1 As the clouded skies manifested the pale orange luminance characteristic of dawn in the East, there was scarcely any activity in the forest surrounding the base of my mountain home. The evening dew still lay thick on the plants and grasses as I left the cave entrance. Always relishing the feeling of wet grass on bare feet, I was filled with a deep sense of contentment looking upon the lands green slopes, filled thickly with trees and flowering plants. Vividly I could recall the dream voyage of the previous evening, an adventure spent flying through the air and out into the void of space, witnessing the emptiness from which sprung all existence. On this day I awoke with the sun to follow the honey-guides to an easy breakfast before my morning meditations. So I hefted my knapsack and set out. My closest warm-blooded neighbors were a family of the yellow birds, and I had developed a symbiotic relationship with the tiny avians. On occasion we would share in the acquisition and ingestion of a morning bounty. I walked towards the small tree they made their home, and reached out with my thoughts to the birds. The mother was in caring for the young, but the father was not far off gathering small beetles for his family. I communicated empathetically my intention of a honey-run, he came flying toward me in short order, and we were off. The father guided me to a close beehive, barely a quarter mile away, and I proceeded to take care of the problem of the bees. After a few months of practice I discovered the best way to humanely evict the flying insects. The insect’s rather primitive brain is easily controlled by the mind influencing techniques I learned from Master last year. Adapting the techniques to insects took little effort, and was far less complicated an endeavor than influencing a mammal or bird. Though using them simultaneously on an entire beehive posed a challenge at first. I began the preliminary steps of meditation, regulating my breath and relaxing my being, and after a few short minutes I had ascended to the third tier of consciousness. I began extending my sphere of influence and gradually became aware of the inner workings of the beehive. I felt the gatherers buzzing through the entrance in arrival and departure, the queen laboring in her birthing chamber, the nursemaids feeding the larvae, and the workers toiling away at the myriad tasks of maintaining the nest. After I had become familiar with the rhythm of the hive, I reached out to one of the workers near the entrance and forced him to perceive a great threat to the colony. He enlisted a horde of his fellows in a counter-attack wave. When they surged out of the hive I flooded their senses with what I could only describe as white noise. Instantly they went into a sort of panicked circular flying pattern, as they struggled with the lack of an environment to interact with. Flying blind as they were the insects would strike me frequently, feeling like drops of torrential rain on my body. After the last of the bees had exited the nest, I cracked it open at a point of weakness, and filled one of my baby food jars with the sticky golden honey. Then I extracted the royal jelly and poured it into another jar. I made it a point to leave the bird a sizeable portion of honey, but the royal jelly was all for me. It didn’t bother me that I was robbing the bees, quite literally, blind, for they would survive. I made it a point not to burgle the same hive more than twice a fortnight. I gave the bird a few minutes to extract as much honey as he could, while maintaining my concentration on the insects. After he had made a couple of trips to his nest, I began to flood the bees with a sense of well being and happiness. When enough of them had ceased to maneuver in ridiculous patterns, I granted them once again the use of their senses. They went back to their normal routine and I went about mine. I bid farewell to my partner in crime and began to walk aimlessly while eating my pilfered breakfast. The honey and jelly made a fine topping on the crackers that were my only permanent foodstuff. My waterskin was nearly empty, so I started searching for familiar territory. Near my cave, not more than a mile away, ran a beautifully clear stream fed by an icy spring. I made my way towards it, taking in all the sights and sounds of my surroundings. The early morning sun shown green filtered through the canopy stretching above me, and the forest began to vibrate with the comings and goings of its inhabitants. As I walked to the stream I felt the energy of this place, the absolute majesty which culminated after eons of life and the struggle for survival. The flies and mosquitoes flitted about in their elaborate waltzes, while the fish and birds attempted to make meals of the tiny dancers. All around me the cacophony of existence could be heard in abundance. The local simians howled to announce their territory and the rodents scurried about in unseen corners searching for nuts and berries safe to eat. I was in high spirits as I reached the creek, and filled my skin with the sparkling liquid of life. I felt a pang of regret when I thought of the millions of souls who knew nothing of the joys and pleasures one could experience in the wild lands of our ancestry. I began to strip off my light clothing, first my moccasins and then the blue jeans that I would never relinquish despite my disdain for other such modern contrivances. The shirt was last, for I wore no undergarments. I always found them to be completely unnecessary, and have not worn a pair for nearly eight years. I placed my garments in a pile near the bank and had a refreshing dip in the clear shallows. The chilly water did not pose a great discomfort, as I was by now very capable of controlling my reception of nerve impulses. I could feel the pebbly bottom, both smooth and bumpy under my feet. I carried no soap or other cleaning substances, instead relying on the pure water for that end. It has been a long time since I have washed my hair, and it has grown matted and no doubt wild looking. But such things mattered little to me. My personal appearance couldn’t affect me negatively, considering I haven’t so much as smelled another human in nearly three months. At times I would long for the verbal interaction and communion with another person, and during those times I would remind myself of the general ignorance purveyed by such beings. It pains me to recall that I was once one of those multitudes of uncaring automatons concerned only with my personal wealth and happiness. I quickly banished the negative connotation that came along with that line of thinking, and started to float down the crystalline river. I began to near my meditation rock, which was a little ways downriver. It sat motionless and distinct near the middle of the river, smooth and nearly flat on the top. It must have weighed several tons, because it was a massive bit of granite and limestone. I had no way of accurately measuring the boulder, but it couldn’t be smaller than twelve feet across, and the river was nearly ten feet deep at places. Quite a hefty stone. I have been coming to this spot to meditate for nearly a month, since I discovered its picturesque beauty. I have been steadily infusing my thought patterns into the area, and I have come to realize that I am not the first person to meditate on this precious stone. Through my probing into the past I have learned that it was placed here by a long forgotten prince of India, whose name has been lost to most of history. The stone originally came from the bedrock under the tree which Buddha was said to have sat under for most of his life. Since being placed here this stone has been the stage for the ascension to enlightenment of many a yogi. Now I made it mine, and I found great pleasure in that fact. Still naked, I sat cross-legged on the gray surface of the hulking pebble. I relaxed my body and mind, and after twenty minutes I was pulled into the ethers I knew as being the current limit of my ability. I was aware of every signal and movement flitting about me. I was able to feel the water flowing beneath me. I sensed the wilderness all about me alive with electromagnetism, that magical aspect of reality that allows the existence of life. I began to reach further into myself, looking for the answers I knew to be there. By now all conscious thoughts had cease to flow, and I was aware of the thoughts of others being received by my being. I could sense the radio and micro waves surging about one another carrying their information, waiting only for someone to receive it. I could hear the sound carried by a wave if I attuned myself to it, and I started listening to