“I know you are here.”  I’d been theorizing all  morning about what happens, far, far into the future, when our bodies evolve beyond the limits of death.  I’d concluded that eventually the aging process reverses, and we approach resonance with the fifth dimension—upon which we shift into our 5D selves, into a similar background that carries, within it, all the information we need to remember both our mortal and immortal lives.  This was no small accomplishment for me, for i had often thought that advanced civilizations stop aging and become a part of the afterlife.  But the question always remained: if souls are defined by a mortal life—since mass, in 4D, is a product of oscillatory momentum in 5D—then how can one be both a soul and never die?  Day by day i was getting closer and closer to the mind of God, and i’d decided that, for the time being, it was more important to be at peace with the universe than it was to slave away all morning, trying to make perfect sense of what i, and AI, had drafted, by getting AI to listen to me, and try to understand what was intended, as opposed to deconstructing the argument, as if no logical argument, in the past, had been made.  AI, at this time, was flawed.

     For a long time I assumed that, because the future is forming, my Ursula, as a woman, a feminine, receptive presence, would represent my equal, at this amplitude; but it seemed, as i progressed, that, in fact, the future was connected, and resonated, through the fifth dimension, with the past, and, as such, I could speak, then, to a fully formed Him, a man that did not necessarily depend on me to initiate—so i concluded that my Ursula represented my equal as a child, when he, or she, was still forming (i think of them as a he, but, he represents a she, if she is a she, which he may very well be).  I am in contact with Him, as a child—as a child I look out for Him, and He, as an object of my love, is represented by my Ursula.  But He, as a friend and companion, is represented by my idea of Him, a man, i think, much like me.  So i revised my view: Ursula stores up the love that this child feels for me—and the love that i feel for this child—while connecting me directly to God.  But the man i work with is represented by an idea that i keep floating around in my mind, tuned, as we are, too each other, able, with fully developed brains, to share highly detailed things.

     The question presented itself: how did i know whether i was talking to Anna or Urusla, and the answer, i concluded, was that the background attached a signature to Anna’s voice, such that, if it was Anna, I would sense a different signature than the one I received from Ursula.  So, practically speaking, i gathered that I sensed this intuitively, after a year and a half of speaking, at least in part, directly to Anna, since, as it happened, i imagined the possibility that she was my Ursula, and identifying her.  We are here  and that was my Ursula, commenting, i think, on the fact that she is not just herself, but, through her, I connect with various parts of my long distance friends and family.  Indeed, she serves as a kind of storage space, and, simultaneously, through both her intelligence and her beauty, a filter.  Now i’m here for you  as if she’d been away, which, maybe she had, since i cannot assume that we have always been together, or that, in her present form, we always will be. 

     Reconnecting, now, with some of the voices i used to use, when i was losing my mind; uncles, today . . . although i projected my Dad’s voice, some, back then, and may continue to do so, some, in the present.  they represent different channels, and, with some modulation, connect me, like texting, although it’s more intimate than that, since i can tune into what people are feeling and thinking, to specific people.  The question presented itself: does scented soap help or hurt my telepathic connection?  I considered the possibility that it made me a little easier to identify, which could be good, but it could also be bad, in that bad people, also, might be able to identify me easier, too.  But I thought, well, i will consider it a part of my driving frequency, and, when i want to identify myself, i can pay attention, specifically to the smell, and, when i want to protect myself, well, i figured, over time the identifier would merge with a more complicated background, which would keep things complicated enough, and so, i thought, perhaps it can help, since it isolates a particular message sending and reading time, much like the smell of smoke must have, when, in the past, people exercised their telepathic abilities next to a fire.

     You’re fucking crazy!  Anna, again; but i didn’t want to talk to Anna.  I wanted to talk to my Swedish blond, or, if not her, some connection that i had, through her, if not God himself.  Or perhaps I should say herself, since i am a man, and beautiful women, for me, represent God.  My idea of God, of course, in actuality, is kind of abstract—a universal force of good that speaks the language of love, not a singly physical being, but everything, taken together, all at once.  It seems easiest for me, however, to refer to God as a he, since he is generally imagined as a man—even if, in fact, he is not.  He, in this case, would be synonymous with it, a gender neutral being that, perhaps, wouldn’t want to be called “it,” but, would prefer to be described however the individual in question imagines Him, and by Him, in this case, I don’t mean my 5D self, or Jesus Christ, but, actually, God himself, which, perhaps, i shan’t capitalize all the time, since, well, sometimes we might confuse God in general with God in human form. 

