This journey took place inside and outside the meta-worlds that progress and flow beneath and beyond the world we know, past the consensus world of our common denominator.

All throughout her sensing and experiencing both fine and coarse, she held a specific tone in her being. It was a soul sound that seemed to configure life experiences in a pattern that she could live in and understand.

The depth of this pattern, her fundamental mythic self, was shared on a soul level with various others who struck the same note. From time to time, they met and saw they were like, through time and circumstance.

Glynis and the other Glynises delighted in one another and sometimes travel together. When they did this, they usually joined in one version body, mind or heart to consolidate the sensory experience. Rarely, there were dreams in which they all formed a circle council to meet and influence the circumstances in which they each existed. Somewhere ethereal, magical, unbound.

Others were new to the game, earthbound and learning. In dream the mythic soul came forward, touching the heart of the one who dreamed, spinning realm upon realm to be claimed for the multiplicity of being called Glynis.

As each one expanded her realm, these worlds or spheres of being came into residence with the soul found and developed in harmony with that tone. Like a crystal growing in its specific pattern, each sphere was structured and expanded on the basis of that specific soul tone.

And as these worlds came in to being, Glynis saw and recognized their harmonies. It became easier and easier to see and know them, to be aware of their inhabitants, to love them. She was their goddess and they were her dearest love. And this happened over and over again for each of the Glynises over time and throughout the known and unknown universes.

Our Glynis was one of the oldest, so she has seen over and over again these patterns of growth and evolution. Sometimes our Glynis remembered this. But not always, for she was alive on earth, and, unlike the braid, had not yet been cut off from her earth self. The purple ribbon page marker on her notebook led her to another blank page. She wrote to remember, to account for all that she’d experienced and done.

“I can’t remember,” she thought, “I must remember.”

She worked the notebook to return to the meta soul she knew was housed within her. Somewhere beyond the veils of mist and memory, past the shoulds of conditioning and parental programming, beyond the myths and archetypes that guard at the gate: a void – that cave of 10,000 things with no exit – seemed to hold her in the pattern of existence. Was her memory just one of them?

Or was it possible to follow the purple ribbon into the labyrinth as it extended from blank page to blank page? Like the magical purse that filled with a gold coin each morning, the blank page when written upon with sincere seeking gave Glynis more and more space to explore. With each turn of the page, the purple ribbon of the page marker truly did extend across time, fields, landscapes, worlds. This was the thread of the path she was to follow. Easily and without strain, she spun out the words that sang her life, past and future, interwoven and elegant as the Celtic brooch that held her shawl in place.

At the fireside she could be seen each morning, and again in the early evening, unspooling the words that would lead her to freedom’s gate. And that was how her Book of Secrets was born. It was an account of her life’s progress through all the worlds both in time and outside of time. It inspired her pupils but mostly was a guide to her when highwalls narrowed the pathway or if the black vortex swirled in its mäelstrom.

The purple page ribbon held it all in place, as letters and words scrambled here and there looking for one another in the crowd, like a teeming ant hill, Grand Central Station. She aligned them into words and sentences on the blank pages with a precision that was set long ages ago by others who also needed desperately to remember.

Just as a toddler loses sight of the great worlds of her experience when she learns to speak simple words of life – water, mommy, good, no – so the massive myth memory of the people was erased by the written words.

It went into the river beneath us; still flowing but now forgotten and replaced with pathetic marks that hold only fragments of who we are and what we are to do. She knew this, and so aligned the words in harmony with the direction of the old ones. They knew she was writing and came to help her hold her pen, to infuse the ink with their breath, and to guide the way through the labyrinth with barely discernable melodies, flashes of light in the forest treetops, birds circling the sky writing letters in the air.

She soon learned, over the pages, to bypass small grievances, and recognized patterns of mind that kept the key to the jail from view. But when the sheriff dozed off, birds lifted the big round key chain from its hook on the wall behind him. They brought it to her hand, and she was able to reach through to open the door, getting away before he woke up to the open cell door, and the fresh air pouring in from the forest.

You see – the forest she goes into and emerges from, the worlds of lives she connects to, the inscribing of her name in the past, these are all beautiful metaphorical clues to her means of remembering. Multiplicity of self and experience, imaginal at liminal life meeting earth life – like a stereoscopic photo that shows only when the image is in focus.

This forest, these lands and this labyrinth are all present for us to explore and then claim. Commit them to memory. Writing them down. Map them. See the pattern in overview: a geometric marvel.

It was a form of glyptics – the art of cutting precious stones so they would refract light even further. More than glass cutting or the elaboration of a setting for the jewel, it was working on and with the jewel itself. In their refinement relationship, the stone came forward in willing sacrifice to the stone cutter, who formed it into a jewel of many facets. Light in formation, light information.