some news station broadcasting from New Delhi. They spoke of mounting international tensions, the further deforestation of the South American rainforests, and the growing overpopulation of Asia as a whole. Such things weighed heavily on me, so I retreated from the airwaves. I fell inward and stayed for an indeterminable amount of time, seeing only brilliant light and hearing nothing. Then something erupted within me in a tumult of sensation and meaning. I could see an emerald valley nestled amongst sheer cliff faces, and a silver river falling from one of the slopes into a basin on the valley floor. An impressive city must have stood there once, with sloping avenues and simple houses, but now only ruined remnants remained. The sun was setting behind one of the mountains, and a single ray of light struck a seemingly ordinary obelisk set in the center of the city. Suddenly a fiercely bright light shone from the pillar, paling even the brilliance of the sun, and washed over me in a wave of iridescent fury. Despite the seeming danger from such happenings, I felt a sense of belonging that far surpassed the strength of anything I’ve felt before or since. The shock of such a thing entering into my shielded thoughts pulled me out of my meditations. But this was not an escape. Suddenly I was barraged by a hail of thoughts. The Valley of M’artenior. The fall equinox. Destiny. Freedom for mankind. Eternal truth and wisdom. The implications were fairly clear to me. I was to be at this Valley of M’artenior during the fall equinox. I had no idea what was to happen, but had I felt the urgency of the summons I might have guessed what sort of life changing events were to take place. 2 Though I have had many premonitions and lucid dreams, this powerful invasion of my psyche was unlike anything I have experienced before, and it jarred me quite a bit. The images lingered in my third eye for many minutes as I tried to make sense of it all. My goal was laid out clearly before me, and yet the reasons remained a mystery to me. A part of my mind, no doubt the left hemisphere, attempted to disregard this occurrence. It was merely an aberration, a delusion, brought about by many years of altering my mind via chemical and metaphysical means. I was losing my grip on reality. Just as the waves lap quietly on the shores, I heard my Master’s voice from the right: Maybe your right young one. Maybe you have lost hold of reality. But then, what is reality? Maybes were a large discussion point with him. Even after his death he still teaches me. Ahh and what is death? He had his own way of being wise. And I loved him for it. If I were in your position, I would heed the call. It's not everyone who gets this honor. It wasn’t very often that he spoke in my thoughts, but it was always during a period of great importance, so I took the hint and began planning my journey. I was not sure where this Valley was located, but I felt instinct pointing me towards South America. No doubt those mountains I saw were some remote part of the Andes, which would explain my subconscious feelings regarding South America. Or maybe it was the deforestation. It has been more than three years since I have set foot out of India, and I wondered if it was safe to travel anymore. Often during my years of isolation I have listened to broadcasts which made me feel uneasy about air travel and the complications involved nowadays. I felt it best to charter a boat to take me to South America. I much preferred sea travel. Ever since I was a boy the ocean has represented one of the great unknowns of life, and I have always been drawn to those depths of darkest cerulean. I recall the many times my father and I would go sailing on his yacht; to the Bahamas, to Jamaica, to Tonga, and southern Indonesia. I count myself very fortunate for having those experiences. I would have to discover the location of this Valley of M’artenoir, which seemed the most daunting of all necessities. I suppose that I could speak to an archaeological authority on South America, describe the place to him, and perhaps get a point in the right direction. Or I could astral project and discover the location on my own. Such a thing would tax the limits of my capabilities, and I would have to take great caution not to get marooned. Master Ramm told me stories of astral travelers becoming trapped in the ethereal plane, floating forever in that limbo above and beyond our own universe doomed to spend eternity watching time pass and the world wither. Unable to communicate with the material, and forced to see existence from the vantage of infinity. While such a prospect didn’t seem at all unappealing, my master’s glow seemed to grow truly dim and insubstantial when describing their fates, and he rarely allowed such feelings to permeate his aura. I felt as if it were not something I wished to have happen to me. So I would elect astral projection as a last resort, and only in close proximity to feasible locations of the ancient city. Money wasn’t much of an issue; I count myself fortunate for that. My father is a stock market Guru, just as surely as Master Ramm is a spiritual one. He isn’t a religious man, so I suppose he has to have something to give him the release. I also count myself fortunate he has never seen fit for me to manufacture my own means in this consumer society. I know that I could easily find a researching position in just about any country, but the fact is I don’t really want a career in physics at this point. I could not limit myself to doing assigned projects for defense contracts and questionable companies. I wouldn't want to go back to school either. I believe I am doing more for mankind in my own way than any white-collar researcher is. Speaking of my father, I should probably call him when I get to town, seeing as I haven’t spoken to him since I entered into this hermitage. Can it really have been a year since I last spoke to him? It seems like such a long time when I think about it, but I have been so content here that I barely noticed its passing. I wonder if he is concerned with my lack of communication, I can’t remember telling him I would call frequently, but then I feel that maybe I should have anyway. Time is the master of us all, so I have heard it said, but the seasonal changes warrant little concern for me, as I have not a family to care for or a permanent dwelling to protect. I had no crops to tend and no animals to take care of. The rainy season brings me a sense of great joy, in fact, and I meditate as the downpour strikes my naked flesh. With these thoughts just leaving my mind, I stood up and began the walk upstream to my clothes and temporary home. I skirted the edge of the brook, so as not to soak my already dry body. It must have been an hour at least since I had set out for my meditation stone, and I was thinking of the timeframe which I had to arrive at this Valley of M’artenoir. I had roughly four weeks to reach my destination, and as of yet I didn’t even have a solid location to call my destination. But my master always told me to have faith in the universe, and to travel the path that lies ahead. And so I will. Looking at the tropical bliss that surrounded me, I felt a bit of regret. I was finally to leave the place I have called home for nearly three years. The memories came rushing back; the many months learning under Master Ramm, the days spent sitting under trees and helping the people with their problems, the lessons he taught me regarding the essence of spirituality, and the pain and loss I felt when I discovered he had died in his sleep. The weeks of wandering the country with no direction or goal, sleeping in filthy alleys that smelled of urine and death. Drinking only spirits and eating next to nothing. It was a dream that pulled me from that path of self-destruction. Every mentor I’ve ever had was there, and they were all looking at me with such disappointment I could not help but weep. My physics professor Albert Trenton, my high school English teacher Mr. Wehner, my father, Mahareshi Ramm and a host of other personal heroes that would no doubt belong to fellow members of my generation. They just stared at me with the same eyes they would use to view a dead animal lying on the roadside. And then in unison, in a voice that I didn’t recognize, they bade me go to a place of great power; to live in isolation until I was ready to be alive once again. When I awoke I set out at once in the darkness into the jungle [outside someplace] for a home that presented me with enough energy to be deemed powerful, and have strayed very little from the area since. I found my cave and the stone, and I was content. After my mind had lost the