SNOOZE: Initiation, Totem Animals, Sacred Masculinity & Sound Healing

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Sol Luckman

I’m thrilled to report that my new novel, SNOOZE: A STORY OF AWAKENING, continues to garner rave reviews!

SNOOZE is many things. But first and foremost, it’s a spiritual adventure centered on a psychically gifted boy who uses his developing lucid dreaming abilities to travel to a parallel reality to rescue his astronaut father who is marooned there.

After SNOOZE received an Honorable Mention in the 2014 Beach Book Festival Prize competition in the general fiction category,, offering its highest rating, said this of the book: “It was deep, it was humorous and it left nothing to be desired.”

Readers’ Favorite followed this enthusiastic review with a five-star one of its own. Writes author and reviewer Suzanne Cowles,

“Luckman’s dazzling abilities as a novelist abound with lyrical prose … Although [SNOOZE] chronicles a boy’s transition into manhood, I would not consider it young adult. The provocative subject matter of science and spirituality is very mature … If you enjoy colorful characters, a fast-paced plot and stories that tug at your heart, this novel in eighty-four chapters is anything but a yawn.”

Author and reviewer Ingrid Hall called SNOOZE “one of the best coming-of-age, awakening books that I have ever read,” while Merry Hall, Co-Host of ENVISION THIS, described SNOOZE as “a book for readers ready to awaken from our mass cultural illusion.”

[url=]Read Reviews[/url]Check out more reviews here. Read or download the first 80 pages of SNOOZE here.

Readers whose initial interest might be or have been my bestselling health and wellness nonfiction should note that SNOOZE incorporates numerous timely body-mind-spirit themes, as you can read for yourself in this new article as well as in the excerpt from the novel below.
A metaphysical mind-blower for young adult and young-at-heart readers, SNOOZE has many affinities with such works of fiction and cinema as A WRINKLE IN TIME, THE CELESTINE PROPHECY, AVATAR and THE MATRIX.

In the three chapters from Part Three (of Four) available here, my protagonist, Max Diver, is being trained in utilizing spiritual energy by his alter ego, Maxwallah from the Otherworld of dreams, in the ancient ruins of Muru-amah.

Themes touched on in these chapters include:

• Personal initiation

• Activating the occult powers known as the siddhis

• The right use of power (the Sacred Masculine)

• The evolution of human consciousness

• Totem animals and animal medicine

• Sensing and working with subtle energy

• The role of the heart in healing and transformation

• Intuition and surrender

• Sacred cosmology and mythology

• The oneness of creation

• Free will

• The primal force of sound

• The power of positive feeling

Not bad content for only a handful of pages from a mere piece of “fiction.”

Read on to see if SNOOZE … resonates with you—and sweet dreams!

The two companions strolled past the cherry trees and turned into the little alleyway that led past Zana’s elk. It was still there, stinking up the place, high in the lone tree atop the hill.

Leaving the stench behind without remark, Maxwallah led Max down another alley that twisted and turned—until it opened up to reveal a steaming pool of water of considerable size carved by the elements out of solid rock. “What is this place?” asked Max.

“This was the Sacred Pool of the Heywah. Beautiful, is it not?”

“It’s gorgeous. And practical. It’s a hot spring, right?”

“Indeed. It is fed by thermal waters from beneath the mountain.”

“So can we bathe in it? I haven’t had a shower since I got to time-space.”

“Eventually, yes, we will bathe. But first, we must initiate your training with ceremony.”

“What kind of ceremony?”

“Take off your clothes and you will see.”

“You want me to take off my clothes here in broad daylight?”

“Trust me, Maxwell. I have seen you naked every time I have seen myself without raiment.”

Reluctantly, not without wincing in the morning chill, Max removed his poncho, jeans, and boots. These Maxwallah set on the ground well away from the water alongside his backpack—from which he removed a long, slender object.

“Why do you carry an extra machete around in your pack?” asked Max.

Ignoring this question, Maxwallah offered him the sword in its scabbard by the carved bone hilt. Max accepted and unsheathed the obsidian blade, which glinted and seemed rather sharp. “This is just like your sword.”

