“While imprisoned in a mad world of duality, most lifers decorate their cells, organize group functions, and lobby for improved jail conditions.”
Earth—a seductive prison, is it not, when viewed through a beach volleyball net on the tropical isle of Koh Pangan? The footprints in sand were left by all-night ravers who recently departed to nooks and cabanas for temporary respite from revelry. While the next wave of celebrants will soon arrive to enjoy additional group functions and balmy conditions amidst Thai sunshine and surf.
Upon first traversing Had Rin beach a decade ago, I noted with pleasure that I had finally discovered the golden ratio of the Beach Boys’ fabled shoreline along which frolicked two girls for every boy. Regrettably, I also was acutely aware that it took roughly 2.4 of those girls to equal my age, some of whom gave brief sympathetic glances at the graying fellow who passed by in baggie swim trunks. But Had Rin remained a lovely spot to enjoy solo morning strolls as I pondered the ephemeral nature of earthly delights and continued the process of letting go, letting go, and letting go of old attachments and self-identity. Ten years later, as a bona fide spiritual loser (a role to be honored in a later Nyxall Minute) and as an escapee from my limited self-image, I happily share the preceding photo-quotation with you along with the following morsels for thought regarding your own leap into a great escape.
Where one escapes to is, of course, personal to your reality and propensities involving cosmic creation. What we each escape from, however, involves common ground—specifically, good old terra firma and its bruising quartet of prison guards called gravity, time, space, and matter. Plus the vigilant Warden of Earthly Illusions (referred to as the WEI Woe by Taoist prison gangs) ensure that our minds languish in a fog of spiritual amnesia as we shuffle obediently through the daily routine.
As a mindless young Earth inmate, I tended to focus on lobbying for improved conditions on our incarcerating planet. Advocating for environmental protection, native rights, and wise water use were at the hub of my wheels spinning through legal and engineering cycles, while a shoulder and comforting words were always at the ready to help a friend in need. But all these noble deeds came to a grinding halt as I get busted up one side and down the other when exposed to the glare of spiritual light in the 1990’s.
Seems that from the higher dimensional perch from where spirit guides watch mortal foibles—guides who kindly passed down salient advice to me beginning in 1992 (channeled via some psychic neighbors and pals)—I was manipulating clients and friends to conform to my paltry ideas of what was best for them and the earth. The inter-dimensional counselors pointed out my ignorance of what anyone’s true needs were, including my lack of knowledge of even my own self and purpose for incarnating in the earthly chaos; disorder which I was blindly feeding with my narrow mind and actions.
Ouch. Gratefully, this cosmic blow was softened by velvet glove which uplifted my journey into wondrous new realms of discovery while being stripped of old assumptions, self-importance, and values. In short, a well-intentioned control-freak was encouraged to descend from childish habits of mindlessly playing King of the Mountain with those around me and instead, to do the inner homework that might eventually result in an ability to serve the true cause of freedom, rather than just making the earthly prison temporarily more comfortable for myself and others.
But how to bust out of this joint in order to pursue the multidimensional cause and coursework? An excellent first step is to gain a blueprint of the terrestrial prison, one that is provided below by a guru of dubious repute who made frequent appearances in The Nyxall Chronicles to dispense his astute if sacrilegious form of wisdom:
“…So you see, folks, one must simply go with the flow of energy that transcends old notions of a physical Earth world,” proclaims the speaker at the podium. You are happy to hear Shri Shri Cy Bubha’s voice again as you quietly enter and sit on a cushion at the rear of the Phool Chatti Ashram hall. He gives you a friendly wave as an animated woman in the front argues with the lecturer.
“But you can’t just pretend that time, space, and matter don’t exist in the universe,” she assert. “It’s just plain stupid to tell someone to ignore what the rational mind tells them is true.”
“So go ahead and think you’re a material girl living in a material world,” Cy Bubha responds, “and keep disco dancing and stay about a century behind the rest of humanity. Even your best rational scientists have been telling us for decades that we are boogying in a world of energy where simplistic notions of time and space are taking a beating. And solid matter is simply how we perceive energy.”