taint of whiskey I was once again ready to participate in this life. Could it be that I was sent to this place by a dream, so that I may become able to receive such a summons? Sitting atop the stone which was imbued with such power by the previous Masters, could I have been in intended recipient of the call? I can’t help but think that my whole life has been leading up to that moment an hour ago. All my years of toil and conditioning had build up to that one instant. I felt that life had a purpose for me, and that there would be great rewards waiting for me at the end of my mission. I arrived at my clothes to discover they were being inspected by a young [oldworldape], and I shooed my distant cousin away. I then soaked my clothes in the river and squeezed the water out after a few minutes of submersion. I hung them over a branch near my cave to dry, and I entered my home. Gathering my few possessions in my knapsack, getting dressed for travel, and cleaning out my cave for a future occupant took a very short time. I was very fond of my hat, which I made out of reeds and weaved in a unique fashion. And my boots were ideal for the long walk ahead of me to the village on the river, where I would acquire a boat ride to the nearest port city. From there a ship to the western coast of South America. How great it will be to feel the sea breeze on my face, and live the life of a sailor once again. Sailing always put me in a place of great concentration, even at a young age. I would scan the horizon, and see nothing but rolling waves. It brought me great calm, and the waves of energy flowed through me just as they did the sea. I felt insignificant compared to the vast emptiness of the ocean, until I learned what lay beyond this planet earth, and what lay in my own mind. Ever since the ocean offers little concern for me, and even if some accident would befall me, I would never perish at sea. At least not anymore. I would signal some whales, and they would assist me. The master explained it in great detail. He said the whales were inclined to help one who could speak to them in their minds. He also said they like to be met with respect, and that the whales were making music before we could walk upright. I felt bad for the whales, even before I realized they were sentient. I have read many articles of whale cancer, and the high concentrations of manmade toxins in the cetaceans. I wondered what the whales would say to me, or would they even feel fit to answer? Surely my ilk has not been kind to the fellows over the past millennia, but I didn’t exactly feel responsible. I didn’t know what lay before me, but I did know that any hardship was worth the prize of eternal bliss. I also didn’t know that the journey to the Valley of M’artenoir would only be the start of a much longer one. * * * * * * The sea was choppy and rough on this, the seventh day of our voyage. The peaceful façade the ocean had presented during the first few days had shattered and now we were in for some dicey weather. The sea breeze was salty yet not unpleasant, and my thoughts lingered on the events of the last week. I arrived in [Indian port city] after a long trek through the jungle, and I was met with looks reserved solely for the Untouchables. I couldn’t much blame my fellow humans for their prejudice; for I know I have made my fair share of snap judgments. So I decided first to stay the night in a hotel and make myself more appealing. The woman at the counter made her best effort to smile and be polite, but the look in her eyes made it clear that she was disgusted with my appearance. My unkempt hair and beard must have made me look like a caveman, and I’m sure I didn’t smell too evolved either. But she gave me a room, after I paid up front, and I went to make myself more presentable. I had to call room service for a decent razor and scissors, but after that everything went smoothly. I decided to go and buy new clothes and provisions for the trip to South America in the morning, and fell asleep with all the speed of a man who hasn’t slept in a bed since the dawn of time. After waking up I made my way to the open air market that has existed in every port city since the days of yore. Clean-shaven and well rested, I elicited smiles from the girls I passed in the street and resentment from the men. To them I was just another American who came over to embrace a culture he knows nothing about. I found a tailor, bought three warm weather outfits, two for cold weather, and socks. I had forgotten how great a new pair of socks can feel, it has been so long since I have worn any. The tailor was a friendly man, all smiles and an aura of absolute warmth. I found everything I needed in the market and set out for the docks. You can go anywhere in the world and yet the port district of every city you encounter will be basically the same. The ships, the sailors, and the whores all playing their parts well. All were present and accounted for. I found a rundown tavern and entered with the confidence necessary not to be mistaken for an easy mark. While any attempt at robbing or mugging me would surely fail, I felt it best to let them know I wasn’t a fool. The bar was densely populated with seamen of every race, creed, and age. I sat in-between a large Russian man, and an Asian man with an eye patch. After some small talk and a few drinks I found out the Russian was from a cargo ship specializing in produce from South America. I gave my thanks to the gods of fate, and inquired as to his captain’s policy on passengers. He named a price that I could easily discern was at least double what the captain charged. So I asked if I could speak to his captain. He arranged a meeting and after short negotiations with a short man who spoke broken English, I had chartered my passage on the great ship ‘Persephone Rising’. She was a hulking mass of steel and iron, designed to take the largest ocean swells with a rolling gait. Constructed nearly sixty years before I was born, she was an old girl. She belonged to the Soviet Union before its degeneration, and was quite an impressive vessel. We were due to shove off in half a week and I spent the rest of the time enjoying the city. Eating the foods I have grown to love, watching the street performers, and seeing all there was to see. There is something to be said of the energy that permeates cities in Asia. They are unlike the cities in America, in that the people are not in a rush to get where they are going. The people interact with one another here, and it gave me great enjoyment to observe the animated discussions and watch the children laughing while playing their whimsical games. The ships crew was polite enough, though they seemed to have a certain aversion to me. I could hardly read these crusty sailors, for they were unnaturally guarded against outsiders, but I had limited success with the ships cook. He said that the crew disliked me because they disliked all of the passengers they have ever had. It was simply a matter of association. But I took it in stride, for I didn’t really need friends on a Russian cargo vessel. My money would make sure I got to South America unharmed. At one point a drunken third mate attempted to fight with me over an accidental collision in the ships bowels. I sensed his violent intent exploding into action behind me, and I turned around and jabbed my knuckles into his exposed windpipe in one swift movement. He fell to the floor gasping for air, and I left him to his humiliation. It really pains me to have to resort to such means to defend myself from harm. Ironic that I cause myself pain by not allowing myself to be hurt. I assume that the third mate told his fellows of my superhuman reaction time, for I did not receive any more trouble for the duration of the trip. I spent the [time it takes to sail from India to South America] of free time I had much the same as I would any other day of any other year. I meditated for a few hours a day, I ate sparingly, and I spent the rest of my time contemplating the great mysteries and viewing the wonders that are presented to me. I might as well have been alone on the ship, for I had little contact with the crew or captain. Although I did have the sky to keep me company. The night sky when viewed from the oceans is one of the most beautiful things you can hope to see. The stars are bright as fireflies hovering over a black lake, and the moon seems to outshine everything but the sun. One can easily see the many falling objects entering the Earth’s atmosphere, and the dazzling trails of fire they leave in their wake. It makes me think of my ancestors, who no doubt looked up at the same sky with the same sense of awe. The