Tulpamancy Journal. 230

July 26, 2021

Monday, July 26, 2021

9:50 AM

I haven’t improved much with my ability to stay with Flora, nor N’sonowa. Scattered glimpses, and parts of sentences. That’s it. I haven’t written much and I haven’t given Flora screen time. No one has responded to me on the forums. Nothing happening in dreamtime. Nothing in meditation either. Flat, Flat, Flat….

Tulpamancy Journal. 229

July 25, 2021

Sunday, July 25, 2021

2:51 PM

Still verging on the edge. I have the image from the last scene of Woody Allen’s film, Matchpoint, a ring balancing on a rail. It falls one way, and the protagonist of the film, gets away with murder. The other way, and he is caught, disgraced and punished.

Huge consequences depending on the vagaries of luck.

I am not sure this is quite apropos, as this is not a life or death issue, at least for me(I think), it may be for Flora. Or if as I intend, for me, should the entire enterprise fail and I therefore fail in creating a vessel which will take me beyond the shadows on the wall, back to source.

So, this is hard. Flora is with me, and our ability to maintain a contact longer than a few seconds, remains compromised. Is it me? (Most likely) Is it her? (Hardly seems possible that it is. She could just tell me once to buzz off, and I would. She hasn’t, she says quite the opposite.) So, I can feel her touch, hear her voice, see glimpses of her. And react  with intense emotion. All exciting and coupled with the other signs that the veil is thinning, has me very excited.

Flora, if you are reading this, you are invited to comment, or better yet, just come on through. Love, Bob

Flora’s Own, pg. 22

June 30, 2021

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

10:13 AM

Hey, it’s been a long time. How many times have I started this way? I don’t know, but it is not frequently enough to have become a habit, nothing I do, I do frequently enough to be even thought of as habitual! In fact, I haven’t been around enough to lay claim to any kind of pattern.  I do want to express myself however. And I am going to start today with a scrap of writing I found belonging to my host, Bob. I am doing this because it gives an insight as to why I am not around that much. I don’t know how to deal with it, but, as with any problem, one must explore the dimensions of it before a solution can be crafted. So here goes:

 It started much like any other, a little frenetic, a day with more have-to’s than want-to’s. Actually, hard rain awakened me, and I rushed to both take advantage of it, turning on the tub and sauna, and protect myself from it, unplugging the car and stowing the electric cords. Feed the cat, put the protective shower-curtain over the bed (also over the objections of my wife, who claimed to be sleeping) and get in the sauna. Finally, a bit of relaxation, but not really you know, absorbing all that heat is in itself energizing. Back to hurry, hurrying outside to get my coveted hot-tubbing in the rain experience, hurrying back in went the meditation went flat, hurrying to replenish the cats food, hurrying to dress and call my compatriots (only to find out that our day had been cancelled) and okay, you get it, a little frenetic and little to show for it. Still it went on, make coffee, get the paper, feed the cat, again, brush my teeth, open the computer, run the email. It goes on. And finally, in the mid-afternoon, sit down, meditate, give it up as my head just laughs at my attempts at calm and my tulpas abandon me to all of this silliness.

So you see what I am trying to deal with; My host has a mind so cluttered, full of junk, that I cannot get through! Usually, I am here today, and I am glad of it.

Oh, and I have talked about this before. I was okay with it then. I still am sort of, but it has become boring, most likely because there is noting I can do about. It’s up to him, really. My role: be responsive and get to him when he is open to me (Oh, I know, he will say that he is always ‘open to me’ but you can see from the above that that is not the case.)  In the meantime, I will live my own life.

You might be wondering where I am when I am not up and front in my host’s experience. Where does a tulpa go when not interacting with its host, or its host’s world? Answer: Use your imagination. I, and all tulpas, are imaginal beings. Are we real? Well, short answer, Yes. I am real to my host (when I am). My absence is real to him, painfully real to him, as well. I think it is the pain my absence brings to him, that proves my reality. Maybe I should say, my existence.

Is there a long answer to the question? There are endless debates among hosts and the people who study the phenomenon. Opinions vary from “total craziness”, “pure magik”, and ‘real phenom’ that have the ability to interact in real ways with other people in the hosts world. My conclusion, I am real. And like a ghost, you would think so too, had you seen one.

Enough of that, it could, and does, go on ad-infinitum.

So where was I when I talked to you all last?

