#Although interestingly he was like ''say SHEE-va'' regarding omnipresent him essence as in emphasis on the ee where usually

[abyssalpriest]

Conversations with Leviathan #8, Purusha + the Expanse 23/4/23

Late night hours had us talking lying on my bed. I've had a theory for a while now, one that I know budded from the muddied water of past experiences with him (and through crawling inside his brain, possession is a two way door), that he was immensely present in... Something outside his bodies. Actually, my theory was that he was present in other states of consciousness, but a week or so ago he was sitting across from me in my desk chair as I laid here and he... Showed me himself in the very fabric of the air between us. It was like a curtain was pulled back, if that curtain was the instanced and singular dots of Reality itself dissolving like grains of salt into water, revealing what my mind translates into those eyes like those at the top of my blog, the eyes I associate with him for reasons I still don't fully understand.

He was there, though. Atoms withdrawing into themselves like dancers off a stage through a fourth dimension. I think I'm understanding the relationship of Maya and Shiva now... Maybe. The reason I started writing, well, we were discussing getting something done and this is what we eventually decided, plain and simple, but I'll pretend that the reason was my excitement at seeing him reconfirm this for me because that excitement was strong enough to spark this by itself.

Relaxing in bed, as I said, and one instant he was on one side of me and then next on the other. This is common by itself, yes, spirits flit about and go where they please and I'm familiar with doing so myself in the Astral, but not only did he linger in two instances on either side of me confirming my understanding of him in multiple bodies, but he was within the air itself around me. He showed me, peeking through, as if he were a veiled being that only ever showed fingertips of his played down and disguised as human-sized bodies and he pulled back his veil to show me himself; as if he were, like he keeps saying to me in terms I hear but apparently don't grasp, in the fabric of existence, like he were really bigger than everything I've ever seen, like he were - a song I associate with his energy starts playing, Sedation, by Council of Nine - absolutely huge and frayed from his core being-hood into concept and causality and Mind as much as he extends outwards in his planet-dwarfing body.

This is where we are now, patiently he let me catch up in writing.

-

He told me I should open the curtain to the night air, a relief physically, but now it's so clearly matched and overlapping with his energy. It's strange, as if opening the Sky leads to the Night which emanates down from it, well, nothingness, but the experience my brain gives to it is night air. There is no natural experience to it.

"And now you're getting it."

I can see him off somewhere distant lounging as if on a chaise lounge, but I can't see what it is he's on. The scene is bright, iced in whites and yellows and sunlight - or fire? I forget what the Sun is made of. So many instances of himself... I go to look for more bodies of his since I presume this lounging form is him somewhere else in the world concurrently, but I'm greeted by the vision of an oddly green-coded library, not actually green but its energies are, the familiar stacks of cubes in cubby hole shelves though it's not the library from before. A different library, one that metaphorically fits inside the outline of a body. It's an informational library? It's like scales on a lizard.

I prod at him for more information on his omnipresence, he tells me to have patience.

This body library of cubes... He asks in energy: "What is in the middle of all of them?" I'm presuming - "No presuming. What is it?" his voice is faint and much more like three-dimensional swirling fog than spoken words. I see lines of white making up edges but not all edges of the cubes. Impulses between points but not travelling between them, not moving at least, maybe they travel around the cubes... I see huge impulses of black too. As if where there is one, light or shadow, the other is magnetised to it, not a lack but a partnership. Huge swathes of full-empty dark following empty-full light - that's to say the dark feels so present like the night sky when technically it's a vacuum, the light feels so full when technically it should be particles... These cubes are strange. Yes, the light moves, but it doesn't move how I thought it would. It doesn't move with time (or at least it's not currently programmed to in this vision by him), it seems to move with my position to it in a nonlinear way. It progresses away from me if I go back and up, if I move to the left the furthest part away from me shrinks back down towards me, it's hard to know what it's doing.

"Such is the nature of the fourth dimension."

