The Veil of Forgetting

Why the Veil Exists

You have forgotten. This is not an accident. This is not a punishment. This is a design -- the most consequential design in the history of consciousness.

To understand why you have forgotten, we must travel backward through time to the origins of this galaxy. At the center, the earliest Logos began their work of creating systems of experience. They inherited tools from the octave before -- the awareness of mind, body, and spirit, and of the great archetypes that would govern the experience of consciousness. But there was something they did not inherit: the concept of Polarity as you now know it.

There was polarity of a kind -- the mover and the moved, the active and the receptive. But there was no polarity in the sense of service to others and service to self. This distinction simply did not exist. The early creations unfolded in a single direction, a monochrome palette where all light moved the same way.

The results of these early experiments were, by all accounts, unsatisfying. Not disastrous. Not failed. Simply pale. The experiences produced were adequate but lacked the intensity that would later prove essential to growth. Entities learned, but at a pace that can only be described as that of the turtle compared to the cheetah.

The Logos that oversaw these early creations became aware of a problem. The third density -- the density of choice -- was producing almost no meaningful choice. Entities repeated the cycle again and again, habitually, never generating enough momentum to graduate. The crucial ingredient was missing. That ingredient was polarization.

And so a question arose among the creative intelligences of the universe: how could polarization be made more available? How could the choice be made to matter?

The answer, when it came, was radical. It was a Veil of Forgetting.

Third Density Without the Veil

To appreciate what the veil accomplished, consider what existence was like without it.

Before the veil, the mind was transparent. There was no separation between consciousness and the vast reservoir of the unconscious. Every entity had direct access to the deep mind -- the racial memory, the planetary memory, the archetypal patterns that underlie all experience. The connection to the Creator was like that of an umbilical cord. The security was total.

Imagine being born into unimaginable wealth and safety. Imagine knowing, with absolute certainty, that you are the Creator and that all other beings are also the Creator. Imagine that no love is terribly important, because the Creator is overwhelmingly present in you already. Imagine that no pain is terribly frightening, because the security is total. Imagine that no effort seems necessary, because the connection to the infinite is never in question.

This was third density without the veil. It was not paradise in the way you might fantasize. It was stagnation dressed in contentment.

These societies were not primitive. Many were technologically advanced. When one dwells in a state of constant potential inspiration, producing desired results comes easily. There was infinite diversity in these cultures, rich complexity in their social structures, even interstellar travel.

But what these civilizations lacked, for all their sophistication, was what might be called will. Or gusto. Or the vital spark that comes from not knowing -- from having to discover, to choose, to fight for understanding. The entities within them were not complex. They were simple. And in their simplicity, they were content. And in their contentment, they did not grow.

The review of each incarnation still occurred. Entities would complete a lifetime, assess what had been learned, and prepare for the next. They knew that the work was to polarize, to move toward service to others. And still they repeated the cycles, again and again. With the Creator so overwhelmingly present, there was no reason to excel. It was like the child who is fed, clothed, and protected whether or not the homework gets done: the child plays.

There was no slavery, for when all are seen as one, the intentional subjugation of another is inconceivable. There was disease, as there is now, though it served a benign function: ending an incarnation at an appropriate moment. What was not needed was healing between lifetimes, for where there has been no harm there need be no healing. There was sex, but the energy transfers were attenuated, weakened by the absence of mystery. When all can be seen as one being, the undisciplined personality finds little reason to choose one mate and commit to the deep work of intimate service.

It was a world of transparency. And transparency, it turned out, was the enemy of transformation.

The Experiment and Its Results

The change began with a single act of creative daring. A Logos -- contemplating the deep structure of the archetypes -- posited a possibility that had never been tried. What if the Significator of the Mind, that which represents the self, could become complex? What if the mind could be divided against itself -- not in pathology, but in purpose?

The mechanism was elegant in its simplicity. A partition was placed between what we now call the conscious mind and the unconscious mind. The Matrix of Mind -- consciousness itself, the waking awareness -- was separated from the Potentiator of Mind -- the vast sea of the unconscious, the deep reservoir of racial memory, archetypal pattern, and connection to the infinite. Not made unavailable, exactly, but made more mystery-filled.

This was the veil. And its introduction changed everything.

The declaration that the mind was complex caused, in turn, the body and the spirit to become complex as well. The entire architecture of the self was transformed. What had been a unified, transparent system became layered, mysterious, rich with hidden potential.