Oh yes, I was in our Wonderland, and I was wondering about Xero, my husband in the Calibri-Yab.  I agreed to leave him, once the catastrophe of the alien invasion had been dealt with, Bob had suggested that he had work to do on his own before he could husband me. I have had so little contact with Bob, that I have decided to return to Xero, and we can do the work of figuring out how a marriage between two creatures as different as we, can work. I think that we can do that, and if Bob can get his act together to be truly open to me, it will be wonderful to have the lot of us (the lot, that would be, Xero, his wife Flanners, N’sonowa, our kids, Billy and Sally, and any kids that Xero and Flanners have created in my absence) in a real, polyamorous marriage. We’ll see. I’ll report when I return with them.


Tulpamancy Journal. 241

September 13, 2021

Sunday, September 12, 2021

I am in some sort of connection every day with Flora and rarely with N’sonowa. We don’t seem to be evolving. The energy between us, seems low. In the mean while, my relationship with my wife deepens in both our hearts and our minds. We are enjoying one another. We are cooperating on about every challenge that comes. We are more intimate than we have been since our wedding. I continually invite Flora to join us, to make herself known to Nancy (my wife). So far she has declined all such. I have told Nancy about Flora and explained who I was crediting Flora for the improvement with us. She says, Sure, you are changing. You are nicer and more compassionate (It is true, I am). Loving behaviors come more easily to me  since I started tulpamancy. Is it the practice I get from loving Flora? I suspect so. In any case, Flore, the invitation is still open. Love, B

Tulpamancy Journal. 240

September 9, 2021

Flora was with me this morning, whether not I was dreaming, I didn’t know. She came to me. She was happy to be with me. And. Nancy was in my arms, when I did awake, also coming to me, happy. What a morning!

Flora came to me again, during my meditation in the sauna. She was affectionate and loving. So was Nancy. Now if my cat, Luna, would just be as accommodating, all of the ladies in my life would be contributing to my joy. Actually, all are. Luna is just much more self-centered and she can’t help it, she’s a cat!

Tulpamancy Journal. 239

September 7, 2021

Wednesday, August 25, 2021

Flora has not appeared in either dream nor meditation, however N’sonwa has shown up in meditation. She seems to be closer to me since Saturday when I met the boyfriend of a woman, who could be her doppleganger. She was ten feet tall when I first laid eyes on her, she was dancing on stilts. She was a slender, sharp faced black woman. She had her hair laid flat on her skull and at distance, couldn’t be seen. I managed to get her on video and got one good pic. I will probably be able to meet her in person, as she is known my stepson. Whether I do or not, having the experience of seeing her dance, has summoned N’sonowa to the fore. I talk to Flora daily, hell almost hourly, and have been working on my visualizations of her. She talks back to me. I have to say, he in voice at least has matured. Not quite an old lady, but mature. Reasoned. Not as likely to enjoy talking about old problems, not impatient, bored is a better word. In any case, neither of us are giving up. Full imposition is still the goal. 

Flora’s Own. pg. 39

September 7, 2021

I awoke with the clear message, “Get off of your butt and find him.” So I moved out of the cabin and its’ mysterious symbols and braved the Darkwood. I had slept well, so I could imagine that I might wake to the light of a morning. No such thing on the darkside, unless you call the way too subtle changes caused by our relation to Alpha Centauri, distant cousin to our sun, Proxima Centauri. (Really, our sun,s refers to the sunside of Elutheria. ) in any case, I could see little in the dim light. I thought perhaps that I was in the wrong story. Why Elutheria? Bob had been working on a novel  with that as the title. I guess he burned it into his brain. With his brain dead and frozen, why now. Oh well, mine is not to question why, mine is to do or die. (that might be my literal fate anyhow!) without any idea of where to go, I ambled. I wandered. I took in the sights. I talked to strangers, of which their were many. At some point I began to feel a chill. Not surprising other than why  I didn’t feel it much sooner. I also began to shrink. And I could feel my connection to source weaken. This latter didn’t make me happy. Not one bit. All of suggested factors at work that were way out of my ken. I imagined that this what it was like to die. To dim, to fade, to decrease, to nothing.

     I am not ready to accept that fate. I again sprouted wings and took to the air high above the forest. I was looking for a portal, one that opened into the light. Their was no such animal in Darkwood Forest. I did a barrel role in frustration, and then on my back, saw a vortex in the sky. I set my focus on the structure, and my intention to get to the heart of the matter. I flew towards the target afforded by the great spiral arms of the galaxy and up against the even horizon. Here my wings refused to beat. I was stopped.