“Not just like. The carving on your handle is a lunar motif, while that on mine features a solar design.”

My handle? You mean you’re giving me this?”

“It is said among my people that a blade selects its wielder. In a sense, I am merely making it possible for you to have what has already chosen you.”

“But you made this sword, didn’t you?”

“I crafted it, yes. Just as my teacher made my sword for me—and as perhaps someday you will make one for your student.”

“Thanks. But I don’t know the first thing about sword making.”

“Neither did I.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Use it. I will make you a belt with your hide shirt so you can wear it.”

“I really appreciate this, Maxwallah. But why are you giving it to me now? I thought we were going to have a ceremony.”

Maxwallah smiled and took the sword back from Max. “The ceremony has already begun. You have accepted the blade that I will now use to sever the ties that bind you to who you were and keep you from becoming who you are to be.”

“Just don’t cut my silver cord.”

“Do not worry.”

Max shivered in the bracing air as Maxwallah moved around him in circles symbolically severing his bonds to the past from head to toe. Setting the blade on its sheath on top of Max’s poncho, he produced a hunk of what looked like amber from his backpack and held it in his right hand blowing on it until it began to smoke.

Max smelled the familiar, copal-like scent of the resin from the luminous piñon trees down the mountain. He realized his twin was heating the hardened sap in his palm so that it burned like incense. “That’s pretty cool,” said Max. “Are you going to teach me how to do that?”

“This is not about parlor tricks, Maxwell. The kali-kalu are not ends in themselves—but only and always means to a greater end.”

“What are the kali-kalu?”

“Special abilities that derive from manipulating the energy of space—or in your world, the energy of time.”

“You mean like the Hindu siddhis? Levitation, telekinesis, that sort of thing?”



“Perhaps, perhaps not.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“An eager student of the kali-kalu, or inner arts, once pursued them for the wrong reasons. Rather than wanting power to help the world, he desired power for itself.”

“What happened?”

“The climate where he lived was extremely wet. In order to show the people he had acquired power, and to make everyone revere him, he caused the rain to disappear. But this only brought drought to the land—and soon people everywhere, starving, fell to cursing his name.”

“I think I get what you’re driving at.”

“Do you?” Maxwallah began walking in circles again while blowing across the resin and smudging Max with incense. The smoke smelled wonderful but stung his eyes.

“I believe so,” replied Max, blinking. “You’re saying that in order to properly wield this kind of power, one must be willing to give it up rather than do harm.”

“That is precisely the point. You might imagine that I practice physical training such as you saw me doing at the fountain because I desire to defeat my opponents?”

“Well, certainly, you don’t want to be beaten by them.”

“Of course not. But if you believe having power means to have someone to ‘beat’ in the first place, you are already on a slippery slope. The straight path to power is to embrace the Circle of Life to such an extent that one cannot be effectively opposed by anyone or anything. Real power, the genuine variety, carries with it the responsibility to stand up in benevolent defense of all creatures.”

Max thought of the physician’s pledge, so often ignored in the medicine of his world, to “first do no harm.” “What about evil beings?” he asked.

“If by ‘evil’ you mean those who choose to ignore the Circle of Life for selfish reasons, one with power must endeavor to neutralize their ability to do harm while—if at all possible—not harming them.”

“What about the wolves you shot?”

“Killing is only a last resort in defense or preservation of oneself or a loved one.”

“What about hunting animals for food?”

“That falls under preservation of oneself or a loved one.”

“Fair enough. But what is the Circle of Life, Maxwallah? I get that it’s connected to the Way of All Things—but I’m not sure how.”

What remained of the piñon resin was bubbling in Maxwallah’s palm. The heat from the smoldering incense didn’t seem to hurt or even bother him. He blew the last of the smoke over Max, then rubbed his hands together to remove what was left of the ashes. “I am afraid it is difficult to describe the Circle of Life in words. It is more effective to experience it before attempting to discuss it.”

“How do I go about experiencing it?”

“First, we must finish your purification. Then we can proceed to the Cave of Origins.”

“Proceed to what?”

“Language is so much fluff at this stage. We must go deeper. Literally!”

