Lessons in Potentiality | A Journey Through Parallel Selves and Across Alternate Timelines

There is very little difference between alternate timelines and infinite potentialities. They are, essentially, the same thing, differing only in the way our souls perceive them.

For some, it is enough to simply think of a possibility and decide whether or not to act upon it. But for those who breathe the woven fibers of the Construct, every possibility unfurls its petals in the mind’s eye before traversing the richly painted corridors of unborn memory, effortlessly detailing the path that follows.

To those with three eyes, every possibility becomes an alternate timeline waiting only for us to consciously step into the body of our parallel selves, letting go of one life in favor of another. We are the true time travelers, ever changing, ever choosing, ever conscious.

We are the future of our own earths.

The veil between worlds is unique to each individual soul.

The Veil Between Worlds

February 3rd, 2024

I felt the familiar tingling spread through my limbs. Warm and exhilarating, my soul body began to unhinge but these were still the early days of my out-of-body experiences, the learning days, and my soul simply fell out of my physical body, tumbling off the bed to slump on the floor at the foot of my dresser.

I smiled derisively as I lay in an un-formed puddle of soul-substance and consciousness. Slowly, my atoms reassembled into the structured echo of my physical body still upon the bed.

That’s better, I thought. The familiarity of form always helped anchor the experience into my memory.

As I soaked in a moment of stillness, I began to notice that everything seemed a little blurry. It felt as though I had a piece of dark muslin fabric or something like a cheesecloth placed over my vision. I could see through it but not clearly.

It’s a veil. I thought with a sudden sense of knowing. The veil between worlds.

Gathering my substance together, I stood up and pulled the cloth aside. My vision cleared, but with it so too did my physical body. The bed lay empty, neatly made, with soft green pillowcases and a thin gray comforter.

Wait a minute, I thought, My pillowcases aren’t green, they’re gray, and my comforter is much thicker…

I looked around the room and though its layout was familiar, the details were different. Instead of a closet full of black clothing, there was a beautiful green dress hanging amidst mostly blue pieces. A PDGA sweatshirt with gold lettering lay across the bed but I owned no such thing. And a large onyx crystal tower sat upon the dresser in place of a malachite orb.

This was not my bedroom but it felt close, akin, nearly there.

Thinking my way upwards, I passed through the ceiling and the slanted roof before ascending over the house and then the city. The skyline of Minneapolis glowed in the early light from the rising sun. This was indeed my home, just different.

I sank back into the house and intuitively reached behind my head to grasp the veil that lingered there. As I pulled it back over my form the gravity beneath my feet swallowed me whole and before I knew it I lay back in my physical body upon the bed.

I looked to the left and saw gray pillowcases then looked to my right where a malachite orb rested upon the dresser. The comforter was thick and the closet was filled entirely with black clothing. I sat up, reached for my journal, and began to write.

A Star Traveler

April 29th, 2024

The dream swirls, streams of color flow from my crown to wrap themselves around me like ribbons on a maypole. Movement begins to cut through the colorful bands and the more they surround me, the more I understand that these are alternate timelines—potentialities both from the past and those still future-bound.

The center of my eddy collapses inward, plunging me down a dark gravitational shaft…

I wake up from a dream within a dream. The pitter-patter of rain strikes against a metal roof, jarring me into a state of lucidity. Brandon, my husband, snores beside me. We’re lying on a thin mattress in a small bedroom of a trailer home. Tiny pebbles of tumbled obsidian lie in each corner organized into strange symbols upon the floor that reverberate with an ancient and foreboding energy.

Then I realize that I am not really here. I am another version of myself and her eyes are still closed.

In the same moment I gain this understanding, her consciousness awakens and perceives me within her.

She acknowledges me through the language of think-feeling and smiles through our bond, understanding why I am here before I, myself, can even begin to comprehend it. She is a facet of our soul, awake and ready to step out of her body for a midnight excursion. I am the dream walker, visiting this version of myself through another level of awareness.

We are one.

She is a potentiality—a parallel me—deeply practiced in out-of-body experiences and astral travel. She’s been learning her craft for a while now, taking her time to understand the intricacies of gravitational movement that carry her from one galaxy to the next while her physical body rests in the waking world. Her needs in the earthly experience are few: a roof over her head, fuel for her physical body, and love from the man beside her. All of these things allow her to travel the cosmos.