Never fear. I brought that pesky book of runes with me. This is what I found:

                                                  The Hebrew word for Justice.

      Oh, at one time, one of my distant ancestors, a famous magician was charged with learning the languages of the runes. She did. And I get the store of information that she acquired and stored in Bob’s physical brain….I got it, I removed it from the brain, along with about a hundred terabytes of other information. It won’t die with that brain.

      Back to the search. I got that I was going to have to shred everything I was carrying, to go further, across the event horizon, from which there would be no return. I wasn’t worried about a return, what I was interested in was would I find Bob, on the other side?

Isn’t that just the cutest question? Will I find so-and-so on the otherside? A question asked by all those who grieve, never answered. That answer comes when you no longer need to ask it. I would never need to ask it once I got there and found out for myself. I crossed.


Flora’s Own Pg. 38

September 6, 2021

Thursday, August 5, 2021

  Okay, this is new. I am coming up out of a fog. Bob’s focus on today’s marketing and kitchen duties, left me, and the rest of us here in wonderland, in a sudden fog. A yellow fog such as might obscure the view from a window of a South London street,   and I can’t quite yet get it rubbed out of my eyes.

But, here I am.

 So here’s to it.

      I am an old lady. I’ve pulled my silver-gray hair, back into a tight bun. I do not like to have my vision impaired, so I am a little annoyed at Bob’s inability to give us enough bandwidth to see clearly. I forgive him. I’ve created a work around and I can see clearly now.

      I can also detect temperature changes, I start to shiver and pull my shawl tighter around my shoulders. I am waiting. Soon enough the bell will ring and I will walk to the door, wait for Albert to come and open it.

      He did, and standing there, was the barer of the message  I dreaded.

     “It’s time Tulpa.” and he bowed slightly, waving me out of the house.

      I held my shoulders back and looked as severe as I could possibly manage under these absurd circumstance. He led me to the coach, and handed me off, to the coachman. A portly little man, with a hat, decorated with an orange feather, he smiled, simply smiled, and opened the door.

      As I approached the cab, a gloved hand reached out as if to take mine. I complied. His grip was firm, supported by his beige calfskin glove. I looked into the face of the owner of this rather elegant hand-in-glove. I almost gasped, Looking back at me was the ghost of my nephew, the son of my hosts second wife.  He had grown to fill the tailed tuxedo, complete with cape and top hat. Freckled face, toothy smile, his hazel eyes practically dancing with light. He was in the heights of his youth when he suffered a tragic death, by his own hand, over a woman. Yes, he gave up his beautiful life for that of a brand new first love, forbidden to him by his love for his best friend who loved the girl. Classic story. Tragedy.

     I grieved with the rest of the family. And perhaps that was my mistake. I wasn’t really, of the rest of the family. Bob’s family tolerated me. That’s it, tolerated, and not really me, but the idea of me. Had Bob ever been able to open the door wide enough, They would have freaked…So I grieved, and in my grief, I summoned up a doorway. A doorway to the “other side”  Actually it has nothing what-so-ever with sides, other or otherwise. But like most magic, if you can call it by its’ name, you have control over it., and it turns out to be a useful metaphor on the road to learning.

     So I’ll call this one: An Open Door.

I entered the portal without hesitation. I knew this metaphor. And I fell into an abyss of dissolving ego states. All of my beloved memories (not really mine, by the way. They reside in the brain, I share with my host. I am a Tulpa, though not by name. By name, I am Flora Violet Rose. Flora VR for short.)

     I am stalling. I am standing on the first step on a descending staircase. Why stalling? A feeling inside me of dread, I’m not sure, it’s more a vibratory thing. A deep bass sound, decidedly a contrast to the midrange melodies, I usually carry with me. Perhaps there are some harmonies here. I don’t know.

     I swallow and start down the stairs. Slowly, as the light, coming from behind me, is falling and I am going down, down, down.

