🌌 CHOOSE THE OMNIVERSE THAT SERVES YOU BEST (Version 3)
From Dance of the Souls: Pierce the Veil
By Janet Kira Lessin, contributor, Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. & Minerva Monroe
There are moments in a life that arrive without warning and then quietly rearrange everything that follows. They do not feel like dreams, nor do they settle comfortably into memory. They exist outside ordinary chronology — living points of awareness that reveal themselves slowly across the years, unfolding meaning only when one is finally ready to understand them.
This was one of those moments.
I found myself standing at the center of a great wheel — twenty-four spokes extending outward in every direction, each one alive with movement, possibility, and potential futures. The wheel surrounded me completely, a full circle of existence unfolding in 360 degrees. Each spoke was a multiverse, a complete expression of reality, and each one represented a path I might walk.
Around me stood beings whose presence felt unmistakably alive, though they were not bound to form. They communicated without speech, their awareness brushing gently against mine like light moving through water. They told me that every road led home. No matter which path I chose, I would still become the essence of who I was meant to be. What changed was not the destination but the experience — the texture of growth, the lessons gathered, the lives touched along the way.
In that place, separation dissolved. I understood that everyone I would encounter on any road was, in some deeper sense, an aspect of myself. Reality was not a line but a field of relationships constantly reflecting back upon one another. I saw in every direction at once, a perception beyond human sight, and within that vastness I understood something both humbling and liberating: the choice was mine, and every choice held validity.
As awareness settled, I became conscious of the form I inhabited — a small child, four years old, sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, fragile in body yet carrying something ancient within. The contrast struck me deeply. Inside the limitations of childhood, an awareness emerged that felt eternal, as if countless simultaneous lives and dimensions coexisted within a single point of identity. The human form was simply one expression among many.
The environment around me resembled a ship, but I understood instinctively that it was not truly a vessel traveling through space. It was a construct, a reality shaped for my comfort and comprehension — a translation mechanism allowing human consciousness to receive something far larger than itself. Its purpose was to carry information forward in time until it could be remembered and shared.
Even now, writing these words years later, I feel the lingering pulse of that download — a knowing that never entirely leaves.
Within this space was a theater. Rows of seats faced a great curved screen, and I became aware that multiple timelines existed simultaneously. In one, I had been to a movie theater with my family; in another, the concept was entirely unknown to me. On the screen flickered a scene from Hercules: the hero chained to a pillar, summoning strength enough to bring down enormous columns. The image shimmered and dissolved, and with it that timeline receded. I anchored into the reality where this theater was newly created, specifically for my understanding.
The unseen beings welcomed me with a reverence that felt oddly familiar, as though I were returning from a very long journey. I took my place in the front center seat, and the wheel of realities began to unfold.
What followed was not merely observation but total immersion.
The first vision showed Earth destroyed — three beams converging until the planet dissolved into stardust. I felt every loss simultaneously. Every creature, every landscape, every life. The grief was so profound it seemed impossible for my small human body to contain it. My soul strained against its limits, threatening to leave entirely.
But I stayed.
Love anchored me — love for the planet, for humanity, for all life intertwined with my own existence.
Then the scenes changed. Destruction softened into renewal. Each reality unfolded with full sensory awareness — images, sounds, emotions, textures — as though I lived every possibility at once. Darkness and light flowed together, not as enemies but as partners, shaping creation. Slowly, my tears transformed, grief giving way to joy, as life reemerged again and again in new forms.
When the visions ended, I understood I had witnessed twenty-four complete multiverses — twenty-four potential destinies for Earth and humanity.
Then came the question, spoken clearly within my mind:
“What reality do you choose for yourself and for all humanity?”
The enormity of it humbled me instantly. I felt the weight of being human — small, limited, unsure. Me? I wondered. How could I choose for everyone?
No answer came, only understanding.
I saw that perfect utopia could not be the path. A world without friction would be a world without growth. Even the difficult aspects of existence served creation, shaping consciousness through contrast. Evolution required movement, tension, and choice.
I chose the reality third from the end — a world filled with beauty and possibility, yet still alive with challenge, meaning, and creative purpose. A reality where humanity could continue becoming rather than simply arriving.
The decision made, I instantly returned.
My foot hovered mid-step over a small white fence, exactly where I had left. Had my body moved at all? Had time paused while my awareness traveled elsewhere? Questions swirled, unanswered.
Then a final message came, clear and unmistakable:
“You have come here to do that which will benefit all humankind.”
In that moment, I felt my life stretching forward and backward at once. I saw people who would shape history — Kennedy, King, Lennon — alive and not alive, existing across multiple outcomes. I saw loved ones I had not yet met, connections already woven into the future. Life and death were no longer opposites but parallel expressions of the same unfolding story.
A profound joy filled me. The wind rose softly, lifting my hair as the sky burned with an impossible sunset. I breathed deeply, sensing eternity flowing through ordinary air. The road ahead shimmered with variables and possibilities, yet beneath it all I felt certainty — the quiet assurance that the greater arc would lead toward the highest good.
I turned toward the house, carrying knowledge I knew I could not explain. I made a silent vow, simple and human, to live my role fully — to be the best child, daughter, and sister I could be for whatever story lay ahead.
And with that promise, I stepped forward into the life that was waiting for me.
