The Sacrifice

          a poem – by Sha’Tara

“It’s mine to think on, mine to decide, mine to know —
mine to act upon” – so she thinks alone in the dark
as the day wears upon the snows, rivers, forests and mountains;
upon bloodied cities of men and upon their children’s ghosts
as she conceives it all — the torrential flow of despoliation
filling every valley, leveling every mountain, drying every river.

“It is mine to do as I please in this respect!” Invisible
she stumbles through her thoughts, alone in the crowd,
jumbling the words that will not form the proper conclusion
she is looking for in her mind — “mine, not theirs”
she repeats endlessly as the fouled winds suck her breath dry.

“However unacceptable, however deformed, however strange,
my life belongs to me and me alone. It is mine.
Thus am I empowered to keep it, or to give it away:
who shall gainsay me in this? The gods?
Those who had me killed for my healing hands?
Those who said the Devil empowered me?”

“Perhaps the Devil rules this planet of the damned —
his works are plain enough for all with eyes to see —
but if that’s so, the God who craves humanity’s love
most certainly is drunkenly asleep on His crystal throne
with not one daring enough to wake him from his stupor.”

“So, earth, I ask you: if those in whom you trusted
have abandoned you to the ravages of entropy;
forced you to serve them as an aged, denuded whore,
will you accept my help this time around?
Will you speak to me if I bring you the wisdom you lost?
Will you turn your heart to me for the compassion I carry?”

“Will you this time accept the alien cast upon your shores
and agree ’tis time you should humble yourself
before the one who would pardon your waywardness
and teach you the one sure way to save your innocents?
Will you reject your false lovers, your handsome Powers,
your predators whose hearts carry the stench of death;
your oppressors whose mouths are filled with carrion?”

“Will you settle in my cupped hands as a wounded bird,
seeking refuge from your emptiness and loneliness?
Will you draw close to my open arms under the moon
when I offer you my life to heal your boils and open sores?

There is coming upon you and I the day prophesied
when the sun shall not rise as expected and the stars will fall;
when a poison of darkness will seep into your very marrow
and death will proclaim his victory over you and yours.”

“In your pride you said: “This shall never be.”
for the people said you were a goddess of power:
Gaia, they called you, and you accepted this false honour
though it never was yours to accept – and you knew it.
I just wanted you to know that I know – for it was said
that all things would be laid bare, even the deepest secrets
and they would belong to those who sought for truth.”

“Here’s my olive branch, wrought from my heart, my very life,
offered to you without strings attached: will you take it?”
And without waiting for an answer she continues her walk
whether to hall of fame or scaffold, she no longer cares
for now she sees it all and all makes perfect sense.

“Yes,” she sighs, no longer in weakness but in renewed strength:
“I will do what I determined, what I set out,
what I came, to do for ’tis I who since before time
carried the humble title of Gaia the compassionate.

I never lusted after power, I was, I am, I will always be
the giver of Life, the final rest for the innocent:
I AM
                                Woman.”

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #73

No, this will not happen.  I have a job to do.  My training and my enhancements were all gifts to me exactly for this moment.  XBA9 was tortured to death so I would have this opportunity.  This is one of those classic turning points in history when one person, one “hero” can make the difference and everything changes, forever.
End blog post #72
_________________

Begin blog post #73

Chapter 32 – The Fight of the Beasts – Part One

The evening before the fight gives us a clear sky with glowing red clouds in a fiery sunset.  The setting sun sends off rays all the way to the meridian above the keep.  It is beautiful.  I ask my handlers if I can just stand for a while and watch the patterns in the sky, alone.  To my surprise they acquiesce to my request and two of them stand almost respectfully at some distance behind me, also staring into the beauty spread so lavishly above us.  Suddenly they both approach me and hold my arms gently.  One of them puts his hand under my chin as I instinctively bow my head in submission and makes me look into his face.  He pulls me slowly to himself and kisses me, as he’s undoubtedly seen women do with each other many times. 

This too is another of those massive breakthroughs. 

The other looks perplexed by his partner’s move, then tries it also.  I kiss him back warmly and gently.  I move my hand to his penis and it is fully erect, hard in my hand.  I fondle him.  He understands now at least one of the uses of kissing.  To him it had always been nothing more than some kind of stupid display of female emotion and weakness. 

