Category Archives: Awareness

Antierra Manifesto -blog post #58

Thus do I begin the training of a slave girl to come to a place of self-awareness and understanding.  Small steps, all to be taken within the system.  Step outside, even once and your chances of being flogged to death are almost one hundred percent sure.  You can bend rules as long as you are willing and able to unbend them immediately, but woe to you if you break them.

[end blog post #57]
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[begin blog post #58]

That night Tiki is angry.  Not at me, she knows nothing of my intercession to get her to work kitchen duty, but at the men. 

“Damn them, damn them, damn them!” she mutters in that hoarse whisper all females learn to speak in from the time they utter their first words.  “I be fighter, not gorok!  I train with weapon, not clean dirty bowl and sweep floor for dirty cooks.  Damn them!”  

A ‘gorok’ is a particular class of female worker slave who does the most menial type of kitchen work.  She doesn’t cook, or even serve.  She peels, grinds, husks and cleans, cleans, cleans, endlessly.  Her “shifts” have no set times.  She is up hours before anyone else, warming up ovens, washing utensils and cleaning counters and floors.  She sleeps, when permitted, during the middle hours of the day and of the night.  She is up late into the night cleaning, locked inside the kitchens with sensors ready to set off alarms if she walks outside her perimeter.  A slave of slaves.  There is usually a round the clock complement of eight of these goroks in our kitchens.

Because Tiki is my slave, she is allowed out of the kitchens at nightfall to spend the night with me.  I had hoped otherwise, but I can redeem this time, I think.  I fully enjoy her outburst.  There is fire in this one.  Not hate, not pride, just pure fire.  She has a dream, a vision, however short: to be the best fighter ever to grace the arena.  To beat my record.  I can tell.  Now to blend patience and humility into that fire so it can never be doused, whatever happens to the body of this woman. This one is going to develop into a true mind being, I can sense that already.  I have three years to prepare her to become a hero to the women of her world.  That’s sufficient when one has good material to work with.  It is my turn to do my hoarse communication.

“Come Tiki,”  she rolls between my legs and cuddles against my body.  “You be fine.  You no gorok.  You be fine fighter, best fighter.  Say you this every day.  Pick up broom, it ‘staff’ for you.  Sweep husks and peelings from floor like opponents in arena – just dust to Tiki.  Strong is Tiki.  Mongoose shaking cobra to death.”  She nudges deeper into me, her hair tickling my throat and begins unselfconsciously sucking her thumb.  I take her hand gently and pull the thumb out of her mouth and offer her my nipple instead.  She takes it greedily and smiles at me.  Haven’t I been here before?  Beware Antierra, the snakes aren’t all outside in the coarse grasses at the edge of the desert!  They be hissing from the very walls that contain you.

Wars aren’t won in a day.  They take planning, patience, courage and finally just the sheer gut of the fighters to win them.  Tiki does not take kindly to her new life.  From kitchen duty she is shifted to cleaning the straw in the cages and then to sweeping the yards and washing the blood on the flagstones where some of the women have been “punished” for certain infractions.  In this past week we were made to witness two “punishments” to the death, one of an older fighter whose owner cancelled his contract and condemned her to the next killing orgy.  She was put into a private killing orgy for the trainers, a bit of fun approved by the overseer.  She was led to the centre of the yard and  armed with nothing but a standard training staff, was viciously set upon by six trainers until they had managed to break several ribs and one arm.  When she could no longer defend herself they crushed her skull.  When she died they cheered and toasted their victory.  Old king Jestor would have been truly proud of these men.

The other, a trainee who had a nightmare and did not shut up in time when one of the women tried to awaken her, was flogged to death for breaking the rule of silence.  We watched, listened to her screams and pleas for mercy, her dying moans.  We heard the standard warning, returned to life as usual.  What I would give, had I anything to give, to enter the auto-medic and be given the heart of an android, or better, a heart of stone.  To not feel.  To not have to endure this suffering planet.

It is the way of it… and I cannot help feeling.  To cry?  To curse?  I glance at the bloody, pulpy mess hanging from that steel torture pole I know intimately.  I wonder why it is not I who is hanging there.  I imagine the life that was there, that is no more.  I sat next to her yesterday at morning meal and she smiled sadly at me under her eyelashes.  Well, maybe it is me there because I realize I cannot curse.  If I cannot curse, then I have incarnated all of it.  Each time another dies, I die two deaths: hers and mine.  Malefactus is a neuro-inductor and I am attached to its probes all the time.  

Under the wan light of Albaral coming through the openings in the high black stone walls Tiki and I talk in our cage as we nestle against each other enjoying the mutual warmth of our bodies.  Menial labour brings anger and shame from Tiki.  She is afraid they want to demote her to the rank of goronda, the general purpose female worker drone.  “Damn them!” – her favourite expression towards men in general.  That fire is burning dangerously bright.  The wick needs trimming or the flame will smoke up the glass and obscure the vision. 

I study my feelings for her as a hawk watches his prey moving unawares, feeding peacefully in the grasses below his perch.  I must let her take all of me she needs yet refuse to ever let her possess any of me.  I know how to do this, I know I can do it, but do I have the willpower?  How does an older woman not lose herself in those black pools of sadness that pass for eyes in such children who have never experienced childhood?  Creatures destined to die before they experience adulthood?  What does that make them?