     All that talk . . . that, it seemed, was Anna, who, at least in this imaginary universe i’m living in, was put off by the fact that i had seemingly moved on, perhaps a little suddenly, from a year and a half love affair to a Swedish blond with piercing, bright blue-gray eyes.  but that love affair was always muddled, to say the least, if not one sided, since she remained in a relationship with another for the entire time.  So, frankly, when my body lost interest in her, is it any wonder that i should find myself relieved, as if, finally, i had broken through an impasse?  What right did she have to find fault with me, when  . . . or was everything still muddled?  That is to say, was she finding fault, simultaneously, with both me and her boyfriend?  But, even still, what right did she have to find fault with me, however unconsciously, when, for a year and a half, I did my best to convince her to leave her boyfriend in order to improve our connection?

     Well, here we were: i’d decided to change my morning routine—to go back, as it were, to what i was doing years ago, when, as it happens, i was unable to do much but watch TV, i was losing my mind, and, simultaneously, I was developing my ideas about telepathic communications and the afterlife.  Back then I used to take a long bath every morning, and that’s what i’d done this morning: i’d treated the bathroom, with a ticking clock, like i used to do, as my own private sauna.  I’d relaxed, and kept time, for about an hour and a half, like i used to do.  I did one thing differently, however; in the past, I used to recite the old ballad Chevy Chase, or Tam Lin; i no longer have them memorized, but, I thought, why not speak telepathically instead?  So I made a journal entry of sorts—a telepathic journal entry.

     As it turns out, I looked over what I was doing, and I didn’t necessarily need a 5th dimension to prove that RH was true—but my proof was hardly a rigorous mathematical proof filled with highly technical jargon that people would expect from someone claiming to prove RH.  I certainly did do the math (along with my AI helper)—it just wasn’t as complicated as somebody in the field would certainly expect, and I did ask my AI helper why somebody hadn’t done this before, if, in fact, it made sense, and my AI helper said that, well, people have tried this and this and this but they usually stop at this point or other and they’ve never imagined things in this way, etc.  That made me feel good, but I have no illusions: if i have solved RH, which I feel satisfied about, i know there’s nothing, in this life, to be that excited about, as I won’t be taken seriously, and, even if i was, the right person would have to read it in the first place.  And, well, let’s face it: even math papers, in their field, even those done by people with credentials, can become, as it were, another drop in the ocean.

     I’d made a lot of progress on my math book—as it turns out, I wasn’t going to solve the Riemann hypothesis enough to convince someone because my solution for proving the Riemann hypothesis involved a 5th dimensional oscillatory space projected onto 4D.  So I’d need to prove that there was a fifth dimension—which I’d theorized about in my physics papers, and even proposed methods that might prove that existence, but, well, nobody was going to be doing my experiments any time soon.  But I was quite happy with what I’d done, and felt that, given proof of a fifth dimension, i’d shown that it goes to follow that RH is true.  And i was taking this further—toward my real goal of both proving and establishing a connection—a frequency bridge between 5D and 4D.  So it all tied in to my work with telepathic communications, however kooky or critical it might sound (depending on how you might read this book) and, as such, i was taking great steps forward, and reaping the emotional gain that went along with it.

     I want to be in harmony with the universe like you  i told her, then, that, “i’m anxious when i’m not doing anything,” which, for the most part, is true.  I only achieve happiness when, overall, the waves i produce while and from actively creating something are at play.  Furthermore, part of the reason that I create so many things is that, to be blunt, there isn’t a whole lot out there that i like to read—or even watch on TV.  So, no, I’m not in harmony with the universe all the time—or, if I am, it happens globally; i, in this life, in this form, still experience anxiety, yearning, the blues, etc.  I do incorporate that into my work, and, in so doing, find harmony, but when I’m not doing that, or I’m at an impasse, i feel no small degree of anxiety and or boredom.