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Almudena

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Almudena

Certified clinical hypnotherapist in Kalamunda (Perth) & online. Writing a book on Facebook. Enjoy!

I am an Australian certified clinical hypnotherapist, Timeline Therapy practitioner and neuro-linguistic programming coach. I have a master's degree in Linguistics and Literature, other post-graduate studies in Education and Leadership Communication, and six years' experience working as a counsellor in New York State, as well as extensive professional experience in Spain, Russia, U.S.A and Austral

ia. I provide truly transformational and deeply relaxing hypnosis sessions at my clinic in the Perth Hills or in the comfort and convenience of your own home (online). I help you resolve, once and for all, the long-standing issues in your life, so that you can become the best version of yourself and manifest your richest, happiest and most fulfilling destiny. You are going to love the way hypnotherapy will accelerate positive change in all areas. Book a session today and let your deepest mind create your best life.

30/11/2022

Chapter 13:

THE BOOK

So there I was, dear reader, in this pristine office of mine that appeared to be in some other realm, in a dimension of existence perhaps realer than real, more real than what you and I understand as “reality”. Realer than this ordinary world. And Emerson seemed to be waiting for me to finish thinking, and I could barely begin.

What concerned me to the point of thought paralysis was the matter of all the titles that had been piled on me. “Professor of Psychonautics”, “Head Hypnotist” and “Dean of Writing” was disquieting enough, but what had me the most worried was the “Spaniard in the Works” stuff that John had told me about. Because see, that isn't a job title or a skill set or an academic qualification. That is a prophecy. A prophecy about me. And the prophet is John Lennon.

A qualification, even such an esoteric one as “Psychonaut”, seemed more or less achievable: something to grow into, to learn about, to attain. And I was clearly in the perfect place to acquire this sort of knowledge. And I AM a hypnotist already, after all. And a writer too, I guess, with a very distinctive signature style that includes starting lots of sentences with a conjunction. And I have always resonated with the Witch archetype (Esmerelda Weatherwax is one of my heroes), so I could even live with that title. Witch. OK. But the whole “A Spaniard in the Works” business had messianic connotations that I just didn’t like one bit, for several crucial reasons. Not one bit.

So I made a mental note to have a discussion with John about this, to see if we could bring it all down a notch, to a more manageable level. Something that didn’t involve “showing the way”, necessarily, but just going my own way and, if that inspired someone to do something, or to go somewhere too, so be it and good luck to them. That would be much better, I decided.

Once again, as in my previous visit, Emerson interrupted my musings.

“Ahem!”

“Yes, Emerson?”

Emerson glanced at his clipboard.

“It’s just that… You have to go to orientation. Now,” he said.

“Orientation? I thought I had that with Terry and Mitch the other day?” I said.

“Well, no, that was more of a… debrief.”

“Really? So I have to attend debrief AND orientation?”

I had a flashback to the government jobs I have held in my life and all the boring, pointless, mind-numbing meetings I have attended. But the difference was that, up until that moment, everything I had done at E.T.U. had been... pretty intense and somewhat confusing and demanding, but ultimately enlightening and fun. So there was no real basis to think that the orientation would be different, and the only reason I wasn’t looking forward to it was that, just like the previous time, I felt unprepared. So I asked Emerson to show me the book he was holding under his clipboard. He passed it on to me immediately, as if he had been expecting me to want to see it.

And in my eagerness to learn something before the impending orientation, I opened the book without looking at the cover. I leafed through it and what I saw, on every page, was swirls of silver and gold that moved and slithered over each other, spelling and dissolving words in a way that made it impossible to read anything. And this phenomenon was not new to me, because I know that in dreams writing is unstable, and in fact this is one of the ways by which you can tell that you are in a dream and not in physical reality. In a lucid dream it is usually possible to read written words, but then, when you look away and look back at the same text, it will say something different. And sometimes you get this swirling, unsettled effect that I was seeing now.

So I closed the book and looked at the cover, which was made of a silvery material, and there, in fine gold leaf lettering, was the clearest of titles.

16/11/2022

Chapter 12:

PSYCHONAUT

So, after going through all this the night that I decided to invoke an objective psychic reality in a lucid dream, of course I wanted to do it again. I wanted to explore E.T.U., to know more about it, to spend more time with Terry and Mitch, and hopefully with John as well, although I wasn’t sure whether he would be back.