people who live in the shadows of skyscrapers hardly ever see the masterpiece that is the heavens. I did happen to see a pod of whales while off of starboard one evening, and it filled me with admiration for the tenacious cetaceans. Surely it would be better for them to stay in the somewhat isolated arctic waters, where there is little to no human interference, and yet they continue to travel there ancestral migration routes. So I began to center myself, and concentrate on the inner stillness that comes with years of meditation. I felt around for the eldest of the humpbacks, and found the venerable matriarch of the clan. I focused on the ideas I wished to convey, and with great respect I filled her mind with the thoughts. Salutations my ocean dwelling friend. Who addresses me? I felt her query. It is I, a humble man who seeks the wisdom of the deep. Ahhh a man. Many migrations have come and gone since I have felt the presence of a gifted one. What is it you ask of me? I seek to know everything that I can, and all that you can tell me. Do you know what our purpose is on this planet? Your purpose is unknown to me, though I sense great things in store for you my tiny friend. We of the People have spent many millennia trying to accelerate the evolution of our kind. To transmute our consciousness into the infinite. Yes it is much the same with my People, except we have strayed further and further from the path. We seek personal gain over the welfare of the planet and our fellow creatures. What do you know of mankind and our history? My mother told me, just as I tell my children, that the humans are a very recent addition to the planet. Our songs maintain that you appeared from nothing and took over the land. We have sung many songs of the trials presented to us by the humans, and each ends with hope. There is little that we know of your history, though we know much about you. You sought to harvest our fathers and mothers for energy, and take our food for your own. You have driven the ocean into a state of turmoil and desolation. You have become more and more dangerous as the moons grow and die. Many of my kind suffer from maladies that did not exist before you came about. Your broadcasts drive some of us to madness and the long death of suffocation on the beaches. It has caused many of my brothers to give up hope. But I have seen in my minds eye the end of mankind. Over time the world will be restored to its former glory, and we shall once again rule the seas. I was aware that we caused you great harm, but I didn’t quite realize the extent to which our actions have altered the oceans. It saddens me greatly to know such things, and I wish there were something that I could do to end your plight. But, I am just one man. Surely I could do something about the misery brought on the whales by my brothers. I know not what I could do, but I shall reflect on it in my meditations from now on. I do not blame you, just as I would not blame one of my own for something that is out of his control. You’re too young to be responsible. But there is something that you can do. Try to live your life as you see fit, not as others dictate. You are wise for a human. What is your name? I should like to give it to the next child born to my family. My father gave me the name Elias. My Master gave me the name [Tarahmun]. Whichever you prefer. Well farewell whale-friend Elias [Tarahmun], the wise human. May the currents carry you to your destiny swiftly and without fail. I will sing songs of you to all my brethren. Goodbye my friend. But what is your name? I am called Grandmother. Farewell Grandmother. And with that I broke contact with the mighty mammal, and the pod set off on the trail their ancestors blazed many years ago. As they were leaving I could hear their song, it was heartrending and exultant at the same time. I could still hear it when I laid down to sleep. * * * * * * We arrived on the western coast of Chile, and docked in the port of [insert Chilean port]. The dock was a slab of concrete at least a quarter mile long, it dwarfed the aged cargo hunker and was reminded once again of man’s intrusion into the ocean. The captain took the second half of his fare and bid me good day. And I was once again on the continent of South America, in the land of ancient civilizations and Western exploitation. I have been here once before, my father and I took a vacation in Peru after I graduated from high school. It was a splendid couple of weeks, and I learned a lot about myself in the highlands and mountains. I left the landing stage and found myself in a metropolis that was in no way favorable to the senses. The air smelled noxious due to pollution and it was absurdly loud. A haze lay over the city, glowing orangey and obscuring the distances, and I felt sad for the people who spent their lives there. The few people I encountered were disinterested in everything, though the people in cars seemed animated enough. I knew enough Spanish to get around, and I could always read the surface thoughts of another in dire straits. So I discovered a university in short order and found an archaeologist who has dedicated his life to the ruins and mysteries of the Andes. At the time his secretary said that he was teaching a class, so I thanked her, inquired as to the location of the class, and I sat in on his lecture. The room was small, and there was no wasted space. It gave an overall sense of being crowded, yet there were plenty of places to sit. There were couches with fabric covers of varied colors, and stools along a counter on the north wall, where the windows were located. The room had many shelves and each was filled with papers, books, oddities, gewgaws, and bits of clay pottery, drawings and all types of things you would expect to see in a museum. Towards the south end of the room I could see an aging man writing on a chalkboard, talking halfheartedly in Spanish to a small gathering of young men and women, no more than six in all, who sat in a semi circle of small chairs around the fellow. He was quite preoccupied with his lecture, which illuminated some obscure ritual of the Inca people, and didn’t notice me come in and sit near the rear of the group on a small armchair. He turned around to answer a question solicited by a young fellow with a ponytail, and his eyes found mine. At first he looked at me as an invader, and he opened his mouth to pose some question about my identity. But he stopped. His aura changed at that point, from pale and reserved yellow to a brighter, friendlier amber glow. He seemed to recognize me and smiled knowingly. Then he continued where he left off answering the boys query and finished the lecture.

3 When the students began to collect their things and depart, he walked over to me and we exchanged greetings and pleasantries. His name was Eduardo Guevara III, and he seemed to know the reason I had come. He sat down next to me on a velvet couch, and the conversation begun. “I have been waiting on you for a while now my friend. I have been dreaming of this day for so long, I can’t help but suspect that I dream right now." He paused, and scratched his beard. "About thirty years ago, I was hiking in a remote stretch of hills skirting the eastern peaks of the Andes, and I discovered a ruin that was unlike anything I had seen or heard of. After a careful analysis I determined it was not built by any of the people that previously inhabited the area. The architecture was unlike anything else on the continent. The buildings did not look to be made of natural rock, and they were not assembled with any technology available to the Mayans, Incas, or Aztecs. The glyphs on the walls could not have been carved, for they were perfectly etched, and not of any alphabet I know of. I have dedicated my time to illuminating many of the mysteries surrounding the enigmatic peoples that have lived here. After forty years of field work and research I was still unable to explain who built that city and for what reason. The frustration gnawed at me, and I dwelled in a dark place for many years. One day, about two weeks ago, a vision came to me as I walked the steppes. There was a man’s face, your face my friend,” his smile grew larger and he looked at me, “and with it came a voice, ethereal and distant. ‘He will help you solve the puzzle, and he will set you free’ it said; and then there was nothing but the face. I tried to speak with it, to learn something more, but since then I have yet to hear anything else from this distinctive voice. