Cosmic Peregrinations written by a brilliant new writer, Jason Van Liere
Jason's work work has appeared in The Surf City Times (North County, San Diego) and The Full Moon Poets (San Diego).
Jason can be reached for publishing opportunites:
email – jasonvanliere@hotmail.com
phone – (760) 529-9899
peregrination
n
1. a voyage, esp an extensive one
2. the act or process of traveling
Cosmic Peregrinations
The alarm blared raucously. It was no different, like the society in which he trudged, mechanistic and uncaring. Dan Noble slowly leaned over and silenced the automaton device; he had already been semi-conscious for ten minutes: waking just before the outburst had been an ongoing psychic anomaly since childhood. It was almost as dependable as another horrifically anticipated day at work, the minute hand already agonizingly dragging on, and he wasn't even there yet; his brain wasn't even physically out of bed. This was how much Dan Noble despised his job.
For a few moments he lay there, staring blankly at the scintillating specs of dawn beginning to trickle across his puke-yellow ceiling. Would today be the day? Would he finally arrest the gumption to end his miserable life; do one thing wholeheartedly, and do it right, blowing the back of his fucking skull into the nether-sphere with that .40 caliber Beretta? Gradually he rose to the edge of the bed; he would wait until the early hours of the afternoon before committing to the day's outcome. Don guzzled the cold green tea aside his bed, the apprehended jolt must be infused immediately, there was no time or alacrity for brewing, this was the sole staff that would get him to the bathroom, the next phase of mundane routine.
And here Don Noble stood in the buzzing fluorescent light, staring at his lonely aging face in the mirror. His eye-sockets were blue and drawn around the sullen brown eyes, his cheeks sallow, his crows-feet crowing, his shoulders limp and enervated, his balding head noticeably more balded. Tilting his head to the side, Don drew close to the mirror and scrutinized the fading follicles, brushing back the ambiguous hairline with his palm; he held this posture for five minutes, analyzing each minute finery of follicle anatomy and condition; yet the verdict remained – 'You're a balding fuck, and it's definitely accelerating! Now get in the goddamn shower, and wash your uno fuck'n follicle, dick-face!' Sometimes mental self-deprecation could be an enticing motivator. Don was thirty-eight years old, a failed writer – this, when he judiciously self-analyzed the underlying pang of it, was the reality of his slothful and desultory nature - overdrawn and overwhelmed, entirely uninspired, and most certainly alone. And now he got to go sit in the cube for eight hours and haggle with Taiwan and Hong Kong and scrutinize numerical rolling projections until his eyes were bulged painfully from the cranium. Yet he had to do it, for he had to eat, and this was how you ate and climbed ahead in America: you suffered jobs abhorred to the core, all that repelled your instinctively free and sylvan soul-nature.
“Please allow me to introduce myself: I'm a man of wealth and taste,” Mick mockingly courted Don along the inching backup of the 10 East. The conscious tic of which he had never been able to manumit himself when he was nervous or impatient, Don tugged on his nut sack as he obsessively tried to sit up straighter, more erect, in the seat of his failing Nissan Sentra, the engine knocking bombastically in idle (and idle was where he spent a lot of time commuting in the City of Angles); really it was a good car, he had just never maintained it. 'Why couldn't you have gone the route of Mick Jagger,' he flagellated himself. 'You're such a fucking loser, Noble! Today's the day – you will do it. You will finally finish something you started.'
Approaching the front doors of Big Tots Toys, Inc., Don's mind was already abhorrently ruminating on all the coworkers he would have to greet and smile at, feigning at least a mere vestige of sanity and desire for life. Yes, this was the Stygian abyss to which complicity with a material society and all of its bindings and limitations, its lack of visceral engagement, feeling, had catapulted this man. “Morning Don,” the voluptuous Libby sashayed by, her curves, her thick, bouncy, tight curly hair and dark complexion, invariably mesmerized him. “Morn'n,” he replied sheepishly; for he was picturing her in a sudden myriad of twists of the Kama Sutra, demanding his man-sauce, sweaty, primal. 'Yeah, Donny, are you gonna give it, are you gonna give it to momma? Give it to me! I want it! Right now – yes, yes, yes!' The man bowed his head shamefully at these libidinous thoughts.