“Are you really trying to convince me that my body is only energy and even the Earth is just my perception with no solidity?” The woman slaps her palm on the floor to emphasize her point. ”Come on, Bubha, get real.”
Your old friend at the podium smiles and retorts, “It sounds like you just walked off the Pinta, lady.”
“What?” the debater responds, wondering if she was just insulted.
”You know, one of Columbus’ ships where the crew was ready to mutiny. Don’t you read history?”
“I’m Dutch,” she replies.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you just had one of them funny Boston accents. Okay, for those whose European ancestors missed the boat to the New World, here’s the background to the year 1492. The learned minds around that time had pretty well determined that the Earth was round, spinning madly on its axis, and hurtling through space while circumambulating the sun. The common folk, however, were still stuck in believing that what they flatly perceived with their senses was the true reality.
“So a Pinta crewman would grumble, Damn it, no little Italian captain’s gonna tell me I’m hurtling through space and spinning around on a big ball. Come on, .
“Hell’s bells, another crewman grouses, I’ve never circumambulated anything in my life. Then they’d move into a philosophical discussion of the universe, arguing whether cow patties or donkey dung held up the flat, stable Earth on which they clearly resided.
“It took a couple of hundred years for humanity to finally accept, contrary to their senses, that we are traveling at dizzying speeds on a sphere. It may take a hundred more before we accept that we are vibrant energy fields playing in a limitless world beyond simple concepts of matter, time, and space—even when the finest scientists have told us so for years; and where I could show you a dozen guys here in downtown Rishikesh who have mastered energy rather than remain slaves to limited perceptions of matter.”
“Hold on, Bubha,” one fellow objects, “don’t ask us to swallow that these yogis can levitate, don’t ever eat food, and all that stuff that isn’t proven or that doesn’t even make sense.”
The guru exclaims, “I’m not asking you to believe anything! Just quit being a hypocrite and arguing that the world you have accepted makes rational sense. Space is rationale? Time is logical? No way. We just came up with words like ‘eternity’ and ‘infinity’ to explain away the non-sense of time and space.”
The fellow shrugs. “Who knows? My little sister was really sick once and swore she saw an angel by her bed.”
“Hell, I can explain that without even opening The National Inquirer,” Cy Bubha proclaims. “That’s one of the beauties of seeing the world as a unified field of energy. It really ends up making more sense than the old paradigm of a solid world of matter.”
“So,” the man asks, “was there really an angel there?”
“Yes and no,” replies the purveyor of paradox. “When a child in the hospital sees an angel at her bed, I don’t automatically start believing in angels. But I do believe that a healing energy field was present in the room that her senses were attuned to receiving. Your sister’s mind then translated this energy template into an angel, something that made sense to her background. A Hopi elder might have perceived the same energy waves as a Kachina spirit. My pal Moontulip would probably have seen a friendly space alien. And the majority of us who have our subtle energy receptors shut down would call them hallucinating crazies.”
“What makes the majority so deficient in our ability to perceive this larger world of energy that you and the mystics claim exists?” someone calls out.
“It’s primarily a matter of our cultural conditioning. The behavioral science mucky-mucks say that all us earthly creatures are neurologically imprinted in our formative years by what we are taught is reality. And that it takes a hell of an effort to undo what we adults hold onto as real, as the limits of our universe. This has been proven on everything from cats who bump into invisible—at least to them—table legs after being reared as kittens in a horizontal-only environment; to flies raised in a lidded jar which, after the lid is removed, can’t fly out the top beyond the extent of their conditioned universe.
“And the lids on our human upbringing in Western culture were screwed on pretty damn tight. How many of us were laughed at for having an invisible playmate; taught that fairies lived only in books; instructed not to talk about seeing colorful auras coming from people; or told no, Grandma is dead and couldn’t have visited your bedroom last night?”
