Since his childhood, Karl Kaufmann has loved storytelling. He graduated as a film author at the de’ Medici Arts Institute. He is a lifelong researcher in metaphysics—the content of his projects. He directed award-winning shorts and features. Recently he has been experimenting with a new reading format.
With A Focus On Metaphysical Details
Everybody is an expert when it comes to politics, religion, or the movies. Not Karl Kaufmann. He is off on a tangent. It reflects in his bio.
His name was once Sirion. He was a warrior on Andromeda. It was before his cycle of incarnations on the blue planet began.
Scratching your head? He would be confused too. But not when the details came from his dear friend Annamaria, an Italian woman of rare inner and outer beauty. That is, to be precise, she received this message from an entity called Argena.
Flash forward to the present. There is nothing intriguing about the "Visionator." There is no reputation to defend, such as a list of top colleges he attended or if he has a mansion to house his family. He doesn’t have an animal companion. He hasn’t made a visible impact on the world.
As a businessman, one million tons of cane sugar was his sweetest deal. It never came to fruition. Can you imagine how many million teeth are grateful for their longevity? Even when they did have access to sugar, it did not burden his karma.
A few outstanding individuals graced his earthly pilgrimage. Not their personalities but their spiritual stature is meant. One was a frail, 80-year-old woman in Brazil.
When they met, she fell on her knees and kissed his hands. In shock, he asked her why. He was unaware of what was circling over him. She explained that she discovered only at the age of 16 that other people do not astral travel. And she gave it up once a sage told her she had not incarnated to practice that sport. The lady and the author became friends. He called her his Brazilian mom.
A few inspiring experiences remained impressed in his memory. Stuff, people do not talk about for fear of being ridiculed. Unconcerned, he enriched scenes with them.
He remembers how he was levitating in his sleep and how his feet were higher up than his head. When he became aware of the levitation, gravity remembered him and he collapsed on his bed.
Another time, he was blessed with a most unforgettable dream. A sleek Greek-like goddess in a white, pleated evening gown was descending from the sky. When she landed in the grass, he walked to her. They embraced as if they knew each other for eons and ascended together. Under his feet, he noticed how slender, tall trees other than cypresses were shrinking in the distance. The two kept soaring until they stopped in midair. Still embraced, they looked at each other. He knew he was not ready to fly away with her. There were still earthly things to attend to. In mutual understanding, they parted. She proceeded up; he came back down.
How can you discard a dream like this? Especially after you learned that, according to psychologist Carl Jung, your higher self would always approach you as the opposite sex. This explains why this author’s protagonists are women. His higher self wants to express itself that way. So now you know the roots of Mystica, the FateShifter, or of Candid Hope, the doll maker.
The SOS Message From The Mountaintop
How do you do that when there is a marine layer covering everything just below the top of the mountain? A marine layer impeding the sun to shine through. A marine layer of obfuscation, truth distortion, social media censorship, character assassination of the whistleblowers, of masses of mortals kept busy in figuring out how to make ends meet while being saturated with piles of trivia, drugged with fear, fed with promises, and bloated with entitlements.
How do you shout from the mountaintop when people believe you are off on a tangent and want to pull you down by your feet instead of realizing that you’d rather lift them up? To remind them of their royal birthright, the divine spark in each one of them even though they have long forgotten to be the most sophisticated instrument in the universe?
That mountaintop can only be the mountaintop inside the hearts of those who have not forgotten to have a heart. The heart of those unafraid to explore the endlessness of their heart, the wisdom which needs no subterfuge, the wisdom in whose presence corruption sinks as in quicksand, the wisdom that washes away any political correctness, ridicules self-righteousness, outdoes all conniving, drowns hypocrisy, exhausts backbiting, boomerangs faultfinding, the ultimate goldmine that rationalism left untapped: souls.