“Good morning, Craig,” Don uttered meekly to a hulking mastodon of a man wearing a collared Raider's short-sleeve, who went thundering by, ignoring him but for a contemptible glare. Craig Hostetter was that condescending jock bully Don had been plagued by, in one personage or another, his entire life. Waiting until Craig was clear of sight, he just shook his head forlornly. “Happy Monday, Don. Another day in paradise, huh dear!” This was Darcy Hufftenbeck, the overly-friendly, overly-portly cherub of a lady in her late forties. “Sure is,” he lied. “Have a good one!” “You too,” he begrudgingly summoned. 'The last time that woman probably had some dick was in seventy-nine......Bad thoughts go.......Bad thoughts go. Asshole! You don't have to project your misery onto the few nice folks out there in this self-absorbed, piece-of-shit of a city.'
'Thank Christ!' His desk was straight ahead, with no on-comers. Swiftly, Don Noble slipped into his eight-by-eight mansion with a five foot high view of shit-colored brown, fuzzy paneling. Tossing his sporty day-pack oft the side, he logged onto to his PC and mentally prepped for the day's tedium. What would be the absurd count of e-mails from the East over the weekend, he pondered. He rolled closer on his spring-board chair. CHONK! “Fuck fuck fuck, mother fucker!” he subdued the obscenities through pursed, constrained lips. For the quintillionth time, Donny had once again smashed the living shit out of his knee on the steel under-hang of his limited legroom desk space, this one catching part of the shin as well. His face glowed crimson as he forced the pain pressure there, biting his lower lip; the excruciation seemed to bore into the marrow itself, one of those delayed pains, growing more pronounced with each passing moment. “You dumb plebeian fuck! How many times! How many times!.......Piece of shit, fuck-face!” he muttered. Another great start to an illimitable, promising day in sunny Southern California.
Wincing, rubbing his shin furiously, he haunched down and peered at the steel protrusion, as if to incinerate it with his malice. “Hey brother, how was your weekend? Did you blow the fuck up on Abbot Kinny Friday night?” Ken Darn, his preternaturally happy cube-mate who bore the reputation of calling every guy brother, had just arrived. Though he was the chipper antipode to Don, and thus logically should have been enviously detested by anyone so despairing as himself, an affinity had yet blossomed, and this goofy, 'ass clown' (his exact words), galoot of a man had turned out to be his only true friend at Big Tots Toys, Inc.; really his only true friend, period. Ken was a short, brawny stock of man, hearty and athletic, a survivor; surfing was his lifeblood, and he rode some formidable monsters, paddling into places like 30 ft. Mavericks, Todos Santos Island, and Ghost Trees on the coast of the famous Pebble Beach golf course.
“You with us, brotha?” Ken peered over the panel. Still wincing, “Yeah, sorry man, I just mashed the fuck out of my knee again. How are ya?” “Great Donny! Ready to bring the heat for another week. So how was Friday?” “Didn't make it out.” Ken scrunched his caterpillar eyebrows, “What! Why not? That chick was bang'n!” “Yep.....But like most of the people in this town, she flaked, at the last second. And I had to keep calling her: it's like she wasn't even going to let me know. You believe that shit! Fuck it, man, I'm through....through asking women out, period.” “Nah bro, you've just had a tough streak. Don't fall into the defeatist, generalizing mode; opportunity abounds. You're going to meet a genuine hottie that is the right one for you.” “Genuine and L.A. don't go in the same sentence – you know this, Ken.” “Brother, you're disillusioned and horny right now – to be expected. Which is why I'm gonna drag you out on the strip this weekend.” “Ahhh, I can't: I have too much writing to do.” “Bullshit, Barney! You're go'n!” Barney was the derogatory term, like kook, for a novice surfer. There was no reasoning with this barbarous heathen, “Alright......but let's hit Los Feliz; it'll be tourist amateur hour on Sunset during the weekend.” A sagacious grin swept over the other, “Thata Barney, I was just test'n ya. Until we convene at lunch, my fellow noospheric traveler.” Already preoccupied with a flood of mostly indiscernible emails, Don robotically nodded.