Bubha peers at the Dutch woman who looks confused. She finally responds, “Well, I did read that babies lose trillions of their neural synapses when becoming toddlers, implying that some major change in perception and loss of brain function occurs that cannot be reclaimed later.”
“Maybe someday we’ll each remember what that baby experienced and finally break from our prison of earthly illusions to enter a new world of clarity,” the lecturer adds.
An audience member declares, “That’s scheduled to happen in December 2012, according to the Mayan calendar.”
“Perhaps,” Bubha replies with a shrug, “but it seems to me that we each have a personal time frame and method of demolition for the old paradigm. Unless, of course, Moontulip is right about the glorious landing of friendly space aliens bringing a new dawn; or Reverend Jerry is correct about a global Second Coming. But from what I gather, it’s happening one by one, step by step, in a graceful process of personal awakening and remembrance.”
“Is there any way to accelerate our release from the prison of old conditioning and fly off to freedom in a greater realm.”
“Absolutely,” the master of this ceremony states with a grin. “A hefty monetary donation to your nearest guru is a proven means to pave your way to heaven—or at least a good way to line my pocket.” Cy Bubha retrieves a large wicker donation basket from behind the podium and carries it around the room gathering rupees and saying personal farewells to the congenial group.
As the crowd exits, the guru sits next to you on a cushion and queries, “So how’s it hangin’, homeboy? Last time I saw you here at Phool Chatti Ashram you were heading out to climb every mountain and ford every stream.”
“Quite a rewarding adventure it has been, too,” you reply.
“Am I to assume that you followed every rainbow and found your dream?”
“In a way, yes, but the dream has turned out to be my very life on Earth. Distressing news to my grasping ego who thought that mountains, streams, and my sparkling self-image were all real instead of just illusory visions in an earthly dreamscape.”
“Indeed, breaking into the realm of your true mind and seeing the universe exist within it can be a rather disorienting reality shift at first.” [Reprinted from, The Nyxall Chronicles: A Mindgame to Remembrance, Chapter 5.]
Disorienting, to say the least, since not only does the known universe suddenly shrink to the space within the mind, but one’s known self also implodes into seeming emptiness. Moreover, those of us in Western cultures have had few worthy role models or mainstream support for embracing our spiritual heritage, for grasping our true mind as comprising both the all and nothing. My subsequent adult efforts to re-Mind myself often involved written attempts to shift my TV-addled brain of youth into the power of word in order to cleanse the psyche and launch me into realms of insight. Easier said than done, as demonstrated by the following excerpt from my first wordy attempt, circa 2000, entitled The ReMinder:
…So forgive my forgetting that you may be of dissimilar age or upbringing than I—and for blindly assuming that you tuned to the same TV networks that warped my young mind and sculpted my current intellectual profile.
In remedy of this thoughtless oversight, the ‘Kemosabe’ mentioned in Section One of The ReMinder refers to the masked Lone Ranger; ‘Toto’ implies the proximity of Dorothy of Wizard of Oz fame; and the previous “Jeepers…” quote arises from a cub reporter directed to the defender of truth, justice, and the American way himself, Superman. In addition, to ensure that all readers feel intellectually empowered, we take a station break to share a few words about the lives of these cultural icons as they relate to the current topic of liberating from slavery to one’s human ego.
The Lone Ranger began a nondescript career as one of many rangers, then received a cosmic boost of good fortune along the spiritual path: Having his entire contingent of close friends and ranger colleagues wiped out in massacre. Definitely this was an effective aid in losing Identity and being born anew; but kids, don’t try this at home. Seizing the golden opportunity, the Lone Ranger surrendered his name and donned a nifty mask in furtherance of Identity’s dismemberment. An excellent step but unfortunately he fell victim to Survivor’s Guilt Syndrome and felt compelled to constantly help the rural oppressed and needy, thereby rekindling ego to such a degree he ended up compulsively distributing silver bullets to claim full and lasting credit for his heroic deeds.