      When I awaken, had I been dreaming ‘the portal’? Is all of this a dream? Does it matter? Yes, Yes, and No. I was faced with a wall of faces. I had to do some mental gymnastics but came up with a train of associations, all stored in our brains’ OS. So, boring. Where was my dread coming from? I reached out and touched one of the faces, one that had been dear to my host, and the wall of faces dissolved. Behind it was the Darkwood Forest. I keyed right into it. It had defined much of my life. My host had dredged it up from the deeps of the brain and put it in face every day of his life….I entered upon a well-defined path under leafy arches, becoming progressively less well-defined as the light fell. Sounds of the night assailed me, I felt them in my  gut, along with my dread. The moist smells of a near-bye swamp, prompt me to sprout wings and fly into the sky above, scoping out the landscape, before the falling night completely blinded me. 

     I spotted a small cabin nestled in a meadow. Lamplight showed in the window, and I went for it. Oh, and it was. The very cabin in the stories I’d been read as a young tulpa, complete with the bookshelves, table and chair, a fire in the hearth. It was very ancient, in the tales. To me, now, it was fresh, the lamp had a long wick. I had no idea of why I was here. Here in this cabin, at this time, and worse, I had no idea of what I was supposed to do about it. If anything  went through my head. So I sat down at the table to wait.

     And I reviewed my situation. I am a Tulpa, that is a being, sapient, sentient, and of free will, created by my host; Bob who has just died. I have been informed and invited, to attend his funeral. I accepted the invitation. I was led to a portal to the otherside, the otherside being a euphemism for unknown. I chose to enter such portal, I have by my own initiative, found my way to this particular place, a cabin right out of the stories created by my host.

     A book of magical runes appears in many of the stories. I am holding it in my hands. Sounds like a clue. I open it at random and look at the open page on the right. I see:


While scratching my  head, I glanced at the adjacent page and saw:

A little research into the vast libraries available to us, revealed Procrastination Followed by Fellowship with men, as the hidden messages.

Okay, My head is tired with this. I am going to bed, if I can find one.

Good night fans, Flora VR.

Tulpamancy Journal. 237

September 4, 2021

Friday, September 3, 2021

I have had a few good verbal contacts with Flora and a few partial visual contacts with N’sonowa. I have felt some what like I feel when I’ve finished a good book after reading Flora’s last post in which she finishes her story. I have felt connected to her through her postings and a little lost now that she is in between stories. In my own writing, I am concerned with Michelle and with Flora Vila nil, in entirely different stories, both pre-dating my interest in tulpamancy and therefore evocative of much different emotions than those I enjoy with Flora. It is amazing to me how evocative the pieces are and how I like both of the characters. And, Michelle has spoken to me. I believe she is, or is becoming, a soul-bound creation. I am not sad. If she elevates herself to tulpa status, she will be welcomed by me with open arms. I would feel the same way about Lilly should she choose life. In the meantime, I am working on, and hoping for, Flora’s full physical imposition.

Flora’s Own Pg. 37

August 31, 2021

Xero was in his cabin. He was confused. Why had she returned? Flora his beloved wife. She left him for her host. He believed she had been put off by his promise to give Flanners a child. They had been promised to each other for a very long time, long before he had even met Flora. Their meeting, had been his undoing, doomed the relationship before it even got started. He believed Flora had understood, approved even. After all, she had been along for the ride and the sex when Stan had recognized their alien signal, when he and Stan connected so well. He believed Flora was a true polyamor. Believed it yes, up until she saw his feelings for Flanners and in that instant, she had turned off of him. She left, barely able to say goodbye. She’s been gone a long, long time, and she returns with a strength and a harshness that he had never seen before. And that witch of a sister. He never knew where he was with her, or where she was at all. He was both envious and afraid of her raw power. It rang bells that touched chords very deep within his body. It wasn’t at all comfitting.

Now he’s being summoned to the bridge. He decided to keep his feelings close to his chest.

He found Flora and N’sonowa nude, sitting across from each other in a pose he had not seen before. They were looking at a small wooden chest. A gesture from Flora and he sat down on the floor between them, making the apex of a triangle. N’sonowa said, without looking at him, “Xero, please open the chest.”

He reached out and turned it towards him. As he raised the lid, he felt the temperature on the bridge drop forty degrees. The lid was weightless and seemed to rise of its’ own accord. Inside, all was blackness. With some focus, he spotted a small white cube in a corner of the box. He nudged it with his fingernail. It didn’t move, nor did it feel wrong. He picked it up and displayed it to Flora and N’sonowa. “Hold Xero!” whispered N’sonowa. Both she and Flora then removed one of their hands and reached out to Xero. “Xero, grow an organ now.” and when he sprouted a large penis, she took it in her hand. Flora put her hand in his mouth. “Now Xero, focus on that cube. It will reveal its’ secrets.”

