Category Archives: Quest

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #49

{Continuing with the manuscript. }
…“We have a similar “identical twin” bond humans sometimes experience from the womb state when two come from a single fertilized ovum.  All YBA’s – we are five and I’m the “youngest” at this point –  are my identical “twins” in every sense.  Though we each train in individual specialties, we can convert one-another’s knowledge and skills and function so that even the adoptive parent is not aware if we’ve made a switch.  For us, life does not get better, as you would put it.  All we need do is protect our own “investment” in Dr. Echinoza to ensure continuity.”

[end blog post #48]


[begin blog post #49]

Chapter 23 – A Dangerous Plan; a Confession

“I have so many questions.  But of practical use right now, what happens to me while I’m convalescing?  Why wasn’t I killed when it was found I could not train or fight and was disabled, possibly permanently?  What do I “do” now?

“You do nothing at all.  You rest, you talk or ask questions and I answer.  No one except Warmo and us knows of your debilitated state at this moment.  Warmo won’t talk, he cannot for obvious reasons.  The doctor is securing your protection from the King as we speak.  Of course (by the way this place is safe from eavesdropping bugs) the King understands fully the situation you are in.

We need you back among the women, Antierra.  Your turn of duty there is far from over.  You will have to return to that mindset soon and get ready for that reality that wants to make you sick right now.  And suffer more of the indecencies of this world you will, much more than you already have, I’m deeply sorry to have to remind you.  I also, as your healer, must remind you that this is just the continuation of your personal choices; the ones you know you cannot change or run from.

I realize what she is saying and I nod in acquiescence.  No wonder, I recall now, my Altarian friends told me they would not be needed here with me.  That I would manifest all the friendship and all the help I needed to accomplish my goals.  Still though, some doubts persist.  I am, after all, facing some serious handicaps here.

“But what about my crushed wrists? My broken ankle?  How can I function if I cannot hold anything, or even walk?”

“You will be repaired soon.  We are waiting for a new module to upgrade our old auto-medic.  The new module will implant artificial “bones” and “sinews” to replace your damaged parts.  You will essentially have artificial wrists and left ankle.  You will begin your transition to bionic form.  That famous kick of yours will likely become even more deadly.”

She has such a pretty smile.  Not sexual, but full of child-like innocence.  Not something you’d want to kiss, but something you’d want to paint on a huge mural for an entire world to look at; something that would scream, “Here, look at this!  It’s marvellous!”

“We have the technology.  We can rebuild her.” I cannot help but recite.

“Pardon?”

“Old Earth joke.  A story about a woman who was mangled in a motorized vehicle accident.  The military powers that be decided to rebuild her body into that of a bionic woman, so they could use her, of course.  Not a terribly inspired story.  Now I find it ironic I’m partly living it here.  Coincidence?  No, inevitable, because the concept intrigued me and I remember projecting myself into that role.  We create our reality from whatever bits and pieces our mind latches on to.”

“That is correct.  The only reason we bandaged you is to prevent infection and further damage while we wait, not in the hope you would heal.  They made sure when they crushed your wrists that you could never use them again; that they could never heal normally and you could never fight.  But, hmmm, “they” can be wrong about some things, can’t they.  That Warmo character will know something is going on with you and the doctor and will send spies to discover why you healed, and so quickly, from the effects of his hellish machine.  That is assuming he hasn’t already figured out what is going on.  So we must do something about that.

“Did you know that the “straps” that wrap around wrists and ankles do more than hold you there?  When the arms are extending, the “straps” correspondingly shrink in small bands pulled in opposite direction, thus destroying bone and muscle beyond recovery.  That was the impossible pain you were being subjected to.  They had activated only the wrists ones, either by oversight or deliberately to fit in with some other diabolical refinements on the torture.  Your ankle was not crushed, just dislocated.  But we won’t take any chances there.  The natural healing takes too long and could leave a weakness that would manifest in the arena, leaving you defenceless.  We will replace the bone and the sinews as well.  Then you will learn to put your greatest trust in that ankle.  Yes, you will learn.  You are needed for some time yet, while we perform other, but related, tasks.

“We, that is Dr. Echinoza and his trusty Cydroid crew, of which yours truly is the fifteenth and youngest member – we are five females and ten males total — hope to set a trap for Warmo and catch him in a definite illegal activity – and as you know, all illegal activities are capital offences here.  We have a plan that may mean one of us dies of torture but it will be worth it.  We have already decided who returns to Koron for the re-cloning and who must become Warmo’s victim.”

She bends her head to my face,

“No, I was not chosen for the victim role.  I’m your “nurse” for the duration.  XBA9 chose himself for the ordeal.  He feels he needs the experience.  He’s young.  He’ll be fine.”