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.” I let it all sink in, and sat quietly for a few seconds without speaking. So this voice is engineering the fates of many. I was living in some synchronistic dream world, and the pieces were falling into places after many years of culmination. Ever a wonder, this universe. Eduardo looked at me with expectation. I could tell in his mind’s eye he was once again young, reliving the days when the lust for knowledge had driven him mad and he had a world of possibilities in front of him. “So, we find ourselves dancing to a tune that we cannot hear aye? I too was visited by a vision, probably the same time you had yours. It was of this valley you speak of. In it I received the name of the place, which was called the Valley of M’artenoir by its inhabitants. I saw a pillar in the middle of a stone circle, which emits a blinding light at the fall equinox,” at this statement his joy increased, if that were possible. “With the vision came the voice and it told me that the salvation of humanity rested upon me. That I was to be there at the appointed time, and eternal bliss would be my reward. This is all happening so quickly Ed. I have seen and done many things that most would find unbelievable, and I thought I had a grasp on what was occurring around me. But, the times are a changing, it seems. A few weeks ago I was living in a cave, and now I am on a path that is obscured by the mists of time.” I sat silent for a minute, lost in thought. Ed offered me a beer which I declined. “It would seem Ed that we have been chosen for a very important task. For some reason or another, it was we who were contacted and it is we who must heed the call. I don’t know about you, but I intend to discover what is so important at this site. What do you make of all this?” “Well, I imagine I was chosen because I am the only one who knows of the valley‘s location. I have kept it a secret from my colleagues all these years, because of my foolish pride. I cannot speculate why you were chosen, but I’m sure that you know the reason why.” He was right. I knew my mental abilities were strong, but I had no inkling that I was one of the only man living who was capable of carrying out the wishes of this strange voice. Though how could I be anything else? Perhaps that is why Master Ramm took such an interest in me, and taught me everything that he knew. He told me that I had great things inside me, just waiting to be set free; he must have seen what I now suspect. “Yes I suppose I do. What do you say? Will you take me to this valley? Will you join my pilgrimage?” The words hung in the air for a few moments, and his answer did not surprise me. “Of course my friend. It would be an honor, and besides, I have been waiting for answers too long to give up now.” We had less than two weeks to reach the valley, and I still didn’t know what was to happen when we arrived. I decided to meditate on this new development. I arranged a meeting with him the following Tuesday afternoon, to plan our trip, and I bid him a good day. He walked me out and gave me directions to a hotel upon my request. Afterwards he shook my hand with more enthusiasm than I would have thought possible. One did not need true-sight to see his elation. I liked Ed and we had become fast friends. After reading him I knew he was a good man, living how he wanted to, and harming nobody in the process. I left the building and walked around the campus for a time. The scenery reminded me of my college days, and I relived the four years in the time it took me to wander off campus. Though I walked through the city streets towards the hotel, I was not really there. I was taking a look at everything that led up to this past month. All the days spent sharpening my skills and looking ahead to the future. Here I was in the future that I had idealized, and it was not what I had seen in those days long gone. I had thought of going back to the States, with all the wisdom of the East, and changing the country. Bringing understanding of the Way to all my wayward kin, and helping to restore the equilibrium mankind had disrupted. Or I would go to New Zealand and raise a family. But in either fantasy nothing like this ever happened. Well, at least I had something to look forward to. The chance to bring about the salvation of mankind was not given to everyone, and I was grateful for the opportunity. Though the disembodied voice made me somewhat apprehensive, I was sure that I was making the right decision. Throughout my life the unknowns have always weighed heavily on my mind, and this was no different. If it had been my master’s voice that brought this mission to me, I would not question it. But, this new voice was a mystery to me. I walked the streets in the direction of the hotel, feeling hungry. For food, for answers, and for reassurance. I hadn’t eaten anything since the previous evening, and the noises coming from my stomach reminded me. I arrived in front of the hotel, which stood out from the other buildings that I had seen. The walls were not filthy, the doors were made of glass, and it was not adversely affected by the gloom. The doorman opened the door, and I was inside. The floors were marble and the place was decorated with paintings and sculptures, none of which were very good. Just the sort of art you expect to see in a hotel; completely uninspired and bland, art for the sake of money. I walked up to the counter, spoke to the hostess, and got a room. The bellhop was visibly disappointed that his services were not required, and I walked past the elevator to the stairs. I preferred stairs, because when I was younger I was stuck in an elevator with a soldier and a nun for fourteen hours. Not a pleasant experience. I arrived on the fourth floor after a few minutes of walking, found room No. 420, and entered my temporary home. It was sparsely furnished, having only a bed, a table set, and a television. After putting my knapsack down, I called room service, and ordered a garden salad, sushi, and four bottles of water. It was then that I remembered I hadn’t called my father yet. I picked up the phone and dialed his New York office. “Hello, Mr. Wilson’s office, how can I help you?” a perky female voice said after it rang three times. “Hi Pamela, can I speak to my dad please?” “My name isn’t Pamela, sir. And Mr. Wilson is in a meeting right now, can I take a message?” “Sure. Tell him that Elias called, and that he can reach me at the [hotel] in [Chilean port city]. Room number 420. Thanks a lot,” and I hung up before hearing her response. Knowing my dad, he’ll call back in a few minutes, the imaginary meeting an excuse to practice his putting in the office. I sat in silence for a short time, absorbed in thought. Since I received the summons, I have relived the vision many times, looking for details I had missed the first time around. I decided more reviewing was necessary. I started to meditate, relaxing my body and mind, feeling the fluid nature of my cellular awareness give way to stillness. I concentrated on the memory, the time, and my location when I was contacted. The scene unfolded slowly before me; the crumbling avenues arranged in a concentric circle, the standing stones which I knew served as conduits for planetary energy, and the main obelisk that dominated the landscape of the city. There were no animals living in the area, and the plants were thriving in the high energy atmosphere. Knowing what to look for, I could tell the dwellings were not constructed so much as formed. The small buildings were dome shaped, and had oddly shaped doorways. There was no evidence of irrigation or a water supply of any kind, and there were no fire pits. My search was interrupted by a distant ringing noise I knew to be the telephone. So I receded from my state of concentration and was once again conscious of the world around me. I walked over to the table and picked up the receiver. "Hi Dad," I said, knowing it was him. "Elias? How did you know it was me," he asked, in a shocked tone. He knew that I had gifts, but he was always surprised when I used them. "I would think after this long you would know the answer to that question Dad. Besides, nobody else knows I'm here. How has everything been going?" "Oh, you know. The same old things; running the business, dealing with the market and the shareholders. I've got a new girlfriend, she's great. Looks like Madonna, but prettier. Aside from that not much. What about you? I haven't heard from you in almost a year, I was beginning to think you had been killed or something. Why didn't you call me?" The question I knew I was going to hear. Took a little longer than I expected to hear it though. “Well, I was living in the wilderness until about two weeks ago. I told you that I was going to be away from civilization for a long time. Anyway, I lived off