I wanted to ask them questions and just pal around with them. I couldn’t wait to hang out and sip delicious drinks and talk about stuff. But there was something I felt I needed to do first, something of a more practical nature. And that was having a conversation with Emerson, because I thought he would have information that the others wouldn't. Or at least a different angle on the same information. And, from an ethical perspective, I also had to offer him a way out.

So, the following night, I became lucid in a dream again – and all this means is that I knew I was dreaming while I was dreaming. And I asked to be taken directly to my office at Emerald Towers University. And I purposely spun and twirled like a top or a very fast ballerina, because that is a time-honoured transportation method in lucid dreams.

And when I came to a stop, there I was: in the same immaculate office with the comfy furniture and the white laptop. And I saw that the flowers in the vases had been changed and they were carnations now, of different colours, and they smelled wonderful. And I wasn’t sure how I was going to fetch Emerson, so I just looked at the wall in front of me and said:

“Errr… Emerson?”

And that was all it took. He appeared right there, wearing a different argyle sweater, cream and brown now, and still holding his clipboard, and a book. And this time I wasn’t as flustered, so I had a good look at him. He had black hair and dark green eyes, and he was tall and pale, with a long thin nose and an aristocratic demeanour that no-one has seen in a university student before, or at least not this century. And he, too, seemed much more relaxed than the previous time. I asked him to have a seat.

“So, you are my student, right, Emerson?” I began.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said.

“And I am supervising your PhD thesis in Psychonautics, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So… wouldn’t it be a good idea to assign you to someone else? Seeing how I don’t remember anything?”

“No, it will be alright,” he said. “It will come back to you. And there is no-one else.”

As flattered as I was to find out that I was the chief authority in Psychonautics, or possibly the only authority, the thing was that… I wasn’t, because I didn’t even know exactly what the word meant.

“OK, Emerson, so I want you to please think back to the first Psychonautics class you ever took in your life, as an undergraduate student. Was it in this university? Was it with me?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And how did I start? What did I say, you know… in the beginning?”

“You said that the concept of “psyche” was understood by the ancient Greeks as a mind-soul dyad,” he said. “That the mind and the soul are inextricably united, that they are one, in fact, and that is what we mean by the word “psyche”. And that the psyche can be navigated by those who understand its true nature. And those who have mastered the skill of navigating the psyche are called “psychonauts”. And…”

I interrupted him by raising my hand.

“OK, thanks, that’s enough for now. Let me think about that for a second,” I said. And I did. And then I asked:

“Anything else that you consider... essential, out of that first class?”

“Well… yes. You said that the etymology of the word “witch”, its original meaning, is “walker between worlds”. And that the word “witchcraft” has acquired all sorts of negative connotations in the fear-based world of the 3rd dimension but, in its essence, it’s all about psychonautics and the power therein,” he said.

“Wow. Far out,” I said.

15/11/2022

Chapter 11:

WE ALL SHINE ON

And the vision of his mother, whom he had lost twice by his own account – both times senselessly and tragically –, this mother who was deemed unfit to take care of him, who deemed herself unfit; this scene of her finding him after death in his empty basement to bring him sandwiches, and seeing the newspaper wrapper and the little string tied around it in a bow, well… it got to me. And I found myself sobbing uncontrollably.

And the next thing I knew, John was pulling me up from my chair, and hugging and holding me for what seemed like a long time. And the terrace around us had mostly dissolved, except for a green glow. And he said:

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey… It’s alright.”

And I got other things then: how the abandoned basement slowly transmuted itself into a cozy suburban house, how his mother would come often and always bring sandwiches wrapped in newspaper, how one of the guitars turned into a banjo, and they would play together in the garden – he the guitar, she the banjo.

And he started to pay attention to the sandwich wrappers, and they were newspaper pages about The Beatles. And he remembered how they had laughed and fought like brothers and how, at their best, they had shared a sense of mission. And what that mission was, exactly, was hard to remember, but one day he told his mother that he needed to go find the others. And Julia smiled and seemed to understand. And he asked:

“And you?”

And she told him that she would be alright, that she loved the house and she, too, had her own calling and her life after life to live, and her destiny to fulfill. And she would be here whenever he wanted to visit.

And at this juncture, dear reader, knowing all this, I had managed to calm down somewhat, and I looked up at him. And he looked more serious and mature and less hippyish, sort of like he appears in the “Instant Karma! (We All Shine On)” video, which I hope you have watched by now. And he smelled of exotic good quality patchouli, a soapy and interesting scent, so I guess his hippy side was not totally gone. And he did shine.