Likewise, Superman received a cosmic boost of good fortune along the spiritual path: Being orphaned at a young age and shuttled to an entirely different planet. Definitely this was an effective aid in losing Identity and being born anew; but kids, don’t try this one at home either. Seizing this golden opportunity, Superman donned colorful costume and covered it with mild-mannered disguise in furtherance of Identity’s dismemberment. An excellent step but he fell prey to delusions of grandeur and felt compelled, after leaping tall buildings, to constantly help the urban oppressed and needy, thereby rekindling ego to such a degree he became a journalist to ensure that his heroic deeds received proper credit and column space.
Our Dorothy also received a major stroke of good luck along the spiritual path: Being sucked up by major cyclone and deposited into an entirely new dimension of reality somewhere over the rainbow. Definitely this was an effective aid in losing Identity and being born anew. And kids, if you can manage to pull this one off, go for it! Although squashing an Eastern bystander in the process, Dorothy suffered no lasting remorse. Au contraire, she proceeded with Midwestern practicality to loot the dead body of its valuable slippers. Upon discovering her ability to freely roam the space-time continuum with a mere click of the heels, Dorothy stood on the brink of full liberation. Unfortunately, her old persona misinterpreted the cosmic message regarding the infinite variety and unique opportunities now available to her in the universe—i.e., There’s no place like home—thereby sending our heroine tumbling back to familiar farm and dusty plain, sans slippers and enlightenment.
So none of these cultural icons provided much of a role model for awakening the spirits of us youthful boomers who eagerly watched the tube. Although Rod Serling, after frying his brain as creator, writer, and host of The Twilight Zone, reportedly reached nirvana and is now the Ascended Master Kuthumi available for telepathic channeling. Other rumors, however, indicate he changed his name to Michael Landon in order to reestablish his roots to the earth. For there is nothing so grounding as being called Pa in prairie setting, unless it is responding to John Boy in another little house—but we mustn’t mix metaphors or networks. Shows a lack of culture! [Excerpt from The Reminder, Chapter 7, as found in The Nyxall Chronicles: The Now or Never.]
No, not much help indeed, but stayed tuned, after station identification, when in the fourth Nyxall Minute we will look at Truth as the element to set us free.
continue to the next Nyxall Minute
“If we cling to yesterday’s view of truth we must close our eyes to maintain it.”
There were some advantages to being born in the Midwest during the 1950s. Not that the infant pictured above is such an example. No, she is a new millennial who, along with the bindi on her forehead, is a product of Hindu India arising from the Himalayan foothills—a setting to which we will soon shift. The reference to a middle-America birth involves the author’s, one that carried the advantage of occurring in a culture for which truth and honesty were hallmarks of the times.
The whole truth and nothing but the truth was indeed a familiar and comforting mantra in this post-war society, one that Perry Mason would ensure was enforced if a witness dared to stray from its tenets. Also, various parental role models ranging from Ward Cleaver to Donna Reed to Dr. Marcus Welby would gently but firmly nudge a wayward child back to the straight and narrow if the black and white truth of the evening was breeched on the instructive TV screen around which the family huddled for warmth and guidance.
Simple truths, safe small-town streets, unlocked doors, and a comfortable myth prevailed that all was well with the world so long as Commie deception and nukes remain on their side of the globe. So I mindlessly pledged allegiance to a flag each school-day morn, muttered words of a Lord’s Prayer when prompted to do so, and trusted in the adage that the truth shall set us free.
Thus when as an adult I set forth on a spiritual quest I was filled with confidence that the path of Truth would lead to liberation from an earthly prison of falsehoods. Yet I, like many seekers, discovered that deeper Truth is an elusive concept which, as soon as it is within grasp, changes form to slip away to a new hiding place. Ultimately, with weary legs, spinning mind, and typing fingers, a cave-side conversation with a friendly Tibetan sage arose to bring some order to my chaotic search:
“Before you depart, care to join me for a contemplative sit in the cave?” the old lama asks.