I try my best logic on her.  “Tiki, listen me.  I good fighter, yes?”

“Yes sir, you best fighter.  All women say you best.”

“You trust me, Tiki?”

She replies with a hoarse grunt.  “Huh?”

“Trust.  Believe me.  You think me true to you?”

“Oh yes!  You say, I believe.”

This is extremely dangerous ground.  Who in their right mind wants to be believed by someone who will put her life at stake for what you tell her?  I speak slowly, pitching my voice so she can get every word, every inflection – the tone of voice to them being much more meaningful than the words used to convey it. 

“Good you believe.  But careful you be not believe everything I say.”  She tries to speak and I put my hand on her mouth.  “Wait, I finish, I explain.  I know things you not know.  Things good for me.  Maybe not good for you.  You, me, different.  You listen – I say – you try.  If work for you, is good for you, yes?  If not work for you, is not good for you.  I not know if good for you.  I guess.  I have vision.  Like you but is my vision.  You have vision to be best fighter.  Good vision.  I have different vision.  To be best woman; to be good woman.  I not good woman Tiki.  Good fighter only.  But man can be good fighter too, better than best woman.  But man cannot be good woman.  I have what called “exclusive” vision – be special. 

“You woman now.  What you want be?  I not understand you.”

“I want be more than what I be, Tiki.  Better.  In good ways, not evil ways.  I tired of killing.  Tired of blood and screams.  Tired all over.  Old now Tiki, very, very old.  But cannot go yet, cannot leave, cannot die.  I first find me, better me.  Good woman me.  I first do something good for another person.  If you not understand, no matter.  You remember I say this and put my words in your head.  They grow there.  Ideas.  You say to me woman thinks is stupid.  Is not stupid Tiki.  I think always.  Think, think.  I watch men, learn.  Design new weapons, train in new way for women to fight so live longer; so you live longer.  I stay here, not die because I want help women be stronger, live longer.  Is nothing else for me.”  

[end blog post #58]

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #57

(Continuing with the saga, now back in the slave quarters with their usual, unchanging conundrums – or are they really unchanging, or dare I say, unchangeable?)

As already mentioned I fought and died near the end of the Melkiar invasions.  I spent some years on Altaria, found some of the information on Malefactus I had hoped to locate, and re-incarnated (manifested physically) on ‘Stack World minus four’ (SW-4) of the lower set of the six dark worlds where I am now living, or to put it in a more accurate sense, existing and surviving day to day, always under the shadow of imminent death, as are all of the women in this compound.’

This concludes the Michele Dellman article.
[end blog post #56]

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[begin blog post #57]

Chapter 26 – Tiki Tells a Story and An’Tierra Remembers

As the daily treatments of ice-cold water on bare flesh in pre-dawn light causes shock and exhilaration at the same time, so I put my mind through this process.  I do my mantras against fear and for total detachment.  Each morning I push Tiki away from my body and close my heart to her sounds and scent.  She is doing everything in her child-woman power to seduce me to be mother and lover to her.  I am doing everything in my power to give her all she really needs that I can give without falling into the temptation of ownership.  Quasi-legally, because the men decree it so, she is my slave until they (or I) decide otherwise, or until either of us is killed.  I could kill her myself and nothing much would come of it, except maybe I’d have to reimburse her owner (if she has one yet, there is no way of knowing) by taking an extra turn in the arena. 

The lives of females are the cheapest commodity on Malefactus until the betting starts on a fight.  A young trainee without reputation and without an owner has no value at all.  She may earn some points through sexual performance but that’s shaky.  Most of these men, the trainers, handlers, blacksmiths and male nurses or medics aren’t that interested in “performance.”  They just take you when they feel a need and discard you, often with a slap or a kick.  Romance is not their strong point.

Tiki has already been gang-raped twice during her voyage to Hyrete from her segregated crèche in a fortified village in an independent principality east of the kingdom of Elbre and south of the Union of Estáan where she was raised from an infant.  The trip by foot, using male slaves as baggage carriers, took over four weeks of difficult walking through soft and shifting dunes.  There were twenty-four young females when the trek began.  Twenty three arrived in various degrees of exhaustion from starvation, dehydration and physical abuse at the compound in Hyrete.

The soldiers who accompanied the trek to guard against raiders decided that each night they would have a sex orgy.  So each night a couple of the girls were forced to perform erotic dances for which they had not been trained and were then raped repeatedly.  Some were otherwise abused.  One cried out under torture and was killed after they finished with her.  According to Tiki, the soldier guards were drinking heavily and mixing chakr in their brew.  Under the influence of the drink, they mixed the forbidden drink using the dying girl’s blood and chakr.  Then they took pieces of her body and cooked themselves a “sacred” meal.  I’d heard a similar story from Tiegli so I have no reason to doubt Tiki’s account of that ghoulish march.  For these girls the slave compound in the great keep of Hyrete would seem a reprieve, a place of safety… until they find out otherwise. 