It had been over an hour, and he was still laboriously sifting through logistical sludge from China, subjects the order of:
• base red 9 plastic, order #726689 to ship 11/14/09
• backorder tolodium E10-6 battery available, awaiting approval
• suprafilament tested, comic A-14 action figures in production – contact hong kong
........And as the gravity of this incomprehensible purposelessness, the manufacturing of things ad infinitum, began to press harder, applying its ruthless impunity, its uncaring mechanical jargon, cold and unconscious that this was already an utterly broken, suicidal man, his cell phone vibrated. Arizona, the caller ID read. Forcefully pinching shut his eyes, Don rubbed his forehead then circled his temples with his forefingers; sanity and composure hung but by a tenuous, fragmented sinew. More precise than NASA mathematics, the calls of the collection agencies rang stout, as certain as the bell toll of death. The unabated travel sprees of his twenties, compiled with an inability to hold any footing under imperiously outrageous interest rates, had synergistically met his other replete miseries at this quantum foci of space time unreality. He owed $45 k, no light at the end of the tunnel.
Rubbing his eyes he strained back to his labor of intent, but the effort was of no use, there was absolutely no way he could carry one finger further in the detritus of the mundane and meaningless, not right now. Clicking on his secret browser, Discretion, he went to one of his favorite websites: Reinstatedemocracy.com. Discretion allowed him to navigate the web under the radar while at work: it was some new browser technology for super-nerds. 'What are these Annunaki, demigod fucks up to this week?' he thought. Reaching the home page, he is met by a waving flag, an unfurled scroll of the Constitution, and pictures of vehement protesters around the Capital Building. Scrolling down, Don comes upon an article entitled 9/11, Indisputable Inside Job; he skims a couple paragraphs then continues on. The very next article stops him cold: Camp FEMA: Inside America's Concentration Camp Program. He furiously begins to devour the report, stealing wary look-backs every couple minutes. The more he read the more affirmed he was of his decision to end his life. His head reeled and swam: This country was fucked; a fascist regime was soon to be installed, and Americans were going to find themselves either dead, hungry, diseased, swept away by chaos, or rotting in one of these Nazi camps.
“Good morning, Mr. Noble,” hovered the all-too-familiar and condescending voice of Roger Plank, his boss. Plank was the frat-boy, model-actor who never made it and had now transferred his boundlessly massive narcissism and imperiousness to the office. A scruple-less arriviste, Roger had once defiled his brother-in-laws hard-drive, thus ruining the man's project, and consequently securing himself the promotion. Don bit his lower lip in chagrin: he loathed being called Mr. by Plank, for it was always said in the most belittling of fashion, like he was a first-grader who had just done something naughty and was about to reap a vituperative diatribe. Don quickly clicked back to his email. Noticeably shaken, he spun around to face the interloper, “Good morning, Roger. How-how was your weekend?” Intentionally ignoring the feigned cordiality, Plank gruffly deprecated, “Have you finished the T10 logistics on that long-order from Beijing?” his ominous glare piercing Don suspiciously. “I have, Mr. Plank;” Don rejoined with like condescension and a self-satisfying smile, “I sent it over to you about forty-five minutes ago.” It was times like these he was unable to hold his ego in check: if the opportunity arose for a little asshole reciprocity, he was taking it in regard to Roger Plank. “Would you like me to send it over to-” “Where are you going to source the ping wheels from for the Lancaster account?” Plank interrupted indignantly, his chiseled face growing crimson in anger, his sinewy, freakishly hairy arms starting to shake ever so subtly through the rolled-up sleeves. “I'm currently comparing prices between Central America and Hong Kong,” Don subconsciously fiddled with his testicles, now growing rather fettered by this unforeseen reaction. “I want that before lunch,” Plank growled. “This is an extremely important client. I shouldn't have to tell you that.” “'Will do. I'm sorry; I didn't realize.......”