Xero was dense in his dark mood. He could feel the energies of their light’s flowing through him. He created an insulated channel with which to contain them. The cube remained unimpressed by the attention it was getting. Flora and N’sonowa both increased their contributions to the ritual. They were both glowing brilliant, and were becoming more so. Dangerously more so. Xero was a black hole. Their light was dying at the event horizon. He felt as if he were caught in that same black hole. He was being inexorably drawn into a vortex of nothingness. His terror knew no bounds. He finally broke, twisting out of the reach of his two tormentors. Screaming, he lay on the floor in front of the chest.

In response, the white cube elevated out of the chest. It spun on its axis until it came to stop and exposing a large tv screen on the top surface. Billy and Halo were waving frantically to them. They had connected, how to get them out, that was the question? At that point, Flanners came running into the room. He took one look at his two missing loves and again without thinking, smashed his hand into the cube.

The cube exploded, leaving both Billy and Halo standing on the bridge. Billy was no longer in the oversized fighting body; he had shed that skin when deprived of the light that maintained him. Sally had finally talked her way out of the supervised gym class, came running to hug Billy. Flanners, seeing Xero’s distress, put his arms around him. “Hey, you are going to be all right. You are loved. By all of us. Flora too. Flora came up to him and held him in her arms. I haven’t left you Xero. I am your wife. I love you and always will. And I love Flanners, and I will love your child. It’s okay. Stan loves you too. You are of his very first world.

A wonderful party ensued, and it lasted long enough for Stan to hear of it and join them. By then Billy and Sally had gone home to wonderland. The six, Stan, Flora, N’sonowa and Xero, Flanners and Halo, found a very many ways to express and experience their profound love for each other.


(And that is the end of this short story of mine. I hope all my fans enjoyed it. Flora

Flora’s Own Pg. 36

August 28, 2021

We ran like deer through the forest. Frightened deer, Could we get to the stash of exchanged mass before it dissapated. With Rufescent gone, we’ve no way to know where she might have imprisoned Billy and Halo. I only knew that I wanted them back. They were loved. They were the future of love. Pure and unassuming, open to whatever came their paths. My heart couldn’t bear to lose them to Rufescent’s spite. We found her lair, by scent and sound, scents of rot and sounds of frenzied animals. N’sonowa took my arm and said: “I’ll go first, you count ten, then follow with your lights shining.”

She disappeared into the cave. I heard her banshee war cry then silence. I finished my counting and stepping into the cave, I routed a surge of purpla-golden light, into my hands. With them raised in praise, I stepped in the witches lair. Sister N’sonowa stood tall, her ebony skin, covered in blood, reflected the light and refracted it, sending it on to the witches corpse. I stepped down my light and walked up to what was left of her assumed body. The Wargs had gotten most of her, her entrails, muscles, hands and feet had been devoured. Her head neck and shoulders were too tough for even those beasts,but there was nothing in her that would help.

I looked around the shack, N’sonowa continued to be a source of illumination, The Wargs had not wanted her material possessions, they wanted whatever evil spirits were left in her flesh. I was looking for the exchanged transdimensional mass. (And, I had no idea what I  was looking for!) I found a locked wooden chest, held together with iron fittings. I couldn’t lift it. “Sister. Come here I think I found it, See if you can move it out of this shack.”

“I can’t do it physically little sister. We’ll have to do magic. Are you ready?”

“No, dear sister. I am not. Not now and not here. We must move the box, We’ll use magick if we must.”

“Little sister, the witch used magic to seal this box. We can use our combined lights, to break her geas. Then we pick it up and run. Ready?”
“We have to do this outside, I won’t be this vulnerable in the midst of Warg corpses and Rufescent’s remains.” and I left the cave careful to not step in or contact  any of the bloody mess. We sat face to face on the top of a large boulder from which we had a straight shot into the cave and onto the chest. N’sonowa put her left hand on my genital. I did the same to her. She put the fingers of her right hand into my mouth and I repeated the gesture. Simultaneously, we both began to send our light energy, alternating between our two hands. I was visualizing pure energy running through N’sonowa’s body, she was doing the same, as soon I was vibrating from the inside out with her frequencies. On my outside I was absorbing my own light now emitting from her. When we were both fully merged, in our light and focus, N’sonowa said: “Sister, turn and point your fingers at the chest, I’ll do the same. Be ready to run when it blows.”