There is yet no such place on T’Sing Tarleyn for any woman.  What, you may ask, constitutes a “safe” place for a woman, in any society, on any world?  I would say from personal experience it’s a place where a woman is safe without having to rely on anyone else, especially on a male, to protect her.  Ideally, wherever a woman happens to be, that is automatically her sacred, inalienable and inviolable sanctuary.  In any situation, any role, a woman is approached only by her permission.  Only when she clearly indicates her sanctuary is open can another walk in to “touch” her.  That is how I see it now.

Yes I know Tiki desperately needs a mother figure in her life.  She desperately needs love and protection, however tenuous, from an elder.  I know I can provide some of it for her, but I want her to find it on her own, within herself.  The only place of comfort and safety here is within one’s heart and mind.  There is nothing that can help you outside of yourself.  Nothing.  That is, I realize belatedly, the true “lesson” of the stack worlds, regardless whether they are on the “light” or the “dark” side of the balance equation.

I brought this knowledge with me here, of course.  It’s something all Altarians know, a basic natural awareness.  Tiegli discovered this before she died.  The “Concubines” or twins already know this.  Perhaps the Cydroids also, although their minds do not function like ours so I still do not know how they perceive their reality in relation to natural humans. 

Now Tiki must learn it for herself.  I must allow her close to me while keeping my anti-emotion shields up when we are in contact.  I begin by approaching my handlers and complaining that Tiki is too much of a distraction.  She needs to be occupied.  I address Delton, overseer of handlers.

“Speak sir?”

His gaze sweeps over me with a rather neutral and tired look as I stand with head bowed.  “Speak gora.”  It’s the ritual opening.  A reminder that has lost much of its meaning over the years I’ve heard it, as do all rituals, yet deadly dangerous to take for granted.  Rituals are noticed, not in being performed but in being ignored.  I speak without looking at his face, focusing on a purple blotch above his left knee.

“Young slave 1339-32-19 which shares sleep with me need better employ sir.  She has use, perhaps kitchen?  Perhaps clean the straw?  Too weak for weapons training yet sir.  Too young, waste of time – me.  Need time for older fighters to make better.  Maybe train to help nurse?” 

I display the most abject and humble stance I can muster, using the kind of pidgin they prefer to hear, in the hope he will even listen.  He sneers – another ritual – and motions me away.  I’ve been “heard” whatever comes of it.  I know after so many years that they are good at listening and pretending they don’t.  Females know nothing so they cannot accept any suggestions directly.  They discuss any point I raise privately in their strategy and meeting sessions, taking full credit for any idea they think has merit. 

Later that day Tiki, or should I say slave #1339-32-19 is taken from our cage and escorted into the kitchens.  The number I quote is the last line of numbers branded on her backside.  It refers to year, batch number and number in batch when she was admitted into the training compound in Hyrete.  For example, year #1339 is admission to Hyrete arena compound as trainee at age 13.  #32 is thirty-second batch to arrive that year.  #19 is order of branding as number nineteen in batch.  She has another brand line above that stating the year of birth and class of breeding.  Hers is #1326-04.  Born year 1326 local time; class 4 female fighter.  She is permanently branded as a gladiator.  Any man can thus know instantly what she is – not whom – women have no status as human beings.

Thus do I begin the training of a slave girl to come to a place of self-awareness and understanding.  Small steps, all to be taken within the system.  Step outside, even once and your chances of being flogged to death are almost one hundred percent sure.  You can bend rules as long as you are willing and able to unbend them immediately, but woe to you if you break them.

[end blog post #57]

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #56

I’m a philosopher by experience but also because I am a natural-born Altarian.  We are doers, of course, but not exactly fools who rush in where angels fear to tread.  Before we act we seek to know.  Of course it is not always possible to know, since knowledge emanates from a blend of experience and information.  So we act on what what we’ve studied and already know from experience and attempt to move forward. Thus we are more than what we do; we do not necessarily act according to what we are – that is, what we have become.  We do not allow nature or programming to box us in so easily.  As the doctor pointed out, we have a devious mind developed for one purpose: to thread its way unerringly through the labyrinth of life. That labyrinth takes us, of necessity, through the darkest paths of hell — through the experience of evil.
[end blog post #55
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begin blog post #56]

Chronicler Michele Dellman notes a shift in the monologue here.

The following is purportedly from An’Tierra’s own actually hand-written notes found in the same medical facility attached to the gladiator compound in the Great Keep of the city of Hyrete in the kingdom of Elbre.  They were uncovered buried under a corner stone, sealed in a cheelth envelope she probably had her blacksmith friend manufacture for her. These are An’Tierra’s own words as she wrote them.  We must assume that the reason for this shift would be because the “recorder” was not available and she was convalescing at the time.

‘Sometimes when we find our forward movement lost in some impenetrable fog, we must retrace some steps, look back and take stock of our understanding.

And in this search for the source of evil, I must now look back.  I will probe ever deeper into my memories and find me, or a partial me, who has already done this kind of evil and I will study myself there.  I will dig out that buried part of my past that I may understand Malefactus and from this knowledge, trace the evil to its source.  The bait that will attract this source to me is my own heart; that part of it that once belonged to evil and for which evil has, and probably always will have, an affinity – or until I discover the source of this sickness and destroy it.

