Through The Matrix A New Novel by Suzanne Lie and the Arcturians

5-19-18

Dear Readers,
I will be releasing one or two chapters at a time from my newest book called, "Through the Matrix." Please enjoy it as we see together how the storyline proceeds. 

THROUGH THE MATRIX

Introduction

To whomever may wish to read this journal,

My name is Lisa. My last name is not important. Besides, the story in this journal is so very unbelievable that I will not add my last name. I never thought of myself as any kind of an author, nor did I write the Journal about which I will speak.

Maybe I want to make sure that you know that none of the people in this book are me. On the other hand, every one of the people in this book have taught me something about my self. But enough of me. I will now continue with my Introduction, that is it will be an Introduction if I ever get the nerve to reveal how this one, small Journal changed my life…

I just moved into a new house. That is a “new house” to me, as the house is actually quite old. I inherited this house from my Grandmother who had lived there her entire life. The house is very big with many rooms, as well as a cellar and an attic. The cellar had far too many spiders, but as soon as I was settled in, I decided to explore the attic.

I climbed the small stairway, which was behind the mysterious locked door, for which I had finally found the key. It was an old fashioned key, an old fashioned keyhole, and an old fashioned door. Of course, my Grandmother cherished the house exactly as it had always been.

Therefore, outside of important repairs and appropriate painting, the house remained the way it had always been. I spent many summers at Grandma’s house, and searched vigilantly to find the key that I now held in my hand. The fact that Grandma never let me go into the attic only made me more and more anxious to enter it.

I am sorry that my Grandmother’s death is the reason why I could find the key that will, eventually, open the attic door. In fact, I have lived here every summer of my life. My parents were not too interested in raising their only child, me, so it was boarding school during the school year and Grandma’s house in the summer.

My mother had a nanny who sort of watched me when I wasn’t at Boarding School or Grandma’s house. However, the nanny was too expensive, so my parents dropped me off to live with my grandmother fulltime when I was only 8 years old.

They did not even wait for Grandma to open the door when they rushed off to wherever they went. I was never so relieved when Grandma’s smiling face welcomed me into her, which was now our, home. I lived there happily with Grandma until I went away to college.

Thank Heavens for Grandma, or my Mother would have put me in a Boarding School all year round. However, I should not speak ill of my parents as they died in a horrid car accident when I was only 13. Because I had such a history of living with my Grandmother, the state allowed me to continue living with her.

It was the happiest moment of my life when, at thirteen years of age, I knocked on Grandma’s door with all my cherished possessions in boxes beside me. My parents barely said good-by to me and rushed off to wherever they went the minute that Grandma opened her door. Somehow, I knew that this was the last time they would drop me off at my Grandma’s house, and that I would not see them again.

In fact, I was never so relieved than when I say Grandma’s smiling face welcomed me into her, which was now our, home. I lived there happily with Grandma until I went away to collage. I never saw my parents again.

I must say that my self-esteem was pretty damaged by my parents' behavior, but Grandma’s constant love made up for that. However, now, as a young woman, I was alone. Unfortunately, Grandma left this world just before I finished college, but she left her home and everything she had to me.

There was a bit of money in my inheritance, so I toured Europe for the summer after my graduation. I think it was too much for me to go to Grandma’s house and not find her waiting for me with a warm hug and freshly baked cookies. But, eventually, I had to go home to what was no longer Grandma’s home, but my house.

I must say that my self-esteem had been pretty damaged by my parent’s behavior, but Grandma had always made up for that. However, now, as a young woman, I was alone. That is accept for a very few friends from college and the memory of my beloved Grandmother.

Having Grandma’s house as MY house made me feel like I had I would always be close to her essence, as well as all my wonderful memories if being in her home. Now that home that I had always loved to visit, was MY home.

However, there I was, standing in front of the door, key in the lock, but hesitating to turn it. I knew that I would NOT smell the fresh baked cookies, or enjoy the other wonderful smells that always filled Grandma’s home. At least she had died suddenly, and in her beloved home. I am still guilty that I did not leave Europe to come to her funeral.

However, I had a very vivid dream the very night after she died in which she came to me and said, “I have asked in my will, which I have attached, that I be cremated. I ask that you do not leave your vacation to come to my cremation. I will come to you. Please allow me that final joy of showing you the lovely Lightbody that I now wear.”

 Sure enough, that very next evening, Grandma came to me in a body of Golden Light. The only thing she said was, “Beloved Granddaughter, I have left everything I had to you, and most important, I have left you the key to the attic.

“I love you so deeply that I want to tell you that I now know that life is eternal and death is an illusion. Therefore, my love for you is infinite. Please remember that I will always love unconditionally and beyond all space and time.”

I was very confused by the “beyond all space and time” comment, as that was not the way my Grandmother spoke. Nonetheless, the statement made me cry uncontrollably, but not just for sorrow. Instead, I cried for the great love that I had always felt from Grandma, and for the love I would always have for her.

CHAPTER ONE

Finding the Journal

When I first returned from Europe, I went to Grandma’s resting place with a huge bouquet of her favorite flowers. However, as I got closer and closer to her “resting place,” I knew that I would not be able to face her grave, so I turned the other way, away from the cemetery and away from what remained of my grandmother’s body.

Then, after a few months living in Grandma’s house, I was finally ready to go to her final resting place. I was very tempted to turn away again, but then I remembered the vision of her in a golden body, which gave me great comfort. Also, I wanted to thank her for all the money that she had left me.

I still wonder how an elder woman who never seemed to have a job could have so much money. My parents had been very tight with the money they gave me, and said it was because my Boarding School was so expensive. But, later, I learned that my Grandmother had paid for all my education, including Boarding School.

