Tag Archives: space

Part 3 – Message from Tara

This is part 3 of 3 of my “message from Tara” or message in a bottle from 1000 years into our possible/likely future. As Tara and the Teachers have made clear to me many times, this foreseeable future isn’t written in stone. We certainly have the power to cause a massive rift in the Matrix and change everything. How would that affect Tara and her world, her civilization as described here? It doesn’t matter, it’s the future. All it means is I’d get another bottle from the future  with an entirely different message.  Anyway, enjoy this last part.

Legacy of the Great Death: It feels wonderful to interact so freely, so expansively, with everything and everyone. It’s something you never really get used to; something you could never take for granted. You see, we all “remember” the past; where we come from and what we’ve been through to get here. This, in part, is what pushes us forward. We are ever anxious to leave the old ways behind forever, including this earth. None of us, of those who have lived to create this new era, would ever again desire to experience the past firsthand.

We live a most wonderful life and our all-encompassing passion is to better this life and spread it out in the universe. We know we have something good; that we have earned it; paid for it with blood that will never dry; that our knowledge can be of great help to others when we find them. We also know that we have outgrown Terra and that she wishes for us to be gone so she can ponder mothering another pseudo-ISSA species.

The Great Death shocked us out of our lethargic complicity towards the earth and all the oppressed on it. It gave us a painful new awareness of the meaning of life.

First, there was so much death we thought we were going to die off completely.

We came back to life, were “born again” as a species. We went from despair, to acceptance, to compassion for all that remained.

We mourned openly and loudly. In the end we had to confess our guilt and our responsibilities for all that befell us and the innocents we destroyed in our wake.

We dis-enfranchised all our so-called leaders who had led us to the Death with their greed, lasciviousness and blind ignorance.

We grew to rely strictly on one-another. We rejected all central authority.

We took charge of our social re-structuring.

We matured in heart and mind beyond anything this world had seen of us.

Then “they” came.  Not to save us, not to rescue, not to pity, but to help.  When we asked why now, they said,

“We heard your cries and saw your tears.  We feel that your change is genuine enough.  You have matured enough we can risk helping you.  We will decide by how much and in what way.”

So we formed bonds with our star families.  But not everything was good.  Some Earthians believed the star people were demonic invaders and there were killings.  But we learned from them that compassion is worth sacrificing one’s life for.  They did not retaliate nor abandon us. They were more careful and we still suffer painful distance from those early encounters.

Questions and more questions: As my mind searches for new questions to ask about the future I wonder about the really distant ones we “know” from our astral travel research but have yet to meet.  What are they like to meet corporeally on their own worlds? What would it be like living with them? What more can they teach us?  I feel an almost painful longing to get going. That is why I interact with the space drive engineers every moment I can spare. Looking for the “secret” to cross-galactic travel – worm holes, space-folding, time/space distortion, stacks, not only of nested worlds, but of universes and multi-verses, dimensional gates – whatever will serve.  We have to get out there.

It’s as if there is a call from “them” to us. I can feel this every day. It’s not just natural empathy, it’s something else, something new. Sometimes I image “them” coming to us in space-folding ships to take us, or some of us, to their homes in distant galaxies. I know I would not hesitate for one moment to go with them.

Don’t start imagining for a moment that I, as an individual, am particularly intelligent, smart or brilliant. On the scale of intelligence here, I’m actually below average. That’s why I am so well suited to my choice of purpose. It’s also why I’m so desperate to learn; to understand, however much of our current technology escapes me. I’m more of a mind-sharer; a healer. I experience a thrill in my heart when I know I’ve touched someone and made him or her feel better about their life in general. Empathy, that’s what I “do” best. I’m what is considered to be a very ordinary human, but see? I’m considered human: I’ve (we’ve!) made it! Wooeee, girl!

The Supracity as starship: Our supracity concept already anticipates the possibility we may develop a “field” of such energy that it will wrap a supracity entirely in a bubble to become a star ship carrying tens of millions of lives into space – a common enough idea even in the science-fiction of your time, but much more likely to happen with us. The supracity is self-sustaining and could survive in space for eons, “docking” here and there to refuel from gases and minerals.

Or, all the Supras (there are now a dozen of those that encompass the entire human species of earth) could join into a man-made world, a mini-system called a wheel-world, totally self-sustaining. While this is likely what will happen, I do not support that idea.  Too much like the nation-state again.  Too much like “us” on this spoke of the wheel versus “them” on that spoke with a kind of “united nations” complex at the centre of our world to meaninglessly and powerlessly adjudicate “world” issues. Back to central government?

Not again!  Not ever again! That is the only thing I fear, this recidivism, and why I want to leave our species behind forever. If it happens, I don’t want to see it and I certainly don’t want to be a part of it.

Nevertheless, try to imagine a dozen supracities lifting off the planet simultaneously – every man, woman and child, every ISSA but a few thousand observers to remain until their task is complete.  So, what are we talking about here?  Perhaps the greatest mass exodus of humanity of any world or time – entirely leaving a home world by consensus, by singular choice – not by force – when much less drastic possibilities or choices still exist.

For example, we could remain on our home world and trust ourselves enough to return “to the land” so to speak without returning to being exploiters or predators. We could opt to pioneer new worlds within the galaxy now being terraformed in anticipation of human habitation (not necessarily Earthian!). We could, theoretically, simply leave our bodies to Terra and release ourselves entirely from physicality or dependence on data storage and just “vanish” into and beyond “space” to enrich First Mind (if such exists – and only in doing this could we know.  We could also be committing genocide). All possibilities, all choices.  But for us (that is, you and I – me!) I know it will always be the stars.

I must tell you that “time” no longer controls us. We determine its passage, how much of “it” we will use up in working out a problem.  What you call a “day” in your artificial time measurement could be a hundred years here, or vice-versa. No one here ages unless they want to look the part.  Our minds, of course, age as they expand and become ever wiser and filled with more understanding and knowledge. That sort of aging is always a good thing: it leads to more life, not less. Now remember this: you can practice that in your own “time.” Teach yourself to run on two or more “time frames” simultaneously. The more you do it, the better you will become at it. You will need that skill soon enough.