You are tempted, but the comforts of the nearby guesthouse beckon after the recent long bus ride to Spiti Valley. “Thank you, Lamaji, but I’ll head down the hill now to prepare for tomorrow.”
“Some big plans?”
“No, I’ll just be trekking to explore the Spiti area as well as to test out my new theory that everything that happens, whether it seems good or bad, is actually support for my journey of spiritual discovery. So I’m not planning a route or taking much in my backpack, simply hiking through the Himalayas to wherever the guiding hand nudges me.”
“With an occasional shove, no doubt, in this harsh land,” remarks the lama. “Feel free to stop here on your way back to civilization. You may save me from reincarnating as a demon by letting me serve you more tea,” he adds with a smile.
You detect humor in the elder’s tone but you wonder if he is still afraid of returning to the Land of Hungry Ghosts in his next life. You ask him and he replies after a moment of thought, “Not really. Fear, like truth, can be compelling motivation for entering a spiritual path, but they soon become obstacles if one clings to them.”
“Truth can be a spiritual obstacle?” you question with the perplexity of a journeyer who anticipates that the truth shall set him free.
The old man chuckles. “You sound like me when I was in search of the ultimate truth.”
“Did you find it?” you quickly ask with hopes that the lama will share his experience.
“In a way, yes. During my inquiries, I was told of a blind Hindu sage who purportedly had reached the summit of truth and viewed its ultimate form. He lived in a village towards Shimla, so I borrowed the monastery jeep to pay him a visit and ask what he saw from the mountaintop of ultimate truth.”
The lama gazes into coals as he recounts the scene, “When I arrive, the sage seems more interested in the fact that I have a jeep than in answering my question, but I indulge the sightless old fellow by taking him for a spin to a temple atop a nearby sacred peak. As soon as we arrive and walk to the summit he asks me to describe the mountaintop view.
“I tell him how the brilliant midday sun glistens on the snowfields of distant peaks, while dense green forests spread in every direction below us. The old fellow thanks me for describing the view from the mountaintop then sits as I join him in silence. We each meditate in our own way for a couple of hours, then find ourselves in fog as the usual monsoon build-up of afternoon clouds envelops our position. The sage reaches out and touches my knee, asking me to again describe the mountaintop view. I tell him there is such a dense mist that all I can see are a few rocks around us. He nods, thanks me for the description, then returns to silent contemplation.
“After a few more hours I am growing restless and, when the mist lifts to unveil a brilliant sunset reflecting off snowfields and clouds, I excitedly describe for him the array of colors that fills the panorama before us. The blind fellow thanks me for describing the mountaintop view, then takes my hand. Do you still want me to describe the view from the peak of ultimate truth? he asks. In reply, I simply stand and lead him back to the car in silence.”
You look expectantly at the Tibetan lama, hoping that he will continue. But his gaze is distant, his tale finished as he leans against the stones at the mouth of the cave. You ponder the moral of the story for a minute then ask, “So the Hindu sage wanted to show you, via the ever-changing view from the mountaintop, that no ultimate truth exists?”
Lamaji returns his attention to you as he responds, “More correctly, that a person’s view of truth naturally evolves as the hours, days, and seasons change in his or her life. I think he wanted to teach me not to get too attached to a notion of absolute truth or to my current reality. If you cling to yesterday’s view of truth, you must shut your eyes to maintain it.”
“And with eyes shut, my truth simply becomes an antiquated belief system stagnating in my mind while I miss the new vistas of truth that naturally unfold,” you insert with growing comprehension. Still, the notion of truth shifting with the seasons makes your logical mind uneasy. It queries aloud, “But if we could see far enough isn’t there some fixed, ultimate truth in the universe?”
“Perhaps so,” remarks the elder, “but any such understanding lies beyond the realm of mind, matter, and mountaintops in which we currently operate.”
