Last night, as the world quieted and my mind softened into the unknown, a voice rose from the silence.
"Go to Muir Forest tomorrow," it whispered—not a command, but an invitation. A gentle nudge from something that simply knows. It spoke of a destination at the end of a trail, where an energy vortex had formed. No explanations, no details—just a simple request:
"Bring selenite."
"You will find it on the way."
And so, I set out, heart open, steps light, trusting the unseen currents that guide us to what is already waiting. Sure enough, a crystal shop appeared along my path, as if it had always been there, waiting for me to notice.
The moment I stepped inside, my spirit recognized the call before my mind could catch up. Among the shimmering stones, the selenite stood out—not just any selenite, but pieces that felt like luminous gateways, as if something ancient was remembering itself through them.
The shopkeeper, a woman with a quiet presence, kept saying, "It looks like a screen." I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle deep inside me. One piece in particular was different—translucent, like a window into another world.
I didn’t know why I needed them, nor what awaited me in the forest. I only knew I was being led.
Muir Forest, a sanctuary of towering ancient ones, welcomed me with its stillness. The redwoods stood like elders, their presence vast yet intimate, speaking a language only the heart understands.
I followed the unseen path, arriving at Bridge Number 4. Then, a whisper:
"Turn left."
And just like that, the people around me faded away. One moment, the forest was full of life; the next, I was alone. The hush deepened. The air thickened with something unspoken. I walked and walked, until I felt the call to stop.
At the threshold of an invisible doorway, I prepared the ceremonial space. The three selenite pieces—so much like screens (the holographic ones in the Halls of Records?!)—found their place within the sacred geometry of the moment. As I arranged them, the energy around me shifted.
A wave of remembrance moved through me. This was more than a moment—it was a convergence of past, present, and future. I knew then: this activation was connected to the Halls of Amenti—the living library of wisdom, where knowledge from long-lost civilizations still pulses like an eternal heartbeat.
The selenite screens before me were more than stone. They were reflections of something vast, crystalline memories encoded in light. As I gazed at them, images began to unfold—lost civilizations, luminous records suspended in time, entire histories whispering through the fabric of the unseen.
I fell into a deep trance. I cannot recall what was revealed beyond the veil of waking consciousness. I only know that something vast, something sacred, had shifted.
Then came the final instruction:
"Throw one of the crystals into the valley."
Without hesitation, I obeyed, letting it fall into the embrace of the earth below. A quiet sense of completion washed over me, and with it, the words arose:
"The screens have been reactivated. The doors to Amenti are now open."
The work was not yet complete. The two remaining crystals had their own destinations:
One was to journey to Yosemite, where another activation awaited.
The other belonged to Mount Shasta, a beacon of ascension and light.
A new energy grid is forming, weaving ancient wisdom into the present. The Earth’s living memory is stirring.
The Halls of Amenti are not just myth or legend—they are alive, a breathing record of who we are, where we have been, and what we are becoming. Through these activations, we are not just remembering the past—we are reawakening the future.
And so, with quiet reverence, I left the forest, knowing the journey had only just begun. The trees whispered their blessings, the earth hummed with resonance, and the unseen currents carried the light of what had been restored.
The doors are open. The path continues. 
For support, individual sessions and transmissions, you will find Octavia here: https://www.holographicyou.com/1on1 
Love and Gratitude.
Love and Gratitude. 
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