Metaphysical Short Stories

By R. Neville Johnston

Been looking for a fun way to arrive at a higher consciousness? This is a book of Stories, Games and Dreams. Bonus: See a short story converted to a screen play! The tails within will transport you into a universe of pleasure, entertainment and a far greater personal power. Imagine yourself on an alien world, what would life be like in this truly foreign civilization. Who would your new friends be? How about a history lesson from a planet so ancient that its chronicles included the first "freedom" ever founded in all the universe. What about an entire solar system created as the home of one being? Find out what happens when the smartest kid in class suddenly discovers a society of people just like himself. Care to hear some confessions of a real past life therapist? There isn't another book like this one, it is education without effort. Ask this volume to tell you something interesting, something you don't already know, then open to any page . . . "If it's not funny, it's not healed! (Page). This adventure in written word leaves one cultivated, enlightened and alive in a way that must be experienced to be understood. Mr. Johnston was shot to death in 1977, this started his new path. "The human race is to become an advanced civilization, we are designed this way" He began by writing a series called "The language Codes" His latest works have incorporated Story Telling to do the teaching. Everything he writes awakens people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463435271

R. Neville Johnston

Mr. Johnston was shot to death. The NDE started his new path. “The human race is to become an advanced civilization, we are designed to be.” He began by writing a series called “The language Codes.” His latest works have incorporated Story Telling to do the teaching. Everything he writes awakens people.

Book preview

Metaphysical

Short Stories

R. Neville Johnston

missing image file

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2011 by R. Neville Johnston. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 06/30/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0377-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0376-8 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3527-1 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011907533

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Introduction

STORIES

The Next Step

The Rustle of the Stars

Freak(S)

Your Story

Grandpa’s Story

Ph.D. VS Tattoo

Story of Hawk

Spiral Spirit

Spiral Spirit

Screen Play

CONFESSIONS OF A PAST LIFE THERAPIST

The Vignette

Love and the Family of Souls, Take Two

The Apprentice

The Princess and the Pyramid

GAME MASTER

One Hundred and Twenty Hours

of Mozart Game

The Borders Game

Illness as a Game

Diplomacy as a Game

Also Known as the Win-Win

Developing Your Psychic Powers

With a Common Deck

of Playing Cards

The Be-Lame Game

Bottom Line Game

Aka: The Identity Game

The Add to These Lists Game

The List of Personal Power

Synonyms for the Word, Love

First Person Love Songs

Bumper Stickers

The Primary Self Game

The Insanity Game

Aliens Walk Amongst Us.

(You Are One.)

All My Friends Are Part of Me

The Blindfold Game

The Name Game

Honoring Your Own Light

Who’s Your Planet?

God Game

Jumping Off the Wheel,

The Game

DREAMIST

A Predator’s Fable

Soul Survivor

The Palmistry Dream

Co-Independence

Dreaming By the Numbers

The Secret Life of Puddy Tats

A Mother’s Love

The Solipsistic Narcissist

A Very Brief Biography

The Waveform Generator

Other Books

by R. Neville Johnston

The Dreamist

Obtaining these books

Contact information

Dedication

It is to you, the reader that this book and its exploration are dedicated. We recognize your consciousness as expanding throughout all remembering. The service as author is to remind you of the truth of this. Our love for you and the All is beyond imagination. Every answer is within you; boldly call forth your brilliant future.

While we are at it, we would like to ask you to imagine a home, a civilization, a world, an Earth where no one is afraid and for that matter where no one doubts, or worries, or is guilty about a single thing. Our thinking is so powerful that these anti-life attributes, our fears, are the incentives that hold negativity in place, thus preventing such a world. With all of these primitive attributes as having been replaced by integrity of character, imagine fearlessness as a way of life and remember that this is the inevitable future.

Introduction

Adventuring into the unknown is about finding our personal authority, our self-reliance and honing our ability to adapt. Welcome to this map that awaits discovery, this world made of words. This one is created from stories, games and dreams. These are the things that excite us, enchant us and give us spiritual growth as their by-product.