14/11/2022

Chapter 10:

JULIA

So there I was, dear reader, sitting next to John Lennon and feeling... Well, let’s just say that I went through many feelings in rapid succession. Or rather, they went through me. I knew they were not mine but his, and I have never been much of an empath. So that's how I realised that communication is different in the 5th dimension – that spoken words are largely superfluous, just a habit that most people still practice but not necessary. He was offering me thoughts and feelings for examination. Words would have been in the way.

I experienced as if through his eyes the horror of being shot repeatedly, beyond any chance of survival, but remaining conscious and aware for an unreasonably long time. Thinking of Sean, of not getting to say good night to him, not even once more, not ever; of Yoko, alone in a world that sees her but doesn’t understand her; and all the regrets about Julian, now forever irreparable. Or so it seemed.

And then, a basement somewhere in Liverpool, or thereabouts. An empty basement with just two guitars. Thinking of everything and everyone, sitting on the floor, not daring to touch the guitars. Not yet.

Waves and waves of thick and heavy timelessness, which is worse than time. Or it can be. Or so it seemed.

One day a woman visits, smiles sadly and leaves a packet of sandwiches wrapped in newspaper. Julia.

11/11/2022

Chapter 9:

INSTANT KARMA

And then I realised that Terry and Mitch had left the table, perhaps to go get us more mockjitos, and I was alone with John. And somehow I thought it proper to express my condolences for what had happened to him, even if he seemed fine now. I told him I remembered how shocking it had been, to be 12 or 13 years old, watching TV at lunchtime with my family one December day, and to see and hear the news that John Lennon had been murdered in New York, at the entrance of his apartment building.

Even at that age, and living in Spain (back then still very much an isolated country, what with being fresh out of a 40 year dictatorship), I knew who he was because we had studied “Yesterday” in English class and there was an incipient late Beatlemania among some of my schoolmates.

We don’t have two different words for “murdered” and “assassinated” in Spanish. It’s not one thing or the other; it was both things at once. Asesinado.

So I told him I was sorry, and I meant it, and he said:

“Well, see, the thing is… It couldn’t have been any other way.”

And I said:

“Sorry, what?”

And then he explained. He said that he had struck a very high note in his public life, pontificating about love and peace and what have you, but his personal life was very different. All along he was trying to understand himself and the reality around him, but his main interest had been to make himself into this mythological being that symbolised some kind of hope for the world. But the thing is, he wasn’t that at all.

He continued explaining that he had been a strange and estranged parent, part dotting and caring and part negligent, hurtful and remote. He had mistreated many of his lovers, had been physically violent and emotionally cruel. There had been all sorts of issues with his s*x life, the core of which was dehumanisation.

And this confession didn’t really take me by surprise, I kind of knew it. I realised that this information is not hidden or suppressed at all, it is out there, in the air, and people know. But somehow it has never detracted from his ongoing fame and influence on the world, to this day.

Even so, even knowing that I already knew, hearing it first-hand would have normally given me pause, because domestic violence is to me one of the worst things anyone can do. But see, dear reader, I have known perpetrators of all sorts of violence; in my family of origin, in my social environment, and in my professional life (from many years working in prisons). And I have never heard anyone admit these things so openly or comprehensively, with no attempt at justification. And that was kind of disarming, so I said:

“Well… None of us can live up to our highest ideals, I suppose”.

But it was more than that, he said. He said that by talking such a big game and doing essentially the opposite, he misled millions of people, leaving them confused about what a good life really is, and letting them think that talent and charisma are the same as love and peace. And they're not. And this created an internal fracture, a tear in the very fabric of his existence. And that gaping tear was a magnet for murderous madness, and it just couldn’t have been any other way.

And he said that there were other people in his generation that fell prey to the same self-induced syndrome. And he didn’t tell me who in so many words, but the initials JFK and MLK popped into my head, so you figure it out.

So then he went on to say that the only peace and love that you will be able to bring to the world is the one that you can maintain in your own head and heart, in your own home, in your innermost domain. That if we were able to sustain peace and love on that small, intimate, low-key level, the world would be at peace already. That war and peace begin at home. That it’s all connected.

That you cannot have conflict and abuse at home and then head out to an anti-war demonstration and think it will be OK. It will not.

That you cannot betray and dishonor and degrade your wife and children, the people you vowed to love and protect, and expect to use a political career to effect positive change in the world. That it doesn’t work that way.