Don Noble's painful explanation trailed off, for his pretentious superior was already rudely walking away; though he had made sure to not depart until right when the former began his supplication – walking away while a plebeian was speaking to him, this he was renowned for. Scowling, be-ridden with animus, animus for almost everything in this microcosmic material sphere of shit that the world had become, Don stared at the floor as Plank bounced away, slowing down to admire his reflection in a hallway mirror, lightly patting far from misplaced hairs and adjusting the collar of his gaudy aqua Armani button-down.
Seething and broken, wanting no more than to simply go home right now and end it all, Don forced himself to face the computer and complete yet another hollow robot task before lunch. “What a douche bag,” Ken blurted from behind the shit-colored mass. “There's a guy who should have been beaten severely by his father, but wasn't. He's his own case study, one Jung or Freud would be unlikely to crack.” “How a guy can actually become such a comical ass-wipe, and still take himself seriously – which Plank actually does – boggles the fuck out of me,” Don mused. “Well, it's almost lunch, brother: then the day will be half over.” “Yep......guess it will.”
That's what the last ten years of his life had become: suffering through the morning to go to lunch and then look forward to the day being half over. 'Was this it?' thought Don Noble. 'Is this really the pathetic state my lamentable life has come to......pining to fast-forward through one interminably miserable facet of time merely to get to the next, and then obsessively ogle the clock to hurry and get through this even more attenuated lapse of failed stoicism to then finally go home to fret about having to go back in the next day almost all the while I'm home?' Life had become nothing more than a fast-forwarding to the next moment in a futile attempt to escape the majority of moments that were Don Noble's life. 'Life ain't supposed to be like this. I've had enough of this rotting, wastrel existence on the physical plane. It's all shit. It really is.' He wanted to scream out loud, forcefully enough to probably brake some windows; 'perhaps til my eyes pop the fuck right out of my bobbling cabeza!'
Conspiracy Lunch
“Did you watch that 9/11 video I gave you yet?” Don eagerly hounded. “Not yet, brother; the waves have been too good – I haven't gotten shit done,” replied Ken, just before taking a ridiculously monstrous bite of a meatball sub. “They're building FEMA concentration camps, Ken......They're all over the U.S.; plus they have the capability to build them extemporaneously, very quickly.” Still masticating the prodigious bite, Ken slightly shook his head doubtfully. Don continued, “That was the main purpose of 9/11, to instill fear and divide the world globally, the ole East versus West. Generating enough fear, they can get Americans to concede to some monstrous fascist measures, like the Nazis. That planned tragedy allowed them to eliminate a myriad of human rights behind the scenes.....now tangible proof of this is coming to the fore.” Don paused for a modest bite into his vegetarian humus wrap.
“I don't know man,” came Ken pessimistically, “I watched a whole report on Popular Mechanics that gave hefty creed to supporting the 9/11 Commission's findings.” “Disinformation, Ken. Listen, I know none of us really wants to come to grips with a fact as disturbing as this - that our own government was behind 9/11 – but stuffing our heads in the sand ain't gonna make their true motives disappear.” “I know but-” Don interrupts, “Facts: The 757 that supposedly hit the Pentagon has a 125 foot wingspan. Why are there legitimate pictures taken from the highway of a hole no more than 16 feet wide in the Pentagon? This was before the roof collapsed. And where is the 60 tons of wreckage? They said it burned up. Bullshit! There were still books and desks and chairs in that hole that hadn't burned up. Those planes have slammed into the side of Mount Kilimanjaro and still left 60 tons of wreckage.....and body parts, which they tell us there were none of. Come the fuck on! They found body parts in the ocean when the Challenger blew up in the goddamn stratosphere or nethersphere or whatever the fuck!” “O K, I hear ya, but wouldn't we be hearing some of this on the news or something?” “They are the news. Ken, there is now substantiated video out there of demolition explosions going off in the lower levels of the Twin Towers. A demolition of that magnitude has to be set up at least over the course of 2 weeks in advance. And why did Giuliani almost immediately ban the New York Fire Department from the investigation, and have all the wreckage illegally shipped to China? All that is supposed to be thoroughly analyzed. These are just a few discrepancies; I could go on and on.” Ken smiles. “Search your intuition, you know something isn't right.”
