Today, I found myself staring at a book in my hands, not just seeing words but feeling the pulsing energy beneath them. It dawned on me—what if reading wasn’t just an act of gathering knowledge but something much more profound? What if each page was a portal to a new state of consciousness, encoded with invisible maps leading to expanded awareness?

As I flipped through the pages, I imagined myself tuning into different frequencies—like a psychic who scans unseen dimensions. The beta world is the one most people live in—rushing to extract facts, analyzing line by line, missing the whispers between the words. But what happens when we slow down, when we allow ourselves to slip into an alpha state, where the edges of awareness blur, and intuition gently takes the reins?

It felt like stepping into a dream where stories came alive. The characters, symbols, and ideas in the book seemed to pulse with life, as though they had always existed in some subtle dimension, waiting for someone to unlock them. I let my feelings guide me through the text, not in a linear fashion but like a wanderer exploring a vast, interconnected landscape. It was like following a melody through a forest—faint notes pulling me deeper into the mystery.

The more I tuned in, the more I understood that this act of reading wasn’t isolated. It mirrored the way artists create and psychics read energy. Artists, after all, don’t paint or write in straight lines. They channel impressions from the ether, giving form to emotions, sensations, and truths that defy explanation. Psychics, too, receive fragments—symbols, feelings, visions—and weave them into narratives others can understand. They are, in essence, conceptual architects, just as readers become when they immerse themselves fully in a book's encoded state.

The act of creating or receiving in this way is not so different from walking through different rooms of your mind, each room resonating with a unique frequency. There’s the theta room, dimly lit and filled with dreams and visions, where symbols swim like schools of fish in an ocean of possibility. Then there’s the gamma burst, that sudden flash of insight when disparate ideas converge like stars aligning in a night sky.

What if reading itself could train these states? Could reading intentionally—immersively—enhance psychic abilities? I imagine a reader so attuned to these states they can feel the emotional resonance of a sentence vibrating in their chest. Through this emotional encoding, they not only understand the text—they become it, embodying its lessons as lived experience. Isn’t that what psychics do? They feel truth into form, crafting metaphors that bypass logic and strike the heart directly.

Art plays a similar role. It is a nonlinear language, a web of impressions that speaks in the language of the soul. Just like a story, a painting might reveal itself in layers depending on how deeply you tune in. I wonder—do artists naturally slip into these states when they create? Do they enter a trance where time bends and the unconscious pours through their hands like water shaping clay?

And if art and reading are mirrors, perhaps we are all capable of becoming multidimensional readers—not just of books, but of reality itself. Imagine waking each morning and reading the world as though it were a great work of art, each moment encoded with meaning waiting to be deciphered. Would that not open doors to greater intuition, creativity, and awareness?

I tried something new today—a reading exercise. I let intuition guide me through a book, jumping between pages based on what felt most alive. At first, my mind resisted—"This isn’t how reading is supposed to work," it said. But soon, I noticed connections forming across the text. Themes echoed back and forth like conversations between chapters, revealing patterns I would have missed through logical progression alone.

It was as if I were dancing with the book, letting it lead me into its hidden rhythms. And when I stepped away, I felt different. I wasn’t just filled with knowledge but with a new state of being, as though the book had gently reshaped the contours of my mind. This is self-encoding—the act of allowing experiences, symbols, and knowledge to weave themselves into the fabric of your consciousness.

The thought excites me. Could this practice awaken dormant abilities within me? Could I become more attuned to symbolic language, to the intuitive currents beneath daily life? Could I, through this exploration, learn to craft my reality with greater intentionality?

Tonight, as I close my eyes, I’ll let these thoughts drift into my dreams. Maybe I'll visit that theta room again, where books are living beings, and stories speak directly to the heart. Perhaps the next time I pick up a book, I’ll hear its whispers more clearly, feel its encoded truths more deeply.

Reading is no longer just a skill—it's becoming an art form, a ritual, a way to touch the unseen and bring it to life.

omorrow, I’ll try it again, this time with a new text, perhaps poetry. I’m curious to see what happens when I let the text read me.

For now, though, I’ll rest in the mystery...