And when you entangle yourself in these fatal contradictions, in this terminal lack of integrity, the taller your pedestal is, the more karmic damage you are doing to yourself. And then… all it takes is an instant.

09/11/2022

Chapter 8:

IMAGINE

And then, dear reader, as the night progressed, various memories and realisations began to dawn on me, although I was yet to come to full clarity about what was happening and my role in it. And, as I said in the beginning, I still don’t know exactly what this story is for or about, but it is possible that writing it will help me understand. And it might even help you understand. Who knows.

In any case, Terry, Mitch and I had finished dinner and we were having these really tasty mocktails. And somehow, without asking them anything, I remembered that in this locale, the 5th dimension, there is no alcohol. It is not forbidden; it just doesn’t exist, because everyone is able to reach within themselves for whatever joyful, animated, euphoric or ecstatic mood they want to be in, and find it. So, when you are having mocktails with people, you are enjoying the delicious fruitiness but also the friendship, the connection, the comfort and excitement of being with each other. And in this realer world of the 5th dimension, you don’t need any mind-altering substances to do that. All you need is you.

And as I was thinking all this, and somehow still managing to listen to Terry and Mitch talk about narrative conventions (a topic that may sound boring to you right now but I hope to make it fascinating at some point), a band came onto the stage at the back of the terrace. And the band, as implausible as it seems, was The Beatles. And even if I am not really a Beatles fan, far from it, this particular performance was to my liking.

They heavily leaned George-ish, playing some of their more wholesome and mystical songs, and sparing us the randier and more saccharine-sweet stuff. For example, they didn’t play “All You Need Is Love”, a song that would have sort of fitted with my train of thought in that moment but is way too cheesy for me. Instead, I remember beautiful spirited renditions of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”, “I, Me, Mine” and “Across the Universe”. And “Don’t Let Me Down” must have been in there as well, because I distinctly remember John hollering: “IT’S A LOVE THAT LASTS FOREVER, IT’S A LOVE THAT HAS NO PAST!!!!!”.

And The Beatles finished their set, and John Lennon came to our table, nodded in Mitch and Terry’s direction, and shook my hand and introduced himself to me (me!). And he was long-haired, hippyish and happy and full of boyish charm, and nowhere near as weird as he became later in life.

And he said: “Haha!!! I knew there was a Spaniard in the works!!!”

And I said: “Sorry, what?”

And he explained that in the early 60s he’d had a vision that, before the world goes terminally insane, before we destroy ourselves with wars and greed and corruption, a special baby girl would be born in Spain, and she would grow up to be a way-show-er for those who were ready to be shown the way. And she would be a sort of “Spaniard in the works” (spanner-Spaniard – get it?) who would change the course of history, in a good way.

And he told me that he had been so sure, back in the 60s, of this vision or prophecy of his, that he wanted to write a book about it, but his mind was too addled by drugs and adulation and bad decisions, and he didn’t manage to write the right book, but wrote instead a bunch of ugly and delusional nonsense. Only the title was right.

06/11/2022

Chapter 7:

THE DINNER

And then we came to a point during the meeting when we had hammered out most of the agenda. And because the agenda involved bringing me up to speed on where I was and what we were doing, Terry suggested that we go to dinner, and that might help jog my memory some more. And Mitch and I agreed.

And I am not sure how we got there, but suddenly we were at a courtyard or terrace that seemed to have been built at the base level between two towers but still quite high up, so we had a good view of the sunset over The Lake.

And it was a stunning terrace with lots of flowers in big pots and fairy lights that of course became more visible and beautiful as the evening progressed. But I don't know whether there were actual fairies involved or if they were just lights.

There were quite a few people sitting at the terrace when we arrived. Everyone seemed very friendly and some of them waved us over to their table but Mitch said we were “talking shop” and we graciously declined and got our own table at a magnificent spot overlooking the water.

And Terry and Mitch suggested, in my honour, that we do a tapas night, so we ordered a few dishes that resembled typical Spanish tapas, but they were all vegan, of course, and tastier than any tapas I have ever eaten. Especially the calamari, of which we got two different kinds. And I was beginning to feel a bit more relaxed now, so I took a good look around and I realised that the beauty of this place had to do with the actual… content, if you will, of what I was seeing and feeling, but also with the fact that everything looked not just real, but hyper-real. The colours were more saturated, deeper, the lights more luminous, the glasses on the table more sparkling – a similar effect to the impossibly shiny floorboards in my office.