“O K....but who are they?” rejoined Ken, wiping marinara from his upper lip and stuffing in a plenitude of salt'n black pepper potato chips. Here Craig Hostetter and his crony jock kiss-ass, Lance Drum, pulled up to an adjacent table. Drum was dark-complected, average height, thin, a rather dull and banal character, the third-stringer who would forever cow-tow to the iconic offensive starters; he was that cartoon dog running around the heels of the bulldog Alpha, the preternaturally shameless yes-man. Hostetter glowered down at Don before taking his seat; the latter just looked away, as he always did. “They, are the half-breed Annunaki, the descendants of the biblical Nefilim,” Don whispered, desperate to avoid being overheard and castigated by Craig, “the giants told about in a plethora of ancient religious texts. We've talked about this.” “Yeah, but it seems more than just a little far-out, Don....even you have to admit that.” “O K, sure; but the story is all there, long before the bible, in ancient Sumeria....Mesopotamia, the Fertile Crescent, from whence homo sapien came. Much of the story of the Annunaki and Sumer sits in the British Museum, ancient relics of a bygone past when humans had direct contact with the higher beings that were influencing their world. The Annunaki came to earth from the planet Nibiru, another planet in our solar system, which can now even be verified on the Hubble telescope website. They came down here for gold, silver, and minerals, as they had depleted the resources of their own planet. Gold and silver are integral to their technology, as well as their life-prolonging alchemy, thus both are still so highly valued to this day. I know it sounds shit crazy,” Don pans nervously in Craig's direction, “but through the science of alchemy, the Annunaki seem to have pretty much figured out immortality: they can transmute gold into a life-sustaining elixir called Ormus, which must be ingested on certain astrological alignments to yield the full benefit.”
Gobbling the last bite of his Sicilian hoagie, this vestige rather minute in comparison to its forbears, Ken Darn, with a crinkled expression, scratched his head, vexed. “Alright, slow down for a second, Asamov. What would this have to do with our situation on this physical plane right now?” “That's what I'm getting at,” Don blurted defensively. This provoked a turn-around and scowl from Craig, combined with the taut contraction of his mammoth eyebrows for added effect. Meekly, Don leaned in, “Hundreds of thousands of years ago they came down; the lower hierarchy of the Annunaki were assigned to working the mines. All of this, mind you, can be found on stelae and other inscriptions from ancient Mesopotamia, Sumer, and Babylonia, much of it in the British Museum and others. So for hundreds of thousands of years they toiled in the mines, until finally they revolted. Here the gods of the Pantheon of Twelve (conferred also by Greek mythology) were faced with a dilemma; abandon their project on earth, or come up with a solution. And so it is that they took homo erectus, caveman, and stepped up his DNA with their own, to create a primitive worker/warrior, homo sapien. The story is all there, as well as infinite depictions of spaceships and 12 ft. tall beings in myriad ancient hieroglyphs, obelisks, texts, etcetera – I mean, what's going on with that?”