Such matter-of-fact statements from these Cydroids, I find it difficult to understand them, perhaps because I approach them with normal human feelings.  How can someone who chooses to enter into excruciating torture and die from it be fine?  Do they possess neural-blocks?  As in the opposite of the neural inductor?  Have they found a way to manipulate the effects of  “Hansen’s Disease” in creating anaesthesia of body parts while having them torn from them?  Fine?  I just come from a short term of Warmo’s brand of finesse.

She is smiling at me but not probing.  Just as well for the time being.  I’m thinking.

“Tell me,”  she adds with a mischievous smile,  “how would it feel to find yourself fighting that Warmo in the arena?  We are hoping to arrange that.  It would be justice, hm?  It’s also a fact that you are the only “champion” we possess who could beat him.  I sense that you need this challenge, Antierra, that you and Warmo have much unfinished business.”

My heart skips several beats at the suggestion.  Eagerness and horror ride side by side.  Revenge and compassion vie for first place in my mind.  How must I respond to this idea?  I motion to the healer Cydroid to touch my head.

“Can you feel me there YBA?”  I shorten her name, dropping the number for simplicity while only the two of us are present.  “Can you tell the turmoil your question has put in my mind?  I cannot answer you right now.  How could I?  I have made so many mistakes here already it seems, nothing but mistakes.  I’ve violated my own beliefs about myself, my own, even private codes of conduct.  I’ve broken every promise I made before I came here.  Crossed every boundary I’d painstakingly set so I would not fail. 

“I’ve killed often out of hate and mocked my opponents before killing them.  Yes.  And I’ve fallen in love twice already, the second time incredibly painful and utterly confusing.  I’ve bitched at my charges even knowing they were going to die the next day; given utterly lewd sexual “performances” publicly.  I’ve despaired, doubted, recanted, thought my Altarian life a total fake; hated Old Earth for inveighing me into coming here.  I forgot why I came here and at times just became a mad, frantic killer, an animal fighting for her life not caring about anything else. 

“I’ve cursed Malefactus and every male on it.  I’ve looked into the sky at Albaral and cursed that too.  I’ve used the doctor to my own ends instead of just taking it like everybody else and dying as I should have.  In the end it seems to me that I am the one who brought all these diabolical things to Malefactus; that I made a most terrible mistake long ago and now everybody is paying for my foolishness and my false sense of redemptive properties.  I’m an idiot, YBA. 

“You are looking at a wreck and a wretch of a once human being!  To seek more vengeance, and along with letting myself fall in love with a man I can never really be with – you heard me earlier and heard his response – what can I say? 

[end blog post #49]

Reaching for Awareness

[short story by   ~burning woman~  written by Sha’Tara]

“If it is true that we only live a small part of the life that is within us, what happens to the rest?

What could, what should be done with all the time that lies ahead of us?

Is it a wish, dreamlike and nostalgic, to stand once again at that point in life; to be able to take a completely different direction from the one which has made us who we are?

The fear of death might be described as the fear of not being able to become whom one planned to be.” (quotes from the movie, Night Train to Lisbon)

It was, he figured, around the middle of the night. He’d crawled out of the warm sleeping bag to stand outside and look at the night sky. The stars were slowly revolving overhead, only he knew it wasn’t the stars that were moving, but himself riding his wild planet through space and time. The thought made him feel vulnerable, fragile. Who am I to be standing here alone to witness this incredible sight? A couple of dozen years have gone by already since I was born and what do I know? I don’t even know why I was born. Happenstance? That’s it? I’m here, feeling this incredible surge of life just because, and no reason for any of it?

He thought about that as he began to shiver and long to crawl back into his little tent and the sleeping bag with its residual warmth. “I think therefore I am” he said out loud. “Well, that’s not good enough anymore because really that is meaningless. What I need to establish for myself is not the realization that “I am” which is pretty obvious and need not be stated, but “Why Am I? That’s the point!”

It was early Summer and the river level was still rising. There was the smell of fresh leaves and muddy waters flowing over mud banks and through thick grasses. You could hear the waters hissing as they flowed by the little island he’d chosen for his stay: it had just enough room to pitch the tent and bring the kayak safely out of the water. He knew “his” river, that the little island would not wash away. For the time being it was his own little private world surrounded by water. He’d chosen it as his sanctuary, a place to be alone and away from people. A place to think in ways not possible among others.

He had given himself this gift. He already knew that from here his life would take another path, go on another tangent, new ideas coalescing in his mind to foster yet another nature even if his body chose to remain essentially the same, ageing and eventually dying. That, he understood, was the way of things on Earth, “but not for me” he would say and watch friends and family walk away from him, afraid that his madness might be contagious.

