Category Archives: Remembering

Antierra Manisfesto – blog post #48

“It has never been proven that on the long run any military benefited any society it purported to protect.  All military forces are there but for the ease of extracting power from those who trust them, or must endure them.  Fear, through lies, is their modus operandi.  But I digress and I apologize.”

“No, it’s OK.  I did ask and I appreciate your candid answer.  I have similar feelings in that regard and my own experiences on Old Earth support Dr. Echinoza’s assessment of the military.  Please continue to explain what it is like to be a cloned Cydroid.  The subject fascinates me.”

[end blog post #47]
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[begin blog post #48]

“Cydroids” are basically an advanced form of android.  We are quite human in most ways.  Our bodies are cloned from human DNA stock, not from artifices.  If you took my body apart you would not know I am not a true human.  You would assume I was some kind of freak human by the “perfection” of organs and placement.  We are cloned to function at peak human physical and mental capacity so you would not find any pre-birth blemish or defect in any of us.  Things can happen later, of course, but that’s easily ascertained and repaired.

“The actual cloning is a very costly process.  To grow a Cydroid on Koron takes approximately six months of full time involvement by a team of no less than four specialists working, as you say, around the clock.  The purchaser must pay for this, of course, plus the rental of the cloning tanks and lab facilities.  Then there’s the training and programming into whatever specialty is expected by the ‘adoptive parent to be’ before the new being can enter the household of its owner and display its abilities – another two years minimum, involving another team of specialists and whatever equipment required.  If the Cydroid is to fly stealth craft, then one must be rented for the training.  If one becomes a doctor – as I am – my healing center time must be paid for – that is another three year investment.  

“Then there’s the legal ceremony of entering “it” from a thing or basically a machine to full-fledged member of the, what you call “ISSA” side of the life equation.  Though it is not considered human, it becomes “she” or “he” and is officially named.  Enter YBA1 or XBA1 – the costs of this also having been prepaid by the adoptive parent or parents.

“In the course of time though, Cydroids can be a very lucrative investment, not to mention the fact that for space travellers like Dr. Echinoza we can, and are, life savers.  We program ourselves to save his life under any circumstance, no questions asked.  We never even think of hesitating to perform a command or doing what we know needs doing if our name-parent needs us.  We “know” what to do.  We can die doing this, of course, but only if all of us are killed do we terminate.  As long as one (on each side of the gender equation) survives, we all survive.  We can be re-grown from the remaining one’s memories, of course.  That is why we prefer to work in larger groups.  Our chances of survival are exponentially increased with each new adopted member. 

“So naturally, there is a real aspect of self-preservation in protecting our adoptive parent.  If he were to die, we could be split up and re-adopted (purchased) piece-meal by others who cannot afford all of us together.  You see, as member of the household, we are full-fledged members of society with all the rights and responsibilities of humans.  But without an adoptive parent we revert back to non-identity status.  Why?  Because it’s a lucrative business to re-sell Cydroids and we remain part of the estate as property rather than as family, children or heirs.  Certainly the laws have seen to it that we could never become heirs!

“Just as certainly we can function independently of humans, likely much better than we do now.  But humans (the ones your mind dubs pseudo-humans) are strange creatures who, even in the midst of change, continue to fight innovations and the very change they put in motion.  Irrational is what they are.  They are also dreadfully afraid of creating a pseudo-human life that would demonstrate qualities and abilities beyond their own. 

“They fear being taken over by superior minds and so, what actually happens is they live all of their limited lives being taken over by lesser minds.  It’s more than ironic to us.  We would be so good for, and to, our humans if they set us free to develop.  Our mindset is clear and clean.  We reject violence for any purpose.  We love knowledge but we can only understand it as we experience it.  I think, Antierra, that we have more in common with you Altarians.  Perhaps, since you call less evolved human types “pseudo-humans” as compared to your people whom you consider to be fully human, we Cydroids are more human than our makers.