There could be no better time than now to do this.  Already so deeply compromised, with little room remaining in my heart to go but up, I must firmly and conclusively go down those remaining steps into my ultimate darkness and embrace my own spiritual death.  In that death, I, An’Tierra, will personally atone for all the deaths I have seen – and been the cause of – on this world and before that.  The difficult process of redemption can thus begin – with me.  That was always the plan, to lose myself in this process out here on one of Earth’s stack worlds which could be referred to as a part of the ISSA conscience of Earth.

Why conscience?  Because it should be evident by now that the real purpose of any set of stack worlds is to provide a place where incarnates of ISSA consciousness of any such world can find a temporary home after dis-incarnation – after their physical death.  The spirits, or ‘souls’ of people needed a place of rest during their ‘lost’ times between incarnations.  So their makers; their gods, created astral copies of their world which I, long ago while still living on Earth, dubbed stack worlds.  These worlds have been variously described as the Abode of the Dead; Heaven; Valhalla; Nirvana; Olympus; Great Beyond; Limbo; Purgatory; Sheol; Tartarus; Hades; Place of Torment; Hell and a host of other names found in all Earthian languages – all of them.  They feature heavily in all of man’s religious beliefs and mythology.  Nor are the concepts and beliefs tied to them restricted to Old Earth.  Wherever humanity is found, this belief is also found.  The reason for this is simple.

Over the aeons of human evolution and climb to self-awareness, it became evident that “life” was more than one short passage on some world, having a series of perhaps interesting but ultimately meaningless experiences after which came permanent obliteration of all that one had ever been, ever known, ever accomplished.  Teachers, often called lords or saints; avatars or saviours, appeared here and there over the years and taught continuity of life, personal responsibility and accountability to the whole through worship of some divine source or ‘All Thing’ called God and a turning away from doing evil.  Such evil was generally described as that which causes harm to others and would earn one eternal punishment in some sort of torment or annihilation.

It was taught that spirits or souls of the dead went to certain “worlds” where they were permanently rewarded for their good deeds in heaven;  or where they were prepared for a return to their “home” world – in this case Earth – through further spiritual evolution by suffering,  either in ‘purgatory’ or on some other astral world. Or, they were permanently banished to suffer eternally in hell for having lived evil lives without repenting of such. These were the basic, simplistic teachings given Earthians by their Teachers.

Some described these outer or astral worlds graphically, the best known images of such worlds being the joys of heaven and the tortures of hell.  Generic terms that served well enough in their time but have now lost their meaning entirely.  In the spiritual emptiness of Earth, from the 19th Century (C-19) to C-22, dissatisfied individuals began to earnestly search for the real abodes of the dead.  By the end of C-22 no one believed in death as termination.  It was then known that de-incarnation meant re-incarnation somewhere else.  It was also known by then that the ancient gods, or the God – basically male and autocratic – was no longer in charge of events in the cosmos.  A great shift had taken place which all ISSA beings sensed even if they did not comprehend its nature and wanted to deny it having taken place.

By the end of C-22 Earthians were dying by the millions.  Localized armed conflicts of a violence and viciousness never seen before flared and burned in every large country, and these broke up into small fiefs, kingdoms or independent city-states.  Unknown diseases, mostly caused by decomposing human bodies, ravaged large areas leaving few alive.  Waves of genocides were launched by groups against groups until no one remained to fight or one overcame the other and totally decimated them.  Revolutions took their toll.  So-called Earth changes, Earthquakes and tsunamis devastated low lands and mountain cities.  Food growing lands were poisoned by the rampaging waters filled with deadly chemicals, residues from destroyed petro-chemical refining and storage plants and the ever-present pestilence caused by decomposing bodies of humans and animals.

By the onset of the 22nd century (C-22), Earth had begun to enter her Great Death that would proceed inexorably to the middle of C-24, bringing the peak human population from 8.6 billions at the end of C-21 to possibly less than one billion.  (The exact lower figure is unavailable as the die-back was still in effect when I was in contact with information from Earth) This massive die-back began to have a sobering effect upon the technological and market-place madness that had rendered Earth all but un-inhabitable for most land and sea life.  But one thing remained to plague Earthian humanity: its inability to consider equality of genders.  Through the die-back, women and children’s position in society fell drastically once more. Men regained most of their patriarchal power positions and absolute authority.  Female and child slavery surfaced openly everywhere.  Sexual bondage became the only way a woman had for seeking protection for herself and her children if she had any.

During those terrible times a small group of WindWalkers incarnated on Earth to study the situation.  As one of those  (we were only five individuals) and an “expert” on Earthian mores, besides being now a full-fledged Altarian master of logic, I led this group.  Our purpose was not meant to render physical help as such an effort would have required a massive input of support and services from the Galactic human family which was at that time weakened by, and fully involved in, fighting the Melkiar invasion and in any case was still cut-off from interaction with Earth and her stack worlds.

We concentrated our efforts in determining what was wrong with the thinking patterns of Earthians, that they could not see the damage they were doing to themselves and their world by oppressing the female aspect.

At the beginning of our investigations we had blamed their misogynist tendencies squarely unto their greater religions, all of whom claimed a divine right to make laws based on worship of a single Male Deity that basically, in whatever form worshipped, feared and hated the female.  But these fabrications were no longer in contention for power.  What remained was purely secular.  Political power was ascendant, followed distantly by money.  A kind of Neo-Late-Dark-Age mindset ruled the planet.