“Brother man, I love you, you're one of my best friends, but you've gotta realize how irrational you sound.” In habit, Ken was bending back his fingers while he put forth this entreaty. “Ken, even Darwinists have been unable to explain the sudden jump from homo erectus to homo sapien-” Ken chortled, “You just said 'erectus'.” Fettered, Don bit his lower lip, “Come on, man, I'm being serious.” “Alright.....sorry.” “Even Darwinists have been unable to explain the missing link:” Don continued, “that evolution, from caveman to contemporary human, should have taken around a million years, yet it happened instantaneously. How? What? Some acute scholars like Sitchin have tried to explain this to us. The story-”
“Do I have to sit here and listen to this crazy alien shit all lunch?!” Hostetter rumbled as he turned and faced Don. “Do you fucking hear yourself, Noble? You should be committed. I can't believe I have to work with somebody who should be scooping up ET's shit on the SciFi channel!” “You know Craig, we were just having our own conversation; no one did anything to you,” digging deep for some inkling of courage, Don redoubled. “Yeah yeah, whatever Mulder – I'm the one who has to listen to it!” The crony Lance Drum, clenching and releasing his fists, was becoming visibly excited in the background; while Ken, though still silent, was beginning to betray an intolerant malignity in his eyes. He surfed 60 foot killers when towing in with jet skis: there really wasn't a human that was going to scare him. “Really you don't,” Don redounded, “cause you could go sit somewhere else.” “Woh! Tough guy,” chided Drum. Gripping the back of the chair like a vice, Craig flexed the bulk of his arms, pouring forth striated undulations and pulsating angry veins. “You got a problem, Noble? We can figure it out you know.” “I'll be your guy, you Bud Light drink'n bitch!”
Usually Ken kept his cool; but enough was enough, his primal nature was unable to lie dormant in the face of such unprovoked hostility. Hostetter guffawed, “You gotta be kidding me, Darn! Really, I mean...you can't be serious!” “Let's find out, big man talker guy!” Ken stood up, crimson and boiling. “We can head over to the canyon right now. You might as well take the afternoon off though, cause I guarantee you ain't gonna wanna come back into work.” There was a canyon dotted with western sage and manzanita that dipped down next to the parking lot in the back: it was the ideal place for 2 white-collared adults to civilly sort matters of disagreement by smashing one another's face. Hostetter shut his mouth at this point; he was a formidable stock, but one unready and unwilling to take on the raging insanity that had been given opportunity to birth, blazing in Ken's eyes.
“You should smoke some more pot, Darn – think you need to settle down a bit. I'm not going to lose my job for a piss-ant like you!” Craig clung desperately in an attempt to save face. The crony laughed deprecatingly; Ken shot him a glance and he immediately silenced. “You thrive off bullying and intimidating others. You're a bitch, Hostetter. And I suspect you always will be.” Casually Ken left the scene, nonchalantly greeting Libby with a friendly hello as she entered the heated eatery, still impulsively whipping around to catch a quick glimpse of her ass as she passed through the swinging door, as he always did when their paths fortuitously crossed. If he hadn't been so depressed Don would have grinned as he followed suit in departure; to him, Ken was an iconic exemplar to the bygone days of chivalry, some type of unfettered coolness the likes of Doc Holiday or Wyatt Earp; there just weren't that many men like him around anymore.
Pressure
Don had been back from lunch for all of a few minutes, pining to force light, some sickle of positivity – glass half-full type of thing – into his atrabilious cantor, when Shelly Sully, the fake-breasted blond secretary a guy like his boss is sure to have, called and said he needed to come down to Plank's office. Gray and pale, frail, and shaking fearfully with blood pressure rising at the questioning thoughts of what this was about, Don Noble plodded down the shit-colored carpet to the abode of his lording superior.
“Take a seat,” said Plank in drone-like antipathy. Looking around the room nervously, Don followed instructions. He searched pathetically for something cordial to say, “Oh, I should have brought down my new report on Chinese carnuba; it-” Almost smirking, what came out of Roger's mouth was instantly anticipated by Don even before it pronounced, like it had been experienced in a dream the night before; the whole tone of the call-down, the atmosphere of Plank's office, gave creed to the daunting prelude of what was coming. “It is with regret, Don, that we're going to have to let you go.” For what seemed like an eternity Don simply sat there, stupefied, blank. “I'll need you to clear out your workspace by the end of the day.” There it was, with not even a shard of sympathy or dignity of explanation. “Why sir?” So shaken, Don just made the gravest of errors by gratifying Plank with a 'sir'. “The company is making cut-backs......I'm sorry.”