“If we are split up among different families we no longer function with equal efficiency.  We lack that closeness that shares issues and problems and uses the combined minds to resolve it.  Also, our new adoptive parents can lose track of our other “twins” and if we accidentally die, our group can dwindle down to one and terminate.  Then everything that we were or are, is lost.  All that was put into us at such great cost of money and time; all our experiences, gone.  Our history through time, gone.  There is no law currently that would enforce the re-growing of one of us who dies.  Only if our owner wishes it and the money is available to cover the costs will this happen. 

“Our advocates are currently arguing these obvious points before the Koron World Court, but without much success.  Money talks, especially on Koron.  Cydroids cannot make investments and gain the necessary credits to, say, buy themselves into independence.  Estate lawyers and the courts they manipulate also saw to that.  The only thing that makes us different from bond slaves is that we cannot be mistreated or sold, even if the estate is liquidated as long as our current adoptive parent or parents remain alive.  Ownership of human others, i.e., slavery, is not legal, not permitted and forcefully investigated and prosecuted on Koron. 

“We have the right to charge our adoptive parents – or anyone who hires us, or rents us, for whatever purpose – for abuse, corporeal mistreatment or upon discovery of “pre-sold” arrangements with investors.  We have full and guaranteed access to pro bono representation by the best legal minds on Koron and anyone found pre-selling their adopted Cydroids, no matter who it is, goes to jail – the automatic sentence cannot be less than ten years.  So we are not without some legal representation including important rights and protections but we certainly need more so we can become more than we were ever expected to  become.  We are the future for humanity and we are certainly chafing at the bit that is imposed on us (Hey, got that one from your mind too.  Horses you say.  Powerful riding animals. These animals were your slaves then? Ok, later). 

“You see, we also have, at the very least since there is no way to know when or if it terminates, a very long life-span resulting in useful memories that can be tapped into anywhere at a moment’s notice.  We remember everything.  So far Koron has cloned Cydroids for over one hundred and fifty years and the first successful “model” still looks and feels as young and alive as I do without any kind of rejuvenation treatment or “re-tanking.”  I was privileged to meet her before I was assigned to Malefactus.  You would love her, Antierra.  Her knowledge spans so many years.  Not like yours, but impressive, at least to me.  She let me feel her mind and I believe that simple touch changed my life’s direction.  I “saw” the flow of life through many generations of humans.”

And while she talked I wondered at her ability to so tap my mind that she knew so much about my expanded life or lives.  That she knew how my “other” spanned millennia of time, and of time beyond time, as far as I chose to remember myself outside my current bondage to Malefactus. 

Amazing that I don’t feel threatened by her mind touch.  I don’t feel robbed but the opposite.  I feel as if I were undressing myself for a lover for the first time – that heart-flutter excitement that wonders what comes next, feeling the moistness between my virgin thighs… and how while watching him take his clothes off I stare at his naked body and at that which is supposed to give me the most wonderful pleasure life has to offer. 

She isn’t raping my mind, she’s making love to me.

“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]

Our World is Essentially a Violent Place (or if you wish, How did I discover myself here from there?)

[scattered remembrances from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

This may come across as a strange piece of admission but…???

When we are young we live as if we were immortal. That is a truism except that for some of us, we do not want that immortality which translates as eternity. It demands responsibility we have no idea how to deal with.

Some of us are born watchers, observers of our world, perhaps because at birth we partially broke out of the programming, or because it didn’t take. So what do we see, or to be more personal (and honest) what did I see?

I saw that the weak and the meek get the raw deal. Though I sometimes saw the other side of the coin what hit home was its dark side: the fear, the hate, the distrust, the anger – the IN-JUST-ICE!

I cringed when the parents fought each other and there was no place to hide except under useless blankets if I couldn’t get dressed quickly enough to run for the barn and hide among the cows, not for protection but for their warmth and so as not to have to listen and feel the “terror” taking place in the house, a terror that could quickly turn against me as the convenient scapegoat.

Then I got older and saw that the family squabbles resembled the world squabbles only these were on a much greater scale. I was learning responsibility too at the same time. More choices.