“I’m sorry, Nadia” he’d told his young wife as she berated him for leaving on his “crazy” kayak outing on the river. She of course wanted nothing to do with his water ways and had done her utmost after their wedding to dissuade him and get him to sell his kayak even though she had promised she would never interfere with the part of his life that involved the river. “It’s my time of year to go on the river and partake of her awakening. I know you cannot understand this but there is no need to fear, or be jealous. This is whom you married and I kept no secrets or surprises to spring upon you. I will be back when I have done what I must do. If you do not wish to share this with me you are free to leave. I would be pleased to find you here when I return but I will not be expecting it. Take care o’ you, my lady.”

That had been his way, to set the people around him free of bonding to himself. The freedom he sought, he gave to everyone. He had never told his wife that he loved her – he did not believe in love because, as he so often said, love has proven it’s weakness in unreliability. Respect and honour, that I can offer, but not love.  This included his concept of bonding.  Stay or leave, as you choose.

Ignoring the night’s cold he let his mind wander this strange new world he had decided to enter into: detachment. Is detachment simply a coward’s way of dealing with a violent, cruel and unpredictable world? Is it a morbid fear of losing someone close, another that one has fallen in love with or developed a special bond to? Is that why I’m here, to work this out for myself?

The stars continued their uninterrupted journey over his head and he realized once again and logically that what he was observing was his own journey through the cosmos, one tiny fraction at a time.

‘I’m traveling through the cosmos but not only that, I am fully aware of this fact, right here, right now. But where am I going? Do I get to choose that or am I a piece of flotsam on the river of space-time? No, that will not be. This new nature of mine I will dedicate to discovering my destination and the next one I will use to figure out how I am supposed to get there.’

It was some time before he could calm his mind and resume his sleep.

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #40

 Is there a relationship between the Melkiar, perhaps in some of their early penetrations in this Galaxy and the black metal men who defeated the green Desert Beast by blowing her ship out of the sky and subsequently enslaving the women and children of T’Sing Tarleyn?  What about the chronology of these events?  What happens to “linear time” when crossing dimensions?  Could the Melkiars have wandered in this dimension thousands of years ago while at the same non-linear “time” invading our dimension of the Galaxy?

Obviously I’m not yet asking the right questions but I’ll get there.

[end blog post #39]
______________________

[begin blog post #40]

And this brings me back to worrying about Deirdre.  Should I try to speak to the Cydroids alone?  Would they communicate with me, help me?  Could they take Deirdre aboard their ship and deliver her safely to Koron or some friendly world where an empath would be accepted?  How much autonomy do they possess?

In physical form Deirdre cannot go to Altaria for it is one of the “hidden worlds” tucked as it were inside the folds of a non-accessible cross-dimension outside the reach of any known technology.  Only avatars guided by off-world Altarians can find their way to my world.  Alone, only fully self-empowered and freed minds can work out the complex space telemetry required to find it and even then, the world itself passes judgment by mind probe on the one who would enter.  If the  probed mind fails to pass the test it will simply believe it has entered empty space.  The fold closes as a wave over a fish that has surfaced and takes Altaria down into its protective girdle of deception and confusion.  Sometimes when a non-Altarian friend is dying a WindWalker can ‘guide’ that one to Altaria with a code name as I, as Al’Tara, did for Tiegli.  But Deirdre is not dying, that’s the point!

Further only a full-fledged ISSA human being can live there; one who must have mastered the process of physical manifestation or reincarnation.  Nothing physical from “outside” can enter Altarian space within an average distance of ten parsecs.  So it was decreed by the Ancients, and agreed to by the Galactic Council of that time.  The alternative, had the Galactic politicians refused this hidden status, was for the Altarians to simply move their planet to another dimension, a parallel galaxy.  They were quite prepared to do this but the loss of Altarian empathic altruism was considered too high.  Millions of worlds in the process of terra-forming were being guided by Altarians.  Would they leave their work to follow their world?  If they did remain, how would they fare in time, unable to return home for necessary readjustment?  What would they become? 

I’m beginning to suspect I know only too well.  You become lost.  You remember but you are no longer what you remember.  You become “where” you are located.  You fall into the same disease pattern as did the ancient “time lords” who created the Melkiar AI invaders.  Matter seduces you and you die.

Altarians are entities who mind-link to their base world in order to function.  If it is not the native world of Altaria, then it will be whatever they are on.  They will “become” the evil and the good of it; their minds ingesting the thoughts; adapting the feelings and with the erosion of time, fall into the lowest category of the pseudo-human: the emotional entity.  Their beautiful voices become nothing more than the susurrations of sand moving eternally and mindlessly at the behest of the great winds.  That is how you kill an Altarian.  Too many have already fallen to their deaths that way and can no longer remember.

Possibly, I could send Deirdre to Nova Elora, a planet-sized entity who according to what I remember should be currently in orbit around one of the Pleiades suns.  This ancient universal wanderer has quite a story and what I know of it should probably be told.