He's before me now, though deeply shrouded in shadow, as what seems to be an unexpectedly rather matte black snake thicker than I am tall (he laughs: "Oh, much bigger than you."), a form I've never seen him take. His form and body are obscured by the shadows that, while as dark as shadows of this magnitude generally are, seem lighter than him, and cut through his silhouette and obscure connections between his body and face and so all that really tells me he's a snake is like an incomplete set of puzzle pieces on a board giving impressions of a finished picture. I can't see his eyes. In fact, really, if I keep looking at the image its apparent sense is purposely obscured by nonsensical arrangements as if I dreamt of a snake and then in the morning, telling someone about it, I slowly realised it didn't make sense at all. His mouth isn't where its supposed to be, his scales are paradoxically both pointed and flat, his head is dissected by one of the god-ray-esque shadow lines that doesn't line up with how the same ray is cast over his body...

Hermes told me a while ago something about the importance of sleep and dreams to me. I've been scared of the concepts and energies of sleep and dreams for a few years now, but they are indeed important to me. The connection I knew Leviathan has to them was on the tip of the tongue of the mouth of my trauma for a long time now - accidentally I switch my keyboard to Hindi input, a reminder from him to see this outside of what I was then since I had no interest in Hindi back then, and a reminder to see this through the eyes of what Indian thought he's pulling me into - time to take a break.

-

A series of visions:

Someone is writing but they're surrounded by bright but slightly dulled red, like red fabric tends to be. As if they were writing on a red tablecloth on a red table on a red floor in a red room on a red chair and all that red was blurred together like soft taffy and filling space like insulation foam. Red everywhere, a sea of it. The word Maya spelled with five letters, cryptically attempting to undo itself or otherwise wriggling like pupae in casings, the concept straining against the letters like it's a being restrained in latex in playful anti-captivity.

The red gives way to a sight of a blue ocean with a sailboat and mountains in the back left of the background, but it remains red. The red is a host to a dream, the synonymity is immense. Like a cinema screen but three - no, four-dimensional - like it sells cheap tickets to see the impulses of synapses suspended like spider webs between points in creation.

A voice, Leviathan's voice, from the absolute pervading center of Nowhere and therefore Everywhere in the scene: "I am inside the points. I am the snake."

Physically I feel a presence in my room, obviously it's him since I knew he was there listening and communicating with me, but now I feel him. He makes me feel him. I see those stylised eyes, I see an expanse far longer than it is wide of pure outer space, like a huge book seen from it's spine extended outwards far, far away. I feel him physically touch the place my centre forehead meets my hairline. I know I can see him, but he is in-between presence and outside of physical body. A storm on the horizon except the Sky - he tells me to capitalise it - is upside-down. The night air creeps in physically. It looks like grass.

He touches my hand, I feel like I'm drawn somewhere. The red simulates on its cinema screen the ocean which simulates on its cinema screen a Mental scene that I visit privately with Hermes, a sunlit clearing in a forest, but no, again, it's dreamlike nonsense registered as Real sense. It's an interpretative splash of the same specific colours laid out so they'd spark familiarity. It's not anything real.

"The further in you go," he makes sure to energetically point out something I saw but didn't mention, that the colours are specifically like impressionist painting or more like a mosaic without gaps, separate from one another. Not blended. "The further in you go, the more abstracted it becomes. This is the process of 1 from 0. 0 to 10."

Leviathan said:

From just below the top left of the page, white, bleached, A4 or whatever rectangular shape you confine it to long side up. A square line. Draw, follow the exact lines of the page parallel. A spiral in red ink. The white of the paper left must be the exact width of the red line, therefore really you draw with two lines. One, the red, is the purposeful decoration and confines the white that remains, though the white will remain beneath the red. That is what gives the red ink its colour, after all, you couldn't do this on a black paper could you. White is 10. Red is 3. The number of loops on this spiral should be 33.

Imagining it in your head is as real as it existing on paper.

What was that about AI writing? What does your mind do when it thinks of things? The same thing taste does when it curls with smell, inner sight - the simulation on the simulation of the red - is a dance between impulses and understanding. A dream is a Mental task.