Mine, I judged, was a harsh world with little leeway in terms of forgiveness. You made a mistake, you paid a price, often way beyond the weight of the mistake. The same was true of nations and races; of the poor and for the powerless gender, all claims and propaganda to the contrary.

I so desired to do away with myself but what to do? I had a life and my religion stated unequivocally that if I took that life I was damned to exist in a burning hell for eternity: again, no escape, not even the warm flank of a milk cow there. I would stare at a pitch fork and try to imagine what it would feel like to be endlessly prodded by that as a punishment for something I had done out of despair millions of years ago. I would also know that despair was another mortal sin that was added to my punishment, of course.

So no escape, just choices. I saw and felt pain, my earliest recollection. Then I saw jealousy and senseless expectations. I saw injustice and how it nurtured fear, doubt, distrust, hate, anger and brutality. Where in that did I fit in? Nowhere, but since there was nowhere to hide from all of it, and as my knowledge expanded exponentially, I sensed a growing awareness of the essential brutality of the world and I was forced to make hard choices.

I saw two: I could choose to accept and suffer the arrows of injustice upon myself and for the most helpless of the world (I did not know that was known as being empathetic) or I could fight back. Fighting back meant using violence, no matter what word is used to hide that fact and using violence meant losing my heart. It wasn’t what I wanted but it seemed to be the only logical choice.

At the beginning of this journey and still much in the dark as to who I was and what I would choose to become, I chose anger as my companion and then violence just seemed to make sense. It took several years before I realized that my reliance on anger was eating me up and then came more guilt: was I committing suicide? I wanted to leave this world desperately but was I willing to risk the potential consequences? I had already sacrificed my heart to one choice, would I lose myself for eternity?

The frightened child had grown into an adult. I had learned to bluster my way into the adult world even if I felt I were an alien or something altogether weird. I hid my real thoughts and feelings and expressed only those I thought would make me seem normal and acceptable. I used ideas and words from books, magazines, the radio, songs, sermons, political speeches, and that seemed to satisfy people even though it polarized them. For a time I was a complete stranger to myself but at least I had some mental peace, a pretense of belonging and discovered I had accessed some power.

I might continue this and explain how I came to the edge of my own personal black hole and found myself inexplicably pulled out of it.

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]
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[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

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.”

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #14

[begin blog post #14]

Chapter 8 – Questions Without Answers

“The correct way is to always tell the truth – unless it be inconvenient to one’s higher purpose.  Thus we learn to lie, using the truth for a shield against contempt that we may indeed lie while holding on to truth. The correct way is to be ever prepared to accept and suffer the consequences of being discovered in such truthful lies.” [Antierra’s Contradictions – Malefactus report] 

To my surprise the doctor shows up again.  He has me brought to his “office” – a space that is more like a small private apartment replete with all the conveniences taken for granted by the rich and powerful and I gasp at what I see here when I compare it to the cages where naked women lean against steel bars to sit or lay in straw for bedding and cover.  I remember a time when that room would not have seemed ostentatious to me, but rather ordinary.  My perspective has been greatly altered by the conditions I, as just another of thousands of female gladiators, have to exist in.

The doctor looks over my battered body and says, “The handlers tell me they noticed you have difficulties with your balance when entering the arena for a fight.  They say that they thought you were going to faint today.  What is going on with you there?”
I reply candidly, “Doctor, I don’t know.  When I walk into the ring I do feel as if I’m going to pass out.  For a few moments I cannot hear anything and everything seems to spin.  It isn’t that I am afraid.  There is a sickness in my stomach that makes me feel as if I were experiencing morning sickness during pregnancy.”  I describe my feelings in detail for him. 

He stares at me, uncomprehending.  ‘How could you know about being pregnant?’ his look queries.  I say nothing.  How could I explain that one?

He continues, “Every fighter is given a measured dose of powdered chakr in her last meal before the fight.  It gives a sense of heightened awareness and has been found helpful in saving fighters from early demise.  Perhaps it has a negative effect on you.  Would you rather go in without it this next time, then?  I don’t recommend it but if it should make you sick, perhaps it would be best if you tried fighting without the help of this drug?