With this last word, Maxwallah unexpectedly pushed Max into the Sacred Pool. Max barely had time to inhale before he was surrounded by bath-like water and air bubbles. Sputtering while shaking the water out of his hair, he resurfaced and attempted to climb out.

He was greeted at the lip of the waterhole by the tip of his own obsidian sword in Maxwallah’s hand.

“Quit joking around,” he said. “I’d like to get out and dry off.”

“You said you wanted to bathe. Now bathe.”



“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t even stand up. The pool’s really deep.”

“That should present no obstacle to a dolphin. Just remember: where there is a will, there is a Way.”

“Is that ‘Way’ with a capital?”

“It is if you can follow it.”

Max stared up at his twin, who still brandished the sword menacingly to keep him from climbing out.

Rather than getting angry, intuiting this must be part of his training, he reflected on Maxwallah’s last statement while treading water. To follow the Way, or the Way of all Things, was to follow the energy. So where was the energy?

Sensing a subtle current of energy rising up from below, Max took a deep breath and allowed himself to sink beneath the water’s steaming surface. As he drifted down and down in the stillness of the Sacred Pool, he imagined he heard a high-pitched note like that of a dolphin whistling.

The farther he sank, the louder the note grew—until he realized in an epiphany it emanated from his heart. It wasn’t exactly his heartbeat; rather, the note seemed to be the driving force behind his heartbeat. It was—he grasped in another profound insight—the sound of his heart speaking.

Diver down, it seemed to say. Diver down, diver down, diver down, diver down.

Suddenly, a faint, greenish light turned on in the depths of darkness under Max’s feet. At the same time, the upwelling energy grew palpably stronger.

Instinctively, before his head could dissuade him from what his heart told him to do, he curled into a fetal position, spun a hundred and eighty degrees vertically, and dived straight toward the light with a series of powerful kicks.

The light grew brighter as he plumbed the depths of the Sacred Pool. Just as he was on the verge of running out of breath, he swam through a shimmering membrane—at which point, fantastically, he fell through the air and splashed into a bed of glowing moss.

Sucking for breath, he looked up to see the water of the Sacred Pool suspended in swirling patterns atop the translucent membrane half a dozen feet overhead. Max had entered the Cave of Origins, but how he would exit it was anybody’s guess.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry long. Within minutes an equally naked Maxwallah passed through the membrane and landed with a flop beside him on the illuminated moss. “Fancy meeting you here,” said Max. “I thought you were going to toss me in water only if I set myself on fire.”

Maxwallah, still sopping and breathing hard, stared sideways at his twin with a mischievous grin. “It worked, did it not?”

“If you mean it made me find the Cave of Origins, I guess so.” When Maxwallah only laughed, Max said, “What’s so funny?”

“It did more than make you find the Cave of Origins.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

“Let us review what just occurred after I pushed you in the water.”

“So you can gloat?”

“So you can understand better.”

“Fair enough.”

“What was your first act after you realized I was not going to let you climb out of the Sacred Pool?”

“I sort of … surrendered.”

“Surrendered to what, exactly?”

“To following the energy.”

“Did you attempt to control the energy?”

“No. I didn’t even think about that. I just … felt it.”

“Good. Then what did you do?”

“I allowed myself to sink.”

“Were you afraid?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“I immediately heard an odd noise.”

“A noise?”

“A high-pitched tone. Like a dolphin whistling. That was my innate tone, wasn’t it?”

Maxwallah smiled again. “Obviously. What happened next?”

Max reflected on the subsequent phase of his descent into the Cave of Origins. “It seemed the tone was coming from my heart. It struck me as a type of language.”

“The language of the heart?”

“Cheesy, but—yes.”

“What did your heart say?”

“It kept repeating ‘diver down.’”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you dive down?”

“Of course. But first, there was a light. From the moss, I think. The next thing I knew, I swam through the membrane and fell. I sure didn’t see that coming. It’s a good thing I didn’t break my neck.”

“It is a good thing I did not bury you alive.”

“Bury me … alive?”

“Some initiations require it.”

“Is that what this is: an initiation?”

“Something like that. Call it the initiation of your initiation.”