The five of us, three males and two females disguised as males of necessity, used various approaches to do our research among two basic groups:  the rich owners from whom we hoped to learn of their needs to oppress their females and young, and among the most exploited groups, in the compounds where women were kept ostensibly for their protection, along with their children.  Among these “protected” groups, young nubile females – and not a few young pretty boys also – were chosen to sate the sexual and sadistic appetites of rich and powerful males.  Many young women were simply auctioned off as house slaves or into the sex trade: to pimps and owners of proliferating brothels and entertainment houses.

As we casually walked among these people and interacted with them, using simple logic methods for questioning, we analyzed their ways and motives.  In doing so it became obvious to us that they were not free of mind to do what they were doing.  “Something” was driving them.

That “something” I concluded was an energy that emanated from one of Earth’s astral worlds.  I remembered having had that idea long ago in another life on Earth.  I had dubbed my “imaginary” world “Malefactus” – first as a joke and a play on words, then as a means of focusing on its reality – at least for me.  A starting point.  I advised my WindWalker group that I would de-incarnate from Earth, re-incarnate on the training astro-world Beta-9 for my license upgrade, some more basic training, and join the fight against the Melkiars as skipper of Jump Scout ships.  Whatever I could learn on Earth I had already transferred via mind-jump through my Galactic Altarian contacts to be stored in Altarian archives dedicated to me as Al’Tara – copies to be filed on the galactic wandering library mind Aíoná.

Following this – I had a clear awareness that I would die in that war – I would return to Altaria for rest, refocusing and research on Malefactus.  My plan was simple.  Once I had enough information regarding that possible astral world, I would re-incarnate on it and proceed to do whatever could be done to effect change there – at what I hoped would be the source of Earth’s misogynist sickness.

As already mentioned I fought and died near the end of the Melkiar invasions.  I spent some years on Altaria, found some of the information on Malefactus I had hoped to locate, and re-incarnated (manifested physically) on ‘Stack World minus four’ (SW-4) of the lower set of the six dark worlds where I am now living, or to put it in a more accurate sense, existing and surviving day to day, always under the shadow of imminent death, as are all of the women in this compound.’

This concludes the Michele Dellman article.

[end blog post #56]

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #55

(I’m really falling behind in following up on posting the “Manifesto” and sorry about that, I know it makes it difficult to follow the story through these gaps. I’ll try to get back on track, but no promise as long as work keeps interfering with my life… dang it all!)

The process:  Access, study, feel, understand, delete.  Yeah, I should have been a Cydroid.  For it is one of our truisms that we, human and Avatari alike, cannot delete our past; cannot disown it.  We can but dis-empower or empower it according to our present need and understanding.

And in my sleep I dream of the constant we call “evil” but it is a sweet dream, not a nightmare.

[end blog post #54]
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[begin blog post #55]

From chronicler Michele Dellman, T’Sing Tarleyn historian for the Supremacy.

Galactic date-year 67,854, classic date-year [?] (Not available at this time to this reporter due to the amount of chaos resulting from the attacks upon, and subsequent destruction of the fortified city of Hyrete)

The following was put together from antique memcorder cards found in the medical facility that served the Hyrete arena where the female gladiators, or fighters as they were called, were kept in a massive arrangement of cages behind stone walls twenty or more meters high and several meters thick, protected by an actual moat and a most sophisticated array of alarm systems. 

The following set was not written by the historical figure called An’Tierra but by someone with access to a computer linked to an off-world ship that transcribed her thoughts, probably while she was under sedation and receiving secret and illegal medical treatment in an old auto-medic mentioned by her but subsequently never found.  An educated guess here is that the transcriber was one of the Echinoza Cydroids purportedly from another mythical world called Koron.

These are but copies of long-lost originals. Note that she refers to herself as “Al’Tara” – name of a pseudo-historical figure on Old Earth that appears under other names in annals of the Supremacy pre-and post-dating the Melkiar wars.  The name “Al’Tara” was, it is said, her name as an Altarian, that is, as a human being [or one of the mythical Avatari?] from the ‘lost’ or “hidden” world of Altaria. 

‘I’ve seen many things in my travels as Al’Tara.  Wonders and horrors.  I’ve easily accepted the wonders, yes, and marvelled.  I’ve also accepted the natural horrors; movements in the chaos side of space/time giving rise to massive destruction of entire worlds.  I’ve faced the possible extinction of entire galaxies and all the riches and life they hold.  I’ve participated in many rescue attempts, some successful, most not.  I rejoiced at our successes and accepted our failures.   

During my many passages upon Old Earth, or Túat Har, I observed natural predators, from viruses to large mammals and even plants.  And not long ago I was a participant in the Melkiar wars.  I even encountered some of their robotic life forms.  Probed them to discover they had been uniquely programmed to kill, but without malice or intent to hurt.  Predators kill to perpetuate their species.  The Melkiars only destroyed that which they were designed to consider inimical concepts to their nature.