Both of them take me around the back of the weapons cases and make love to me.  Yes, they actually make love.  They allow me to play them and arouse them fully before they come.  It is pleasant; it is good; it is like giving the finger to that terrible Force that my “high” sense keeps telling me uses the artificial world of Albaral to poison the men’s minds against women on this world.  No it’s even better than that.  It’s an awakening for the three of us. A bonding that can never be reversed.

They walk me back slowly to the cages.  Tiki is standing, a bit worried I think, maybe jealous.  I take her in my arms and for a long time after the gate has closed and the handlers have walked away we hold and caress each other.  I see many faces turned to me, to us.  On those faces closest to me I see smiles – smiles!  I smile back at them then Tiki and I slip down together into the straw and soon fall asleep.  Another dreamless, innocent sleep that ends with the morning call.  I awaken from a great distance and immediately realize what day this is.

It has been said that ‘only the dead do not know fear’ but if that is true then I must surely be dead.  I do not feel fear.  I feel as a bride on her wedding day.  This is when it comes together for me. 

So many paths, so many twists, turns, dead ends.  But this path has been the most trying.  For years I struggled on it and the thorns, thistles, broken branches and fallen trees kept blocking my advance, tripping me, crushing my bones and making me bleed.  For some days now I’ve stopped struggling and now the path is clear. 

Ahead, in a clear bright light I see one single set of stairs and two altars.  The one on the left is covered with a pure white linen cloth on which the sacrificial victim must lie to be offered in death to the god.  Beside it stands the high priest with the sacrificial knife to cut the victim’s heart out.  Yes, I remember that part.

On the other is a wonderful set of deadly blades and a knight with a golden sword half drawn waiting to knight me and hand me the blades. 

It’s a simple, age-old choice. 

One, I believe and I trust the High Priest to know better than I ever could.  In his hands I die a sacrifice to the God as I have been in the habit of doing over and over. 

Two, I walk to the Knight, kneel, accept the knighthood proffered.  I take the weapons, walk past the altar into the room where the demon in black metal armour awaits my entrance.  He is ready to fight me, dishonour me, kill and devour me along with all I have ever loved and cared for, living or dead.

That is the choice I have been moving towards since I evolved into ISSA consciousness.  This choice determines whether I graduate, or remain in obedient subservience and servitude to a Higher Power.

I choose the weapons.  I go to meet Warmo.  It is time.

End blog post #73

A Meditative Journey into the Cave of Fear

This story uses the prompt “Cave” and was written for the October “blog battle” at rachaelritchey.com,    https://blogbattlers.wordpress.com/2018/10/09/stories-cave/

Short Story by Sha’Tara

It began as a deliberate entry into a gaping opening in the side of a low mountain. I could hear water dripping from wet walls and feel the clinging cold dampness of the place. The question I had to face was whether to proceed into this cave. Of course I could not know the end of it without the experience of it, so I decided to enter.

There was a kind of track sloping down, made of natural crushed shale and slippery under my hiking shoes. After finding my balance, down I went, surrounded by a growing opaque darkness. I had no fire or flashlight, just my senses to guide me and my unquenchable curiosity to push me onward.

As I walked deeper into the cave, it became pitch black and I had to give up trying to use my eyes.  Without any light to define the surrounding darkness, there was nothing to see.  But wait, that’s when I “saw” a new kind of light, surreal, somewhat as depicted in Kirlian photographs.  I could see without seeing!  I could now step forward and down with greater confidence.  The water still dripped from the black walls and I could see it glistening on the ceiling.

There was a warm dankness about the place and I smelled an unpleasant odor. At this point the eerie lighting showed me a small tunnel branching off on the right. I walked to its entrance and saw a dry surface leading upward.  It had an easy walking surface, no loose rocks or shale, just flat grey rock.

Choice.  Should I take this inviting tunnel, or keep on the downward journey of the other one?  Something within me reasoned this drier tunnel would be a dead end, or take me back up and out the other side of the mountain.  I chose to continue down the original cave, ever deeper under the mountain.  That’s when I realized I had passed my first test.

I continued to question the purpose of this weird quest and who had carved these tunnels, and why?  Where was the King under the Mountain?  Where was the sound of hammers as Dwarves carved out the hard black rock to find their precious stones, their silver and gold?