So I commented on this, and Mitch said that we currently were in the 5th dimension, which is a more real (realer?) world than the 3rd dimension, which is the ordinary world we know – the same ordinary world that so many people believe to be the only reality. And I also recall another point in the conversation where Terry or Mitch said that, even if we were having dinner in the 5th dimension, there were parts of Emerald Towers University that were in even higher dimensions most of the time. Isn't it wild?

And even more mysteriously, they said that we all exist in many dimensions at the same time, and in which one we happen to be at any given moment depends on our focus and frequency. So go figure.

And then I saw waiters and waitresses, people serving the tables, and I wondered about the economics of the situation. So I asked Terry and Mitch how it all worked with employment and money and such, and they said that in the 5th dimension everyone does the work they are best suited to do, which here is the same as the one you like the most. So people just sort of follow their interests and that takes them to their perfect occupation. And if you don’t want to do anything, you don’t really have to, because no-one starves or goes without in the higher dimensions.

But people in these higher worlds understand that everything in the universe works on the basis of an exchange of energy, so they naturally want to be productive and contribute in some way. And even the people who don’t work outwardly are contributing to the collective good by meditating and doing spiritual practices and such. And those who serve others understand that service is a wonderful spiritual practice.

Oh, and money still exists in sort of a symbolic way. If you think about it, money is symbolic in the 3rd dimension too. But the difference is that in the 5th dimension, money symbolises how connected you are to the ultimate Reality. (Some people in this world argue that the same thing or something similar is true here, but I remain unconvinced).

Another thing I learned during the dinner which boggled my mind was that the beryl crystal that much of the University is made of (emerald), and the other crystals that make the base and accents and various parts of the building, and which we consider precious stones or gems in this world, are also precious over there, in the 5th dimension, but in a different way. It turns out that, in the 5th dimension, these crystals that we consider precious stones are even more precious because they are a source of energy. The 5th dimension is powered by crystals. How about that.

05/11/2022

Chapter 6:

THE GIST OF THE CONVERSATION

It was a fairly long meeting and no-one took minutes, exactly, but all three of us jotted down a few notes. Not that I have access to them where I am now, of course. So this is from memory only, and it is possible that I will remember more later when it’s pertinent to the situation.

These are a few things that I remember now. Since Facebook doesn’t offer dot points, or not that I can see, I will use numbers, not in order of importance but more in a loose order of at what point in the meeting were the things said. I think you will be able to sense right away that the numbers are not in order of importance.

1.- Emerson is not so much my guide as my personal assistant, kind of a secretary but I am also supervising his PhD thesis in Psychonautics, so he’s sort of my mentee as well. He’s used to my “blankers” (occasional episodes when I return to E.T.U not knowing anything) and he’s been instructed by me to let senior faculty members bring me up to speed on things when this happens.

2.- The world has already ended. I am referring to this world, the one that matters to you, dear reader. The apocalypse has already happened. The reason we are still here is that we have been granted a grace period to sort ourselves out. Someone (we are not sure exactly who) has pressed the rewind button, or maybe the pause or freeze button is a better analogy. In any case we are living on borrowed time and we don’t think it will be much longer before the end of the world makes itself evident.

3.- When I heard this at the meeting, I lamely asked: “Does this mean we are all gonna die?” And Sir Terry replied: “Well… yes, that will happen, sooner or later. But that’s not really the problem. After all, I am here, aren’t I? The problem is that living under certain conditions is much worse than dying."

4.- And that is true, isn’t it? If you think of the world depicted in the novel by Cormac McCarthy “The Road” (not something that I would read, but I take it it’s a good novel, just very harrowing and frightening), or go ahead and pick your favourite dystopian post-apocalyptic fiction, and you know that life can be worse than death. And I hope not, but maybe you, dear reader, have already experienced things worse than death in your life, or at least things that seemed to be so at the time.

5.- By the way, the fact that our zeitgeist is so chockers with post-apocalyptic fiction, and R.E.M. were singing about the end of the world for decades and everything, is in itself proof of what I am telling you here, because of course the collective unconscious has picked it up and is warning us via our obsessions.

6.- But before I spread panic on Facebook and get myself fact-checked and banned or restricted or something, let me tell you the good news: we CAN sort ourselves out. Will that stop the end of the world? No, because again: it has already happened. But if we sort ourselves out, it will mean that we can learn to live, operate and function in other dimensions of existence, so we can just peacefully make our way there and we don’t have to experience any of the unpleasantness associated with the demise of a whole planet.