But never, never have I been able to accept, let alone comprehend, evil.  Evil is not that which destroys or even kills.  Evil, as I have observed it, is that which causes pain and hurt to others with intent based in sentient malevolence.  Evil is that which is done with malice aforethought.  It is planned to produce pain in another so that the perpetrator will feel a surge of sadistic pleasure by inflicting the pain. It’s ultimate purpose is to destroy the will of its victims, to crush them until nothing remains. That is how I describe evil.

The perpetrator of evil, the true sadist, needs to actually perform the pain-inducing act upon another, always helpless, victim; never on someone who has a chance of fighting back.  The true sadist never takes a chance on getting hurt.  If his victim manages to inflict pain on him, this reduces his level of pleasure and correspondingly increases his level of anger and hate towards the victim. 

Malefactus – I must explain why I call it that.  A malefactor is an evil doer; a law breaker.  But here you find a specific law-breaker, speaking of course of that one and only law written in, and for, the entire cosmos, or wherever life may be found, the law that says we must all care; all protect the innocent and the weak in order to strengthen them.  We must “love” the other in our power not as ourselves, but more, much more, than ourselves – beyond anything we would do for ourselves! We must develop and practice compassion to the highest level possible within our understanding.

On Malefactus, the perpetrator; the law breaker; the malefactor; is male.  The male factor of T’Sing Tarleyn, the “World of Man” is an utterly evil mindset.  The male ISSA beings here cannot apparently help themselves, true, but they also do not wish to do so.  They enjoy being what they are; doing what they do.  Their social mores are predicated upon the total oppression of the female.  Their economy such as it is, being but a caricature of a true economy is totally dependent on active misogyny.  Their judicial system ensconces it, preventing anyone from avoiding it.  As for their religious system, I have not, as yet, discovered if they have one and if they do, how it relates to that particular rampant evil that rules T’Sing Tarleyn.

Regarding the men, I cannot have a real conversation with any of them so it is dangerous to draw any solid conclusion about their state of mind.  They are pseudo-human, therefore they have to be consciously aware of the law at some level. They are not mindless predators but perpetrators of evil behaviour.   Much in the way the people of Old Earth were also aware of it.  Yet they live as if it did not exist for them.  But I wonder, aren’t there some throw-back types among them that actually “fall in love” with a female?  Some who would want to protect her, hide her, find her a safe haven somewhere, even if it cost him his life?  Is there no physical love except among the women? 

I have seen no open demonstration of homosexuality and that seems strange on such a world.  But then should it be, if males simply cannot love at all?  If all they can do is “fuck” and all they know is that it is done with females and then only in the form of “hate rape” resulting in violence done to her? 

There is another aspect of evil I still fail to understand.  I believe that humans are all equipped to “see” beauty with some variations, but within a general unifying whole.  We are also equally equipped to see ugliness, also with variations but with a general similarity.  Outside of this awareness are what I refer to as the exceptions.  Those who have the concepts turned around in their minds and hearts.  Some, because they are sick but some because they are simply put, evil.  On some worlds, these “exceptions” do not prove the rule, they are the rule.

Evil loves to mar and destroy beauty.  From defacement of buildings with graffiti to smashing windows, polluting and destroying the natural environment, mistreating animals, including in this all hunting and fishing done for sport, beating and raping women, oppressing children, oppressing and enslaving those who are helpless and without protection.  Take it in any order, it all comes down to the same thing.  Destruction of that which exhibits beauty gives evil types psychopathic pleasure.  What kind of force drives ISSA beings to find pleasure in marring that which is beautiful? 

Evil: I have no other answer.  None of the answers I’ve heard, read about or considered, answer the question in a more understandable fashion.

So, how do I understand Malefactus, a world where the only pleasure experienced seems to be in causing the maximum of pain to helpless victims?  Since I’ve been here in these cages, the training compound, and the bloody arena, I’ve met – yes, and befriended – hundreds of young girls who did not survive their first time in the arena and women who succumbed to their opponents.  I’ve seen them viciously beaten, raped, tortured.  I’ve heard them scream for mercy and watched them being killed without qualm on the part of the male perpetrators. 

I’ve seen them dismembered for their body parts and have helped pick up the mangled bloody corpses and torsos.  I’ve taken them in my arms, their blood covering my body as I carried them and placed them as gently as I could upon the putrefaction-covered auto-driven flat decked ‘haulers’ and which in my heart I reverently call hearses, thus giving a moment of human acknowledgment to the dead martyrs whose bodies are taken away I know not exactly where though I suspect it is to the outer desert sands for vultures to feed upon.

In the worlds of true humans and even in the worlds of pseudo-humans such as Old Earth I have seen much beauty.  But never have I seen anything to compare to the combination of natural beauty and intelligence seen, first in a child and second, in a young human female.  It surpasses all.  Somehow that is the particular beauty that the evil of misogyny lurking in the pseudo-human heart targets before all else. 

I will not close my eyes to this terrible legacy life has somehow, either naturally or by some horrible mistake, bestowed upon all of us.  I will continue to look into this concept of evil for an answer.  What is the motivation behind this force?  Is it lust?  Hate?  Fear? Does evil begin with one and end with the other, and if so, in what direction does it flow?  Do you begin with a heart full of vices and by indulging some, or all, end up evil?  Are we what we do, or what we become as we act in accordance with what we discover ourselves to be?  This may seem like a chicken and egg conundrum, but that has already been solved.  In timeless reality, the “chicken” can indeed lay the egg from which it is hatched.  There is no beginning and no ending, only questions and answers that we use as “artificial” points of reference (called beginnings and endings) by which we define infinity.