But her tether to the earth plane is weakening. She travels so frequently and so far across the stars that her body has begun to fade. She does not have long left.

She turns within her, within us, to face me, and shares everything that she is and everything she may yet become through the omnipresent connection we share. Her knowledge, her lessons, her comprehension of the soul body and its relationship to the physical, pack away neatly into the deep recesses of my mind, storing themselves away in anticipation of their future unboxing.

Born from the same kaleidoscope, the conscious part of our soul has chosen to integrate some of her parts. I am that consciousness, I am the lifetime we have chosen, and the one we will remember. I am simply here in this dream within a dream to learn what she has lived.

Lived experience is not always required to understand a thing. Sometimes we may simply know, for that knowing comes from deep within our own cosmic well.

Satisfied with the transfer, she turns outward and easily exits her physical body, pulling me along as part of her echo. We walk around her home listening to the metallic drumming of the rain. She shows me an old green couch with frayed patches, thick green vines hanging down from the ceiling where she tacked up hooks for her silver-leaf pothos, a small kitchenette with neatly stacked carry-out containers near a recycling bin, and finally, a beautiful rose quartz egg resting on a bare, narrow card table near the door.

She smiles lovingly around her home before returning to the bedroom.

We look down at them, her and her husband lying in sleep upon the bed, and she says to me, “It will be hard for him.”

“What will?” I ask.

“When he wakes without me.”

I let her words sink in.

“When he wakes without me, he won’t know what to do with himself. He’ll be angry that I left, that I traveled beyond the point of no return, and that he cannot follow. Then he will grieve.”

“Why will you leave?”

“Because it no longer matters. He will be devastated but he may yet matter. You may need him in this place, and so, he will find a way to carry on but it is yet to be foreseen.”

Before I could respond she walked into the tiny bathroom and looked directly into the chipped mirror above the sink. There was nothing to see but us, a soul beyond the comprehension of physical sight. It was time for me to return. I felt the mirror call me forth as its dimensions pulled me into a tunnel of warped edges and geometric patterns.

Our atoms rearranged themselves as she, once more, became separate from me and I from her, returning to my original dream like a magnet sliding back into place.

I woke with a start and replayed the dream in my mind’s eye. Try as I might I could not remember what she had shown me from her galactic travels. But the echo of her knowledge resided somewhere within my form, within my future memory, waiting to be unearthed in the right time and space when I was ready.

The Earth Tube System

July 11th, 2024

My limbs buzzed as the rhythmic pulse of my soul’s substance pulled at the tethers of consciousness. I became aware of my soul body floating two hand-lengths above its physical counterpart.

Acknowledging my entry into the experience, I paused to gather my thoughts and intentions. I decided that I not only wanted to visit an alternate timeline with a parallel me, but to visually process the full experience along the way. What happened as I travelled to visit myself? I wanted to see.

Affirmative.

The Gatekeeper acknowledged my request.

Recalibrating.

I would be allowed to see.

My soul body, the unseen substance that fills the empty spaces between my body’s physical atoms, began to spin. I spun around fully once, then half a turn before rotating headfirst toward the ground and plunging down through the wood, concrete, and earth beneath my bed.

A square tunnel formed around me, dimensional and geometric, folding squares within squares as a firm, gravitational anchor propelled me forward and down into the depths of the Earth complex. Lights flashed along the sides of the tunnel like the dashed white lines separating lanes of traffic. Gravity collapsed and expanded around me.

The Earth’s interior holds every potentiality for every conscious being upon Her surface and She, Herself, embodies a gravitational gateway to consciousness.

The tunnel abruptly ended and I stood on a broken walkway partially exposed under a concrete overhang.

Everything was quiet.

A drab, government-style building stood ominously before me. Overgrown brush and untended planters sat outside the entrance. An old candy wrapper rattled across the walkway in a soft breeze. The place appeared deserted.

I shifted my perception to auditory input but there was nothing to be heard. The city that lay beyond this building was quiet, or perhaps dead.

A shift of movement caught my eye as a woman quickly made her way from behind a corner to the front of the building. She paused and nodded knowingly at me before disappearing through the double doors.