“Hmm, maybe our changing views of truth are like stair steps leading us to an eternal, unchanging realm beyond mind where—”
The old man interrupts you with hearty laughter. “Listening to a mind that attempts to think beyond itself is like watching a dog chase its tail. No offense intended,” he adds while giving you a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Just enjoy the vistas of truth that unfold along your earthly journey, and don’t take them or yourself too seriously. Do you remember me giving you that little round mirror last year?”
You brighten as you answer, “Of course, Lamaji. I greatly appreciate it and still carry it with me.”
“And did you reflect on it to discern why a mirror is the most influential human invention of all time?”
You reply while looking anxiously at the lama for his reaction to your interpretation, “I figure that the most important spiritual goal is to know thyself, and a mirror helps us to see ourselves and our blemishes more clearly.”
He tilts his head noncommittally and responds, “That’s one view, although I had an alternate truth in mind when passing the mirror to you.” You start to speak but the lama silences you with a raise of his hand and a short parable. “Two friends are sitting at night on a hillside, one gazing down at the sparkling lights of a city and the other looking up to a sky twinkling with stars. Is it not futile for the friends to argue over the true nature of illumination—particularly when we both still sit in the dark?”
The old man laughs and gives you a genial slap on the back to send you off on your next adventures into the unknown. [Reprinted from, The Nyxall Chronicles: A Mindgame to Remembrance.]
Subsequent explorations into the great unknown, and into the nature of reality hiding in its vastness, has led me to conclude that the deepest truth can only be glimpsed through the lens of paradox by our limited human vision. Our logical minds can creep up on truth, but they become exhausted and confused by the contradictions encountered while peering into the void beyond logic—i.e., I am the all, and at the same time I am nothing. There is no one and nothing to serve, yet we serve with every action. The mind, once fully embraced and understood, realizes there is no mind… The list of contradictions and paradoxes are endless for a seeker on the brink of true understanding.
Perhaps we, as infants, held that absolute understanding prior to taking the fall into a self-identity, into an analytical mind, and with a case of forgetfulness of our true heritage at one with the universe. The clear eyes of the Himalayan infant peering into the universe of her perception (in the Minute #4 photo) serve as a reminder that Truth may not be a state of mind after all, but a state of being. Ultimately, truth cannot be expressed or even understood by the rationale mind, only experienced and lived.
And yes, if Lamaji were here, he could bust me again about chasing my tail with that last sentence, as the mind plays games with itself in trying to express the unfathomable beyond its grasp. But such games of the mind are a central feature of this convoluting, blessed experience we have fallen into by taking human form. So play we shall in this Minute with some final words, ideas, and images that dance together as earthly illusions, fictions that may at least point somewhere in the vicinity of truth.
So we cut to Spiti Valley again in A Mindgame to Remembrance where another wise mentor emerges to further elucidate the nature of reality, while dropping a final clue that may light the way to ultimately discovering one’s Truth, one’s self as creative consciousness.
“Quite a cozy little nook you’ve created here in the space-time continuum,” notes a familiar looking face that pops into your psyche.
“Glad you could stop by, Dr. Einstein,” you comment to your latest imaginary playmate. “Tea?”
Your question is answered by his producing a china cup and saucer from his oversized coat. While pouring, you spy a candidate file sticking from his pocket, prompting you to ask, “So what aspect of the Mindgame to Remembrance are you here to assist me with, sir?”
Dr. Einstein takes a quick sip first, remarking, “Good tea. Nothing like the earthy taste of Tibetan herbs to keep one grounded while drifting in this rarified Himalayan atmosphere.”
“Sounds like you’re here with your logical mind to bring my imagination back down to Earth.”
“Don’t be so sure, mein freund. Remember, I’m the chap who kick-started Relativity Theory by picturing myself riding on a beam of light.”
“That thought experiment certainly carried you a light-year or two ahead of your science colleagues,” you remark with admiration. “Proving in the early 1900’s that time progresses at different rates depending upon the speeds at which people or clocks travel through space, was revolutionary.”