I’m a philosopher by experience but also because I am a natural-born Altarian.  We are doers, of course, but not exactly fools who rush in where angels fear to tread.  Before we act we seek to know.  Of course it is not always possible to know, since knowledge emanates from a blend of experience and information.  So we act on what we’ve studied and already know from experience and attempt to move forward.  Thus we are more than what we do; we do not necessarily act according to what we are – that is, what we have become.  We do not allow nature or programming to box us in so easily.  As the doctor pointed out, we have a devious mind developed for one purpose: to thread its way unerringly through the labyrinth of life. That labyrinth takes us, of necessity, through the darkest paths of hell — through the experience of evil.

[end blog post #55

Compassion and Empathy versus Chaos and Violence

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

One day, never mind the season, in a fit of pure madness you say to yourself, I want to become an empathetic being. Do you consider the consequences of such a desire should you proceed upon that path? No, because in the very beginning you naively assume that being empathetic is just plunging deeper into that wonderful feeling people call love.

So there you have it: you are going to become a more loving person and naturally, you will feel great about yourself and naturally everybody you know will come to love you more and more the deeper you struggle up that golden path… or is it down that rabbit hole.

Young people who want to choose a path of “goodness” are very naive. I can attest to that. This world isn’t programmed to accommodate goodness although much is alluded to it and those who by some miracle of whatever, walk that path come hell or high water are often considered heroes if they are considered at all. Usually though, they are considered fools, dreamers and conspiracy theorists. I can add, they are also considered pains in the royal social ass and untrustworthy, i.e., they have a tendency to get off the social bandwagon at the most inconvenient places, often where the scapegoated targets of the bandwagon riders happen to be hiding and surviving, to give help and support instead of sticks and stones.

Becoming empathetic is a great inconvenience which leads one to self-sacrifice (oh, shudder!) and sometimes to persecution and martyrdom – things that give great feelings of courage while reading dramatic fiction but are rather dreadful to experience in real life. What the naive youth does not know is that becoming empathetic means living a compassionate life, not a loving life. It’s not only a very lonely path that demands untold forms of constant bits of self-sacrifice but detachment from serious personal relationships as well. I think we can agree that youth does not lend itself well to taking such measures. There are expectations, both natural/physical and social that mitigate against walking the em-path!

Is this short essay another of my reminders that compassion/empathy is not at all the same as loving? Unequivocally, yes. These are not the same thing though recently I have made allowances (how grand of me to do so!) for love to ride along with compassion/empathy if in the last wagon on the train, basically along with all other baggage that would have been better left on the platform before boarding.

Compassion (which is necessary to understand the pain caused by the empathetic life in a violent world) is doing with feelings coming as a consequence of one’s acts. Love is feeling with doing coming as a consequence of one’s feelings. It doesn’t take a genius, or a degree in philosophy to recognize which one will give lasting, meaningful results.

If one’s actions determine the direction one’s life is taking, that can be guaged long-term. I call that purpose. If one’s feelings determine the direction one’s life is taking, there is no possibility of ever knowing where one will end up. I call that chaos.

What made me choose to develop an empathetic way of life through living compassion is, I do not like chaos. To paraphrase myself from a recent comment, living compassion in a violent world is like carving a homestead in the wilderness.

Nature ‘lovers’ who rely on their feelings to interact with nature will not see ‘nature’ as chaos. Raised on a real homestead in a real wilderness of northern Canada in the 1950’s has given me a real sense of chaos versus the kind of order our type of life requires to survive. We are not wild animals integrated with nature – we never have been and never will be. We require some sort of order out of chaos to survive and live normal lives.

Compassion which gives life to empathy, is order within gross man-made chaos. Compassion is the ultimate enemy of violence. The spirit of violence which I call ‘evil’ cannot share space with the spirit of compassion. Anyone who seeks to become, or thinks of herself as compassionate can easily know if that is a belief, or if it is true: if she harbours any residual desire within her mind for an outcome achieved through violence, compassion has not nested there yet.

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #54

Wow… as Bob Crachit would say, “I am behind my time…” Indeed life has been crazier than usual and apart from a bit of blogging comments, I’ve had little time for the blog and particularly for the Manifesto.  But, here’s blog post #54, and more to come.


… As a true T’Sing Tarleynan female would answer she replies, “What I think no matter.  Men, they decide.  Woman think?  That is waste.  Eat, sleep, make love, train to fight and kill.  That is fighter woman do.  Think waste energy; mix up in head.  Make weak, stupid.  I be strong soon, strong and fast.  I train good.  I live long.  Maybe you like me, you take me.  Hold me, make love.  Be lover, be friend.  Be family to me.  I train with you, huh?”  She pinches my muscles on my tight stomach.  “You like old skin, strongest of fighter woman they say.  Desert Beast, huh?  Proud I be slave to you.  Teach me strength you do.  I fight for you.”