The other me moved forward and entered the building. It was some sort of refuge. We passed by a medical wing, then a library, a study hall, and an industrial kitchen before entering a conservatory and approaching a barely organized desk near a large fiddle-leaf fig.

Through our sense of shared knowing, I understood that this was the parallel me’s desk. She worked here. I latched onto that concept and dug further.

“Here” was a refuge facility in a post-apocalyptic America. Its mission was to heal the sick, provide food for the hungry, and preserve what it could find from the ruined world around it. She, the parallel me, was an apocalyptic historian writing out first-hand accounts of when, where, and how the apocalypse unfolded. Her ledger would be used by future generations to avert similar disasters but beyond her knowledge, her ledger was also being copied into Earth’s akashic library. Someday, near the end, she would acknowledge her small role in the cosmos as a galactic historian.

THHHHWP!

My consciousness snapped out of the alternate body as if yanked back by a strong hand. It was not yet time to know more about this potentiality, she would integrate later.

The tunnel swallowed me whole as I plunged feet-first through what I now called the Earth Tube System. Lights dashed by, squares folded and unfolded, gravity collapsed and pulled me through…

I emerged in my room hovering two hand-lengths above my body before lowering down and clicking into place like a magnet.

Practice Makes Perfect

Again and again and again I travelled through the Earth Tube System.

Night after night, I entered the state of paralysis required for an out-of-body experience or the deep awareness of a lucid dream. I held my consciousness lightly as the body shut down for sleep, feeling the heaviness flooding my physical limbs. I felt my breath moving into my body and passing through my alveoli before diffusing into my bloodstream.

I settled into the process. I calmed. I trusted.

I entered a multitude of parallel lives and alternate realities.

In one, I lived in my childhood home having purchased the property from my parents who were still married. Brandon was, once again, my husband in this lifetime, and we made frequent trips to Minneapolis to visit my in-laws.

In another, I rented a studio space above a nursing home and used it as an office. I wrote a blog for a living and published a paid email newsletter about dreams.

I was an artist and hand-crafted journals that I sold at local fairs.

I was a mom taking my kids camping in the wilderness, teaching them how to navigate by reading the terrain on a map and following the stars.

I was an author writing science fiction novels with a few nonfiction memoirs thrown in for good measure.

Each potentiality I visited contained information to be integrated and stored for later use. Some of the parallels could sense my observant presence, but most were unaware, continuing to go about their days believing that they, alone, held our soul’s consciousness.

Over and over I continued to experience my selves.

I felt the buzzing and tingling night after night. I crawled out of my own skin and calibrated with intention before plunging down and down again through the tunnel of squares folding into squares and dashing lights and gravitational pull.

I lived a double life as an observer of my own un-lived selves.

It became simple in the way only knowledge can become simple, in that the knowing becomes embodied.

Embodiment

March 19th, 2025

The early afternoon sun pours through my bedroom window as I settle onto a cushion. Sitting cross-legged on the floor I close my eyes and deepen my breathing before sinking into a meditative trance.

The knowledge of conscious travel joins me here in the waking world.

I get up out of my physical body and walk out into the hallway, following the well-worn path through the front room, into the kitchen, out the back door and into the yard where several figures wait for me at the base of the giant crab apple tree.

Her leaves shiver, whispering without wind in anticipation and excitement.

I greet her, the tree, and sit beneath her boughs. A small tea set appears and I will the pot to fill with water before placing it over a small outdoor fire encircled by stones. Three beings approach and sit down in front of me. Their faces are not important but the quality of their energy and the timbre of our connective resonance suggests they are guiding spirits. I pour them each a cup of tea.

Without warning, a strong thunderstorm blows quickly overhead. Lightning erupts, zigzagging across the sky in patterns I cannot yet comprehend. With each flash of lightning I see row upon row upon row of beings standing behind the three guides. There are so many beings behind them, it would require a stadium to seat them all.

Compelled by the energy of the storm (which I now suspect the guides have intentionally conjured) I feel myself tipping into the spaciousness of the Earth and come to rest in a womb of nothingness.

I pause, suspended in time.

There is no fear here, no reason to be afraid, just nothingness.