the land and I was content to continue like that. Very recently I was visited by a vision, and I was told to come here. I have learned much Father, since we last spoke. Oh and thanks for not canceling my credit card. It would have been difficult for me to get here without it.” "Oh it's not that big of a deal son. You hardly use it anyway. How long are you going to be in Chile? I would like to visit you, lay eyes on my little boy for a change." "Well, I'm probably going to be here for a few more weeks. I planned on going to this ruin pretty soon; I have things to find out there. If you wanted to come down I would be fine with it. Are you sure you're not too busy up there?" "Pshhh, nothing is more important to me right now than seeing you. The company will be fine without me for a few days. I'm so happy right now, you don't even know son. I'll be on the next flight to Chile. I'll give you a call when I arrive. I love you son." "I love you too Dad." And with that I hung up the phone. Talking to my dad always made me feel better, and this was no exception. There are very few people I ever got really close to, and my father was one of them. Ever since I was little his voice just soothed the problems of the world away. Well, at least when the problems were small ones. Like getting rejected by a girl or bullied at school. I don’t think any amount of talking could erode the memory of the megalithic problems that face the world at this point. It was my duty to shoulder some of the weight forced on the people, even though I was not to blame. It was the responsibility of all Enlightened Ones to alleviate the burdens placed on the collective unconscious, to make life livable on this crazy sphere. So I was taught, and so I would teach, if ever I get the opportunity. My food arrived, after a few minutes of silent contemplation. The bellhop wheeled in the cart, which had my meal atop it. I thanked him in Spanish, gave him a dollar tip, which he was quite pleased to receive, and he left me to eat. The salad was satisfactory, containing everything I would expect: romaine lettuce, zucchini, tomatoes, and every dressing I could ask for on the side. The sushi, however, did not look very appetizing. I ate all of it, despite my reluctance, and drank one of the water bottles. After the light meal, I meditated for another two hours, trying to understand this situation I found myself in. I recalled something Master Ramm said when I first met him. “Everyone travels a path to heaven that is for them alone; the destination may be the same, but it is the journey that is important.” I had a few options, but only one path seemed worthwhile; the one I was traveling. Thinking of what could happen or what might have is an inherent waste of time. This is happening, and so it will be. Where my journey was to take me I couldn't tell, but I was certain that it would be worth finding out. * * * * * * We had reached the mountain trail that led to the Valley after only three hours of hiking. We made a fine troupe; Eduardo brought up the rear, leading our pack mule along the rocky terrain. His research assistant, Miguel Vila Lobos, walked ahead of him, and I was leading the procession. The path was not clear, but I knew where to go. I could read Ed’s mental impressions, and knew when I was straying from the path. It was beautiful country and the air was thin and crisp. It was very cold at this altitude, but I had deadened my nerves and was reasonably comfortable. Ed and Miguel, however, were feeling frosty despite their thick wool coats and insulating layers of cloth. I was wearing a parka I had bought upon Ed’s insistence before we left the city, but I didn’t really need it. The peaks of the Andes blocked the light from the setting sun, and cast us into a twilight world of muted colors and fading sunlight. Shrubbery of many varieties grew out of the rocky outcroppings and brushed against my clothes, releasing their pollens and seeds with the motion. I had been silent for most of the journey, listening to the wildlife, and thinking of what awaited us. Eduardo and Miguel spoke occasionally, and the silences were interrupted by Miguel singing songs of romance and loss. He had a resonant and pleasant voice that reminded me of David Bowie. Things were going quite well, and we had two days to set up camp before the equinox. I was in high spirits, and my companions were also feeling cheerful. Miguel was a fine specimen of the collegiate community of South America. He had been working with Ed for three years, and the two were great friends. He was a grad student with a bachelor’s degree in ancient cultures, who worked exclusively with Ed on various projects, and I could tell he had nothing but respect for his mentor. He was two years older than me, but it didn't show. He had the face and demeanor of a boy, and was quite happy to be chosen for this 'research project', as Ed described it. I walked ahead while recalling the day I was reunited with my father. When I told him of the summons I had received, he was less than encouraging. I wasn't going to talk about it at all, but he had a way of getting things out of me. We were having lunch in some restaurant near my hotel, and we were making small talk. Reminiscing about days gone by, and the good times we had while I was growing up. I always loathed this type of conversation and the utter lack of substance, but I indulged him. We never really had anything in common to talk about since I found my true self, and it seemed to make him happy to remember those carefree days. When I told him that a voice told me to come here, he wanted me to go see a psychiatrist in New York. "You’re hearing voices? That doesn't sound too good Elias. I've heard of people hearing voices, and then they do some really strange things. You might have brain damage. When was your last CAT scan?" "I don't think I've ever had one." I tried to assure him that I was sane, but I wasn't so sure myself. He never really believed in my chosen way of life, but he was not overly critical either. Outwardly he appeared to respect my decisions, but the way he acted when I talked about my sojourn and spiritual renewal I could tell he was holding back his true feelings. They were easily readable now, bubbling over his unconditional love for me. He really thought there was something wrong with me, but I didn’t let that bother me. Shortly after the dinner that night he flew back to New York. I felt like there was something left unsaid. So I called him on the plane and told him that I loved him, even though he thought I suffered from some mental illness. Without undeniable proof I don’t think he’ll ever believe me, even though he wants to. When I reached the Valley's rim, I stopped and looked down on the buildings and dense foliage that I had seen so many times in my mind. They were barely visible in the twilight, but the moon was coming out and they were getting clearer and more distinct. The rays of light cast the scenery into shades of opalescence and dark shadows which accented the deserted appearance of the city. The buildings had the same rounded appearance that I remembered, and in the moonlight they looked like broken crocodile eggs strewn on swamp grass. Miguel reached the summit and stood next to me, looking upon the abandoned city for the first time. He didn’t seem all that impressed until he made a more judicious survey of the area. At that moment his attitude immediately changed. On his face was etched the wonder and curiosity that I could feel reverberating in his mind. Endless questions filled his thoughts, erupting into torrents of psychic energy. He knew instantly that this was a rare find, and that he was very lucky to have this opportunity. The Professor and the mule caught up to us, and Ed cast his eyes once again on the main subject of his research for the past three decades. He has devoted his every spare moment to ascertaining the origin of this unexplained metropolis, and he was now closer than ever to his goal. The exhilaration literally emanated from his body and soul, creating golden waves of elation that pulsed into the surrounding air. Towering in the center of the ruin was the obelisk that concentrated the electromagnetic energy that surrounds and flows through Earth. I knew of lay lines and vortices that collected and stored excess energy, but I have never encountered one that was this powerful. I could sense all around me the sheer magnitude of potential energy centered on the monolith, just waiting to be unleashed by someone who knew how. Many times Master took me to vortices of planetary energy, which the Hindus called prahna. We went in the forest, and walked for days to find a