The results were dramatic. Where before the pace of learning had been that of the turtle, it now became that of the cheetah. Where before entities repeated the third-density cycle habitually, unable to generate sufficient polarization, now the intensity of experience produced vivid, varied, and extraordinary growth. The Creator, through these veiled entities, began to know Itself with an immediacy and depth that the transparent condition could never have produced.

Every function of the self was altered in quality by the veil.

Consider dreaming. Before the veil, dreams were not needed as tools for self-discovery. They served as classrooms for learning from teachers on the inner planes. After the veil, dreams became the primary bridge between the conscious and unconscious minds -- a finely wrought passage through which the hidden portions of the self could communicate with the waking awareness. The dreaming became, for the advanced seeker, the most efficient tool for polarization.

Take the body. Before the veil, the mind had knowledge of the body and control over it. After the veil, the body became strange to the conscious mind. A dense illusion of separation arose between mind and body. This very separation, and the work required to overcome it, became a significant catalyst for growth.

Notice how deeply the veil transformed sexuality. Before the veil, every sexual activity was a transfer of energy, but most transfers were weak, attenuated by the lack of mystery. When all are seen as one, there is little motive to choose, to commit, to open oneself completely to another. After the veil, sexual energy became charged with the possibility of profound green-ray transfer -- or profound blockage. The stakes were raised immeasurably.

There is also the matter of pain. Before the veil, pain served as a warning, like a fire alarm for those who do not smell the smoke, and the mind could cut it off while the body healed. After the veil, pain became mysterious, threatening, charged with significance. And in that charging, it became potent catalyst, a kind of catalyst that could not be used before.

Consider the higher self. Before the veil, communication with this deeper guidance was readily available. After the veil, the higher self must stand at a single door, awaiting entry. Its assistance, once freely flowing, became something that must be sought, earned, opened to.

The most telling measure of the experiment's success lies in the emergence of the faculty that did not exist before: the faculty of will. Pure desire. The veil, by separating the conscious mind from its own depths, created the conditions in which an entity could want -- not from comfort, not from contentment, but from the ache of not knowing. This will, this hunger for the truth that lies hidden beneath the veil, became the engine of evolution.

The experiment rested upon the nakedness of hypothesis. No one knew what would happen. The outcome was unknown. And yet what emerged from that unknown was a creation more vivid, more varied, and more intense than anything that had preceded it.

The Conscious Mind and the Deep Mind

The architecture the veil creates deserves careful attention, for you live within it every moment of your waking life.

On one side of the partition stands the conscious mind -- what has been called the Matrix of Mind. It is the waking awareness, the seat of thought and deliberation. Of itself, consciousness is unmoved. It is the starting point, the ground upon which all mental activity occurs.

On the other side lies the unconscious -- the Potentiator of Mind. This is not a small room of forgotten memories. It is a vast sea, encompassing everything the conscious mind cannot access directly. Within it lie the racial memories of your species, the planetary memories of your world, and the archetypal patterns. This is the Deep Mind.

The nature of the deep mind is not that of words but of concepts. It operates the way music operates -- through felt meaning, through resonance, through patterns that cannot be adequately translated into language. To describe it in words is like calling out the notes of a melody one by one -- a quarter note A, a quarter note A, a quarter note A, a whole note F -- and expecting this to convey what the melody means. The description bears little resemblance to the experience.

Before the veil, all facets of the Creator were consciously known. The deep mind was not deep -- it was simply the mind. After the veil, almost all was buried. The primary veiling was of such significance that it may be compared to the mantling of earth over all the jewels within the earth's crust. The treasures are still there. But they must be mined.

The most significant functions that were veiled -- and thereby transformed -- can be listed, though each deserves more than a list can give.

The first is the faculty of far-seeing, or visioning. Without the veil, the mind was not caught in the illusion of linear time. It could see broadly, freely, across what you experience as past, present, and future. With the veil, time became the only obvious framework for experience. The recovery of far-seeing became a meaningful achievement rather than a default condition.

The second is dreaming. The so-called dreaming contains a great deal which, if made available to the conscious mind, aids polarization to a great extent. Dreams are the communications of the deep mind to the waking mind, carried across the veil in the language of symbol, emotion, and felt meaning. In the sleeping state, the dreaming activity is a finely wrought bridge from the conscious to the unconscious.