When I was in High School, I found out that Grandma was paying for my education. I tried many times to ask Grandma how she could afford to give me all that money, but she always said, “Don’t worry about it dear. It is all taken care of.”

I never found out what she meant by, “It is all taken care of,” but years later she was still able to leave quite a bit of many after she had passed on. It was this money that allowed me to go to Europe and still not have to work for quite a while.

Fortunately, I was smart enough to get a good money manager, who put me on a budget, or I might have blown through my money like my parents always did. I am now enrolled in graduate school, which will not start for quite a few months.

I made that decision, so I would have to go to graduate school, but I would have more time off to get me life together, which included focusing my attention on taking care of “my” house, the large yard, and exploring the “locked attic” that Grandma would never let me enter.

In fact, she even refused to talk about the attic, which gave it such a great sense of mystery that made me want to enter it even more. Then, the other day I was rummaging around in some boxes in the pantry and found a key that said, “Attic” on it.

You would think that I would instantly run up and go into the attic, but now that I could enter it, I was afraid. Grandma was not a timid woman, so when she never allowed me to enter the attic, my childhood-self made up all kinds of stories of what mysterious things were happening in the attic.

As an adult I knew these stories could not be true, but the fear that my stories created, still remained deep inside of me. So, again, I found many reasons why I was “too busy” to explore the attic and put the key in a “safe place,” which I unconsciously made myself forget.

As soon as I realized that I was letting my fear get the best of me, I began my search to “find the key.” Of course, I searched the house for months and could not find it. Then, finally, one day, I was in a hurry to go on a date and could not find the necklace that I wanted to wear.

In my hurry and aggravation, I turned the jewelry box upside down to dump everything on my dresser. And then there, much to my surprise, was the key tapped to the bottom of my jewelry box. I instantly recognized the key and ran towards the door to the attic. But when I got to the door, I paused.

Why was I so afraid to go into that attic? It had been many months that I had very happily lived in this house. “There was no reason for my feelings,” I told myself again and again. For two days I tried to convince myself to open the hall door and walk the stairway up to the attic.

Then, I had another dream of Grandma in her Golden Body. All she said was, “Do not be afraid my love.” She might have meant something other than the key, but as soon as I awoke I put on some jeans and a t-shirt, took the key from the bottom of my jewelry box, and headed for the door to the attic.

When I had climbed the steep stairs up to the attic door, and stood there for are too long, I finally got the courage to put the key into the lock. I was almost hoping that the key did not fit, but it fit perfectly. In fact, it was also as if the key turned itself.

I tried not to ponder on that strange sensation, as I already had more adrenalin then I needed. The door opened as easily as the key turned. “This is weird,” I told myself. “One would think that such an old key would not work so easily on such an old door.

I did not realize that the high window towards the top of the house was for the attic, but there it was, with the Sun shining brightly on a particular pile of old papers. Since everything that had happened so far was surrealistic, I decided to look at that pile of papers first.

I carefully moved the loose papers and found a bound manuscript just under them. It was as if those papers had been put there to hide, or protect, the bound manuscript, which I carefully picked up. As I opened the manuscript to the first page, I found an introduction, which I will share, word for word. It was written by a person called Shara Lynn.

In fact, the manuscript was a journal, and it was written by someone named Shara Lynn. I am sure my Grandmother got this journal, which eventually turned out to be more like a book, at one of the many old bookstores she loved to go to. Was this the book that she always seemed to be looking for?

I remember going with her to many old bookstores and the joy of rummaging through the old book stacks in search of the mysterious book that Grandma was always looking for. I wonder if the book I just found is the one she was always looking for?

I guess I will never know the answer to that. However, if I read the book, I might get some clues as to what my Grandmother was up to. It was then that I began to silently cry. Up until then, I had pushed my sorrow away into a safe place until I was ready to visit it.

But, as I thought of the memory of looking through old, used bookstores with Grandma, searching for something that she never shared with me, I was suddenly filled with the great sorrow of losing her. Then, as I remembered all the wonderful times I had spent with my beloved Grandmother, I began to sob uncontrollably.

Finally, my tears spent, I was able to carefully open the old book to discover what was inside. To my surprise, the book was actually written by a person named Shara Lynn, and it was her personal journal.

Who was this Shara Lynn, and how did my Grandmother get her journal? “Well,” I told myself, “You will not find out until you take the book downstairs and start reading it.”

Thank Heavens, the “practical me” took over before the “sorrowful me,” and “the more lonely than I thought person could ever be me” took over. However, before I go more into my own problems, I want to share the first chapter with you.

“Wait! Who is this “me?” I thought? For some reason the name Shara Lynn kept running around in my mind. “Who is this Shara Lynn, and why does she keep coming into my mind?” I yelled to no one.

Once again, I felt an emanation, NO, I am sure it was the essence of my Grandmother’s sweet voice saying , “Read the book dear. I left it here for you.” Now I was really spooked to hear my Grandmother answer my thoughts. However, I then realized that she had been answering all my thoughts since she had passed on. (I cannot bare to say the word “died.”)

I think the reason why I actually opened the book and started to read it was to distract myself from my sorrow. I have always loved a good mystery, and this was, indeed, a mystery. Therefore, I took the book firmly in my hands, left the attic, walked down the long stairs and locked the door again.

Why did I feel a need to lock the door, and why did I “hide” the key to the attic in my jewelry box again? I am now able to realize that I was, indeed, following some form of “higher guidance,” but I did not even know about that term back then.

Even with the key back in my jewelry box and the, manuscript, or was it a book, recovered and waiting next to my bed, I did not even open it for more days that I can remember.

Why was I so frightened by this manuscript? But maybe it was not just any “manuscript?” What if it had something in it that I did not want to know. “STOP,” I told myself. “What could be so “scary” about what was likely my Grandmother’s Journal.

I was about to find out.