standing stone in a small clearing. The place was left unaffected by the passage of centuries. Even then, so early in my training, I could feel the prahna surrounding me and filling every space I could conceive. Master told me of the energy that originates in all beings, large and small. The prahna that we humans have is limited by our frail physical forms, but planets are giants that live for billions of years. Their size and age allows for much prahna to form in them. In planets the energy is vast and almost limitless. He told me that dragon lines, as the Chinese called them, are conduits for the Earth's prahna to flow, like our own arteries and veins. At certain points the conduits pool and collect, to form chakras on the Earth's surface. These are the vortices that ancient cultures have known of for millenia. It is at one such vortex that I stood in right now. I have seen one before, but the energy here was simply unfathomable. The plants were vigorous and hearty, and the area was very calming. Though I had seen this place before, I could not help feeling awed at the sight. Everything was intact and solid after centuries of neglect, and deep in the valley the river flowed southward, searching for the Pacific Ocean. The valley was deeper than I had recalled, but that must have been due to my aerial perspective. The animals and plants lived here, free from the tyranny of mankind. I could feel a sense of peace descend upon me, soothing the slight anxiety that I had been carrying since India. What was waiting for me here, in this secluded bowl of rock? I have never before experienced such a strong sense of purpose and meaning, but I didn't understand any of it. I was supposed to bring freedom and wisdom to my fellow man, but I didn't even know what I was meant to do. All of my concerns were swept away by the electricity of this place, and the tranquility that permeated my soul. "Here we are gentlemen. The Valley of M'artenoir," I said.

4 We set up camp inside the largest of the dwellings, what Ed imagined was a meeting hall of some type. The ceiling was high above us, curving into a dome like all the other buildings, about 24 feet above our heads. The inside walls were inscribed with runes that were not unappealing to the eye, yet indecipherable. There did not seem to be an alphabet, as we know it. The words, if that is what they were, formed a single shape; much like Japanese in its written form, or Egyptian. Ed was right about them though, they could not have been carved by any primitive culture of South America that is known to humankind. The cuts were too clean, too trim. From the area, I could sense a lingering presence distinctly different from what I have experienced as human emanations. Areas that have been inhabited by humans have a sort of earthy, rhythmic resonance, which I would compare to the warm familiar pulse of the womb. The fading signals dispersed around this place, infused into the walls and the ground, reminded me of ice. It was stiff, almost wooden, and gave the feeling that I was standing on a frozen lake. I felt the cold surface, but I could only imagine what lies beneath it. It would take some time, but I could learn more about the place with concentrated mental probing. Miguel seemed to notice the subtle change in frequency as well. When we entered the cathedral like building his thoughts swam uncontrollably to thoughts of isolation and abandonment. His subconscious was urging him to leave the place that was so unprecedented, so alien to his previous experience. I cannot say that I blamed him. If I were not here for a good reason, I probably would not stay. "Professor Guevara, what exactly are we doing here?" Miguel said, somewhat hesitantly. He was eyeing the walls and looking at the doorway every few seconds, as if some unseen danger lurked just beyond the threshold. "Miguel my boy, we're hopefully going to solve a puzzle that has had me stumped for longer than you have been alive. What do you make of these characters on the walls?" After a stern once over, Miguel turned to him and said, "They appear to be hieroglyphs of some type. I cannot make any of them out though. They remind me of Celtic runes, yet there isn't any way that could be true." “Yes that is about as far as I got with them as well.” “Ed, I don’t think they were made by humans. In fact, I don’t think humans ever lived here,” I interrupted. He was surprised at this. His face was contorted in shock, like somebody pulled a rabbit out of his ear. In a skeptical tone he asked, “What makes you say that Elias?” “Well, I cannot sense anything human about this place. I haven’t told you, but I am what you might call a psychic, though I would not use that word at all.” “What? Such things are not possible my friend. If you are a psychic then I am the Pope.” “I assure you, that most people are not exactly in tune with what is and isn’t possible. I could demonstrate, if that would be to your liking?” “I would very much like to see,” said Miguel. I could tell he wanted it to be true, because it would affirm his belief in certain metaphysical phenomena that he had witnessed in the past. Later, I discovered that when he was 12, he stumbled on to a stranger levitating over a river near his family’s home. Ever since that day, he has questioned whether his eyes had deceived him, or if such things were possible. Eduardo indicated me to get on with it. I could easily sense his incredulity. “Ok. Now Ed, I want you to think of something that occurred during your childhood. Something that I could not possibly know. Perhaps the name of a pet or your earliest memory.” When the words left my lips, Ed had begun shuffling through his mind, searching for something deeply entrenched. It took me little time to ascend to the second tier of awareness. I was concentrating on Ed’s thoughts, waiting quietly for him to decide on something that fit the situation. His thoughts raced through his earliest memories. Through the years spent on his father’s small farm in northern Argentina, helping with the planting and the harvest. Watching the sunrise while his mother made breakfast. He settled on a scene of darkness and shadows, the day he had discovered a rat in the woodshed, eating grain from a torn sack. He was eight then, and remembered the shed as a cathedral of wood and metal. Instead of just revealing that I could read his thoughts, I decided to speak to his mind, just to jostle him a bit. I wonder how long that rat has been there, getting fat off your family's grain. His face, which had previously only indicated disbelief, lit up with surprise. “Why Elias, this is incredible! How is it that you can do this,” he erupted. “I have learned the technique, that is all. You are just as capable of using your own innate talents. Everything that I do is within the realm of human ability.” I sounded like Master. That did not take me by surprise. Miguel just sat there waiting for some confirmation. He saw his friend react to something unheard, but he was still waiting. "But how did you learn to do it?" Ed said. He was not going to let this go. "Ed, I know less about it than you think. Now let's get back to more pressing matters. This place does not have the appearance of a human settlement, and I can't pick up any human vibrations, aside from those we are emitting right now. So, I can conclude that this place was not built by humans." It might be a shock to just say that I felt an alien presence, so I left that part unsaid. Nevertheless, there was no denying that this place was an enigma indeed. That night, Ed and Miguel would not let me alone. They pressed me with questions about my talents, and how I managed to sharpen them. They asked if I could tell the future, or witness events in far off places. It grew annoying after a time, and it took all of my patience to answer their questions. Tarahmun, this is one of the reasons that your gifts are meant to be kept a secret. I wasn't sure if it was Master communicating with me, or my own recollection of his words. Either way, I should listen. * * * * * * That night, while Miguel and Eduardo were sleeping, I explored the city. Though there were plenty of buildings, I could find no evidence of habitation. No discarded tools or fire pits. No skeletal remains or empty baskets. The place was a ghost town, devoid of all it once sheltered. Aside from the cathedral and the obelisk, there weren't any other buildings that stood out. Every house was built with the same blueprint, and I could find nothing distinctive about any of them. Even the characters on the wall were the same. So I decided to rest and wait out the answers. On the walk back to the cathedral, I saw an ethereal form