From digital records discovered in the galactic wandering library-mind called Aíoná, an excerpt from the story of Nova Elora according to Altra WindWalker, the “male” counterpart to Al’Tara, her brother and also an Avatari:

Assisted by Al’Tara, I went through a dimensional doorway and entered the Pleiadian star system worlds.  I was as a ball of multicoloured light and floating on what seemed like a liquid light.  I came to a stunningly beautiful planet which was actually a planet-like being of feminine energy.  Her name, as translated to me is Nova Elora.  This being is a universal wanderer which has become a galactic healer, a resting place for ailing, aging or tired sentient life-forms.

There were many other balls of light of differing colours, emitting various frequencies of energy also floating all about this being.  Some were still, some danced, some floated along slowly and some zoomed by me.  I found it was possible to get close to some of these beings and meld in with their energy.  There had to be mutual consent and compatibility to do this.

As I observed in awe at all that I was experiencing, I saw that the sentient beings, the balls of light were being periodically touched by the planet being’s energy. Wisps of soft, white, light-like energy would rise from the being’s surface, much like arms, and upon reaching a ball of light or a sentient being’s essence, for such it was, the arm opened like a hand.  Small strands of light, like fingers, curved around the balls of light, cradling them.  Some it stroked gently, some it re-directed, sent spinning wildly or sent arching off on mini-orbits in every possible direction.  It seemed like a game and I too participated in it. 

As I was touched by Nova’s extensions, I felt her love.  She held my essence in her energy field, filling me with the fullness of sensual experience.  I felt empathy, compassion, unconditional acceptance and pure pleasure.

Nova opened her telepathic channels to me and related part of her story.  I saw her beginnings as a wanderer; her search and bonding with a male energy like herself.  I felt the depth of her pain and loss when her partner was destroyed in an attack upon them as they wandered through the depths of space.  Her loss was the greatest in that she could not find another like herself as she continued her search.  During those lonely times, she vowed to discover a way to share her love and wisdom with other sentient life-forms everywhere.  She came upon the Pleiadian worlds and stated her desire.  She was welcomed there and assigned her own orbit.  She was granted full right to be a healer and impart whatever knowledge she had garnered through her eons of wandering the universe.  Her healing powers and wisdom are made available unconditionally to all who come to her for healing and enlightenment.

This place or entity is perfectly suited to Deirdre’s empathic nature, but how to cross the dimensional barrier?  The Koron stealth craft does not have such capability and they have no idea how to construct such a drive.  They do not possess the rudimentary understanding of the physics involved in designing and using a Shearing-type drive.  Even if they were able to design such a drive and they believed me on the existence of such ‘other’ worlds, I could not promote physical interactions between those worlds, at least not now.  So my reasoning would be purely self-centered and selfish.  I cannot do that.  It remains that the only way people from ‘here’ can cross to ‘there’ is through physical death.

Meanwhile I have to entertain an even broader concern and that is concerning the women fighters.  I still haven’t figured out how to communicate even the simplest of abstract ideas to them.  I can interact with them on concepts such as weapons tactics; the psychology of hand to hand combat and basic skills they require to stay alive and bring down an opponent.  But that they should question the why’s and the wherefores of it, that is beyond any of them. 

Only the Cholradil understands but she is an outcast among her peers.  The women avoid her and if she approaches one who is hurting, she is often beaten and sent away.  If I have my way, she will not be here much longer.

By her branding she is now fifteen years old.  She has maybe one more year before she must enter the arena and I still have no idea what criteria they use to decide when a new trainee makes her debut in the arena as an official fighter.  The way it looks, unless someone notices her and buys her out of this place into concubinage or the sex trade – not much of an improvement from what I’ve heard from the two “demoted” concubines I’m in the process of training for the arena – Deirdre is doomed to die within the year. 

I cannot let that happen.

end blog post #40

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #39

The second fight has lasted over three hours.  Later the doctor tells me it was the longest one-on-one combat fights ever recorded.  Even as Torlat still twitches on the ground the King rises, ends the tournament and dismisses the unruly crowd with a show of force from several hundred black-clad uniformed and armoured Hyrete police held in readiness.  As the police units file down the aisles in the stands all outbursts cease.  The fans file out to consider their staggering losses and a few to rejoice over their winnings.  Despite the mounting evidence that female fighters will overcome their male challengers on an average of three to one, these sick men cannot believe the evidence, going with their feelings of revulsion and hate; believing women are weaker than men and continuing to place their bets on the male challengers.   

I live another day, and to what end?  For the moment, there is but one end: to save Deirdre.

