Suzanne Lie, Ph.D., has been a seeker since she was a child where her active “imagination” took her deep into her inner life. She continues to regularly share her experiences and Arcturian teachings on her blog, Awakening with Suzanne Lie, and she wishes to help awakening ones come out of hiding and allow the glory of their highest expression of SELF into their everyday life.
Monday, March 19, 2018
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
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…
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.”
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
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.”)
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.
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
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
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