Don Noble continued to sit there in a blank state of cryogenic freeze; the shock he felt was of the same corollary to waking up and finding your legs have been amputated after a violent accident. His lower lip was quivering in a pulsy-like spasm. Plank dialed Shelly, “Push back that sourcing interview a half hour.” Here was Planks final asshole gesture; there were no limitations for a soulless reprobate like him. Standing up to usher him out, “I wish it could have worked out, Don, I really do. There's just been a lot of cutbacks these days.” How he issued this last untruth – right before he was going to interview the replacement - with a straight face sickened Don to the core. He was going to be sick. 'Please...please just make it out of the building, Noble. I can't suffer anymore humility.' Don was anxious now, macabrely excited even, to expediently get home and blow the back of his head wide open. With no further ado he issued Plank a courteous nod and twitched out of the office.
He didn't empty his desk or say any farewells (other than telling Ken he was going home sick and would shoot him an email); the singular focus on Don Noble's mind was loading up that .40 caliber Beretta and ending this wretched internment on the physical plane.
Back at home, he had one obligation before se la vie: finishing his explanation for Ken; for it was Ken who would be left behind to cope with the chaos, depopulation, and increased fascism that the global elite had planned. He wrote:
Ken,
Thanks for sticking up for me today. You've always been a genuine and sincere friend. I've never really told you how much that means, but its meant a lot. I don't really have many friends, you were pretty much it my man. Anyways....thanks brother, thanks for being a bro.
I wanted to finish my fumbling explanation for you, as I believe our current epoch is coming to a culmination regarding such matters and human evolution. The Annunaki genetically assimilated homo sapien from homo erectus, fashioning a worker for the mines and a warrior in times of need. Here's where some biblical - as well as other – ancient religious myth comes into play. The Annunaki (“fallen angels”) saw the daughters of men and were enamored. They copulated, and the giants from the bible, Vedas, and other texts, were the result. They wreaked havoc on the earth. After their demise in the cataclysm of about 11,500 B.C., it was said that they (the Nefilim giants) would have surviving progeny of their own.....that would become the kings and rulers of earth.
Tracing the bloodline of global leaders, like that of the U.S. Presidents for instance (other than a few, these mere puppets, I believe), all of them, along with other upper echelon national leaders, are interrelated, the lineage going back from here to Royal Britain, Britain to Rome, Rome to ancient Sumer/Mesopotamia. It is my hypothesis, as well as many others, that this global family cabal are the progeny of the Nefilim (demigods) maintaining the control of the Annunaki here on earth. The Nefilim giants were the result of further genetic experimentation and interbreeding with humans gone awry; but it was said that the progeny of the Nefilim would become the rulers and kings of men – this, I believe, is what we are seeing in this Presidential and royal bloodline.
Secretly they all vie for global dominance together, utilizing the methods such as ethnocentric nationalism, fundamentalist religion, war, economics, and pervasive materialism to keep humanity separated from the true spirit of the cosmos, and divided from unifying on a global scale – the old divide and conquer tenet. Thoughts manifest as reality, so, wanting to keep us enslaved, their intent is to bind human vibration as low as possible. Our numbers have grown too many to control, thus through incomprehensible inimical methods, they have been depopulating the earth with ever-increasing voracity. Remember, they are pretty much immortal within our linear concept of time; so they have had millennia to study us and dissect our psychology. The Annunaki know what works on the humans they helped create. Here FEAR is probably their most significant tactic in swaying the masses – think Hitler, 9/11........and the never-ending war on terror (and the civil rights of Americans this has eradicated, both openly and behind the scenes).
Scrutinize entities like the Bilderberg Group, the World Trade Organization, the U.N., the World Health Organization, and the World Bank: they are the grey and black magic secret brotherhoods behind these curtains. The FEMA concentration camps are real. I have an ominous feeling they are going to start bringing critically thinking Americans there, as well as those who refuse to take the H1 N1 vaccine (for they know it is poison, along the lines of fluoride to harden the brain....sterility too – lower population growth). Also, check out the company Digital Angel, and the plan to get us all chipped – here they will use “terror-preventative measures” as a justifiable means. Unplug from the mainstream news and propaganda (as portrayed by Orwell, Huxley, and even films like V for Vendetta – it's mostly them, though with a different source); research these matters on your own, synchronicities will lead you on the path.....You will meet others on this journey of manumission.....truth. I love you, brother. Stay alive.