[end blog post #38]
____________________

[begin blog post #39]

Chapter 17 – If One Woman Escapes

In the weeks following the fight I am employed, or better said, occupied, strictly as trainer of new recruits.  It is a time of reflection and observation.  I think about my performance, not in the physical realm – there is not much I could change or improve on that – but in my heart and in my mind.  I think about what I thought I would do here, and what I have done instead.  In deep and constant retrospection, I analyze my feelings.  The killings are now beginning to haunt my thoughts.  I feel like a murderer of innocents.  Innocents because I realize they are pushed to be what they are.  Something drives them, something they have no defence against.  I encounter that same feeling of helplessness and frustration I knew so well on Túat Har when I encountered injustice and the various levels of oppression constant in all her societies.

Balomo Echinoza, medical doctor and anthropologist, citizen of the world of Koron, intelligent, educated, aware; an interstellar traveler renowned for his research and writings, after fifteen years on this world is succumbing to the same misogynist force that controls all the men of T’Sing Tarleyn.  He falls into moods of uncontrollable rage against a woman if he feels she has slighted him in some way and strikes her without any qualms until the madness recedes and he realizes his act.  Then he plunges into deep despair.

How much longer before I too become like other gladiator females and fight simply because I want to live and I have no other choice, or worse, because I want to kill men?  I realize now that both the men and women of this world are victims of some Power beyond their will to overcome.  Even the rare Cholradil, the natural born empaths, do not see the problem of Malefactus.  They see themselves as the problem for being unable to become normal members of their society.

I thought at first the problem was in the local natural stimulant drug made from the chakr root.  A simplistic conclusion that was quickly proved wrong.  Neither Bal nor I use it and the few times I did, it only made me sick.  And why do the Cholradil – both female and male – remain immune to the sickness? 

Yes, I did learn that there are male Cholradil on this world.  The males never live past the rite of puberty.  When confronted by the female he must kill, she invariably kills him, end of story.  So, according to Deirdre, Cholradil males absorb large quantities of chakr in desperate attempts to overcome their dreaded affliction – all to no avail.  They cannot hurt another, no matter what is done to them and no matter what they do to themselves.

So, does one have to be born a natural empath to be immune to misogyny or can one develop that sense somehow?  I have no answer.  The only side issue I find from this line of questioning is that I would never want to become a natural empath.  To be driven to whatever end by a feeling you have absolutely no control over is a terrible thing.  It’s too much like an addiction.  On Altaria we are empaths by choice.  We choose how we respond to our feelings. 

I remember a time when I was going through particular angst over my visions of this world.  I entered into an extended fast without food or water.  To do this I walked up the green hills of my Altarian home near the valley of the Great Rift we call Shaliant.  I got to the top after three days of steady walking, not stopping of day or night – there is seldom any real darkness there because of our binary sun system.   I remember my feet being guided to my destination by the very soil and stone of the planet herself during my ascent, for she too is an empath. 

At the highest point I sat on a smooth red mound of sun-baked clay, now abandoned, made by travelling swarms of long reddish coloured architect beetles.  These creatures build their mounds over long years of endless work, going through a full cycle, then suddenly swarming and taking flight to the very last, travelling hundreds of miles before they must descend again, lay their eggs in the ground and die.  The emerging larva then begin their task of building a new mound.

Long I stayed awake through the days and the nights, sitting motionless, thus becoming more aware of life’s movements all around.  I knew the fundamental impressions I was taking from my world would keep me sane enough to know when it was time to return, whatever happened to me as a result of my choices.  They were the trigger I would use to cause the remembrance of my true self, whatever the dangers, the temptations or seductions put before me.

Allow me to describe this small aspect of Altaria.  Mists filled Shaliant in the mornings and gently lift, or fade throughout the day as one of our two suns fill the deep canyons to reveal the sinewy bed of the river Fallouin, longest water course on Altaria.  I could hear the dragged-out cries from the majestic osoleys, or sea birds, below the promontory outcropping where I sat and sometimes could see them soaring slowly and gracefully on the thermals far below my vantage point, their grey-blue wingspans up to five times the length of my body.  They come in from the sea during their breeding periods that last approximately two years.  Their time at sea we measure at seventeen to twenty-one years depending on the species.  There are tales on our world of the old sea people (still known as the Mer-people on Túat Har) talking to the osoleys and of their children riding them.  I believe these tales have more than a little truth to them.

But I hadn’t climbed to the top of Shaliant to enjoy the beauty of this totally unspoiled natural space, nor to guarantee my return in some future.  I had come to rediscover another aspect of myself… and to cry alone.  There is an odd flow of intelligent “mind” energy over Shaliant that has the power to block all telepathic connections.  It is so strong that you cannot take any flying object over it, but must circumnavigate it.  It blocks all flow of information from artificial computers.  Only natural life can penetrate the mystery of Shaliant, or survive in it unscathed. 