“Also understand I’m giving you a choice here – you must never, ever, repeat this to anyone.  I may survive sex with you – enforcement of that rule would mean the death of everyone in this compound  – but not if they discover I’m actually giving you a choice in something.  To them it could only mean that I’ve fallen in love with you.  That is our death sentence, you realize?  They will certainly kill you and me if I demonstrate I consider you able to understand choice.  Must I kill you now in order to save my own life or will you obey me?” 

To make his point, he holds a syringe filled with a green liquid close to my heart.  Whatever it is, I assume it’s deadly. 

“Sir, I understand.”  I do not feign my humility.  I need this man.  I need the information I am certain he possesses which will help me assess my changing position among the women.  Maybe even allow me a certain freedom not allowed women in general.  And now I find myself falling into the deadliest trap of all: the utterly unreliable feeling of hope.

He undresses himself by pulling off his white smock, carefully puts it down on a stool and he makes love to me, directly, violently.  I try to slow him down, to move with him, to play him a bit.  He shows surprise and what I take to be some delight in the experimentation.  He comes and so do I!  Whether from the release of pent-up sexual need or the effect of the drug, I don’t know.  I suddenly feel wonderful even though I should have been fed and should be sleeping upon fresh straw in my cage by now, trying to forget the totality of my pain from my battered body. 

‘Do it again, I think, please do it again.  Hold me, come inside me again and take me with you away from here.’  But of course he does no such thing.  He puts his smock back on and looks me over, then just sits on his desk, while I stand next to him.  He puts his hand on my thigh, slowly moves it up to my vagina.  He stops there, thoughtfully playing his fingers through my pubic hair. 

Something troubles him.  Were it not for the speaking taboo, I would ask him what is bothering him.  But no woman is permitted to speak first.  She cannot initiate a conversation and can only respond when questioned. 

“Who are you?”  He asks suddenly, looking up at my face.  His tone says he expects an answer – a truthful answer.

If there is one thing you learn quickly in a situation like mine, as anyone who has ever been a prisoner, captive or slave of another, will tell you, it is to lie with the conviction that your lies are “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”  So I tell the truth by lying, and lie by telling the truth until even I am confused about what I am saying.

“I don’t know what you mean sir.”  I state simply.  It’s true, isn’t it?  How can I tell him who I am?  I don’t even know for sure anymore.  Just another slave slated to die sooner or later, likely sooner.  Who am I?  Why am I?  I don’t even remember what I think I am!  I am so tired and I don’t want to have to think about what I should be revealing to him.

He presses on: “I think you know what I mean.  You are not like the others.  You were found in the desert.  I have all the reports filed on you.  No one had seen you before.  How did you happen to be there, among that group of rebels particularly, with nothing and no one with you?  They searched that area for days after you were found.  They probed the sands for hidden caches; looked for tracks or signs but nothing was found.  You can’t be from the deep south beyond the desert.  There are no known tribes that resemble you in size or shape or skin tone anywhere on that part of the world, perhaps nowhere.  I’ve never seen a man or woman of T’Sing Tarleyn who has your physical nature or body character.  Where are you from?  Were you dropped here?

He emphasizes this point.

“Dropped sir?”  I’m practically holding my breath, so close he is to the truth, yet so far from ever discovering it unless I tell him, in which case he will have no choice but to disbelieve me – unless my intuition is correct – he’s not from T’Sing Tarleyn but from another world and would be able to accept such an explanation. 

“What do you mean?”  I ask with as much candour as I can manage.

He changes his approach.

“Do you have a name, a real name, among your people?”

Before I can think about my reply, I blurt it out: 

“Yes sir, that I remember.  My real name was Antierra, which means “of Earth.”

“Earth?  I have never heard of that place.  What is that.  Is it a kingdom on this planet or are you from an Outer World?”

“If you mean from a world other than T’Sing Tarleyn, then yes to you it is probably an Outer World sir.  Please accept my saying so, though now you must suspect I could be lying – but I know I am not.  Earth is a planet not of this dimension – it’s what you would call an alien world.”

[end blog post #14]