“And not intrinsically logical to the human mind, I daresay. It was even more difficult for people to grasp that space, too, contracts or expands relative to the speed of the traveler, as does the size of objects observed. Then a decade later my General Theory of Relativity really blew some minds.” Your visitor chuckles and explains, “That was when I demonstrated that we live in a multidimensional space-time universe and that the gravity we experience, rather than being some mystical invisible force between two bodies, is a natural effect of the fourth-dimensional curvature of space-time that is bent sharply by massive bodies, such as planet Earth.”
You comment, “Strange to think that behind this seemingly real landscape, lies a fourth dimension whose realm is impossible for my 3-D brain to picture.”
“Don’t limit yourself to only four dimensions in the universe, candidate,” cautions Dr. Einstein. “Looking at it as five-dimensional produced my best, if insufficient, equations to unify all the forces of physics into a single, cogent theory. Moreover, modern attempts at explaining the universe delve into the eleventh dimension where infinitesimally small, massless Superstrings vibrate to birth electrons and the other subatomic particles as seen in our three-dimensional reality. And if that doesn’t shake your worldview paradigm, you can listen to the quantum physicists who say there actually is no substance to those familiar particles in an atom since they are just blips in the unified energy field which our perceptions turn into a world of solid matter.”
I shake my head. “Are there no absolutes, no constants to grab hold of in the physics of our universe?”
“Try looking at E=MC2, indicating that the amount of energy converted from mass, and vice versa, is a function of the equation’s constant, C, representing the speed of light. Now there’s a bona fide constant for you, particularly since light—the very element giving both life and visual form to our world—invariably is perceived by us as traveling at a constant velocity. You follow?”
“Sure, I understand that regardless of how fast a person speeds towards or away from a light source, the relative velocity between the observer and the light remains inexplicably constant at 186,000 miles per second.”
The physicist queries, “Does not this hint strongly at a special relationship that you and light share, independent of the vagaries of the world given form through the teamwork of light and your perceptions of it?”
“I guess so, but I still can’t logically explain the velocity paradox of light.”
“Nor can any scientist who is looking out at the world for an explanation.” Dr. Einstein leans closer and states quietly, “But maybe your Lamaji and other sages, who understand the inner universe, could provide an answer. What if light—which you have unquestionably accepted as energy from an external world—is actually a stimulus arising from within you to trigger the perceptions of a universe? That would explain why you never see light vary in speed, because you are always traveling together.”
You consider this hypothesis, thinking aloud, “Light as consciousness itself?”
Albert looks pleased as he adds supportively, “Yes, consciousness with a capital ‘C’ that constantly transforms energy into matter as you give form to the material world with your perceptions—with your light of consciousness.”
Just some esoterica to close the Four Minutes to Freedom. And a final thought: Perhaps when your light of consciousness awakens fully to penetrate the void and give form to worlds of limitless potential, the truth may indeed set you—and the universe—free. If so, many thanks for your stellar performance.
continue below for a summary of The Nyxall Chronicles
Welcome to The Nyxall Chronicles, a journey of spirit, of imagination, of freedom. The path is lined with humor and intrigue to guide one’s Consciousness—your innate power of perception—to reclaim its rightful place as creator of your known universe. Retaking this throne means, of course, supplanting its former master, the measly human ego that has kept your spirit enslaved to its endless desires and false conditioning for a lifetime. No doubt, this grasping persona will kick up some dust along the path and scream in protest at being usurped. But as freedom rings and spirit soars into the infinite, one’s limited self-image and narrow world that supports it inexorably melt back into the nothingness from whence they arose.
That nothingness is represented by ‘Nyx’ in the series title, the ancient Greek goddess who is the infinite deep, the dark emptiness from where all creation emerges and into which all ultimately dissolves. Zeus himself was said to fear confronting Nyx and vanishing in her embrace. And indeed, those lounging upon lofty peak while vigilantly preserving their self- importance and the material world they created, had best forego the pummeling, cleansing, and laughter at one’s mortal foibles that The Nyxall Chronicles expose.
