Chapter 1: Frequency
Muhammed had it rough growing up,
However, due to his upbringing, he was able to learn and experience things that no child should. And when you know suffering, it's hard to wish that on anyone else.
It had been a regular day. He got kicked out by his mother again.
And on his stroll through his city's grassy park, he entered deep thought. He had always been self-aware.
"I hate them." "No, I don't." "I'm fine, that's not me."
"Then who is it…, doubt yourself." "Hurt." Every thought that played in the background of his mind moved to keep up and expect to be mistreated, yelled at, kicked out, and not heard, but he knew these thoughts were not him.
His mind would focus on the niceties of the world, but something would say the opposite and gaslight him into believing it.
As he dived deeper and deeper into his mind, his movements became slower. As he came to a complete halt, all his awareness turned inwards.
Thoughts began to connect like never before, as if he touched upon something so powerful and profound, his eyes started to water, not with anger, fear, or sadness. For the first time, he felt truly free.
And then his tears started to gush, still closed, but tears as deep as a river flowed. He had realized something that lifted off all chains on his body.
"It's all mental."
There had been times when he had wished upon something with so much emotion, and he would see it, or he would "know" something would happen, and it would. But as all the places fell into place, he finally realized that he was making it all happen. He expected the worst, and it happened. He had.
He opened his eyes, red and teary. As he began to walk once again, he realized that all his fears were not his but others', all his doubts were not his but others'.
A thought arose:
"I have allowed others' words and thoughts to become laws that dictate what I experience."
His mind flashed as he looked his trauma in the face for the first time and ran towards it at full speed, feeling it all to the fullest extent.
He tried to stop himself from bawling and screaming, but it was in vain. His cries arose from the very depths of his being as his knees touched the grass.
He cried and screamed all the anger, all the sadness, all the pain, and then suddenly, like a lighter losing fuel, those emotions began to flicker, extinguish, and suddenly there was a tranquil silence.
An image: "True happiness is within." Then a quiet thought arose that shook the very foundation of all he had been told: "I've always had peace." And from that thought arose something he never felt before—a peace so pleasurable nothing could compare, orgasm or drug.
It was so intense that his mind was instantly reformed and reprogrammed. All the things he once cared about, he no longer did. It was all wiped away—memories intact, but they no longer held anything over him.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying in the grass, shirt drenched with sweat and tears. He paid it no mind. He didn't understand what had just happened, but he knew he was no longer the same.
He sat up, trying to comprehend the events that had just transpired, but he knew he wouldn't be able to—at least not now. He got off the grass and walked onto the pathway.
"I'm different," he noticed almost immediately. Nothing looked like it had changed, but he felt different. Things that would make him churn or his heart race no longer swayed him. But from this realization, another voice arose: "This isn't real. You're still the same." "Hate." "Pain." "Suffering." Images flashed with each word, and yet, although something was lingering, he wasn't swayed to react. He simply watched the emotions arise and pass like the tides going in and out.
"Julie!" A voice rang out as Muhammed reached the end of the park. An urge arose, and he moved, passing the girl with black, bushy hair who screamed.
Then a car horn, and he was there. His body moved instinctively. His fist slammed into metal, but that wasn't enough, so he gripped the front of the car and planted his feet. "Pop!" His arm dislocated, but barely sliding, he stopped the car.
Behind him lay a little girl who passed out from the shock of almost getting hit by a car, and in front of him lay the car. Besides him, a bunch of shoved people, and he, distraught but eerily calm on the outside. It felt like something possessed him, but he had complete and total recollection of what happened, which further added to his confusion.
The girl with brown, bushy hair ran towards the little girl and picked her up as sirens blared out a few blocks away.
Muhammed tried to take a step back but tripped on the uprooted tar around his feet and fell back. Behind him, people gathered. Phones recorded. It was too late to run now. His body moved to run anyway, but he stopped himself. He would be disciplined by himself, not by his fears anymore.
He simply sat down, crisscrossed, and tried to ignore the flashes, clamor, or questions. Only one thing caught his attention:
"Thank you," the girl with bushy hair said from where she stood. He seemed to be the only one who heard her, as everything fell into the background, creating an introspective look. He nodded as a small smile crept onto his face. "You're welcome."
Soon, the police, an ambulance, and someone else came.
"Ma'am, would you please repeat your statement?" an officer said.
"I already did!!" She looked towards her sister, who was getting checked by a medic. Then at Muhammed, who was in an ambulance, but he was constrained.
"So what you're saying is your sister ran into the street and that 18-year-old stopped a car with his bare hands?" He looked at her as if she were crazy.
"Yes, there's literally proof staring you in the face. Pick up any phone and it'll be trending," she snapped back.
"Okay, that's enough," a Black man with a mustache, a bald, shiny head, and a black trench coat said.
"Stop playing with the girl." He smacked the man on his back.
"Sorry about that," he said.
"So you believe me?" she asked.
"Yeah, everybody does. Cases like this have been happening all over the world for the last 10 years. It's normal now." He dropped a bomb on her and shrugged.
She stood dumbfounded. "What happened to him—is he human?"
"Yes, very human. Even more than you, who have yet to claim their birthright."
"Huh? What do you mean—" she was cut off. He poked her chest right where her heart was, as her eyes went murky.
She sat up, hot and sweaty. "A dream?" Before she passed out once more.
Muhammed was taken to a hospital, placed in one of the far corners of the hospital. He hadn't said a word since the incident. No one offered him a phone call, and he didn't ask for one. He knew that this was weird, but nobody was acting like it, so it wasn't a rare occurrence.