I wanted to block out the protective, empathic love of Altaria that flows naturally through all of us.  I wanted to re-experience loneliness, as I had known it on Earth and knew I’d know even more on Malefactus.  I remained on Shaliant for over a month.  I relearned how to cry within a brokenness of heart.  I relearned to allow all my feelings to jumble in and out of mind and heart and throw me in utter confusion.  I relearned how to live within the mad cacophony considered normal on non-empath worlds.

It was from these heights that I chose to fade out of my Altarian body, allowing myself to fall over the edge of the Great Rift, plummeting into the maze to re-awaken and manifest physically transformed, on Malefactus. 

Speaking of Malefactus, there is more to this world that makes me wonder.  I cannot see much of it from the confines of our sleeping and training compound, but in this micro environment some things are obvious.  You never hear anyone sing.  It is prohibited.  Why?  There are no visible birds except for the vultures that appear without fail at every killing.  There are no animals, wild or domesticated, except for whatever makes that lugubrious call on our walls in the night.  You rarely see a blade of grass growing along the base of the great stone walls or in fissures and cracks, though there should be.  If one does grow and is found, we are supposed to pull it out and bring it to a trainer to be disposed of… as if a freely growing thing was a sign of disease, or weakness.  Of course no one does that.  Any green thing we find, that being rare enough, we eat!

No flowers, wild or domestic, are ever seen.  No leaf ever blows in from outside, so my guess is there are no tall trees, at least in this part of the world.  Tiegli mentioned trees that made tents in the deep south.

Where do the vegetables we eat come from?  And the straw we put in our cages?  No answer.

I’ve been here several years now and the only thing that has changed is in the amount of sand blowing in and spreading in the yards, in the washing troughs and on the tables and seats.  We have to clean it out and sweep constantly.  I notice less rain also and on rare occasions our water has been rationed.  When I first came here I was aware of a salty sea smell on certain days when the winds blew strong and steady from the north-east, bringing in clouds and rain.  Now the smell is brackish and of rotting sea vegetation as on hot days when the tide goes way out in a collector bay.  I’m guessing the level of the water is dropping.  Is this a natural cycle or an environmental anomaly?  Is the entire planet experiencing desertification?  I have no answer.

Well no, that is not quite exact.  I do have the beginning of vision dreams now.  For years I wondered why my ability to dream was gone.  I think the same force that causes the misogynist imbalance is also responsible for preventing people from dreaming.  I know the women don’t dream, though some have reported seeing things at night akin to nightmares but they “see” their dreams as something happening outside of themselves.  They see ghosts wandering around the cages and walking through the walls.  They have little sense of creativity and most dismiss “brain images” as nonsense that will get you killed in the arena.

On recurrent dream is an image of the planet imploding, with all of her natural life force simply flowing out of her, leaving her, as if she were dying and sending off seeds of herself to re-grow herself somewhere else.  If this is the case, it may come to pass that the sun will also die and all that will remain to light this doomed place will be the cursed Albaral, assuming of course that it is indeed self-powered and its light isn’t just a reflection of the natural sun.

Each time I verbalize the name of Albaral I find myself entering a psychic trance and “seeing” ideas as well as images connected to this artificial sun.  This time I see the image of “Melkiar,” not as invading AI’s in spaceships, but as a gigantic artificial life form frozen within an ancient shiny black metallic carapace housing some kind of mind once an ISSA life, now drained of every aspect of its original self.  A monstrous entity capable of programming AI’s to destroy all that it once was, as if doing so could erase the memory of what it had been before greed for longevity corrupted it. 

Where do you exist now, in space/time, Melkiar?  Where are you?  What are your plans?  Is Albaral one of your observation posts? 

Could there be some connection between this world and the invaders of the United Treaty Worlds?  For example the doctor’s old auto-medic cannibalized from one of the UTW jump scout ships that was sunk beneath the massive stone walls of Hyrete: how was that embedded under a fifty meter thick foundation supporting a twenty metre stone wall without being damaged?  Melkiars could morph from thousands of small armed robots to giant inorganic brains encased in elephantine carapaces that could withstand the most powerful fusion weaponry.  The only way we learned to destroy these monstrosities were with tripleheaded singularity grenades which create multi-level fusion bursts that “ate” their intended target then “died” before they could expand into an uncontrolled melt-down.  

These Melkiar constructs could travel unaided through short distances in deep vacuum space.  They could hack their way through the hardest stone, causing havoc in mining communities of asteroid fields.  Certainly, if they did penetrate the Malefactus stack world dimension along with the jump scouts, they could have easily taken an auto-medic and placed it here.  The question foremost in my mind remains, ‘Why?’  What use would they have for an auto-medic designed to repair biological life forms, namely human bodies when their entire drive was to destroy all biologicals?