7.- I know that your middle school physics teacher told you that the 4th dimension is time, and that may or may not be true at some pedestrian Newtonian level, but in reality time doesn’t exist. It’s just a useful device to explain change in this world, and well, to be able to rendez-vous with people and get together for dinner and such. But really, time doesn’t exist, and the 4th dimension is not time but the dream world.

8.- And inside the dream world, which is a kind of unstable and rather uncontrolled reality generated by the unstable and uncontrolled minds of the 3rd dimension (us), there is a portal to the 5th dimension. And the 5th dimension is a much more stable world, generated by the more controlled and self-aware minds that have learned to use their creative energy for good (also us).

9.- Now, how do we sort ourselves out? That is a topic for another day. It’s not what you think.

10.- Get it so far? Good.

05/11/2022

Chapter 5:

THE MEETING

And at that point, still with the door open and with no more time to think or guess or infer anything, I saw two figures in the hall advancing towards me in an attitude of very animated greeting.

“ALMUDENA!!!!!”, they both yelled, waving their arms hello. And in an instant they were in front of me, shaking my hand enthusiastically, and giving me little slaps on the back, short of hugging me but almost there. And then, in the late afternoon light, I managed to have a good look at their grinning faces and I saw that there, in front of me, were Terry Pratchett and Mitch Horowitz.

Now, dear reader, if you don’t know who Terry Pratchett is, God help you because then this book may not be for you. You may have your own books, the Bible perhaps, or something else. Stick with those because all paths lead ultimately to the same place. Good luck to you.

If you don’t know who Mitch Horowitz is, that’s different, that’s something I can understand but I am not sure I have time to fully explain, so please go look him up. He is a historian, he studies esoteric ideas, secret teachings that were hidden for millenia (that’s what “occult” means: “hidden”), knowledge that people used to live and die for, a long time ago. And Mitch is chronicling what may or may not be salvageable among those ideas, and also what may be very valuable indeed, and the way in which many of them have become mainstream. Oh, and he is one of my favorite writers (second to Terry Pratchett, but still). Look him up.

So then, with no awareness on my part of how the transition happened, we found ourselves inside my office with the door closed, sitting around a table in comfy stuffed chairs. And on the table were notebooks and pens, three glasses and a pitcher of water posing as sangria. What I mean by that is that it was a huge pitcher of water with ice and lots of cut-up fruit floating around in it. And not just the traditional sangria fruit, which is lemons and oranges and occasionally apple and banana, but other things too: cherries, mango, pineapple. Completing the little tableau was a dessert plate brimming with pitted black olives. It was like someone’s idea of what a Spaniard would serve her guests at a meeting, but not necessarily my idea. But I still did the honours and poured us all some water from the pitcher, and tasted one olive, which was delicious. And so was the water, the water was delicious too.

And if this were a normal novel, and not more of a memoir, what would follow now would be an account of the conversation we had, blow-by-blow, who said what exactly. But I can’t do that because I don’t remember. I could do sort of an artist’s impression of it, but I am afraid I would mess something up. What I can tell you is that the most frequent words uttered by both Terry and Mitch were: “Isn’t it wild???!!!” and “Isn’t it great???!!!”.

I will still tell you the gist of the conversation, because I do remember the gist and it’s kind of important, but it will have to be in dot point form, or I’ll do numbers or something. We’ll see. I just need you to get it.

One part of the conversation I recall is that, right at the beginning, I confessed to Mitch and Terry that I didn’t remember anything. And Mitch said:

“That’s OK, that’s a good thing, you’re having a blanker! Beginner’s mind!”.

“A blanker?”

But even as I asked, I realised what he meant. I didn't remember anything about my life in this other world or alternative reality or whatever it was, and that was a good thing because it allowed me to look at whatever situation we were in with fresh eyes and a clean slate. And this is something that Buddhists and yogis and other people who practice Eastern philosophies aspire to: beginner’s mind.

Another thing I recall exactly is that at one point I asked Terry:

“So wait… Is Unseen University an objective psychic reality too?”

“Oh, no. Too messy," replied Terry. “Lancre is, though”.

“Lancre?” (Another problem with trying to retell the conversation blow-by-blow is that you might start to believe that I am not very bright, and we don’t want that).

“Yes, you’ve been there many times! Esme Weatherwax is… an adviser of sorts to E.T.U. Informally, of course.”

Right. Of course.

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