"An urge." Suddenly, a voice rang out. He looked around the room. His spine chilled as his head snapped. Beside him, a man sat in a black cushioned chair that wasn't there before, as he sat in shadows that distorted unnaturally.
The man continued. "Right—an urge, a push, a possession?"
"Oh, you're more promising than I thought," Muhammed said nothing, but the man knew exactly what he was thinking.
His mind went cold, his face even colder. And then suddenly, an urge. He listened and smiled, replacing the coldness.
"Since you barged in, don't you think I deserve an explanation?"
"I don't know—do you?" The man said it not in a tone of sarcasm but genuinely.
Muhammed thought for a few seconds, carefully reading the man's words. "Yes, I do deserve an explanation."
The man quietly observed.
"Okay, very well," he said as if it were inevitable, still cloaked in shadows.
"Listen closely. I'll only say this once."
"Okay," Muhammed said.
"All humans are born aware, not having awareness, but aware in itself. But because there's so much to cling to, humans forget and assume that what is outside of them is real or set in stone, that they can only get what they want outside of them, without realizing that they have all that they give themselves.
"Aware means to be the ocean looking in on itself with borrowed eyes.
"The world around you is only one—and the lowest—plane of existence. To rely upon the external for emotions is to abandon all that you are, because the world is an illusion created and managed by your existence," he paused.
"All three planes of your existence," he paused again.
"So we are the creators?" Muhammed said.
"No, but we can use the power of the creator.
"Think of the creator as an infinite, eternal source, and that drips into us, and then we define and let it drip into and materialize into reality.
"Level of awareness was split up into multiple groups.
"The 1st—you have the people that believe life comes at them, not from them. They can't imagine the notion of being able to create reality, much less control themselves.
"The 2nd is where you become aware of patterns, that the past is not your future, and you are not your ego.
"The 3rd is where you know what and who you are, how to change things, and you're able to control your emotions, reactions, and realize that you and your frequency are one.
"The fourth is—total self-mastery, total reality mastery."
"What's the frequency?" Muhammed asked.
"You don't know what frequency is? Do you know anything about metaphysics?" the man prompted.
"Nope," Muhammed replied.
"Your frequency is you. It's who you are to the Source across all three planes of existence.
"You're somewhere around the 3rd, but you're abnormal. Checking your history, you have invested very little in understanding yourself through the resources available. You awakened using only yourself, as it should be—but… still… nothing special though.
"In the past, awakening was how so many people got rich and loved well, but a change happened 10 years ago—the multidimensional awakening.
"Think of it like this—each group, club, and trend creates a collective consciousness, which means a greater probability of that reality materializing. And when a huge one was created all around the world on the basis of awakening, it caused Sition to undergo a fundamental change in which it aligned completely with its brother and sister reflections.
"Basically, the spiritual and mental plane—or the emotional and mental plane.
"Everything is normal if you remove terms, words, and what you think you know. Then everything becomes just as it is. But when you add your own meaning, then it becomes more, and when you add emotional charge, it becomes even more. It stands out on the mental plane. Humans have anywhere from 6,000 to 60,000 thoughts a day. Meaning is just meaning, it's normal without emotional charge. When you add emotional charge, then a moment, sentence, or thing becomes something that stands out and materializes extremely fast into your reality.
"So imagine millions of people emotionally charging thoughts of alignment. But with the world's alignment, it became a little bit more complex. The rules changed.
"The spiritual and mental realm now had locations which could be traversed to, mentally and spiritually.
"And along with those locations, entities were created—mental plane thoughts and spiritual plane emotional bodies.
"The mental plane is incredibly dangerous as it is bountiful. Think of all the thoughts that ever will be and ever have been, condensed into the land of destructive and creative forces, always in a constant cycle of life and death.
"And the emotional plane holds entities called systems as well as different lands symbolizing positive, neutral, and negative emotions.
"As for how to get there—well, that'll take some training to do.
"You probably have a lot of questions, but for now, just don't mention this to your family."
Muhammed was lost in deep thought as the man began to seep into the shadows.
Muhammed was slightly caught off guard at the mention of his family as well as the disappearing man, but he muttered something: "What's your name and how can I find out more?!" His eyes sparkled.
"Electro. You'll know."
With that, he was gone, along with his fancy chair.
A couple of seconds—not even giving him a chance to breathe—his family barged in with genuine concern, something he hadn't seen from them ever before, and he decided to feel his emotions play out and let go of old perceptions right here, right now.
"Muhammed, are you alright?" his second-oldest sister, Alimatu, said with concern.
"He's alive, isn't he?" his oldest sister, Khadijah, said with a smile—her own twisted humor.
"I'm sorry, son," his mother said.
"It's ok," Muhammed said genuinely. He realized that his mother had suffered so much that she couldn't let it go, and it became her reality.
She was stunned. Muhammed had never been so straightforward and secure. They wondered what happened.
All they knew was that he had saved someone from a car.
"Don't worry, guys, you can go home and tell my sister and brother I'm fine. I'm just going to rest."
"Ok, that's fine. Take your time," his mother spoke differently than he had ever heard. He didn't know what to contribute that to, but he'd get his answer sooner or later. But he knew it had to do with his awakening.
His family soon left after wishing him well. After all, who wishes bad in a hospital?
He lay in his bed, one arm in a hamper. The hospital smell wafted to his nose, and for the first time, that smell brought with it happiness. He grinned more freely than ever—not for anyone else but for himself, to himself.
As these new emotions arose, so did new goals, which ignited something in him:
"To reach the peak, to not have anybody, thing, or object dictate me, I have to do things I've never done, feel things I've never felt, be things I've never been. I must be different—emit different."
Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, 30 powerstones per extra chapter. Enjoy or not, it's your choice, remember