What else could they do we know nothing about?  Much research into their particular type of life ended with the wars.  No one wanted more to do with them.  Probably another big mistake.  But logically, if there is any logic to this place, why would they hide an auto-medic here in Hyrete?  Is it possible there are AI rebels even among the Melkiar who sought to save human lives?  Is there a relationship between the Melkiar, perhaps in some of their early penetrations in this Galaxy and the black metal men who defeated the green Desert Beast by blowing her ship out of the sky and subsequently enslaving the women and children of T’Sing Tarleyn?  What about the chronology of these events?  What happens to “linear time” when crossing dimensions?  Could the Melkiars have wandered in this dimension thousands of years ago while at the same non-linear “time” invading our dimension of the Galaxy?

Obviously I’m not yet asking the right questions but I’ll get there.

[end blog post #39]

Dreaming and Past Life Remembrances

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

When I first started on the path of awakening to self-empowerment I began to dream strange new dreams. I filled pages of records of dreams I made it my task to interpret for myself. I had been dreaming before, of course, since as far back as I could remember but these new dreams were teaching dreams, many having nothing to do with Earth or this life.

From these strange dreams I became aware of memories from past lives. As I worked at developing my new nature and a topsy-turvy different understanding of life and a possible purpose in having become a participant in it, those dreams began to subside in proportion to how much I entered into past life remembrances and adapted what I remembered to my current and ever-changing circumstances.

Was there a connection between increased past life awareness and the negative effect on my dreaming? Being the curious type I wanted to know why past life remembrances should negatively affect quantity and quality of dreaming.

Obviously the first question was, why do we dream anyway? What’s the point?

The point, I realized, is that dreams are the mind’s safety valve. The mind cannot be contained within a strictly material, single life event, nor even within a religious context which amounts to the same thing, what I’d call, based on personal experience, a state of mindlessness. (I’m talking about religion, not spirituality.) Dreams I realized, serve as pressure reliefs for an enslaved mind. They remind the mind being that no matter what is believed, there is more that the Matrix mind prison cannot contain, deny or explain.

Once we break out of the “thou shalt not” programming and allow our mind to develop cosmically, outside the totalitarian bounds of the Matrix and accept that we are more than we are allowed to know, dreams have served their purpose. Now we can contemplate our own remembrances of past/future lives without listening to the very loud societal voice that says, “You’re crazy!” We know that crazy is refusal to look in photo albums and the old diaries because the System says they don’t exist. The Voice of Reason that says there are no such things as past lives, never mind future ones. We are not supposed to have other lives than this one. Only two possibilities officially allowed: annihilation at death for the materialist or the permanently removed zombie state of heaven or hell for the religionist. That’s all she wrote, says the priest-psychiatrist, now go shopping.

What are dreams then? Until we awaken they are the safety valve that prevents us from complete mind death. They cannot enlighten, however, just prevent, keeping the mind on life-support until the Eureka moment that changes everything and from which there is no turning back. Until we dare trust ourselves rather than the System as we learn to explore ourselves through our past/future lives, deliberately and purposefully choosing to remember who we really are, remembering hidden lives we have experienced however brutal or insignificant they may have been.

It’s not what we did that matters, as psychics like to emphasize, it’s that we dare give the System the finger by remembering ourselves though we were never given space to appear in any official history book; we dare rise from the common grave of the ignorant, forgotten, enslaved, trod under and murdered unwashed masses.

Because I have worked hard at penetrating the wall of lies erected by the System to separate this me from all other “me’s” of past/future lives – the process is not a linear or chronological progression – I have achieved something that has taken me beyond the need to vent my mind through dreams that needed interpretation. I have shattered the time mirror to see myself in myriads of dimensions and shapes without having to feel foolish about it, or the need to hide. My mind is no longer on life support. I no longer have to to choose between religion and materialism.  Best of all I no longer need to be an Amazombie Googleite Facebookian!!!

I grew up from the ground as a slender shoot, extended leaves through my dreams, then shot up a seed head through past life remembrances that is now ready to scatter its seeds over time and space when the wind of death blows over me. Within my own seeds I will take flight and go on and on and nothing can ever stop me again.

That is what I call freedom.

I’ll Forgive you, Eddie

(I do have a short story for the March Blog Battle “Dusk” but this isn’t it!  I was in a mood so I wrote this out tonight… go figure.)

Short Story – by Sha’Tara

I’ll forgive you Eddie, just as soon as you give me time to work this one out. I mean, the lying, the cheating, the way you’ve made me feel cheap in the eyes of our friends while boosting your bottomless pit of an ego and sucking the life out of me.

First, I have to go back over time and find that place, not in the photo album but in my memory, where I found myself truly “in love” with you; that place where I said “yes” when you asked me to marry you. But there is no such place, is there, Eddie. I said “yes” because I was pregnant and I’d call that duress, wouldn’t you?