“In any case, luck was with you. Upon review, Maxwell, has this experience become clear?”

“Clear as mud.”

“Then I will tell you a story.”

“Another story?”

“Humor me. In the beginning, before the birth of stars and planets, and before the first day was followed by the first night, Great Spirit sat alone in contemplation of his loneliness.”

“Been there, done that.”

“Great Spirit dreamed of not being alone, but he also realized—powerful as he was—that he could not end his loneliness by force of will. To do so would create mere slaves to his will with no will of their own. Thus his first act was to surrender his will in order to follow the energy of creation wherever it wished to go. Sound familiar?”

“Maybe a little. Go on.”

“Great Spirit became a servant of the energy, not its master, and in so doing left a blueprint for all of his children—born of freely flowing energy—to follow.”

“You’re talking about the Way of All Things!”

“Precisely. The Way of All Things is to follow the energy wherever it takes us. Only by doing so can we retrace the energy all the way back to our origins in Great Spirit.”

“So is this where the Cave of Origins comes in?”

“Almost. As soon as Great Spirit began to follow the energy, he heard a sound.”

“His innate tone?”

“You have a sharp mind, Maxwell. His was the original note out of which all other notes grew to form the Circle of Life. The music welling up in Great Spirit’s heart was cyclical—like his heartbeat—and spoke of the oneness at the heart of creation.”

“Is that why you once told me that everything is one?”


“And is it also why you greet others by saying you see yourself in them?”

“Very astute. Greeting others as ourselves reminds us there is really only Great Spirit. For from Great Spirit’s innate tone, uttered in surrender and love, emerged a vast universe like an endless cavern centered on and powered by the energy of his heart.”

“The Cave of Origins?”

“The Cave of Origins. And into the Cave of Origins flowed the notes of Great Spirit’s heartsong to give life and consciousness to all things.”

Max sorted through the pieces of Maxwallah’s puzzle of creation. “Unless I’m missing something,” he said finally, “the Cave of Origins is the universe—which is actually the heart of the creator.”

“You did not miss anything.”

“But that would mean the Cave of Origins doesn’t really exist—not in a single location like this place, anyway.”

“Think of it this way: the Cave of Origins is everywhere and nowhere.”

“Everywhere and nowhere?”

“It is everywhere the heart is—and nowhere the heart is not.”

“That’s mind-blowing.”

“The mind cannot begin to grasp it. Only the heart has any chance of coming to terms with the mysteries of creation in which it played a pivotal role.”

“How did you learn all this?”

“I had an excellent teacher.” Maxwallah smiled again. “Do not attempt to understand what I am saying with your head. That is like trying to control the energy. Simply feel it with your heart. By surrendering, you create space for the answer to manifest.”

“The answer to what?”

“The question in your heart.”

In fact, there was a question there—as if in a lockbox waiting to be opened—that Max hadn’t dared to ask. He had been so programmed through cultural conditioning to believe God and humans were separate that just asking the question seemed sacrilegious.

Seated in glowing moss in a supernatural cave with who knew how many tons of hot water suspended precariously overhead, Max concentrated on just breathing and paying attention to the energy.

In his mind’s eye, he watched the energy emanating from his own heart and radiating outward to the cave’s overgrown floor, stone walls, and membranous ceiling. It was as if the Cave of Origins … originated from inside him!

I did this, didn’t I?” he asked in astonishment. “I created the Cave of Origins with my innate tone?”

Maxwallah beamed. “Yes. Though if I may say so, I am helping sustain it.”

“But I thought Great Spirit made the Cave of Origins.”

“Great Spirit lives in and through all things—or he does not live at all.”

“You’re saying I’m Great Spirit?”

“You are an aspect of Great Spirit, Maxwell. Just as I am. And just as all things are. How could it be otherwise—if all things exist inside his heart?”

“Do you have an innate tone?”

“Naturally. All things do.”

“Is everyone’s innate tone … different?”

“Since there are only so many audible notes to go around, no. But the application of one’s note is always individualized. The innate tone is the beginning of personal power. Discovering it represents the first step in our journey back to our larger identity in Great Spirit.”