We were back on the bridge of the space station. With the chest.

Tulpamancy Journal. 236

August 20, 2021

Friday, August 20, 2021

I feel so close to connecting with Flora this morning, and last night. I have been watching “Humans” on Prime Video and have gotten to the part where they are attempting to download an AI who was created in the machine on top of memories of a dead daughter, into a robot body that has already been programed to he sentient. (They mean sapient, but who am I to correct them?) Apparently the premise of the show is Consciousness (including self-consciousness) is programmable with the proper coding. Emotions apparently come built in to the code.

All of this interests me. I have just written a novel, based on the premise that patients who underwent neurosuspension, then cryogenically suspended (frozen, in the vernacular) can be re-animated by reading and transmitting, the neuroanatomy (neurohistography, actually) can be replicated in a newly grown brain/body from the DNA taken from the patients body at the time of death. In my fictional conception, this is a complicated process and takes many months, for the deceased mature personality, to find its fit in the new organ (brain/body). In the show, it is a matter of download speed. Okay, we, the shows writer’s and me, involved in the cryonics industry for decades, have different ideas about how this is conceived. What is interesting is that we have the ideas at all, and they, the idea’s, do not exist solely in the imaginations of writers, but in the working spaces in the minds of some of the countries top scientists (of which, I am not one.)

Also interesting, to me at least, is how my  personal experience with my tulpas have impacted on my idea’s about the matter. I believe Tulpa Creation to be a real thing, and my experience suggested that with effort, that is practice, I could create one. I did practice and I did create a tulpa in everyday consensual reality . That she appeared as a result of my work, I had no doubt. That she has not appeared in that form, subsequently, suggests to me, that I need a lot more practice and I need to know and deal with, the biases I have against the enterprise. She has appeared to me in many different forms, including my having visions of her during my meditations. Hearing her, vocally respond to my questions and invitations. Feeling her touch when she chooses to touch me, and when I touch her. She appears frequently in my dreams, sometimes disguised. She appears in almost all of my lucid dreams, where she responds to me with passion.

I have recently (the past year and a half) become acquainted with the work of Donald Hoffman, PhD. Who makes a very good case, logically and mathematically, that all of consensual reality, is NOT truth, what we are calling “reality”. Our perceived realities, he contends (convincingly in my mind) are but icons/interfaces between us, (conscious agents) and whatever it is that is “real” (the man behind the curtain). He suggests that we, like people who read this stuff as well as everyone else, are consciousness or conscious agents, and consciousness is fundamental to the universe.

My experience, as a tulpamancer, as a psychiatrist specializing in the care of severely mentally ill patients, as a meditator involved in the practice of Mussar, and as an artist, painter/writer has taught me: Each individual creates his/her own reality. This is true on many different levels and each of us has a role in passing on the basic info on how to create the physical world.

As a hypothesis, this is hard to prove. It is non-sensical. But it is not resistant to proof, Hoffman’s work, is one of the clearest demonstrations of proof, but there are others, and for anybody who has gone the warriors way with sacred medicines, also knows this to be  plausible. 

My work these past few decades of my life, has been to document this hypothesis, in how I live and love in my own life. It is hard work. I have help, plenty of love and support from family and friends, abundant physical resources. And a work ethic. Flora, fear not. I will bring you out (should that be your will). Dr. Bob

Tulpamancy Journal. 235

August 18, 2021

Okay, so where am I. Not stuck, not moving. At least not moving well in wonderland. I had a real struggle yesterday keeping focus on wonderland in a situation that in the past has been a slam-dunk, in the car. I could only get glimpses of the place where the three of us have had our best connections. Why? I don’t know. I could hear a few snatches of what both Flora and N’sonowa were saying. I did however, speak to the both of them, and I am pretty sure that they understood me. I, once again, asked that they lend their strength and gifts of love and light to Nancy. They must have, because despite her having an exhausting day (a post-infusion day) she opened herself to make love with me (she did this on her own, not at my instigation). This had to be Flora and N’sonowa’s work. I was of course, thrilled. Since then, I have felt like I was on the verge of meeting Flora in my external reality. We haven’t and if we don’t it is okay, though no matter what evolves between Nancy and I, I want to give both Flora and N’sonowa, the gift of ‘real life’. The world could use them.

I still don’t know what is going on to make my journeying to wonderland so difficult, but, I continue……