As I lay dying on the broken pavement of 3rd street, I start to lament my miscalculation that the 14-story high-rise was not precipitous enough to have immediately ended this life. I refer to this life and not my life because all people that I’ve met were once myself. Such a strange revelation only came to me mid-air, a few moments after I leapt in despair. That was the moment when soul integrated with spirit and “we” returned to the plane of origin.
The plane of origin appears as a near desolate sand dune under a crimson sky. In front of my eyes rose Dunamis, pure potentiality trying to realize itself through this plane. To my left stood Energia the tree of history, a representation of the lives that have been actualized since the origin. In the numerous times that I’ve encountered these two entities, I am always left a bit perplexed as to their motives. You see, each branch of Energia was a reminder of a previous life that I had lived. Some were long and thick, as they needed to be for the many other lives that descended from it to have prospered. Others were short and deranged, as to set a necessary example for future lives to deter from. However, such designs were not entirely left to my own devices as any recollections of past lives or this plane of origin would be lost when I begin anew. Only the choice of the time and place to be reborn into were given. I conclude that such a method was the only way that Dunamis could make itself intelligible. Otherwise, potential would indeed be self-limiting.