“What does your tone sound like?”

Without skipping a beat, relaxing his face and dropping his jaw, Maxwallah produced a bass note oddly reminiscent of a raven’s croaking. The light in the moss suddenly grew brighter—and for the first time Max saw the tattoo over his twin’s heart. “That’s strange. I’ve seen a tattoo just like yours before.”


“On some guy’s arm in the town where I grew up. It’s a raven with the sun in its beak, isn’t it?”


“When did you get it?”

“When I completed my training.”

“I imagine there’s a story about giving light to the world associated with it?”

“There is indeed. Would you like to hear it?”

“Why not.”

“I will share it with you. But then we must continue our training.”

Maxwallah paused as if remembering some event in the remote past. “Among Great Spirit’s first creations were two brothers: Black Thunderbird and Star Mirror. The two brothers were like oil and water—yet together, they created the universe. Black Thunderbird focused on organic life; Star Mirror was interested in inorganic things. Black Thunderbird loved flight and freedom, while Star Mirror’s temperament was like that of the ocean: treacherous and given to reflecting the world in a distorted fashion.”

“I take it the two had a falling out?”

“You could say that. Being the younger brother, Star Mirror was jealous of Black Thunderbird and always sought to undermine his plans. When Star Mirror fashioned the earth, on which Black Thunderbird planned to foster life, he intentionally kept our sun for himself in his own solar system far across the stars.”

“Didn’t his solar system already have a sun?”

“Of course. Now he had two suns. When it came time to initiate life on our planet, this did not sit well with Black Thunderbird, who devised an ingenious scheme to remedy the situation.”

“Let me guess: he transformed into a raven.”

“That he did. Black Thunderbird could not gain access to his brother’s world in his own form. But aware of Star Mirror’s penchant for ravens, which were known to be great medicine animals conveying magical power, he changed into an enormous raven and was permitted to enter Star Mirror’s world—whereupon he stole one of his brother’s suns and flew back to our solar system with it in his beak.”

“Nice story.”

“It is not finished. Things did not go exactly according to plan.”

“What happened?”

“Black Thunderbird mistakenly stole the sun intended to illuminate Star Mirror’s world, leaving behind the sun meant for our world. Thus the worlds of Black Thunderbird and Star Mirror—even though opposites in most ways—will always be connected.”

“Sounds like a mythological retelling of Reciprocal Theory.”

“What is Reciprocal Theory?”

“A scientific explanation of how the realms of time and space interrelate.”

“Fascinating. But enough chitchat. Our air will run out if we do not hurry. Are you ready to learn to create light like Black Thunderbird?”

“I assume this involves using my innate tone?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Sure. This should be interesting.”

“It took me seven revolutions around the sun, Maxwell, to learn what I hope to teach you in just a few revolutions of the earth.”“You’re not exactly helping my stress levels talking like that.”

“Fortunately, you have already experienced the energy in ways most could neither imagine nor survive. And your training should be further enhanced by the venue, Muru-amah itself, which means ‘place of energy currents.’”

“Do you really think being here will ease my learning curve?”

“It has already done so. You discovered your innate tone and found the Cave of Origins on your first try. It took me half a dozen attempts.”

“That’s encouraging”

“It certainly is. Now, Maxwell, when working with the energy, it is critical—I cannot emphasize this enough—that you always begin in an attitude of surrender and love.”

“Like Great Spirit?”

“Like Great Spirit.”

How do I do that exactly? It sounds like being blissed out on command.”

“That is precisely what it is. And because this can be difficult, especially during times of stress, you must establish a default memory that elicits feelings of surrender and love whenever you tap into it.”

“Could you give me a little more to work with? I’m not sure we’re on the same page.”

“The default memory should be of a time when your fate was in someone else’s hands, so to speak, yet you simultaneously felt great love in your heart.”

“Do you have a default memory?”

“Of course.”

“What is it?”

Maxwallah sighed wistfully with a faraway look. “When I was a toddler, my father would ride me on his horse by setting me in front of him. The steed was so strong and fast, and I was so tiny and weak, all I could do was surrender with the wind in my face and my father’s arm holding me. I surrendered so totally, and loved so completely, that I kicked and screamed whenever the ride finished and my father handed me down to my mother. Does this help?”

