I expect that you too have heard stories that liken one drop of water existing in a vast ocean with the essence of a soul existing in the infinity of consciousness.
I have another story that runs along similar lines in which water stands for the energy of consciousness. I learned it this morning from my guides when I was waking up and still in the hypnopompic stage of sleeping (that’s when brief events occur between sleeping and waking). Let me tell it to you.
One of my favourite pastimes when I was aged about eight was to make plaster of Paris figurines with my girlfriends. I see that eBay still sells the red moulds that I remember using. Here’s a whelk shell mould that would be fairly easy.
I say fairly easy because making plaster of Paris figurines is not always successful. A number of steps are involved.
One: My friends and I would get everything ready first—a jug of water, the plaster, the moulds, a bowl to mix the plaster and water in, a spoon to stir the mixture, cardboard cutouts to rest the filled moulds in as they dried, and tall-enough glasses for that drying process.
Two: We would pour some cold water into the bowl, add what we thought would be the right amount of plaster, and stir.
Three: Then, when the mixture was at the right consistency, we would pour the thickening mixture into the upside-down moulds, gingerly slip each mould inside the cardboard cutouts, and rest those cutouts on the rims of the glasses.
Four: We had to find the right moment when we could slowly peel the moulds away from the still-setting figurine. We could guess roughly when that moment would be from how warm the filled mould would become. Often in that process, we would find we had not waited for the right moment and the plaster of Paris would be too soft and it wouldn’t hold its shape or so cold, hard, and brittle that bits of the figurine would break away.
You can imagine how this might happen with this elephant mould. Removing the trunk from its mould would be perilous.
Five: To differentiate one elephant from another or one whelk from another, we would then paint each one uniquely.
Can you see where I’m going with this?
When we incarnate into a body in this world, we become moulded by our family, our home, our neighbourhood, our education system, our geography, our weather, our era, our training, our career, our employer, our news systems, our methods of expression, and on and on. We are moulded so much that we do not perceive how perfectly we fit into the mould of our space and time. We do not see our conditioning until we are ready to look at ourselves. That sometimes takes a really long time, and sometimes we never take the time on Earth to look at ourselves.
Then when we undeniably reach an age at which others around us are dying, we might start to fear death, because surely death means the end of us as we know ourselves to be.
That’s the moment at which to realize that we are the water that was mixed with the clay (the plaster of Paris) in step two; we are the soul essence that incarnated into the fetus in our mother’s womb. Our family, our home, our neighbourhood, our education system, our geography comprise the red latex mould, shaping us and providing us with habits, beliefs, and expectations. Step three is growing up. Step four is leaving home and branching out on our own. Step five is settling into our role in life, the role we fill, which no one else can.
And so we reach our death and we might worry that our mould and our clay will be no more one day. And that’s true—they won’t. The space that we occupied in the world will be empty. But our essence—the water—will continue to exist. And so will our energy.
“Energy cannot be created or destroyed; it can only change from one form to another.” ~ Einstein
Let me know what you think about this analogy and whether it helps you think about your life and your death differently. Leave a comment here.