“What will I find in the tunnel?” asks Luke Skywalker of Yoda.  “Fear” he replied.  “Your greatest fear.  Do not take your weapons down there, they will only contribute to your downfall.”  But the young, the rash, the foolish seldom listen to the voice of experience and wisdom.  He went fully armed into the tunnel to be  confronted by his arch-enemy, Darth Vader.  They fought.  Luke won and cut Vader’s head off.  When he looked into the terrible mask, his own face stared back at him.  Fear gives birth to anger, anger to hate and hate to death.  There is no escape. The undisciplined, un-empowered overconfident self is always our own worst enemy.

My fear of what lay ahead became palpable. I sensed a ‘Something’ not alive as we understand the concept and I knew it was lurking further down. It had eyes that could see the minutest details in the dark; that could see into the heart and find every weakness, every frailty, every shadow, every dark, hidden corner where residues of resentment, shame and guilt are stored.  That is what it wanted to feast upon.  It was starving for an orgy on human sin.

I knew then it would never let me leave this place, even if I turned and tried to run back up the way I’d come.  This was its world or perhaps better put, an underworld.  There were hidden passages I sensed as flow of air coming from the sides of the cave. It used these as shortcuts to waylay any creature that wandered this far.

If we intend to walk the darkness of the underworld we must not carry darkness within our mind-heart.  Only the pure of heart can pass unmolested to enter the sacred place of sacrifice.  Yes, that’s what had drawn me down this corridor of non-time.  I remembered what came at the end of this place: sacrifice and redemption.  I understood fully why the beast or beasts, for I now sensed many,  waylaid me.  If I passed, I would have a clear conscience and they would be defeated, left starving.  Thus I would be permitted to offer myself as a sacrifice upon the altar of fire at the end of this journey and in doing so I could call upon the great forces of spirit to grant my one wish. If I passed.

They knew.  And they came upon me to find my darkness; to feed on my fear, for fear is darkness.  I am so close to being devoured here.  I have no weapon with which to ward these starving demons.  I have no protection.  There is no place to turn, not even against a wall – they are all around me, salivating, snarling, growling.  “Give in to your fear… give in and hate me with all the passion that is within you.  Anticipate the pain you are going to endure when my poisoned fangs sink into your flesh, and scream your rage!”

This is when I found some of my power. “Peace!” I said to myself, I came to this place, to confront my fear and not to give in to it.  To test my resolve since that day long ago when I had made a decision and chosen my own name. Shalom Tara! I closed my eyes and slowly sank upon the rough floor.  Beings of light completed this vision then, approaching and taking my hands, helping me to stand and leading me through the rest of the way.

So did I pass my second test. The third has yet to come.

World Bridger (a Vision)

              Dreams and visions.  They come to those who seek them; who seek understanding in all the places where society, civilization, the System, the Status Quo or “The Matrix” insist there can be no understanding except through blind belief and blind obedience.  It insists that everyone must follow the pattern laid out by the Powers that Be, from “God” on down.  Anyone can own a piece of the puzzle if that piece is handed down from those in authority.  If it isn’t then it’s illegitimate, illegal, blasphemous, immoral – take your pick: you are not supposed to have it and must destroy it, or hand it back to the authorities to be destroyed (or hidden in their underground vaults).  If you insist on keeping unauthorized information you place yourself in danger of the “Inquisition” – and be certain that said Inquisition exists within every form of totalitarian power, whether it be religious, scientific, academic, political or financial.  Those who have stood against the Inquisition know what I’m writing about.  Take Galileo; Julian Assange, Joan of Arc, Salman Rushdie, Chelsea Manning… and speaking of “whistleblowers” – check out the list on Wikipedia.  So many others who spent their lives in prison, were executed and tortured to death because they held to a truth that was denied by the System.  Also, if the subject interests you, read up on how the biblical prophets were treated in their days as they pointed out the error of the ways of Israel… errors which caused many a terrible conquest and diaspora; errors which are being repeated today by that same nation and which will have the same ends, for ways not changed means of certainty that history must repeat itself for Earthian humanity.  