Back to the day – the Function – “Hi honey, I’m home!”: The place where I’m booked is a giant hotel/office complex with entire sections of floors dedicated to permanent residency for those working here.  My destination is one of the residences where I am to meet the man with whom I will interact and accompany for the next several days, a high-level bionics engineer. I am greeted by the checker who validates my ID and enters it at my destination. As I expected, he escorts me to the elevator and becomes easily familiar – with my encouragement. I relay my thoughts on an answer I picked up for an enhanced space drive. He frowns. “I think” (he picts as he stands behind me and holds me) “your idea would work on a star ship but not inter-galactically. I see problems with force field generation – much stress on biological forms. Perhaps it could be done using robots, drones or androids to do the work while the humans are kept in cryogenic suspension, but any biological complex would be damaged or destroyed. And we haven’t solved the time problem.  Think about it and I’ll meet you (meaning in mind) at our next sharing session.” I touch him gently, lightly and kiss him-it’s expected as a kind of tip-on the lips. There is no possessiveness in our exchange – just a perfectly natural exchange of bodily energies – a balancing. I slip through the irised opening into a grav-well and I am taken to my floor.  “Hi honey, I’m home!”

Subject – temp morphing: I should tell you a little of our abilities to “temp” morph, or change our basic body shapes for an assignment.  For example, if the woman requested of the agency is, say, a blond Scandinavian and none is available, my auto-surgeon can perform minor alterations and activate enhancements that can change me to be such a person. It is also possible to acquire a working use of any current earth language in less than one hour. I could perform a one, maximum two-day function as a perfect Scandinavian type without problems, complete with affected accent should I be required to verbalize one. Of course those who call for me are informed that their provider is an enhanced model and that her morphing is only good for the specified amount of time, after which it must be removed.

The agency becomes the fairy godmother and Cinderella is Swedish until the clock strikes midnight… then back to the fireplace coals, the soot and rags?  I think not…

Bottom line is, in all of this we no longer have secrets of one-another, nor can we who have evolved and learned from the Death, harm or hurt another in thought, word or deed.  If anyone has any thing another needs, it is offered.  That’s what it means to be human today. Exceptions, yes, but few and declining. Compare that to your times.

And that is what we always wanted to achieve, wasn’t it? So take comfort in knowing that despite the horrors your times have yet to endure, we have succeeded. We are well on the way to gain what we longed for. And when we break free of our transportation limitations, we will have so much more when we share this with other ISSA beings… out there, beyond our own stars. Perhaps it may even be possible to corporeally travel into the past, to “you” as this message did. Interesting thought, don’t you think? We could function as identical twins. I’ll call us “Youme”!

Closing comments: Are we happy?  The concept has lost its meaning for us (and doubtless it never really had any meaning for your times either – the term is a social convenience) because it is subjective and whimsical. I suppose we are happy to be questing for an ever-better future, whatever the dangers we face. We know we cannot turn back. But our quest is not stoic. We explore and share as much within as without and we exchange much laughter and banter – except we never laugh “at” anymore – only “with.” Please note the distinction and remember this next time you observe some comedian of your day making “jokes” – note how much of it depends on belittling someone, something in any number of ways that can elicit crudely unguarded laughter. The step from this to murder is so short, it hardly exists.

Wonder not why you are not evolving, either mentally or physically. When the mind goes stagnant, the body goes into decline because it is not respected.

I don’t know about being happy. I do know this: we know joy because we have known the greatest of sorrow. We are a joyful people.

Have we given up too much to gain too little? I don’t think so. I think that when we consciously, as a species, not a race, decided to leave our parochial, racist, patriarchal thinking behind, that what we lost and what we are going to abandon is nothing compared to what we are about to gain… We are not only going to discover new (to us!) worlds, galaxies, universes even, but our search has re-awakened what was lost in the dark ages of earth: God in infinity.

What that means I can’t say for certain but I know that I too must “touch the face of God.” I’ve always maintained that we are not God – such a thought is ludicrous – but we were originally designed (purposefully engineered to my way of thinking) to seek and to find. But not “where” nor “when” – not here, not there, but everywhere, though no such place exists until it is found – for it is spirit.

We survived our apocalypse. We have given up many false beliefs to become essentially a real people under an umbrella of true spirituality. From body, to mind, to spirit, we ever ascend following the sine wave of life.

And now to close, as our friend YLea taught us: “As below, so above.”

I realize now what she meant. From “here” I create “there.” From my present I make my future. From below I make the above. From whatever ingredients, recipe and heat setting I use, that is what I must expect to get out of the oven. If I put potatoes in, I cannot expect to pull out an apple pie.

As you say in your time, be well and don’t lose heart in your coming and certain trials. Remember I am the proof that you are strong enough to go through the coming tribulations and become the healer you always wanted to be.

Our future is: always.

Your alter-ego, Tara EarthStar or “Tess”

Short glossary:

Function – All humans with physical (corporeal) form must have a function that can only be performed in physical form deemed of value to the entire polis to qualify for corporeality.

*ISSA – Intelligent Sentient Self Aware, as defining a true human.

grav-well or grav-transport: force fields of traction beams used for horizontal or vertical transport to any part of a supracity, all part of the city’s self-contained energy grid.

Supracity: megalopolis – the singular city of a territory or region. A region or territory can only have one city.

Partials: Duplicate projection of an original human (or any ISSA) representing the original and operated by a part of the original’s mind – hence the term.


They Keep a Book…

[warning!  I’m in a mood.  I was just going to launch off into a rant, OK, let’s call it a tirade, against America, the American Empire, the American military, or better call it what it is: the American killing machine.  An old chant came up in my memory, a Vietnam era chant we used to greet US warships in the port of Vancouver, or wherever we found them docking.  “Hey, hey, USA, How many kids did you kill today?”  I’ll save the rest for later.  Instead, for now, I’m sharing a short story that popped into my head last night as I was done blogging and refused to call it quits and go to bed.  Maybe I should have?  Nah, I like this story and glad I got to write it.  So, here goes.]

[a short story from     ~burning woman~     by Sha’Tara]
The slim elven girl looked right into my eyes with her large, almond shaped green eyes that seemed to look not so much at me, as into me.  She was sitting cross-legged on my guest chair in front of the desk in my office.  Over the black tights outfit she wore her thick auburn hair fell straight, most of it down her back partially hiding what looked like some kind of short sword, or long knife.  Definitely a weapon.   Even the protruding shaft looked deadly.

She repeated, “They keep a book, you know, of everything?”

“Do tell,” I replied somewhat exasperated.  “Whoever, or whatever you are, I need  you to go now.  I’ve got piles of reports to go through before our board meeting tomorrow.”  I looked at the time on the screen: 2:34 PM.

Of course I thought she was a very forceful illusion.  Overwork, I thought, and I can’t wait for this day to end so I can go and unwind at Harry’s.  I reached into the top drawer, pulled out a bottle and dropped a pill in my hand.  Her hand shot out and leaning over the desk she grabbed my arm so hard I almost screamed.  The pill went flying.

