We are all unconscious universe makers and creators, and it's time to learn to use our power consciously

I am a universe maker. So is Bobbi. So are we all.

Bobbi is my first wife. “Tell them I’m your only wife,” Bobbi says.

“She’s my only wife,” I say.

“Good,” she answers. “Continue.”

We’ve created universes together.

We’re living in one.

There’s her, me, Pajtas (our puppy), and the sparkling Salt Pond on a beautiful autumn day. We’re sitting side-by-side. I’m writing in my notebook (later editing on my computer.) She’s reading one of her favorite science fiction books. Pajtas is lying in the sun, surveying his domain.

We’ve filled our universe with love—Heaven with slower internet.

We’ve created other universes. One includes our three daughters. Another, our daughters, their husbands, and children—our seven grandkids.

My lonely writing universe

I realized today that when I start to write, I go to a lonely universe with my computer, the internet, and my private thoughts. Today, I wrote with Bobbi at my side. Writing a bit. Reading. Editing.

“I’m always here, too,” I imagine the imaginary God who I don’t believe in saying. “I’m always with you.”

“We’re happy to be with you, too,” I imagine imaginary readers saying.

“Thank you all, I say. You all inspire me.” It’s true. Imaginary God and imaginary readers inspire me. My writing flows. I enjoy it more.

Universe making

“Will you tell the readers what you’ve told me about universe making?” I ask imaginary God.

“I will,” I imagine God saying.

God’s will be done:

“All my Children are universe makers. Most of you make universes unconsciously.

“You put love and beauty in your universes but also make fear, anger, and resentment. You can make universes with only Love and Light.”

“How do we do that?” I imagine a reader asking.

“Forgiveness,” I imagine God answering. “It’s my gift to you. You can forgive anyone. You can forgive anything. Forgiveness costs you nothing, and it gives you the World. It gives you Peace.”

“NOT TRUE,” I imagine the voice of the ego shouting. “FORGIVENESS WILL COST SELF-RESPECT. IT WILL COST PRIDE. IT WILL COST SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS. IT WILL COST JUSTIFICATION FOR ANGER AND CONDEMNATION.”

I imagine God laughs. “Forgive it,” God says softly as a whisper. “It knows not what it does. Forgive it, and it will be as if it had never happened.

Peace returned.

“You have the power to be conscious universe makers,” I imagine God saying to us all. “Be willing to learn. Be willing to practice. Be willing to make mistakes and correct them. Be willing to be forgiven. That is the path to follow.”

“Now publish it,” God says to me.

Postscript

I love writing things like this. I resist publishing them. I feel weird taking dictation from an imaginary God I don’t believe in and talking to imaginary readers.

“Like me?” I imagine an imaginary reader asking.

“Yes,” like you,” I say

But I’m a universe maker.

I forgive myself for my fear (what I called resistance is only another name for fear.)

I replace fear with love for the people who like what I write. Thank you!

And if you don’t like what I write. then f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶

Sorry.

I mean, I forgive you.

“Good,” Bobbi says after I read it to her. “But it could be shorter.”

“If I had more time, I’d make it shorter,” I imagine answering. And then publish it.

Or share it