                                        World Bridger  (a vision)
           (from the files of    ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara)

          In the darkness, I heard a deep voice echoing.  It said: “You are Tara, daughter of Earth, you are a Planet Bridger…”  As I peered into the dark, which was the dark of space, I saw two planets orbiting.  Then the voice continued: “In the depths of space, two twin worlds move slowly towards each other through the eons of time… Soon they will come close enough to each other for a bridge to be formed…” 

          I looked at these two twin worlds.  One was pristine, beautiful, green, lush, full of life.  Its waters were blue and clear.  Everywhere was a sense of pure joy.  The other was the opposite: it was blighted, polluted, desecrated.  Smoke swirled around it, and on its surface people ran here and there aimlessly.  There were wars being fought, and famine was rampant.  There were plagues and diseases of all kinds.  Pain, misery and death marked the passage of time there…

          When these two worlds approached one another, at some perfect timing, a ball of reddish/golden light appeared between the two planets.  Inside this ball of light was a being apparently sleeping.  Then, I found myself there: I was that being, Tara, the Bridger.  I awakened from my sleep and began to stretch myself.  As I did so, I emerged from the ball of light and it vanished. 

          In space, I stretched my feet towards the pristine world and I saw them enter the soil and become a part of the landscape.  I could feel the well-being of it, the invitation to share in its bounty.  I stretched my head to the wrecked and wretched planet, and when I touched it, my hair, which flowed in abundance, entered that soil like millions of roots, and I became a part of that world.  I felt the burning of it, an unwholesome uncomfortable feeling within my head. 

Now, there was a bridge between two worlds.  Soon, people from the blighted world began to walk upon my flesh; to wonder at, to ponder, this phenomenon.  Some, recognizing the bridge, gave thanks and in gratitude, quickly made their way to the waiting Edenic world.  Most, sadly, were afraid of the consequences of trusting in this new thing, and chose to just wander around a bit, then returned to their miserable existence.  Another type of human came to explore my body: the ‘gold diggers” or resource seekers .  These brought the same tools they had been using to destroy their planet.  They proceeded to cut up my flesh, looking for treasure.  Finding nothing of interest to their blighted senses, they too returned to their world to continue in their pointless existence.

          In time, when the two worlds were again beginning to orbit apart, all those who were upon my body left.  Most opted to remain on their old world, afraid of the future presented to them.  They could not believe that this new world was ‘real’. 

          When I was completely clear of traffic, of human life, I pulled myself free of the old world.  My hair tore out of my head and remained in the soil there.  I pulled my legs away from the new world, and my feet remained in that soil.  I rolled myself into a ball… and died… or so it seemed.  I became non-living, in the sense that we know it.  My body also vanished in space.  Then the voice came back and said: “In time, when this cycle is complete, you will again return to bridge these two worlds, for you are infinite, you are life.”

          By choice, and by whatever means given us over time upon time, some of us become world bridgers.  Our calling and our choice may never be known by anyone, but as my “new age” friends were fond of mentioning, we are anchors.  By our presence and by our thoughts we “anchor” certain energies within worlds and these places of power often remain untapped for millennia.  Then we come back and we find these ancient treasures that belong to us, and we learn how to use them and expand them.  Sometimes they can give us enough power to rise up into public awareness and create waves of changes.  Think Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr. – individuals with charisma, with the power of compassion: such doesn’t just happen, nor does it happen overnight.  Long, long planning and many lives go into building such awareness.  Does it make any difference?  It can, for those who observe, listen and act on their own wisdom as the above vision demonstrates.

You’re in the Twenty-first Century, Son

A poem by Sha’Tara 

You’re in the twenty-first century, son:
don’t bother looking up, there’s nothing to see.
Keep your head down and another laced cookie
will reshape the world differently, no need
to lift your eyes, there’s nothing to see,
is there. Vacant eyes studying the rug:
perfect pose for the occasion.

Everything that’s shopped for
gets carted away in stretching plastic bags
under sagging shoulders and drizzly clouds.
You’ve seen it a million times, or you’d have
if you’d ever opened your eyes
beyond the keyboard. But hey, forget it,
never mind that, I can wax philosophical
at the most inauspicious moments.

It’s all completely meaningless, isn’t it,
a happy meaninglessness created just for you.
Don’t let me spoil your high. Build it up,
your high school reunion is tonight.   Not
all of ‘em are dead yet if they’re still
on Facebook. Was I talking about
global warming, or warning?   Maybe.

Maybe it’s a train; maybe it’s the rain,
that clatter, maybe it’s your pain.
But what does it matter to you
sitting there not knowing why, or where?
You’ll get through it, son, you will.
You’re special, like everybody else and
death is there for you too, so don’t worry
there’s always somebody who cares
enough to put you in the stretchy plastic bag
after being photo-shopped for; after
your environmental fee is duly paid.

Oh please! Don’t get up; don’t thank me.