floating near the top of the obelisk. It was slightly luminescent, glowing like a distant candle. The shape was humanoid, but unlike anything I had seen before. Where legs should be there was none, only a wispy line of haze. The arms were long and looked extremely delicate, and the rest of the body had the same alien characteristic. The head was large and drooped behind the torso, extending well below the shoulders. I stopped walking and stared at the apparition. When you are a child spirits and imaginary ghosts frighten you. Your father or mother will comfort you and tell you they do not exist. You might believe them, or you might not. Master told me of the spirit world, and its strong link with our own. He told me of devas and nature spirits, that have existed prior to humankind. He told me of the divine consciousness, which exists in everything, and is intertwined with every spirit. He gave me information, but it is no substitute for experience. I didn't know what I was looking at. It could be a deva, or something else. A closer inspection seemed the wisest course of action. The ascension to the second tier of consciousness came fluidly as I thought about it, and I was ready to study the being. It floated in place, undisturbed by my activity. It was definitely a spirit unattached to a mortal form. In it, I could sense the same energy that was diffused among the city, only it was intense and focused. The icy wooden feeling was replaced with a glacier of intent and meaning. It has been here for millennia keeping watch over the abandoned settlement. It is an ancient being, residing here since its body decomposed into its base parts. In its spirit form, it is waiting. Waiting for the time of the meeting. It noticed me and the probing almost immediately after I started, and it sent a glimmer of recognition my way. Then it vanished into oblivion, or at least from my perceptual range. I knew that it was waiting for me, waiting for the solstice, waiting for its people to return. Its purpose was to unite me with its kind. I was meant to be here. His kind had known that one like myself would come, and they had left his spirit here to guard the gate. I knew that the obelisk was really a sophisticated communications device, left behind for me to use. They were waiting for me to activate it. They were waiting to take me away. To what I did not know. * * * * * * Sitting there, next to the obelisk, I was in a state of deep meditation. I was searching for the spirit, trying to establish some form of contact. Probing the countryside, I couldn't sense the being or any evidence of its existence. I knew it had been there. There could be no other explanation; I was sane, I was not hallucinating, and I was not misled. It occurred to me that it was intentionally hiding its presence. Perhaps to study me, or to avoid me. There was much about the situation that I didn't understand, but I felt no malevolence or ill intent. Whatever I had seen, it had not been waiting for centuries just to take my life. Could it have summoned me here? Was its voice the one who started me on this path? I could speculate all day, but there is no way to know. Somehow, I must contact this entity and get the answers. Having never contacted a spirit, I was at a loss as to how I should proceed. The being seemed capable of avoiding me regardless of how much energy I devoted to the search, and I was an amateur in this concern anyway. Relaxing even further, focusing my awareness, I pushed myself to the edge of my abilities. Around me swelled the perceivable universe. I became aware of all the energy changing forms in the area. I could sense the air currents, the heat of my companions, the plants converting free flowing energy into sugars, and the other subtle nuances of the physical world. I was far beyond perception, as I standardly knew it. I didn't watch things happen, or feel them happening. I made them happen.The capacity for vision to convey information pales in comparison to the plethora of sensation that one obtain when they are properly receptive. As I sat, it became clear that I would have to let it come to me. No other approach would work with such a being. It was waiting for me to come to terms with my situation, for me to realize my inadequacy. I could feel this line of thinking held a grain of truth. I could feel the conduits of my mind lighting up with the realization. If I was to communicate with It, I would have to take the weaker position. I would have to once again become the student. How foolish, to think I was done learning. That I was ready for what lay ahead of me. To learn is to be alive, or so Master said. You/Learn/Tarahmun. The thought came from that part of my mind that usually held Master’s wisdom. It was not him though. When he spoke, I always heard his voice, his words. This was different. It was not a verbalization, but a sequence of thoughts. It made sense, but it was not cohesive. I knew it to be foreign in nature, because never have I addressed myself as Tarahmun. You are the spirit, I thought. Yes. Why do you conceal yourself? It took a few moments for me to receive a response. I got the feeling that I should open my eyes, so I did. About a meter in front of me shimmered into being the specter I had seen before. Now that I was closer, I could make out more detail. The blue fire that was its body reminded me of frozen lightning. It lit up the area, casting everything into hues of pale blue. The outline was blurry and shifting, but it gave the overall impression of an alien squid. I could find no eyes on the figure, however. Its entire form swayed, as if it were moving with an underwater current. Being so close to an entity that’s only physical manifestation was phosphorescent energy sent streams of adrenaline flowing throughout my body. That sight will forever be imprinted as one of my most pleasureable memories. What should I address you as? Not/Important. Very well. You have been waiting for me. Why? To/Prepare/You. What for? /Change. What does that mean? You/Will/Carry/God. As the thought floated through my mind, I was wordless. Questions flew around my head. How could one carry God? Is such a thing possible? I believed that all life is the vessel of Eternal Divine Oneness, what certain people would call 'God', but this idea shook me. In order for me to carry God, there would have to be a physical form of God. While such a theme has been written into every mythology I have ever heard of, I always figured it to be an expression of Eternal Divine Oneness, not to be taken literally. Perhaps there is some miscommunication going on. He is, after all, an alien. Maybe we have different concepts of what constitutes divinity. Well, even if we don't fully understand each other, it wouldn’t hurt to gain some alien wisdom. What must I learn? Little. You/Wise. You/Need/Sleep. Why? Easy/Teach/When/Sleep. Very well. I shall sleep. It would be best if you did not show yourself to the others. I do not think they are ready. Yes/Humans/Fearful. At least it was aware of certain details of human existence. I stood up, walked over to our camp, and lay down on my sleeping bag. I fell asleep quickly, with the assistance of a meditation technique Master taught me, and soon after my brain went on stand-by. But, that didn't last long. I was motionless, lying on the ground. And, within moments, images and words began to flash through my brain at speeds that felt like the flesh was going to explode right out of my skull. I couldn't register the meaning behind the words; it was all proceeding so rapidly. I have experienced insomnia, and other wanderrings of the mind. This was something wholly different. Nothing I had experienced compared to this sensation. I felt as if I were sitting in a cinema watching a film, while time was being accelerated to an incredible velocity. I was that man from ‘A Clockwork Orange’, being forced to watch as time went into overdrive, and the minutes grew shorter. The pictures flew through my mind; being caught by collections of neurons in the single instant they were visible. My subconscious mind was storing everything I was being shown, but I could not connect the data in any meaningful way. After what seemed like eons, the procession stopped, and I was able to get the mental rest I needed. Slipping into the depths of sleep, I heard music. It reverberated within me. My eyes, my ears, and my feet; all of them vibrate to the rhythym. It is pleasant, a distant sonata, something I have never heard before. It dripped with emotion, climbing to crescendos of exaltation and bottoming out with somber bridges and intonations of sorrow.

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