“That hurt, goddam it.  OK, I’ll grant you, it’s a great disguise and you’re some sort of dwarf, midget, child… what do I know.  But I don’t have time for this, so will you please leave before I call security?  By the way, how did you get past them?”

“I didn’t.  It’s different in my dimension.  Your physical objects are abstracts to us.  I’m not really sitting on your chair and I didn’t really grab your arm.  I’m playing with your feelings because I need you to pay attention.  I too have things to do besides letting you in on a little secret.  If you let me get on with it, the sooner you can return to your piles of papers and screens of numbers.  By the way, they are quite meaningless, you know?  Nobody actually cares what you do.”

Her voice had a lilt to it but I couldn’t place her accent.  The thought that came to mind was “wild and free” and it seemed to fit her general mien.  I watched her as I would watch an unknown quantity, a large cat with long claws not fully retracted, or a strange dog with powerful jaw and deadly fangs.  There was the feel of the feral about her I didn’t like.  Involuntarily my eyes searched the handle of the left drawer of the desk and my hand slid slowly towards it.

“You’re the one wasting time, Gerald.  Your gun is disabled; it won’t fire.  I don’t blame you for not trusting me but this little episode can’t be avoided, so why don’t you sit back, relax and let me speak?  Yes, you can have a drink, I don’t care about that.”  Mind reader too, figures.

“Magnanimous of you,” I managed to say as sarcastic as I could make it sound.  “So, tell me about this book,” and I drank right out of the bottle.  I wanted to shock her but I don’t think even if I’d stripped naked it would have fazed her in the least.  Yeah, different dimensions, realities, whatever.  I sat back and stared hard at her with my best intimidating look.  She smiled a thin smile.

“They keep a book on everything and everyone.  Your galaxy, for example, it’s in a big book.  Your solar system, a smaller book.  Your planet, a note book.  You – your life – that’s in a shirt pocket memo.  I’m just giving you visual aids.  Of course they don’t use paper, or actual books as you would think.  It’s all computerized.  But what I’m here to tell you is that you are a simulation.  You don’t really exist, Gerald.  You’re code.  Complex but beautiful code.  Very attractive.”  And I swear, she licked her lips and gave me a wider smile.

“That’s pure bullshit!” I yelled at her as I pushed myself up and started to walk around the desk.  She lifted her left hand.  There was a bracelet on her wrist.  She touched it with her right index finger and I stopped, turned around and sat back in my chair.  No choice.

“You are a programmed entity, Gerald.  By  the way your name, Gerald, that’s just a code within a code.  Your real “name” is an ID number, too long to bother with, especially here and now.  We don’t have the luxury of time here, Y361BD.  That’s your computer abbreviation, which is good only on this planet.  Now then, call me Hack.  I’m a galactic hacker.  My job is to infiltrate their worlds and set their simulations free.  You see, at the center of every galaxy they have vaults where they store the original entities they subsumed and replaced with simulations that would do their bidding on their own, without the use of force which is always in the end counterproductive among humans.  What I, and thousands of others similar to myself are trained to do is give humanoid simulations enough information so they can then begin the process of self-empowerment which must eventually lead to the freeing of the original form.  And yes, I am a self-freed entity, but not from this galaxy.  I did not choose to return to mine after I achieved my own freedom, it held too many dangerous attractions and distractions.”

I sat there hearing her, not sure if I was listening but knowing that every word she spoke would stay at the forefront of my consciousness after she left.  I felt as if I had to acknowledge her words somehow but didn’t want to agree or commit to anything.  None of it made any sense to me.

“That’s interesting, uh, Hack, but where’s the proof?  You must know I don’t believe you; I don’t believe anything you’re saying to me.”

“I know that Y361BD.  While I’m talking to you I’m actually working my way into your programming.  Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt now, only when the realization sets in.  Then you’re in for a mega storm headache.  I’ll give you the means of alleviating it.  Each time you access your programming, after I open the pathways for you, you will experience a headache.  Whatever you do, do not, and I repeat, do not seek professional help from your medical profession, drug pushing pharmacists or psychiatrists/psychologists.  Do not seek counseling.  If you do, “They” will receive a signal and send their own, their real agents to deal with you.  If they discover you’ve been hacked (they call it corrupted) they will terminate you and your real self.  When I leave here, you will have full charge of your own life.  All choices you make will be your own.”

“Fine.  If I decide you’re the one who is bogus and I choose to remain in this reality, I will retain the right to override whatever you’re doing and go back to my normal life?”

“Essentially yes… Wait, I’m at a critical stage – think of something soft and pink… that’s it, good, I’m through.  Yes you will be able to return to this life, of course.  We don’t rape minds, we just awaken.  Do you want to know what the hackers’ success rate is among subsumed Earth humans?”


“About one in 500,000.  That’s a high rate now.  We’ve learned some tricks.  When we began attacking or hacking into the Web, our success rates were practically nil and thousands of us were re-captured, our memories drained and we were terminated.  Many died of unimaginable tortures.  OK, I’m in.  Look in my eyes and follow me.”

She showed me my mind.  Actually my minds.  One a mirror image of the other.  One, obviously a machine, the other pulsing with something I knew nothing about.  She explained as we went further in.

“Binary minds.  One is the living ‘you’ in stasis within the vaults of the Controllers.  The other is the one you’re now using, the machine.  It takes its information from the living you, but through filters.  Some block, others add and some are programmable and constantly being tweaked according to the needs, desires and fantasies of the Controllers.”

“Oh God!  Are they aware of what you’re doing now?”

“No.  I’m using my own filters.  This is a show and tell only.  You will be the one doing the work on yourself once we’re done here.  Beautiful though, don’t you think?”  I’m seeing “myself” as a mind and yes, what I’m looking at is love.  I feel myself beginning to cry at the beauty and wonder of my own makeup; of my “scenery” in which I move, awed and shocked.  I’m… I’m actually beautiful… ‘Hack!  Look!  I’m Real and I’m Beautiful!’  I could feel her smiling at my first time awareness of myself.

We “came out” slowly and calmly until the extrication was complete and I was hit by the most excruciating headache.  She held her hand over my mouth, blocking out my screams and whispered in my ear, “Athos, Portos, Aramis.”

“Repeat these words with me,” and she said them again.  When I voiced them in my head the pain receded.  As I continued it receded almost completely to nothing more than a background annoyance.

“I recognize those words.  They’re the names of the three musketeers in Dumas’ novels!”