“Thanks. It helps a lot.”

“Have you identified your default memory?”

“I think so.”

“Would you mind sharing it with me?”

“Not at all. There’s just one problem.”

“What sort of problem?”

“I’m afraid maybe it’s an impossibility.”

“A default memory does not have to be factual to be effective, but it must resonate deeply.”

“This one resonates … literally. It’s my earliest memory—assuming it actually happened. I was in my mother’s womb.”

“Her … womb?”

“I realize I’m not supposed to be able to remember that far back. But then again, I’m not supposed to be able to do a lot of things.”

“What is the memory?”

“A sound. I recall a sound. A mid-range note. It must have been my mother’s innate tone! She was humming it. Its vibrations were everywhere, even in me. I was helpless, of course, being a fetus. But at the same time, I knew I was incredibly loved—and I felt myself returning and amplifying that love.”

A single tear wobbled down Max’s cheek. “I never knew my mother,” he said.

“Oh, but I think you did.”

“Do you believe my memory will work?”

“It should work beautifully. Consider how intense emotion has activated your latent abilities just since your arrival here.”

Max mentally replayed his fear that led to telepathy during his nearly disastrous river crossing; his elation from his dream of Tuesday and Raul that preceded his levitating a stone; and his profound compassion that allowed him to heal Zana’s wound.

“Emotions exist on an energetic spectrum,” continued Maxwallah. “The more loving the emotion, the more powerful it is—and the more capable you become of utilizing it to access the energy productively and safely.”

“So far I’m following you.”

“Good. Once you have recalled your default memory to establish the proper attitude of loving surrender, you are ready to introduce your innate tone.”

“How do I do that?”

“In one of two ways. Either you can vocalize it, as your mother did while carrying you, or you can simply hear it in your mind. Whichever way you choose, be sure to maintain the positive emotion generated by your default memory while introducing your tone.”

“Is it better to utter the tone aloud or hear it mentally?”

“There is no better. It is simply a matter of preference. Some beginning students find it easier to make the sound while working with the energy. I did not.”

“I’m with you. I think the silent approach would be less distracting.”

“It is not silent if you hear the tone in your mind.”

“True. So what do I do after I introduce my innate tone?”

“You allow the Cave of Origins to open inside your heart.”

Suddenly, Max recalled the vortex bridging the cosmic and material sectors that formed inside his chest when Zana was dying.

“Yes,” commented Maxwallah, reading his twin’s mind. “That was the Cave of Origins.”

“Wow. I just made the connection. What went wrong? Why did I nearly melt myself?”

“You created it with compassion, which is a high-frequency emotion—but there was fear as well, which lowered your vibration. Also, you did not use your innate tone to generate the Cave of Origins. Without the tone, there was no way to create the internal resonance necessary for directing the energy out of your body without doing yourself harm.”

“But you said one must not try to direct the energy.”

“I said do not attempt to control it. The innate tone, working with principles of resonance, builds an internal framework over which the energy of space can travel without resistance into the realm of time—or vice versa.”

“I get it now. It’s like electrical wiring conducting electricity.”

“I am not familiar with your world’s technology. I prefer to think of water flowing through pipes unimpeded and without leaking using the force of levity.”

“Did you just say levity?”

“Yes. That is our word for the cohering force in nature.”

“That’s hilarious. We call it gravity.”

“That makes sense. After all, we are discussing the same energy moving in opposite directions.”

“So the water flowing through the pipes is the energy?”


“And the pipes lead from the heart, down the arm, and into the palm of the hand?”


“Why do your pipes lead to your right hand, while mine lead to my left hand?”

“Because you are gravity and I am levity.”

Max couldn’t help but chuckle. “You mean I am the head and you are the heart?”

“Only figuratively. The more prosaic explanation is that I am right-handed and you are left-handed.”

It suddenly dawned on Max that the statue in the fountain—with its otherwise identical figures fused back-to-back—perfectly depicted this opposite-handed dynamic. “So what do I do once the energy reaches my palm?”