On worlds more advanced than our own, there are only three titles in the entire field of education. They are: Story Teller, Game Master, and Dreamist. In thinking about it, these are three avenues that enter our memories effortlessly.

Since the beginning of time we have told stories. Evidentially this concept has passed the test of time. The Native Americans teach-tell all of life’s lessons in story form. Any culture with an oral tradition insures the passing on of its history by seeing that the next set of storytellers repeat the information exactly word for word. It was in this way that the Koran arrived intact. Do we remember any of your grandparent’s stories? Are we telling the next generations any of our stories?

We will also be investigating and inventing games. What an exquisite way to pass the time. Everything we do is a game in one form or another. This fact has yet to become common knowledge. For example the game called education… imagine learning algebra, introduced as a game.

The night’s dreams are the least explored of the three effortless inputs. Ever been haunted by a dream? Certainly we remember it. This is because of the amount of information downloaded in that other dimension we call dreamtime. Our society has yet to even sense the expanse and majestic power inherent in our ability to dream. There is no common education on how to dream or why we dream what we dream. Each of us in our dreams creates what will be the reality of our lives. Even the reading of these words were dreamed of before the opening of this volume.

This book is actually designed as an ascension model. We will be using these three modalities (stories, games and dreams) in order to transcend from one system of thought into another. We are already linked with the thinking, the vocabulary of the existing belief systems. We will be seemlessly reinitializing in the new system using an advanced vocabulary and greater realization. It has already begun.

We have already introduced the first trinity in the ascension process, this being the universal threesome of Storyteller, Game Master and Dreamist. The dream is that grand laboratory which takes all the components and smiths them into our life’s flow. The quote is, Before it can be, it must be dreamed. The story is the way the information and consciousness is communicated, eventually being transformed into wisdom. This information / consciousness / wisdom, is applied via the game. Synonyms for the game are ritual, ceremony and intrigue. Each provides the protocols for an effortless leap in human self-awareness. The game is the motivation, the accelerant, the practical rather than the abstract application of this knowledge.

In other words the dream becomes the story and the story becomes the game and the game in turn becomes the dream and round and round we go. Ascension is fun, so remember if it isn’t funny, it isn’t ascended.

STORIES

There is no one who is not a storyteller. We tell stories that engage our interest, frighten us and get us to laugh. What are our newest stories? You are a storyteller. What are your stories? Tell your stories, it is our nature.

Of the trinity this book explores, stories are the models of behavior that are derived form the theories of applied experience. In other words, hearing what the characters do allows us to project new thought patterns into our reality.

Sometimes we set stories to music, creating songs. When we dance to these songs our bodies remember effortlessly. Now prepare to awaken an ancient circuit, one made of a distant, and forgotten memory. This first story is set in a place that may surprise you. Its theme is mystical in nature and winds around a long forgotten power… And by the end of it, You, yourself may have re-acquired the gift offered within these musings.

The Next Step

So ordinary, so unassuming as to go unnoticed, it was a quiet spirit, calm, its presence felt soothing. Yet it was worthy of a Mozart. Little rhythms punctuated with an occasional hiss issued from the last embers of the fire. This existence danced its way into awareness. A storm? No, more just a rainfall. Still, it was greater than this. It was a presence. It was actually ensouled.

The ceremonial masks hung on the wall watching, expressionlessly. Their powerful features were occasionally highlighted by the lightening. Thunder rolled, with the skill of a ventriloquist, voicing the comments of these observers. All this, as the clan lay sleeping.

This rain soul had begun to express itself in the thoughts of a child of nine summers. His name was Dancing Owl. Rolling his back against the wall of the long house, this vibration began sounding along his spine, penetrating even more deeply. As the raindrops fell, his thoughts went back and forth between the recent loss of his two siblings and what the storm had to say.

This rain spoke to him in a language so ancient that he would not have understood were it not for his position between the worlds of sleeping and being awake. The Moon and the Sun watched as his loving parents, as the storm’s concepts and as his grief fell into place like the tumblers in a cosmic lock.