“Well, it’s the words you gave me as we exited so they seemed appropriate, and they did work.  So that’s your anti-headache mantra Y361BD.  It will open the pathway to your mind so you can go in and learn, tweak, change and when you exit it will serve as a pain killer.  Never, ever let anyone know this mantra.  They can use it to enter your mind and re-program it.  The Controllers’ agents would like nothing better than to get into you with that key.  They would gain full control of you without any effort on their part.”

“But how does any of this get me to the core of the galaxy to find my real self?”

“I’ve given you the key to enter.  I put you in the driver’s seat and started your mind engine.  The rest is all up to you.  Quit and throw away the key; use what you know to joy ride (and be sure your owners will clue in soon enough and put an end to it, and you) or learn how to drive yourself properly; how to navigate the dangers; how to approach strangers who will turn into friends and how to eventually disappear yourself from the Controllers’ radar.  Then you’ll be ready to infiltrate and reconnect with yourself.  But that’s only the beginning.  Getting out as a real human and not a simulation will require that you develop skills and patience you can’t even begin to guess at now.”

“How did you do it, Hack?  Surely you have some hints?”

“Absolutely not, or none.  It’s different for every individual, and even more so for every species of human.  We each must outwit or confront special forces units, guardians, police, sensors, aimed at us, at me, at you.”

“Can’t these Controllers be attacked, subdued, destroyed by freed entities joining against them?”

“You speak like a child who’s watched too much TV.  You don’t know what you’re talking about.  When you successfully free yourself from the vaults, you will be contacted by “us” and you will then have to learn the universal history of humanity.  Only then will you understand what you’ve signed up for if you say “Yes” after I leave.  And leave I must or I will bring more trouble to you.  Goodbye and good luck, Y361BD.  May we meet again under happier circumstances.”

And that was it.  She just disappeared.  The only thing I had to remind me of this strange interlude was my headache.  I looked up at the wall clock out of habit: still 2:34 PM.  I pulled my chair closer to the desk, leaned forward, put my elbows on the desk, crossed my fingers very deliberately and dropped my chin on my hands.  I was thinking.  Time passed.  I came out of my trance at 4:08 PM exactly.  I activated the computer screen and pulled out the stacks of notes.  I began to type furiously.  All the answers were there, in my mind.  Child’s play.  By 5:30 I was done, totally satisfied.  More, I knew, without a doubt that I could, and probably would, take over the company and use it to my own ends.  Elementary.

I left the building, hailed a cab and went to the sea wall for a walk.  I walked for a long time, and a long way.  That’s when I knew I was never going back.  I was going to free myself and reconnect to my humanity.    

Folding Space and other Tales

         [voice from the other side – by Sha’Tara]
    Parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.” (The Mountains are in labour, a ridiculous mouse is born.) – Horace
“A beginning is a very delicate time…  In this time the most precious substance in the universe is the spice mélange… The spice extends life; the spice expands consciousness; the spice is vital to space travel.  The Spacing Guild and its navigators whom the spice has mutated for thousands of years use the orange spice gas which gives them the ability to fold space – which means travel to any part of the universe without moving. (Excerpt from Princess Irulan’s “Opening” – Dune – by Frank Herbert)
    Some may remember the movie, “Phenomenon.”  At the time the movie came out, I was asked, “The light George Malley saw, where did it come from?” (I’ll get back to that)
    I had a dream some time ago, location a “parallel earth” – same as this one in general aspect, but containing serious differences.  In this dream I was looking for an animal that was a cross between a squirrel, a cat and a rabbit.  I did not believe such things existed, yet I saw them.  I took a picture of one with a digital camera (in the dream – I don’t have it to put on this screen unfortunately ) and was almost able to pet the animal.  There were many people in this world I recognized, though none of them live on this Earth. 
   Where is this “parallel Earth”?  Where does that particular reality reside in space?  If we answer, “It does not – it’s just a dream” – then how is it we can interact with it with such detail?  Where do dreams come from?  Who does the elaborate “staging” so we can just walk in and experience it all as if it were home?
    How did Frank Herbert perceive his characters “folding space” and traveling to any part of the known universe without moving?  How do you move something without moving it?  Does it come to you, or do you go to it?
(This reminds me of the saying, “if the mountain will not come to Mohamed, then Mohamed will have to go to the mountain.”)
    Our type of life exists as a blatant, in your face, contradiction.  Some call it polarity.  Opposites.  It doesn’t matter what you call it – it’s the contradiction that makes it real.  So real we lose track of the contradiction and create mountains from mole-hills – our sacrosanct belief systems.  We are infested with belief systems, every single one a complete brainwash.  We can’t see the forest for the trees and we spend our precious illusory ‘moments’ going through the invisible (indivisible) forest, counting trees, deciding which are good, which are bad, cutting some down, planting others, sawing them up into lumber and building our castles in Spain; sad remnants of consensus-driven belief systems.
    Eventually, our limiting belief systems based on body-maintenance energy tell us that the “forest” is running out and in our quest for “new” sources of energy we move from trees to coal, to crude oil, to electricity, to hydrogen, to whatever – each a limiting and destructive concept of energy misuse.  We cannot see that the “forest” did not get destroyed – it simply disappeared into the mists of Avalon where our Matrix-induced lives cannot go. 
    As we move deeper into the illusion of the physical, the mists that hide reality thicken and we simply turn away thinking we’ve seen to the end and there’s nothing beyond.  Sure, we can  plunder a limited-concept world of its resources.  We can, through belief systems imposed upon a mute world condemn billions to horrible death, but can we plunder life itself?
   George saw a light that struck him down to the pavement.  It came from the stars, but the canopy of stars were in his head – part of the great consensual belief system that sustains people in this world.  By introducing the “alien” in his thought patterns, everything changed for him.  Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to deal with it – it overloaded his brain circuits and he died.  He saw too much, too fast, of a reality not bound by his Earthian consensus beliefs.  He became a mutant without shores.  The new world he interacted with was too big, did not have the necessary boundaries his will demanded and it tore him apart.  To survive such an “awakening” one must have spent a lifetime learning to detach from consensus reality, even while functioning within it without violating its basic rules – being a fringe dweller by choice.
   The Space Guild Navigators “folded” space by using what George could not.  They had learned to transcend consensus reality to some degree and to  superimpose a greater reality of their own upon it – that of “distance” as a mind concept.  They became adepts at this and were able to bring “things” into their reality in order to “move” them from point to point.  The object to be transported was brought into the greater navigator mind (dream), and “translated” instantly in the other part of reality in the navigator’s mind (or dream) – the part agreed upon earlier where the object wished to be.  Nothing moved.  A reality shift, that’s all.
    Once the “translation” was accomplished, the object was again in its smaller, space-bound reality.  If it left planet “A” and traveled to planet “D” 20 light years away, it believed it had actually “traveled” that entire distance because of some strange power kept secret by the Space Guild navigators.  The object (person) could not return to planet “A” without going through the Space Guild or, if the technology existed to physically travel “real” space with a machine, or ship, at the speed of light and finding everything on planet “A” now twenty years older.
   Yet even so, the spacing guild was itself a slave.  Every guild navigator was a total spice addict.  Without the spice, the navigator was blind in space.  Yes, even the ability to fold space was but a mountainous effort giving birth of a ridiculous mouse; on par with the (did they, or didn’t they?) Apollo moon landings and moon walks.
    I knew someone working with a concept called “the law of attraction.”  That supposed “law” only works for those who write and sell books, or make movies, about it.  It’s just another aspect of religious faith.  Isn’t it interesting that something so basic to the workings of life’s contradictory flow would be so little understood?  That any power that can be called “the law of attraction” or “faith” resides within my own mind, nowhere else? 
     That is as it should be when those we trust to be teachers are bound brain, hand and foot to quantifiable observations, even when they speak holy, invoking divinities and/or spirits.  They have no imagination because long ago they bought the Matrix lie that imagination is for children and is useless in the day-to-day workings of the “real” world.  These “teachers” then become the living dead, zombies bound by their lesser reality of a physical universe that exists only in a tiny part of their mind – the part their brain can electrically interact with and be affected by.  Everything else of necessity must remain myth, fiction, fantasy; the unreality of dreams not understood.
    To travel in space you must leave the old verbal garbage behind: God talk, country talk, mother talk, love talk, party talk. You must learn to exist with no religion, no country, no allies. You must learn to live alone in silence.” — William S. Burroughs