🌌 CHOOSE THE OMNIVERSE THAT SERVES YOU BEST – Version 2
Excerpt from Dance of the Souls: Pierce the Veil
By Janet Kira Lessin, contributor, Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. & Minerva Monroe
There are moments that do not belong to ordinary time — moments that feel less like memories and more like points of origin, the instant where a life’s trajectory quietly changes direction while the world itself appears unchanged. This was one of those moments.
I found myself standing at the center of a vast wheel containing twenty-four spokes, each one extending outward into its own complete reality. They were not abstract concepts but living multiverses, stretching in every direction around me, a full 360 degrees of possible lives and outcomes. I understood instinctively that each spoke represented a path I could travel — a version of existence shaped by choice, awareness, and consequence. Around me stood beings who felt both present and non-physical, guides whose intelligence and warmth were unmistakably alive. They told me, without words yet with perfect clarity, that every road led home. The destination was never in question; only the journey’s experience differed.
In their presence, I understood something that would take decades to articulate in language. Every variation of me already existed. Every being I would meet on any road was an aspect of the same whole. At the core, there was no separation — only perspective. I saw in all directions at once, a panoramic awareness unbound by the limitations of human sight. The choice before me was mine alone, and yet there was no wrong choice. Each path held validity, meaning, and purpose.
As awareness settled, I also became aware of the form I inhabited: a small human child, four years old, sandy-blond hair catching light that seemed to come from everywhere at once, blue eyes wide with perception far beyond the years they suggested. The body felt small, even fragile, but within it lived something vast — an eternal consciousness that seemed to exist simultaneously across dimensions, worlds, and lifetimes. In that moment, identity felt layered, like transparent sheets superimposed over one another, the human self only one expression among many.
The ship that held me was not, I realized, truly a ship at all. It was a construct — a holographic environment generated for my comfort and understanding. Its purpose was not transportation but translation, a way to convey knowledge into a form that a human mind could someday retrieve and communicate when the time was right. Even as I write these words now, I feel echoes of the download that accompanied the experience, a knowing carried forward through time until language finally caught up with it.
Within this construct was a theater. Rows of seats faced a massive curved screen, and I became aware that I existed in multiple timelines simultaneously — in one, I had already experienced a movie theater with my earthly family; in another, I had never seen such a place. On the screen, a scene from Hercules played: the hero, chained, then pulling down great columns with sheer force of will. The image flickered and dissolved, and with it, that timeline faded. I anchored into the version of reality where the theater itself was new and miraculous, a creation designed specifically for me. The unseen beings welcomed me with a quiet reverence, as though I were returning from an unimaginably long journey. I took the seat at the very front and watched as creation began to unfold.
The wheel of multiverses translated itself into a sequence my human mind could comprehend. First came devastation. I watched Earth explode into stardust as three beams converged at its center, a moment of absolute annihilation that struck me not as distant observation but lived experience. I felt the deaths of all beings simultaneously — creatures, landscapes, entire histories collapsing in an instant. The sorrow was so immense that my soul threatened to leave my body entirely. Yet I stayed. Love held me there. Love for the planet, for life itself, for the countless forms that were and were not separate from me.
The scenes continued. Destruction gave way gradually to renewal. With each reality presented, I experienced not only images but sensations — sounds, textures, emotions, the full spectrum of existence from darkness to abundance. My tears shifted from grief to wonder as life reemerged in new forms. Creation and loss revealed themselves as partners rather than opposites.
When the sequences ended, I understood I had witnessed twenty-four full realities — possibilities for humanity, for Earth, and for myself. Then came the question, spoken in clear human language within my mind.
“What reality do you choose for yourself and for all humanity?”
The weight of that question humbled me instantly. I was suddenly aware of my human limits. Me? I thought. You want me to decide for everyone? No voice answered. Instead, there was only knowing. I understood that perfect utopia could not be the answer, because a reality devoid of challenge would also be devoid of growth. Polarity — even its darker expressions — served as the grinding stone through which consciousness evolves. Creation required contrast.
I chose the reality third from the end. It was harmonious, deeply beautiful, yet still alive with purpose, challenge, and creative possibility — a world where humanity could continue to grow rather than simply exist in completion.
The moment the decision formed, I found myself back on Earth, returning to the exact instant I had left. My foot hung mid-step over a small white fence. Had I ever physically moved? Had my body remained frozen while my consciousness traveled? Questions rushed in faster than answers. None came.
Then, telepathically, I heard the message that would stay with me for the rest of my life:
“You have come here to do that which will benefit all humankind.”
The meaning behind those words expanded beyond language. I saw flashes of my life unfolding ahead — joys and losses, people I would love, people I had not yet met, timelines where they lived and timelines where they did not. I saw leaders and icons — Kennedy, King, Lennon — existing across multiple outcomes simultaneously. Death and life intertwined like parallel threads.
I felt joy, not fear. A warm wind brushed my face and lifted my sandy hair as the sky blazed with the most extraordinary sunset I had ever seen. I breathed deeply, sensing eternity moving through ordinary air. In that moment, I understood that the path ahead would contain countless variables, yet the ending — the deeper ending — would ultimately serve the highest good.
I turned toward the house, carrying knowledge I knew I could not explain to those waiting inside. Quietly, inwardly, I made a promise to live the human role as fully as possible — to be the best daughter, sister, and child I could be for whatever came next.
And then I stepped forward into the life that awaited me.
