"'What an absurd thing to believe.' echoed in my thoughts while I was standing just inches from a bedroom wall, eyes locked directly in front of me. I could sense the warmth and moisture from my breath pushing back off the wall inches from my face. I was aware of the shifting weight of my body as it made adjustments to accommodate my site maximizing what was before me. Once again, the feeling washed over me as a silent knowing of unspoken words. What an absurd experience before me.

It was a lazy afternoon, the type where a teenager finds themselves nestled in cozy blankets and perfectly-fluffed pillows. Everything seemed comforting and lazy. I came to realize that I had become fixated on the wall across from my bed. I tried to pull my thoughts elsewhere, but the wall continued to call my attention back to it. As we became locked upon one another, it began to breathe with a slight expansion and return. Is the fucking wall breathing?!! Rapidly my mind began a series of questions. Where was I last night? Had I smoked or eaten hallucinogens, had I been drugged? No, impossible, it was an ordinary past few days. Then why am I seeing a breathing wall in my room?!

My window was open, and a soft, warm breeze flowed into the room. Distant lawns being cut and the pleasant sounds of mixed bird calls. There it is… Silence. The type you experience when walking a forest and all of nature in harmony goes dead silent. Rather than a forest, I found this sudden silence in my room. My eyes were gripped to the wall, but from the corners of my sight, I noted the curtains were extended slightly out, but their movement was slowed? Again my brain screamed, “WTF!”

In an automated way, of thousands of rehearsals of my life, my hands adjusted my body’s weight and moved my blanket aside as I arose from my bed with a sense of purpose. Closer inspection of the wall of, which I dared not let leave my sight, fearing the effect would vanish.

Without noticing, and only in my older years had I realized I was in a state of non-thought. I was aware of everything. The slowed curtain movement, the glisten of lacquer on my wood floors, the illumination of light filling the room softly, giving way to mellowed cornered shadows. Even the floor molding perfect curvatures stretching horizontally the length of the wall and the presence of my sparse space I was too poor to furnish no more than a bed and decorated with the youth of artistic lazy discard of my clothes scattered on floor.

Everything, everything was held in my awareness like a deafening silent sympathy of physical matter. Knowing the whole time, my body, like a giant slowed in time, traveled across the micro-energetic world all around me. In my later years, I found a perfect representation of that moment on a new-age bookstore wall. It was the God Brahma walking through space, time, and universes, all seeming tiny to his goliath body. I am not comparing myself to such a perfect being, but my room was not only aware to me as my ordinary and familiar room but at the same time, I was aware of a microscopic energetic field of particles and lines I simply had no words for at the time. There I was, slowed in time, lumbering my body towards my bedroom wall, feeling both gigantic and micro at the same time. The absurdity of this moment!

And there I was, inches from my bedroom wall, aware of each breath and the dissipating moisture and warmth bouncing back at me from the wall until it wasn’t….

The wall had expanded its soul outside of its body by several inches from the surface. A fuzz of pink electrified static held a transparent form about an inch or more from the surface. My hand had risen like the sun upon the earth as it rotates upon the globe. My extended index finger had only one intention: to touch the static field. Nothing was felt, and it didn’t move or adjust. But was the wall still my bedroom wall? The impact of contact confirmed it was very much still there. My hand returned to its place. My site began to focus intently to define the static fuzz, and my mind began to make adjustments. The rage rippled through me and gained a momentary awareness. It was my brain, and it was being held captive by my mind. “SILENCE” was my inner command, and the screaming voice fell back to the place where I had moved it. I had taken momentary control of my thoughts in verbal language, not just out of displaying control or discipline but rather fear. Fear that it would break my concentration and, the field would collapse, the moment of extraordinary knowledge would disappear. I feared breaking the moment’s experience.

The fuzz was made of yet smaller particles all seemingly humming or vibrating. The more my mind focused on discipline, the larger they appeared, and I became aware of shooting stars which were presumably various particles or pulses of energy moving about or flowing along the lines of gridwork.

You may be asking yourself, what does any of this have to do with a website on imbued rings?

Move forward several decades to today. Nothing remains the same in our dimension, and the young man I was has become an aged one, much wiser, intelligent, and skilled. Understanding that reality is an illusion, it is a simulation that we all play, the game within. Within that illusion, simulation, matrix. It has taken time, experiences, exploration, and many years of reflection and practice to understand that magic doesn’t exist, but hacking reality does….

My rings do not have magic, but to an untrained mind, they certainly would appear so. I believe my rings are code breakers, reality hackers. They are objects firstly born of materials of the earth or sky forged and crafted by man with fire and hammer. I see it also at the same time, much like a computer program manifested as reality. We believe it to be real because we accept the program telling us that is what it is and it has rules to its existence, as all objects, materials, and persons do in our reality. The difference to me is that in the process of creation and the cooling of manifested programming under normal circumstances, the materials have transmuted into beautiful rings that had a slight detour in their final awakening. They have found themselves in the palm of my hand.

So many decades have passed for that young man before the breathing wall. But in the palm of my hands, I not only see three rings, I see a fuzz of electrons and organized particles, all with a program designed to adhere to the rules of this game, this reality. My index finger extends from my hand, slowly penetrating their static field, and I begin writing within them a new code…."

Written By