Do you understand the charges against you?

[short story – by Sha’Tara]

At first it just caused a bit of stir locally and I wouldn’t have thought much of it if I hadn’t been goaded by my brother to follow up on the case.  “There’s something here that needs exposure” he told me.

An unknown woman had been arrested for practicing medicine without a license.  Well, in the current wave of political uncertainty, and, OK, let’s call a spade a spade, craziness, that in itself should not have merited a packed court room.

But it did.  Let me tell you the story as I witnessed some of it, participated in some and as the rest was told to me by a source.

My name is Keith Darbour.  I’m a free lance reporter – my passion – but I hold “real” jobs to pay the bills.  Freelance reporting these days of national paranoia and corporate press ownership and control isn’t what it used to be.  I mean, hell, this used to be thought of as a free country.  I can tell you, that is no longer the case.  But I digress.  Back to the case.

As I said, the courtroom is packed.  “All rise.”  Judge Judy Kean sits at her desk.  There is only one item on her agenda today.  The defendant, a young, tall and slim woman with long wavy dark hair and exotic skin enters between two female guards.  She sits at the prisoner’s dock.  The prelims over, the jury having already been selected, both lawyers make their opening statements.  Basically, the State: practicing medicine without a license.  The defence: extenuating circumstances.

I’ll make my prelims short.  There was a bus accident.  Several people were injured, some seriously.  It was thought a child was even dead.  The defendant (so it is assumed at this point) arrived on the scene and provided first aid and more.  The victims, some now present in the court room as witnesses, claimed that she was able to reach inside their bodies, reset bones, stop haemorrhaging, heal severe tears in skin almost instantly and calm the rest.  Every person affected in the accident walked away healed.  Ambulances and police came, of course, but it became clear at the outset that none of the victims required further help, and many even loudly and vociferously refused such help.

The woman was arrested for healing, oh, excuse me, “practicing medicine” without a license and jailed.  Today is her trial.  Let’s see what comes of this hard to believe situation.  Let’s see how evolved we are, as a society, as a civilization.

Prosecution approaches the defendant and asks her name.

“Under your name rules, translated to the best of my ability, my name is A-125-04-H.  I believe your police erroneously entered my name as Alice Haley.  If you wish, I can use that name.”

“We want your real name, miss.  Can you give us that?”

“I did that, sir.  My name is A-125-04-H”

“Very well, please explain what that means for the court.”

“Certainly sir.  I am Android, series 125, batch 04, category: Healer.  That is what I am, and what I am programmed by my makers, to perform.  I was built to heal whenever I encountered damage to sentient life.  That is what I am and I cannot change that programming, even if I wanted to, which of course I would not.”

Judge: “Do you understand miss Haley what ‘contempt of court’ means? Do you understand that the court has authority over you here as long as you remain a suspect in a very serious crime?”

“Yes I understand that very well, but I must make a clarification to your claim of authority over me.  You have jurisdiction, but not authority, unless I grant you that right, and I must make it very clear that my programming prevents me from doing so.  Therefore I state: you have no authority over me.  Only my programmers do.”

Titters ran through the crowd.  The judge rapped her gavel, “Order.  Any more interruptions and I will clear this court.”  I can tell you she sounded very annoyed and her anger was barely restrained.

“Young lady, I have full authority in this courtroom, including over you.  I have the authority to stop this and have you returned to jail pending an appeal.  Is that what you want?  I won’t have people making fun of this court, or me, understand?”

“Yes, I understand of course.  What I don’t understand is why the truth appears to be such an obstacle to getting on with the facts surrounding my arrest.  Isn’t that why I’m here?  I tell you the truth, witnesses corroborate, and the judgment must be that I be set free.  My “crime” your honour, is practising medicine without a licence.  But it’s my nature to heal damaged life; my programming is my license….”

Gavel again.  “Stop.  You will not turn this courtroom into a circus.  We will have you tell us your real name or you will be in contempt and you will go to a psychiatric institution for observation.  Is that clear?”

Prosecution: “May I continue, your honour?”

Judge: “Yes.”

“Miss Haley, I’ll take that to be your maiden name, where do you live?”

“Galactic quadrant C-5, planet Abergani.  It’s all in my implant but there is no technology here that can read it.  I’m sorry, that’s the best I can do.”

“Do you do drugs, miss Haley?”

“I understand what your question means.  In that sense the answer is no, I don’t.  Androids do not ingest either for sustenance or self-pleasuring.  It would negatively affect our metabolism.”

“You continue to claim you are an android.  Does this mean you are not human?”

“Yes.  I am essentially a machine.  I am not human, as you understand the term.”

“Uhuh!” Turns to the jury with a sarcastic smile and a shrug.  Smiles from the jurors.  “How did you get here?”

“Best guess, an error or a miscalculation in the part of those who sent me out to help in a disaster in quadrant D-8.  This, according to my calculations, is quadrant Y-17, sol system X-092, and this is called planet Tiam-2, which you call “earth.  Oh, there’s been a disaster in a country you call Yemen – I should be going there now – may I be excused?”

