It was already on the shelf.
Field Notes of Rahgah 20260921-20260927 - Retrospective
The sixth spread of Field Notes of Rahgah.
This spread was supposed to be about the double leaving the bed. It turned out to be about the difference between what I make and what I’m given, and how long I’ve been confusing the two.
Three things went on the record this week, and none of them were particularly new. The outline I saw rising out of my own body was left out of the 2025 account. The white beam that opened my chakras crown to root, then the rumble that charged them root to crown, sat in the drafts for fourteen months.
The two birches and dark water I blanked on while building a compoint, a communication point, were on the cover of a book on my shelf since childhood and are already in my artist mark. Each was shown to me in full, and each I trimmed, shelved, or forgot to reach for. Not one of them was missing, just filed under things I hadn’t decided were good enough yet.
This instrument doesn’t generate from thin air, unfortunately really. It finds a form and works from it, the same way I draw: find the form, reproduce it, adjust, repeat. I just hadn’t applied that to the practice yet.
When handed an open assignment, make something uniquely you, the mind sampled everything and committed to nothing: a half dozen half-worked scenes, if you can even call them that. Handed a reference, and it works. The outline in the panel comes from the one sighting I have, and the beam ran in exactly the order Dick Sutphen’s track had already put in me.
This aspect is a however a double-edged knife. In July of last year, I decided to stop asking what my energy body looks like and made the decision to see myself as a point of awareness instead. Every time I’ve projected since, I’ve looked for hands, for arms, for anything where a body should be, and found nothing. The environment always renders fine, I do not.
Same engine, same rule, different input: handed a template of nothing, it rendered nothing faithfully. What I was shown from the outside, an outline, I set aside for nearly two years. What I decided from the inside, a point, I installed everywhere immediately. The instrument does what it’s given, and I’ve been giving it my decisions instead of my sightings.
None of this week’s best was done by me. I didn’t follow along with the chakras, I didn’t visualize, and I used to say, out loud and with some pride, that they were made-up nonsense. “Do you really believe that stuff?” I’d scoff and look sideways at well-meaning friends if they brought it up.
The white strobe flash in F12 showed up after gratitude and during non-verbal practice, never at random, like grown dogs barking every time the puppy with sealed eyes gets something right. I can’t see who’s there but I can tell that they mean well.
So the fix isn’t to think harder about what’s uniquely me, it’s to pick a reference that already is. The compoint gets the birches: two trunks, a gap, black water beyond, put in words first the way I’d write a panel, the image arriving last as confirmation.
And please, always remember the golder rule of successful visualization: Immerse yourself in it, but also absolutely don’t (no take, only throw).
The three narration lines say it in order: Keep the shape you were shown; Let the charge run its course; The fall is not a decision. The hero is down for the count on the bed while the outline separates and heads for a spiral on the floor, the console reads seven glyphs from root to crown, and he goes through the portal still wearing that same ol’ mustache.
In the last spread, nobody went anywhere. On this one, someone does, in a form he was shown rather than one he decided on.
Through The Week of 20260921-20260927
https://perceptindex.substack.com/p/no-take-only-throw https://perceptindex.substack.com/p/the-current-runs-its-course https://perceptindex.substack.com/p/the-missing-detail