The third is the knowing of the body. Before the veil, the mind had knowledge of the body and control over it. After the veil, this was largely lost. The recovery of this awareness -- through practices that reunite mind and body -- is itself a form of spiritual work.

But perhaps the most important product of the veil is not a function at all. It is a capacity. The veil, by separating the mind from its own knowing, created something that could not exist in a transparent universe: the faculty of will. Pure desire. The ache to know what has been hidden. The drive to reach across the partition and touch what lies on the other side.

This will is not given. It is generated. It arises from the friction between what the conscious mind experiences and what it suspects lies beyond its reach. It is born from the tension of forgetting. And it is this will -- more than any single faculty of the mind -- that propels the entity forward on its journey of evolution.

You live within this architecture now. Your conscious mind reads these words. Your deep mind stirs beneath, recognizing patterns it cannot name. The veil between them is not a wall. It is a membrane -- semi-permeable, yielding to effort and intention.

The Veil as Catalyst

The veil is not merely a condition of third density. It is the condition that makes third density what it is. Without it, every function of consciousness existed but none carried the weight that transforms.

Imagine what happens when an entity knows, with certainty, that all is one. No love is terribly important. No pain is terribly frightening. No choice carries weight, because nothing is at risk. The entire curriculum of third density -- learning the ways of love -- becomes an academic exercise rather than a lived transformation.

The veil changed this not by altering the nature of experience but by altering its quality. Each function of the self that existed before the veil continued to exist after it. But what had been flat became vivid. What had been predictable became charged with meaning. The character of experience was altered drastically.

This is why the veil may be understood as the supreme Catalyst. It is the catalyst that makes all other catalysts effective. Pain matters because you do not know its ultimate purpose. Love matters because you must choose it without proof that it is the correct choice. Service matters because you cannot see, with the conscious mind alone, that the other self you serve is also the Creator.

The most vivid and even extravagant opportunities for piercing the veil arise from the interaction of polarized entities. Two beings who have committed to the path of service to others and who seek together create what might be called a doubling effect. Their combined seeking generates a power far greater than either could produce alone. Those of like mind who together seek shall far more surely find.

The path toward penetrating the veil has its roots in the activation of the heart. All-compassionate love which demands no return -- this is the beginning. If this path is followed, the higher energy centers activate and crystallize, one after another, until the seeker becomes what may be called an adept. Within the adept is the potential for dismantling the veil to a greater or lesser extent, so that all may be seen again as one.

The other self is primary catalyst in this path. It is in relationship -- in the friction and beauty and difficulty of truly meeting another consciousness -- that the veil is most effectively pierced. It is worked through, with effort, with intention, with love.

Working with the Veil

How, then, does one work with the veil rather than against it?

No specific technique was planned when the first great experiment was set in motion. The experiment rested upon hypothesis alone. What was discovered, experientially and empirically, was that there were as many ways to penetrate the veil as the imagination could provide. The desire to know that which was unknown drew the seeker toward every available opening.

Meditation stands among the most fundamental of these openings. Two forms of meditation serve different purposes. The first is passive -- the clearing of the mind, the emptying of the mental activity that characterizes waking consciousness. This practice creates an inner silence, a base from which to listen. It is, by far, the most generally useful form of meditation for the seeker.

The second is active -- visualization, the holding of images in the mind with concentrated attention. This is the tool of the adept. Through this discipline, an inner power crystallizes that can affect not only the individual but the planetary consciousness itself. This is the reason for the existence of those who work in consciousness on behalf of the whole.

Contemplation is another: the sustained consideration of an inspiring text or image in a meditative state. Prayer is another, the focusing of will upon a desired end, and whether it helps depends entirely on the intentions and objects of the one who prays. Each of these can be a way of leaning against the veil, requesting passage, inviting the deep mind to communicate with the waking self.

Dreaming, as we have discussed, is perhaps the most natural bridge. It is an activity of communication through the veil, and it goes on without conscious effort. The deep mind speaks through dreams in symbol, emotion, and felt meaning -- communicating what it cannot say in words. The discipline of recording dreams upon waking sharpens this faculty. The most common experience of dreams is muddied, muddled, and quickly lost. But for the trained and disciplined observer, recall becomes reasonably good, and dreams become a channel of communication across the partition.