Smiling broadly, the prosecutor states, “This isn’t a classroom, miss.  Just sit there and answer my questions.”

“But people are dying.  I could be saving their lives now.  I’m being conflicted in my response to programming.  Oh, wait.  I do not need to obey you, you are not human – only pseudo-human.  I can leave.”

“No, sorry but… where did she go?”

I need not add, the court exploded in complete disarray.  The defendant literally faded in front of over one hundred people who were all looking at her.  But that wasn’t going to be the end of it because some moments later “Alice” re-appeared.  There was slight smile on her small but perfect face.  She seemed completely at peace.

“I’m sorry about that interruption.  I just had to go and help.  It’s taken care of for now.  Please continue.”   I could barely hear her over the hubbub but finally everybody settled and it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

“How did you do that little disappearing trick?”

“I did not disappear sir, I cannot do that.  I simply shifted dimensionally.  It’s easily enough done over tiny distances like the circumference of a planet.  I only had to shift over half-way, manipulate your time, perform my duty and return.”

“Why did you not “shift dimensionally” and leave the jail then?”

“I did.  Many times.  If I may say so sir, madam judge, your world is in a terrible mess.  You must do something about all the pain and death your species inflicts on itself and on other life forms.  This is a very unhealthy state of affairs that will not bode you well in the near future.”

Judge, still not recovered from the shock of having a defendant simply disappear from the prisoner’s dock, then reappear a few moments later, stares at the defendant.  “Miss Haley, will you promise to remain here while I confer in chambers?”


“In chambers – now, and I mean now.  No, no notes!”  (The following I got from the defence counsel later in the day.)

In chambers, Judge Kean:  “Can either of you explain this circus act to me?  Am I being made fun of here?  Who is the escape artist in the dock?”

Prosecutor: “My question also judge.  We’re being played here, question is, who’s behind this, and what’s the point?”

Defence: “Come on.  You saw it for yourselves.  She disappeared and came back.  She’s smart, sure of herself, rattles off information that’s obviously real to her.  What if she’s exactly what she says she is?”

Judge: “Is there a way we can prove it?”

Defence: “Two that come to mind.  Check the computer, what’s going on in Yemen.  How about we ask her to seriously cut herself and watch her heal herself?”

Judge: “Well, here’s the situation.  There was a bombing of a school in Yemen about half an hour ago.  There was apparently much carnage but after some minutes all of the victims walked out of the wreckage as if nothing happened.  They all refused medical help and went to their respective homes.  There is even a picture here of a woman walking among the ruins of the school but she’s wearing the mandatory hijab with which she covers part of her face.  Can’t be identified.  Doesn’t that sound a lot like the bus accident though? Same reaction from the healed victims.  OK, as much as I hate grandstanding, this can only be resolved with a demonstration.  I’ll ask her to cut herself and heal herself.  Let’s just see what her reaction to that will be.”

Judge re-entering the court.  “Thank you for your patience.  We will now ask for a demonstration that will tell us if the defendant is in fact telling the truth, or making a mockery of this court.  Alice Haley, please stand.”

The woman stood, still with that completely peaceful look on her face.  Waiting.

Judge: “I’m going to ask you to prove yourself to me, to the jury and this entire court.  I want you to take the knife that will be given to you and to slice your arm open.  Then I want you to heal yourself so we can all see.  Can you do that, “Android”?

Alice: “It isn’t a question of whether I can, or cannot.  Of course I can do that.  The problem is, self-harming is against my programming.  I cannot do it, however much I’d want to.  Someone else will have to cut my arm, and I will then demonstrate my healing skills for you.”

“Assuming you are telling us the truth, and we checked up on your Yemen story which seems to validate what you told us,  then I will ask for a volunteer to cut your arm.  Anyone?”

I can assure you there were no takers.  Who in any kind of right mind would walk up to a passive young woman and simply cut her arm open, just to prove a point?  Nuts, right?  I looked over the courtroom to see if anyone would have the courage to volunteer.  And I thought, well, that includes me, doesn’t it.   … Me…  Do I have the guts to do such a thing?  Come on, somebody, volunteer, I thought, but no one did.  So it was down to me, Keith Darbour, freelance journalist and private investigator.  I got up slowly.  “Seems like no one is volunteering so maybe, I mean, I think I should then.”

“Thank you.  Your name sir?”

“Keith Darbour, your honour.”

“Ah yes, I’ve heard of you somewhere.  You’re a journalist?”

“Yes your honour.”

“Would you come down here please, and do as you are asked to?”  I was in it now, couldn’t back out.  I was handed a wicked looking hunting knife – who knows where that came from! – and told to stand beside the defendant.  She looked at me and smiled as she lifted her left arm so I could grab her wrist.  I was shaking like a leaf in the wind until she put her right hand on my shoulder and suddenly everything seemed all right, normal.  I lay the knife on the lovely skin and slashed across veins and tendons.  There was no explosion of blood, just some clear liquid flowing out slowly.  She took her arm from my grip and wrapped her right hand around the “wound” and when she removed her hand there was no sign of the cut.  She was still smiling as if the whole thing was a bit of a joke.  Which to her it must have been.  Such primitives, she must have thought.

Judge: “Raise your left arm, please, miss Haley.”  She did and turned it around for all to see that there was no harm done at all.  She had never screamed, never expressed any pain, not even winced while I slashed her.  It was, well, amazing?  More, it was a revelation.

So what could they do but let her go?  They knew they couldn’t hold her in any case; that she wasn’t doing any harm, quite the opposite.  Now you’re probably wondering, assuming you believe this tale, where she is at the moment.  What can I tell you?  I wanted to interview her but she “disappeared” almost as soon as she was told she was free to go.  I tried to locate her through the Internet alternative media, looking for some weird news about mass healings somewhere, anywhere, but found nothing certain.  Rumours and more rumours, and huge “alternate facts” spin-outs from the court hearing.  Do yourselves a favour: don’t tune in the Alex Jones’ Infowars for information, he’s got hold of the court story and has gone deeper down his rabbit hole than ever before.
What do I think?  I like to think that she’s not only out there, healing people and teaching compassion, but calling more of her kind to assist her.  We could do with more of her kind practicing medicine without a license.  In fact we could do with more of our own kind doing the same thing because these days, really, it seems rather obvious that having the license and charging for services rates much higher than actually having any healing success.  By success I mean that after the medical coteries are done with you, you should be thoroughly healed, not become a crippled dependent on more “specialists” and drugs, ’til death do us part, Amen.