[end blog post #53]
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[begin blog post #54]

Chapter 25 – Measuring Times by my Losses

And so begins another episode.  Seems I’m now measuring my times by my losses.  While I remain awake, having now cradled this new child between my legs and in my arms and lulled her to sleep, I keep thinking of Deirdre.  I feel my emptiness and the suffering of my heart is worse than what I suffered in the dungeons of the inquisition.  Especially do I rue the fact I could not say goodbye.  That hurts more than anything.  Did she suspect during those last hours?  She would have known something was going on.  She would have felt it, sensed it.  She would also have known that the discovery of it would cause us great pain and thus would have kept silent. 

‘Ah, Deirdre.  Soon you will wake up on a world I hope is beautiful to behold.  A world that will cause you much less pain than this one.  I would have invited you to find your way to Altaria, as I did for Tiegli, but that would have been a violation of my “contract” with the Koronese.  They saved you because they need you, girl.  They hope to discover the source of your miraculous empathic nature.  Perhaps they can isolate those genes and clone truly empathic Cydroids?  Perhaps a child from a Koronese father who will have your strange nature? Please help them, Deirdre, for to that it seems you were called.  For that we met and your physical life was saved.  Take care.  I shall love you forever…’

Tiki turns and sighs.  I look at the small sleeping girl-woman in the pale light of Albaral.  I vow not to become attached to this one.  And how am I going to go about avoiding that?  I’m not made that way here.  Something’s changed from the mind I had during the Melkiar wars.  The very paucity of love here has made me want to become pure love to these children.  Looks like I’m heading for another compromise that is going to peel another layer of protection from my heart and make me bleed internally even more than externally.

“Teach me strength you do.”  she said without any doubt I could do so.  Damn right I will ‘teach you strength.’  I will make you like the rock of this place.  I will give you all you need to be as happy as any child can be in such circumstances.  I will give you all the advice and training I’m capable of.  I’ll make you into a superb T’Sing Tarleynan fighting machine – the best of their own they’ve ever seen, though I’m certain not a one of them will be able to appreciate your talents or skills  All you will remain for them is someone, no not someone, but a thing, to perform indignities upon, to damage, defeat, destroy and finally, to kill.’

Maybe, now that my mind is clearer, I will find a way to give this being a “soul” – a mind implant, a gift of some long-forgotten goddess that will change her into a born-again human.  As long as I’m measuring my times here by my losses, I can afford to lose another dream.  I can dream, no one can take that away from me.

And in this dream I must also discover, not the nature of evil, but the final path to its source from which it can be defeated.  Evil, you are my ultimate enemy. 

When Tiki sleeps peacefully against me and the ache of losing Deirdre has dulled to a tolerably manageable level I will perform this exercise.  I will exorcise from myself the power of that dormant monster; of all the evil that ever touched me, that I have touched and that I have worked with.  I will remember the feelings that it gave me. That horror that I buried deep in my subconscious so long ago, the parts of it that thrilled me when I refused to consider alternatives;  those I killed in turn after they had killed all that I loved.  That source of evil within myself I will expose to the light of what I have become in this place.  Thus I will bring forth the rest of the knowledge I need to complete my task here, by “faith” in life and by example for others. 

The process:  Access, study, feel, understand, delete.  Yeah, I should have been a Cydroid.  For it is one of our truisms that we, human and Avatari alike, cannot delete our past; cannot disown it.  We can but dis-empower or empower it according to our present need and understanding.

And in my sleep I dream of the constant we call “evil” but it is a sweet dream, not a nightmare.

[end blog post #54]

The House at the Crossroads of the World

[a short story by    ~burning woman~    as told by Sha’Tara]

As I sat by the River one day and pondered the state of the world I had a thought: I will build myself a home at the crossroads of the world. So I did.

My home had a good roof but it had no walls, just posts holding it up. I planted ivy, honeysuckle, clematis and sweetpeas by each post and they grew swiftly and beautifully. I was very pleased.

First a family of refugees passed by and they came in to rest, drink of the cool, clean water and eat from the garden I had planted. Sated and after a good sleep their children ran out and played in the fields. Their laughter filled the air and more birds sang.

A couple of starving, ragged men came by and asked if they could stay for a while. I smiled and said, ‘Look, no walls, anyone is welcome here.’ They were gays who had been persecuted and escaped with only their lives and the clothes on their backs. Soon they were playing with the children and entertaining them with tales and magic tricks.

A group of migrant workers heading north came by and also partook of this unexpected hospitality. They were earth people and soon they had my garden cleaned and explained about plant symbiosis. I could grow much more food if I did it right. I learned much from them in that too short a time.

Some young girls came running, crying, and stopped at the house. I invited them in and they shyly came, sat down and explained they had escaped from a van filled with sex slaves bound for the black market. They got washed in the creek, ate and slept together in a corner of the house.

The honeysuckle was in full bloom and its sweet smell filled the house. In the dark we sat in the house and sang, each her or his own songs and everyone listened in awe. It was so good to find each other here and not worry about any difference.

It was too good, actually. They had watched the comings and goings to and from the house and in that country the government and its propaganda press declared that it was a terrorist training center. So they sent the drones.

We are all dead now. I am dead too but since I am mind and not matter I am made of memories. This story is a memory, and it is real.

There is no longer a house at the crossroads of the world though there are walls everywhere and for that reason the world is dying.