But if you are ready for truth to set you free from the mess—or at least to provide some entertainment while pondering disposal options—then read on, brave explorer, remembering that another’s words are, at best, guideposts for reclaiming what you already know deep within your fount of quiet wisdom. Or as sagely expressed from ancient Asia: If it can be spoken, it is not the Tao.
While Mrs. Lao Tzu chimed in from the garden, “Right, Mr. Airy-Fairy, and if it can be smelled, take out the garbage already!”
Good advice for all occasions. But in The Nyxall Chronicles, the odorous remnants left by a controlling ego and its ultimate demise are, admittedly, solely those of the author—while the guiding trail of fresh breadcrumbs and sparkling gems which light the way to freedom were dropped by spirit guides, angels, demons, and other messengers of grace that smashed to smithereens this engineer-lawyer’s comfortable reality and sent my world spinning off into two decades of mystery, discovery, and cosmic vertigo.
The seeds of this reality-shift and its convoluting effect on mind and manners are recounted in the initial Chronicle, The Now or Never, written at the turn of the millennium along the sacred river Ganga in northern India. As in each of The Nyxall Chronicles, the story includes a healthy dose of ‘science friction’ wherein an author vigorously rubs together fact and fantasy to generate heated suspense and spiritual Light in order to send one’s limited existence up in smoke. The Chronicles are essentially nonfiction, however, in that they accurately trace the author’s creative imagination, multidimensional compositions, and real-world journeys which collectively led to both a fiery self-implosion into Nothingness and to an uplifting union with All.
That refreshing experience is embodied in Beyond Illusion, the final Chronicle where the scene shifts from Himalayan vistas to Peruvian Andes in year 2015. Getting there was indeed half the fun, as an earlier book, A Mindgame to Remembrance, cavorts between a humorous heaven and India intrigue to rescue Consciousness from terrestrial entanglements; while The ‘I’ of the Storm flings the reading mind into orbit around a precariously wobbling planet to wipe out antiquated views of a three-dimensional world and its transient inhabitants.
These four books of The Nyxall Chronicles, although interrelated, can be read in any sequence since they each contain a unique storyline, message, and resolution. What ultimately emerges in this journey is an intricate dance of Mind, of mystery, of a spirit buffeted and buoyed by the winds of change in a cosmic house of mirrors.
If you choose to engage in this creative two-step twixt reader and scribe, lead with your inner wisdom, swirl with your imagination, and open sesame to the wonder of an ever-expanding universe—the universe that is you.
Books of The Nyxall Chronicles:
The Now or Never (2001)
A Mindgame to Remembrance (2004)
The ‘I’ of the Storm (2010)
Beyond Illusion (2016)
For further book information or to view the author’s bio, link to
Four Minutes to Freedom is a compilation of the initial quartet of Nyxall Minutes published separately during June 2016. They comprise a series of thought-provoking essays—at times challenging, at times humorous—designed for those bravely exploring both one’s spiritual truth and falseness garnered over a lifetime on this convoluting planet. Themes including knowing yourself as universal consciousness instead of as a human ego; escaping the prison of earthly illusions; and expanding one’s spiritual truth to adapt to your ever-expanding world of perception. Each of the four discourses begins with a stimulating quote overlain on a photo taken by the author during his decades-long spiritual path, primarily in Asia and Peru. The quotes were written during moments of insight along the way, often then incorporated into his series of books, The Nyxall Chronicles, composed from 2000 to 2016. Excerpts from the Chronicles appear frequently in the essays to enhance the discourse and provide direction on where to look for further stimulation and entertainment with the topics at hand. Four Minutes to Freedom is the first volume of an anticipated foursome in the Nyxall Minute Countdown that will contain a total of ten spiritual essays. Three Minutes to Self-Awareness will be available in early July 2016, followed soon after by Two Minutes to Annihilation and A Final Minute of Reflection. The Nyxall Minute Countdown is designed to launch the reader to liberation—or at least to provide entertaining food for thought while charting your own path to spiritual freedom.