“This is where the fun starts, but it can also be tricky. I hope you are good at multitasking.”

“You mean like chewing bubblegum and walking at the same time?”

“What is bubblegum?”

“Forget it. Yes. I’m decent at multitasking.”

“Excellent. While maintaining the emotion from your default memory, and still holding your innate tone in your mind, simply imagine the energy flowing from your palm and doing what you want it to do.”


“Or not so simply. It actually becomes simple with practice. But in the beginning, I admit, it can feel rather like juggling. Care to give it a try?”

“What should I try to do with the energy?”

“Start by creating a small light. Like this.”

Maxwallah leaned forward and blew across the moss. Instantly, the glow went out and the Cave of Origins turned pitch-black. Seconds later, a reddish light—enough to see by—appeared in his hand.

“That seemed easy enough,” said Max. “Why does your light have a slightly red tint?”

“Sound and light are closely related. My innate tone corresponds to a shade of red on the color spectrum. Now it is your turn.”

“You sure I won’t set myself on fire?”

Maxwallah rolled his eyes upward to indicate the Sacred Pool hovering above them. “Do not worry. My bucket of water is ready.”

“Okay. What the heck.”

Maxwallah’s light was extinguished and Max found himself in utter darkness again. Having summoned his default memory, with a sense of surrender and love infusing him, he heard the soprano note of his innate tone echoing in his mind.

Nothing happened at first. Then, in amazement, he watched as the Cave of Origins unfolded at the center of his heart like a rose blossoming in time-lapse photography.

His entire body, to his inner sight, glowed like a magical spider web with pulsing energy—which, as he merely observed without attempting to control it, quickly made its way along the web from his heart down his arm into his palm. “Light,” he thought—at which point a dazzling sphere like a miniature sun began to strobe in his hand.

“Turn it down,” instructed Maxwallah, squinting, “before you really do melt yourself.”

“Reading light,” specified Max aloud.

The strobing sun shrank to a small, steady bulb of sorts with a lavender hue.

“Better,” said Maxwallah.

“Why is my light purple?”

“Because your innate tone corresponds to violet.”


“Come again?”

“Basic science. ROYGBIV is a mnemonic for red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.”

“The colors of the rainbow?”

“We’re like bookends. You’re at one end of the visible spectrum with red—and I’m at the other with violet.”

“I cannot say I am surprised.”

“How did I do?”


“Do you honestly think I can learn to fly?”

“I know you can. I just do not know how quickly. How do you feel?”


“I told you you would need your strength. I imagine you are hungry as well?”

“You got that right. What are we going to have for lunch? I was thinking Mexican food.”

“We must see what the afternoon brings. But first, let us have a proper bath. I brought a bar of soap in my pack.”

“Are you joking?”

“Why would I be joking?”

“How do we get back up there from here?”

“We swim, dolphin. Now would be a good time to turn off your light to conserve your strength.”

Max did as directed.

“On the count of three,” continued Maxwallah, “join me in allowing the Cave of Origins to collapse on itself. And be sure to take a big breath.”


“One, two, three!”

Max breathed deeply just in time. The hot water from above crashed down in the darkness all around him—and suddenly he was kicking upward with everything he had.

He broke the water’s steaming surface just as Maxwallah did. The two grinned, then giggled, then splashed each other like kids. The morning fog had lifted; the sky was blue over the pines; and the day was already warm and getting warmer.

Copyright © Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.

Sol Luckman is a pioneering ink painter whose work has been featured on mainstream book covers and an award-winning author whose books include the international bestselling CONSCIOUS HEALING and its popular sequel, POTENTIATE YOUR DNA. His latest novel, SNOOZE: A STORY OF AWAKENING, winner of the 2015 National Indie Excellence® Award, is the riveting, coming-of-age tale of one extraordinary boy’s awakening to the world-changing reality of his dreams. Sol’s forthcoming book of humor and satire, THE ANGEL’S DICTIONARY: A SPIRITED GLOSSARY FOR THE LITTLE DEVIL IN YOU, will be published in 2016. Follow Sol on Facebook here and learn more about his work at


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