How did you make me pregnant, Eddie? Do you remember your little trick at the Christmas party? Sammy told me how you put the date rape drug in my drink while I went to the ladies’ but years only later, Eddie. I remember the shock of discovering that bit of truth about you. Why did you stick around after that? Did you feel guilty, or was it the fear of being exposed by your own friends who knew what you’d done? Fear, wasn’t it. You felt obligated to marry me because it’s how we did things in those days.

Why did you stick around after our baby boy died of crib death Eddie? Was it because I brought in good money from my legal secretary job while also providing the house wife bit? So you had a comfortable place to live when your contruction jobs went soft? A safe base from which you could go out to bars, bowling alleys, race tracks and clubs to have fun, screw and gamble our money away? So you’d have someone to beat up when something pissed you off?

Hey, don’t make that face. Did you think I didn’t know about the affairs? You fucked my best friend Vivian and she finally admitted it because she felt guilty she said. But you Eddie, did you ever feel guilty? Does a rat ever feel guilt? No. It’s not in its nature, nor yours. You’re not just a rat Eddie, you’re a cockroach and I’ve been thinking that it’s time I did something serious about my pest problem. Time I returned the favour for that date rape drug thing, the beatings and my suspicion that little Alfred had help in his crib death.

You’re lying there on the floor beside the couch and wondering why you can hear what I’m saying to you but you can’t get up. It’s really quite simple: you’re having a heart attack. OK I’ll admit to having helped it along by playing with your prescriptions but you won’t be blabbing to anyone about that. That’s why I became a pharmacist after quitting the legal profession; this is so much more fun. There was no point seeking redress through legal channels, you’d eaten us out of house and home back when and even if you went to jail you’re the type that would just ooze through the bars to walk the streets again.

I’m sure you wondered why I invited you back into my life after all these years but you couldn’t resist a free B&B and you’d always considered me stupid, all evidence to the contrary. I have to thank you for accepting my invitation to come in out of the cold for old times sake. A softy, me, right? An easy mark, that’s me again. Oh you ignorant, vile, murderous imbecile, Eddie. I made it my life’s goal, after I got rid of you, to get even with you. No, not exactly even, just one step further. I felt I owed you that much.

What’s that you’re saying? You want me to call an ambulance? Oh but I will, I promise. That’s all part of the plan. I just want to watch you die in pain and agony first, is that too much to ask? What? I didn’t get that but I’ll assume you said that you understand completely. Thanks Eddie for agreeing to help me fulfill my lifelong ambition. I’m going to sit by the fireplace, have a glass of our favorite wine and watch you die.

Here’s to us, Eddie. I’ll forgive you when I see you in hell you bastard.

Dialogue with a Teacher

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

“I would be a catalyst for change, a change agent.”
“Why?” She asked, her back to me. She seemed to be staring at something beyond the horizon only she could see.
“Why?” I replied, “It’s this world, Teacher; it breaks my heart.”
“So you would change it then?”
“Yes.”
“You understand how change happens, do you not?”
“I think so… but there are so many ways…”
“No! Not if you desire good change. Yes, many ways to bring about change that nurtures unhappiness, misery and endless grief. But the good change, how do you make that come about?”
“I do not know… I simply do not know how.”
“Very well. I am going to reveal some ancient wisdom to you, then you will understand though it may change your mind about being a change agent. Have you ever fallen in love with someone? Ever been so in love that nothing else mattered?”
“Yes I have been, long, long ago.”
“Can you recall your feelings of that time?”
“Somewhat, yes. Pure madness!”
“Madness yes, but all good change comes from that sort of madness. Life proceeds from that madness. Children are born because of it. Now for the great secret but first you get one guess: where does this madness originate? What is its genesis?”
“Trick question, Teacher? I honestly do not know.”
“Such a seed can only be found in one place in the entire universe: in your heart. You must mine for it, extract it, grind and polish it, love it above everything else, desire it more than anything else then give it out freely and completely to the world you wish to see change come about in.
“Know this, that once you give it away you must die. You know the truth of it, “unless a seed falls to the ground and dies it will not produce fruit.” You were taught this when only a child and you remember that lesson. Of all the lesser teachings you received from your tribal parents and teachers, you kept this one and one other.
“Now remember this also, my Avatar, there are many ways to die. Dying is easy but there is only one way to live: with compassion through complete detachment. You understand?”
“Yes Teacher, I do understand.”
“Does it make you want to change your mind?”
I was very slow in answering her, not because I was unsure about my choices but because the moment was so charged with “sacred” energy. I suppose she would have said my reply was predictable.
“On the contrary, Teacher, this is an affirmation. As to that second lesson you alluded to, I remember it well also…”small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.”
“Be sure to remain on it.”