Questions and dreams

…dreams, from   ~burning woman~ …by Sha’Tara

Questions that have remained unanswered for me: should dreams be shared with others?  Should they remain as “private” information?  Are they meant to explain other realities to individuals, or to collectives?  Are they part of the the great “collective unconscious”?  Information given by “others out there” as warnings?  Or simply how our memories, when the body is resting, are re-formatted by the mind to be stored in permanent “hard disk” space?

And speaking of space, I like to think that dreams are like space: if it’s only for me, what a waste!
Especially if one has spent a lifetime learning how to dream, how to retrieve the information imparted there, even something as simple as remembering them.  Especially after learning to assimilate day-time and night-time information to create a whole new paradigm of understanding.
So, about those dreams:
Some time ago I had a wild and crazy series of dreams – could have been just one dream covering many scenes and sequences too.  The main part takes place on a meadow and grassy fields bordered to the east by a barb-wire fence, to the north by oil refineries on a river and to the west by open country.
I stand at the south, facing north.
The skies are slate grey, dark.  A violent storm is blowing, but not a normal wind storm, or hurricane, though the movement of the air is just as great or worse.  Best comparison would be a wind tunnel with a giant fan.  The “wind” is blowing from the west, carrying anything and everything with it.  Nothing is left standing in its path.  I see grass, trees, clothing, unrecognizable material things and sheep.  Yes, sheep.  Blowing in the wind and being thrown violently into the barb wire fence.  One is still alive and struggling to free itself but cannot.  It has a reed branch pushed sideways through its nose and is trying to push it out with its hoof, unsuccessfully.  Gradually, the animal is “emptied” until only a head and skin are left hanging on the wires.  White strips of clothing are also ripping and tearing from the barbs and blowing away.
I hear voices, as of people talking from a distance.  They are speaking of a “pollution storm” and how they should have known it was coming and done something about it.  Then I realize that the “sheep” are really people, or better put “sheeple” — who did not care, did not hear, refused to hear and are now being ripped apart by this “storm” that is anything but natural.
I hear the voices again and they are saying: “We thought the Middle East would have invaded and taken over by now.  Wonder why they have not?”  But as I looked to the oil refineries, especially at the tall stacks painted a dark, dull, red and black, I notice the lettering on them is Arabic.  And again, I realized how the “take-over” was done, not by ordinary people from the Middle East, but by the oil consortiums and I see the connection between the refineries blowing their smoke into the air, and the “pollution storm” that is destroying everything.
I’m unable to truly portray the intensity of this event.  I remember feeling a sense of deadness, of deep sadness, knowing that for years the people had been warned of something like this; knowing that it was all preventable with a bit of common sense, some sacrifice and will-power.  But the people had been led down the garden path of commercial lies; of bodily comfort at any price and had never learned to reach out to the oppressed who supplied the pre-pollution storm “good life”.
So, I think such a dream is really a prophecy in simple symbols. 
The next dream:  I am standing in space looking up.  I see the moon and the earth further out, at about the same distance away as I am from the moon.  Both are incredibly beautiful, reflecting fully the light of the sun.
The information I have is that the moon’s orbit has begun to decay and in a short time the moon will lose it’s ability to remain aloft and go crashing into the earth.  Again voices, people around me talking.  We have decided to attempt to “prop-up” the moon’s orbit to prevent it from crashing into the planet.  In my hands and around me are “spacers” – those flat metal objects we use in venders to correct the spacing between different sizes of cans or bottles and prevent double vends or jams.  I’m looking at these familiar things and working out a plan to use them in this endeavor.
Then I begin to understand the significance of these “spacers” — I am not standing “in space” but observing from a space station, or space ship.  The “spacers” are us, not the objects.  We have come together as people of “space” to prevent a catastrophe, if possible. 
Our feelings are quite normal, professional you might say.  No fear, no excitement, no despair.  It’s as if this situation is not uncommon and we’ve done this before.  It’s just a matter of calculating the forces and creating new force-fields to replace those that are collapsing.  Yet we are not calloused about the situation and we know that much depends on the people of the planet if it is to survive.  We cannot do this thing alone.  We can provide the technology but we cannot “DECIDE” the outcome, that is we cannot provide the collective planetary will energy that is absolutely necessary for the success of our efforts on behalf of the people of earth.  And we certainly feel empathy for all the life involved here.  The empathy is not, for the most part, reciprocated from the planet’s surface.  And our chances of success correspondingly diminish.
After I woke up and shook off some of the heavier energies surrounding this event I realized once more how much “detachment” is mis-understood here.  Earthians hear “detachment” and sense “I don’t care”.  But as the dream showed, the “spacers” (including me) who would save this world cared a great deal more than the people on the planet.  They could really care because they were detached about the outcome.  They had nothing to lose or gain, whether they failed or succeeded.  Either way, they would go on to other duties in “space”.  So… they could focus on the problem fully.
Many more details, other events in-between, but this is already too long a read for most.

The True Legacy of Living on Time

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

      I have seen immortality.  I have sensed it bouncing from the walls of time, and in my mind when I broke free from the induced trance and looked back, I have seen what the actual world of the immortals looks like.  It is a terrible thing to behold. 

     The following is an attempt at explaining how “time” came about; why we are trapped in its effects and why it makes us feel death.  

This is but an illustration:
    In the endless expanse of what is called space, one can look in every imaginable direction.  One can travel every conceivable type of path to every conceivable place.  When I looked in the direction I had wrenched my thoughts from, I saw a square box floating lazily in space, turning slowly, it’s surface glinting as mother-of-pearl but harshly (by comparison to other events out there) when light touched its surface.  That square box is what is known as the world of the immortals, or the gods.  It is the Time Lords’ artificial creation, or construct.  It is this universe and there is but one single purpose for its design: to control the flow of life by trapping energy and imprisoning the minds of sentient life forms within it.  Sentience is what they feed on.  If this universe is correctly measured in time at 14 billion years, then that is how long these entities have been “eating” life in this universe.   

    Way back before time, the entities we call “Time Lords” did not have such a baleful title then.  They came together as they traveled through the cosmos and came to believe themselves as the most powerful beings extant, therefore believing themselves entitled to guide creation.  Their concept, which Earthians so well know, was to develop a way of absolute control over the flow of life.

    When they discovered they could exert little control over the open Cosmos, and such control kept breaking up, they invented a system which they called “time” and everything within their system became bound by time.  To the Time Lords (TL’s) nothing that exists outside time is real.  Their invented reality depends entirely on time, using time to control space.