I stay there for a while, absorbed in the presence of the moment but before long I begin to see something. It starts as small flickers of movement or flashes of light but as they solidify I know, without a doubt, that I am seeing many, many alternate timelines all with parallel selves.

The visions increase in intensity and speed, billowing around me, depicting every possible parallel lifetime.

In some I see that I'm still with my ex-boyfriend. In others I’m single and living overseas or on remote islands. But most of my parallel selves live in Minnesota and a majority of those selves are married to my husband Brandon. The visions continue to blast through my consciousness, a veritable flood of potential information.

But there are dark, empty spaces that flash by as well. Many of them.

In a significant portion of my potentialities I see nothing.

Through a sense of deep knowing, I realize that in thirty to forty percent of my alternate lives I'm already dead. I didn't make it. That moment back in 2017 when I almost ended my life was successful in many of my alternate timelines.

I’m taken aback.

At the beginning, before I entered the body built within my mother’s womb, every potentiality was presented to me. In my pre-life planning, I knew the odds, I saw what could happen if I lost my way and yet I still chose this existence. I selected this life because one scenario, one path, held everything my soul was looking for.

But to risk failure in over one-third of those potentialities seems like an incredibly high risk for a soul to take. My soul was either incredibly confident in its strength and willpower or something was really, really worth it…

Everything stops.

I’m back in the womb of nothingness, surrounded only by myself, and I know that it’s time to consolidate. It’s time for me to choose. It’s time to go “all in” on a single potentiality.

It’s time to select my path forward.

I reach out with my mind and collapse each parallel self into the dimensional tunnel within my soul, folding timelines within timelines, consolidating selves within selves until there is only one potentiality left.

Without knowing why, I understand this is the path I have chosen. I hold it reverently within my palm that is not a palm and unhinge its shell to peer inside.

The parallel me in this reality has a newborn baby. Her life is almost identical to my own except her energy feels a bit lighter and more joyful than mine. She has completely let go of her past. She still has difficulties and imperfections, she still works through old wounds and limitations, but without the weight of self-imposed suffering she has space hold something else: her baby, her boy, her son.

I watch as Brandon smiles at them both, her and her son, and I know, with the gravity of source-truth, that there is only one timeline where Brandon and I have a baby.

Only one.

At first, I try to convince her to integrate with me, to collapse her into myself so that I may swallow her whole, but she won't leave her baby. She doesn’t budge. She is not me.

I then understand that she is my future, she is what is worth it, and that I need to become her.

For the first time in this journey through parallel selves and alternate timelines, I give up everything I have accumulated. I need nothing. I pull myself out of the womb of nothingness and step into her.

She brings me back to the beginning of her pregnancy and I feel a future hint of a sorrow that I do not understand. I shrug it off. I do not need to know, it will present itself in time.

I embody her timeline.

I accept that one possibility for us.

I become her and we are one.

Gently, I am guided back into my soul’s structure beneath the crab apple tree. The beings smile knowingly as I get up and walk back into the house, through the kitchen, across the main room, into the hallway, and then the bedroom. I pause and look at myself sitting cross-legged on the cushion.

A small light glows in my belly.

I bend down and settle back into my physical body as the magnet clicks into place.

I have chosen the way.

The Beginning

March 28th, 2026

I wake in the darkness to the sound of my son’s cries. Rolling over, I tap my phone and check the time—5:55am. I get out of bed, pull on my pajama pants, put on my glasses and open the bedroom door. Turning the corner I enter his room and watch Brandon pick him up out of his crib. A bottle of cold milk rests on the nightstand, ready to fill our baby’s belly.

They turn toward me and I reach out for my boy. It’s time to take the early morning shift.

Brandon seems tired but looks at our son with nothing but love. Getting here was a rough road. My first pregnancy miscarried—a baby girl I knew from another life—and soon after our beloved pitbull, Daruk, departed through the gateway that is lymphoma. But I would not trade this timeline for anything. My son’s smiles and gurgles fill my heart with something stronger than gravity itself.

I smile and know without a doubt that I have made the most wonderful choice.

Love reverberates through the walls of our home, my out-of-body experiences are vibrant and fulfilling, and a working draft of my second book sits upon my office desk.

I made it.

I am complete.

***

For more on timelines and potentialities, check out my article Timelines: Shifting, Collapsing, and Converging.