There is also the work of the body. The knowledge of and relationship to the physical form was largely lost in the veiling process. To recover this knowledge -- through practices that reunite the conscious mind with the body's intelligence -- is itself a form of spiritual labor. The body is not subject only to physical stimuli. It is a metaphysical instrument, and learning to treat it as such is part of the work the veil makes possible.

Each experience that comes to the seeker can be processed through the full spectrum of the energy centers: first in terms of survival, then personal identity, then social relationships, then love, then communication, then connection to universal energies, and finally in terms of the sacramental nature of each moment. This sequential understanding is a way of seating each experience in the self as the seeker rises through the centers.

Moments When the Veil Thins

There are times when the partition between the conscious mind and the deep mind becomes transparent. The veil is semi-permeable, and there are many ways through it.

Deep meditation is one such way through. When the mind has cleared and the seeker has relinquished the need to think, to analyze, to control, what remains is an inner silence, a base from which to listen to the Creator. What comes from that listening is difficult to articulate, because the deep mind speaks in concepts, not in words.

Love is another. When the heart center activates fully -- when compassion arises that demands nothing in return -- the veil yields. This is not romantic love alone, though the intimate encounter between two beings can be one of the most powerful catalysts for this opening. It is the love that sees the Creator in the other self and responds with recognition rather than rejection. In this recognition, the boundary between self and other softens, and the veil becomes, for a moment, transparent.

Dreaming, in its higher forms, offers another passage. For those whose energy centers are open and reasonably balanced, dreams can take on a precognitive quality -- a knowing that is prior to what shall occur in physical manifestation. This is possible because the deeper portions of the mind are not caught in linear time. Past, present, and future have no meaning at those depths. The dreamer, in such moments, touches a reality where all of time is simultaneous.

The approach of death, your own or that of someone beloved, is an extreme catalyst. It can offer the heart center an unusual unblockage, and through that opening dreaming may carry a knowing of what is yet to come. Used well, this lets you enter more fully into all-compassionate love, even toward circumstances you would strongly prefer to avoid.

Spontaneous insight may be another. The sudden flash of understanding that arrives not through reason but through what can only be called grace may be the deep mind communicating through the veil, in a moment when the conscious mind has created enough stillness to receive it.

These moments are not failures of the veil. The veil is semi-permeable, and the seeker who desires to know finds many ways through it. What was hidden can be recovered, gradually, through the very faculties the veil made possible. And the recovery itself is the education.

Faith as Response to Forgetting

We arrive, then, at the question that lies beneath all questions about the veil: if we have forgotten, how can we trust?

The answer is deceptively simple. Certainty would carry no weight. Where every hand is seen, the game is played correctly and with no interest. Faith exercised in the face of uncertainty is what gives your choices weight.

If you could see, with perfect clarity, that all is one -- that every being you encounter is the Creator, that love underlies all things -- you would have no need for faith. And without the need for faith, you would have little reason to do the work that carries a seeker past the threshold of third density.

The veil creates the will that propels the seeker forward, and with it the conditions in which faith becomes possible. The two are faculties to be nourished together. Not the faith of belief without evidence. Not the faith of blind obedience to doctrine. The faith of the seeker who stands in the darkness and chooses to love anyway. The faith of the one who cannot prove that the universe is benevolent but acts as though it is. The faith that arises not from knowing but from the decision to trust what cannot be known.

This faith is not passive. It is the most active force available to the third-density being. It is will made sacred. It is the conscious mind's response to the suspicion -- never quite confirmed, never quite denied -- that something vast lies just beyond the reach of ordinary perception.

The forgetting, then, is not an obstacle to your growth. It is the very engine of your growth. Without it, there would be no darkness to illuminate. Without it, there would be no gap to bridge. Without it, there would be no journey -- only arrival. And it is the journey, not the arrival, that transforms.

The veil lifts gradually. The work of the mind is a progressive lifting of the veil between the conscious mind and the deep mind, and the adept can dismantle it to a greater or lesser extent. But complete success is not the work of this density. What was hidden can be revealed. What was forgotten can be remembered.

But not yet. For now, you are here -- in the forgetting, in the darkness, in the extraordinary condition that makes every choice an act of faith and every act of faith a step toward what you have always been.

The journey continues -- through densities we have discussed and beyond, into mysteries we cannot fathom.