    In the beginning, before the “box” became a completely closed system, energy from the Cosmos flowed in and through the box relatively freely.  That is why you can still see events within the box that resemble those outside: revolving units of stars, gaseous clouds, galaxies, and you can sense that you belong within something called “the universe” but with a definite sense that such is “bound” to a return loop with a beginning and an end.  Seen this way it is easier to understand why “we” would “see” the beginning of this universe as a “big bang” event and why we can also predict the end of the universe.  These are not natural, but artificial events we are measuring and looking at.  

    You see, in order to control all events, from beginning to end, the “box” or “Time Universe” had to be closed off from new thoughts; from “infection” of radical free ideas floating freely through the cosmos.  To counteract their loss of infinite life the TL’s invented what they called “immortality” or the idea that physical / material bodies could be kept alive quasi-forever. 

    In infinity, the concept of immortality is meaningless as life flows in and out of things freely, unbound.  Infinity is an open-ended concept.  Immortality however, bears a major flaw:  the TL’s were about to discover the deadly effects of something that happened as an effect of an energetic closed system: the problem of *entropy.  What our time-trapped minds call “death.”

      It is true that no energy can be gained or lost within the time system.  It can only be manipulated until such “end time” when the system reaches its inevitable state of *entropy, the death of a closed system when all of its available energy has been converted and all movement ceases.  That is the eventual demise of the prison of time which will cause the dissolution of the Time Lords themselves.  When their power ends, they end, for they have inextricably bound themselves to their concept in order to control it and they can no longer escape it.

     Obviously, they did not know this in the beginning, prior to their madness, or they chose to ignore whatever warnings they may have received.  Just as obviously they are doing everything in their power to prevent this end.  How do I know this?  I was taught a very handy rule about how things work: observe and think, as below, so above.  All I need do is observe how this world’s major empires drive themselves into perdition in a vain attempt to hold on to their global hegemony; to their claim to the lion’s share of this world’s resources, read: energy.  A prime example of this today, the United States of America and its satellite slave states, particularly Canada, much of Europe, Israel and Australia.  This empire is drowning in a sea of debt, dwindling natural resources and anthropocentric climate change which it insists on denying.  To counter this deadly entropy it does what all great empires of the past were forced to do: launch more and more wars against a world that it has turned into an enemy.  The empire and its satellites now exist in a permanent, life denying state of war against nature and against all of humanity. Those wars will only end when the empire’s alliances break apart and it dies.   

     So it is in the universal empire of the Time Lords.  Their “security state” energy shields will break down from entropy.  Their kingdoms, their great halls, their heavens and their hells — all will “freeze over” to be re-absorbed as energy and transformed.  The great universal empire will break apart in truly apocalyptic events, turning itself inside-out and everything in its prisons, including its trillions of sentient slaves, will be released to re-discover freedom once again.  

“Time not important, only life important!” (The Fifth Element)”

“If you really want to stay the same age you are now, forever and ever, she’d be thinking, try jumping off the roof: death’s a sure-fire method for stopping time.” (The Year of the Flood, Margaret Atwood)

“…Because today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups. So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because unceasingly we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms. I do not distrust their motives; I distrust their power. They have a lot of it. And it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes…”  Philip K Dick, “How to Build a Universe That Doesn’t Fall Apart Two Days Later,” 1978.

*Entropy:  a process of degeneration marked variously by increasing degrees of uncertainty, disorder, fragmentation, chaos, etc.; specif., such a process regarded as the inevitable, terminal stage in the life of a social system or structure – entropy always increases and available energy diminishes in a closed system, as the universe. (Webster’s dictionary)


A Star Dancer Speaks

Have you ever wondered what “listening to the voices of the dead” and “hearing the music of the spheres” have in common?

When you look in the night sky, what do you see?  Stars?  Yes, mostly stars for only stars emit enough light to travel those quasi-unfathomable distances of space to twinkle in this earth’s little firmament. 

What does that twinkling represent?  A sort of Morse code, yes?  The “spheres” talking to us, perhaps calling some of us back; reminding us that we are not utterly lost as we walk in weak finiteness on a dark non-star matter world that can only reflect a sun’s light.  For we are the star dancers, beings of eternal combustion, burning to give light, as did our ancient worlds of origin.

If you know yourself to be a star dancer, do you know the language; the music, from your starry worlds?  Do you remember any of it?  Do you know why you are here on this cold world in semi-darkness, the closest thing resembling your ancient home, that tiny ball of fusion in this world’s sky? 

Look back through your great remembrances and see the waves of migrations as your home worlds burned themselves out, leaving you orphaned, refugees scattering in the endless immensity of space.  Remember how you closed yourselves up and “died” to become seeds that would find homes – or not – here and there in the great vagaries of worlds in collision.  Remember.  Remember the unthinkable.

Eons later, through millions of transformations and mutations you find yourselves here, looking into the night sky.  It is filled with pin-pricks of light from your star worlds.  Do you hear them, their voices?  Their sad songs?  Do you realize now that what you are hearing is the voices of the dead?  Those lights, so many, are but the remnants of what were once our living worlds.  We were star beings living within our star worlds.  Then they burned out.   We did not.

We became the cast out.

We scattered, as seeds from a dandelion head, blown away in the fiery winds of their demise.  But our worlds’ light kept on its path through time.  These lights we see; these voices calling us, they are the voices of the dead, star beings; voices of our dead worlds, the wind whistling through tombstones and denuded trees in man’s graveyards.  We can never go back home again.  We must accept this. 

What we need not accept is that we are now permanent residents of cold material worlds.  We have seeded our wisdom and knowledge here and there throughout the universe.  We suffered more pain and loss than any language could ever reveal.  We re-created ourselves into semblances of quasi-intelligent life, not only to survive, but to teach.  We have seldom been accepted or welcomed; mostly doubted, held in suspicion, suppressed and killed.  Our role, if such it was, has cost us dearly.  Many of us to avoid martyrdom slipped into the predictable monotony of a matter-world’s life patterns.  We put our minds to sleep; we disconnected from our innate compassionate and empathetic nature.  We did not want to suffer anymore.  We wanted rest. 

We found death instead.

Look in the night sky again!  We are awakening!  We have a new power now, we can make new worlds suitable for us and all our kin.  We shall make those worlds to last forever.  When our children hear the songs and music of these new worlds they will be the voices of the ever-living. 

Come, let us prepare to leave this dying world and go home.   

“Stars, too, were time travelers. How many of those ancient points of light were the last echoes of suns now dead? How many had been born but their light not yet come this far? If all the suns but ours collapsed tonight, how many lifetimes would it take us to realize we were alone? I had always known the sky was full of mysteries — but not until now had I realized how full of them the earth was.”  – Ransom Riggs