Are you my tears? He asked the storm. He wished he could have changed the events of that day. It was now a full lunar cycle ago.

Yes. The answer slid through his thoughts like the droplets running down his cheeks.

My Name is Thleem, the storm rolled gently. Her name was a tintinnabulation within the sounds of drops hitting the dried grass that constituted the roof.

He remembered the last time he had seen his older brother. They had disagreed about their younger sister and her desire to become skilled at fishing.

The storm spoke again, I am the daughter of Omma the sky and Ennell the All.

The boy comprehended the vastness within these sounds. He asked why he was having this experience? He remembered that last look of defiance on his sister’s face, which caused in him both sadness and compassion.

I am to bring you to a sacred place. The rain’s answer was heard within his heart.

I will come with you. He affirmed… Was it out loud? Was it just in his thoughts? What part of him had answered?

The room began to spin as if he had a great fever. Rising up with in it, he entered somewhere he had never been before. In the background, observing, stood the Original Father. Surrounding, a part of every atom, breathed the Great Mother. The sounds of the rain had become a drumbeat that carried him on his journey all the way through time. Each beat the beat of a heart. Some were the hearts of the ancestors, some the sounds of those yet to come.

Enraptured the boy’s being awaited the next part of this ceremony. Totally stunned, even in this state, he perceived his elder brother, standing in front of him, real again, as though nothing had happened.

I come before you this day so that you can know of my happiness and recognize yourself as the creator of your life just as I was the creator of mine. And will be again.

From behind his brother came a second voice, I love you my brother. Perhaps this was not my lifetime to fish. His little sister spoke.

More tears flowed as all three embraced.

So much was healed. Sadness became happiness. Depression became creativity. And remorse became joy.

My young brother, I have a great gift for you… He handed Dancing Owl a deerskin with a symbol on it. This marking seemed incomprehensible to him. Yet he knew it was a great power, a true solar cypher.

I will keep it always, I love you brother. His sister giggling said that she would visit him sooner than he would think.

Was this all a dream? The sun began the day, he began to pull himself back into himself. He lay in the bed in the long house. I know it was real. I can still feel the symbol and what it did.

Father, Father, Mother, Mother! A vision walked through my dreams last night!

Tell us Dancing Owl, his parents were excited by his enthusiasm.

I saw my brother and sister and you must know they love you and are happy. One will greet you as my grandson.

Both parents looked at each other and then his father spoke, How can you know such a thing? It was only a dream.

No, no, I will show you please… He said asking his parents to allow him to conduct a ritual. His father just frowned and looked down. Their child’s eyes met the ground as well.

Still excited, yet frustrated, he stepped out into the early day. A mist was everywhere. It was so unusual this ground fog, perfectly even. None of it was any higher than his chest. Any movement through it produced a curious sensation, as though he was connected to it somehow. As he walked toward the river he began to recognize that same sense of consciousness that the storm had carried.

Tell me your name mist. He paused in his steps.

You don’t recognize me? Came the reply, with a little giggle.

As he stood, little eddies, swirls in the mist, began to appear.

Come and dance with your little sister. He felt a well appear in his heart and through the tears he stepped from one eddy to another. Soon swirling as though in a slow dance, hearing that giggle.

The dance steps repeated again and again writing themselves in his being. Even when he had said good-bye to the mist he could still repeat the movements that had become this new dance.

He repeated his storm story to really everyone. Yet, by an ancient agreement, he was too young to conduct a ritual. Simply the way it was. Yet in hearing the request and looking into the eyes of the boy the counsel of elders approved. There was much talk about it. Just before the rise of the next half moon there was great excitement. The whole of his people gathered in a great circle.

He stood in the center, head bowed. Absolute silence. A feeling came up from the ground, entering his feet and traveling to every part of him. It straightened his spine and threw his head back. The cosmos opened and a brilliant light poured through him. Heaven and Earth joined