Into the Light
Don Noble carelessly, quite too efficaciously, placed the barrel of the Italian pistol underneath his lower jaw, again wearing that blank expression of despair concealed. With his right finger he drew nigh to the lusty trigger. Purgatory or heaven was just a click away. Whatever was to be, he was sure it held more truth and promise than this self-absorbed material splay of me me me down here. His finger was steady, unfettered, as he slowly began to squeeze................
“Is it really that bad, my human brother?” Stunned and jolted, Don instinctively jerked the gun outward towards the voice, “Whoh!” Then he saw her, sitting on the fuzzy retro chair off to his left: she was 8 feet tall and gorgeous, the most beautiful expression of life he had ever seen or imagined; she was stolid and tight, wielding strong and commanding lines, yet symbiotically voluptuous and feminine; bioluminescent, the only color she expressed were varying shades of titillating yellow-green; her voice was an ocean symphony; her face was akin to the enigmatic beauty of Cleopatra and her royal Egyptian forebears – this was a goddess.
Against his logical judgment, for looking upon her there was no reason, Don laid the gun aside. “Who are you? Am I dead?” “There is no sound for my name in your physical stage of evolution; but when I visit your home, the keepers call me Larra. I am from Alcyone of the Pleiades star system. I know why you have considered this hopeless recourse. I know that it is toil, struggle, and much spiritless materialism here......but Don Noble, is your reality, which you have chosen, really that bleak? Do not many of those around the earth currently, and in the past - such as Rwanda, Bosnia, the concentration camp Jews – suffer far more acutely than your Western experience? You do not even realize to what extent your thoughts, your creative intentions, have been indoctrinated and limited by the Annunaki. Even in this materialistic world they have intentionally created, you may move through all of this, Don Noble. You volunteered to incarnate at this exact time of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch to help your fellow humans awaken from the materialism lie of the Annunaki. It was decided that I could be sent to give you encouragement in these dark times, to uplift you in the knowing that you are headed on the right path. Your thoughts and intentions create your reality, down to the most finite particles of light harmonic........your destiny. Will you join me on a journey?”
Don buried his visage in his hands, weeping so uncontrollably that streamlets of tears ran through the cracks between fingers. Larra slightly cocked her head in a loving, sympathetic gaze. A few moments passed like this, then the ashen and weary Don Noble raised his head: still weeping he wore an effulgent and radiating grin. Her body responded, her aura brightened. “Yes, you are very lucky, very blessed to be paid this visit. You may count yourself as one in ten million. This is the cosmic reciprocity of your good karma; without it, I would have been unable to make the journey. Now come, if you will, and take my hands......I have much to show you.”
Timorously he rose and brought himself before her gently outstretched hands, massive hands, probably some 22 inches or more, but also delicate and kind. Mouth agape, he looked up at her in ecstatic veneration. He loved her. Larra seemed to exude a super-vibrational life force that pervaded the entire room; it rushed through every molecule of Don's body as the walls and floor began to flux in the intake and outtake of some cosmic, etheric breath. He could feel it. She was a part of his soul. In a caressing pressure she enveloped his hands...........and what happened next human language suffers greatly to compliment. The earth seemed to drip away from behind him, and it was as if he could see it falling away like paint at the same time that his forward vision brought forth rainbow kaleidoscopes of mythological cosmic terrain and creatures. It felt like his physical body was melting away in a warm sucking, some pulling embrace, and it felt magnificent, orgasmic beyond all limitation. Vibrant mountains, many times immeasurably greater than the Himalayas, streamed passed like the Promethean rustic abodes of Zeus himself; and as they approached the tallest yet, at a speed beyond light yet oddly static, a resplendent plumed dragon of multi-colored hues of the spectrum, as well as other shades and colors his eyes had never witnessed, zoomed forth from its perch on a megalithic rock. “Do not fear,” assured Larra as the beast thundered head on, every thrust of its wings lordly shaking the ether. “It is Quetzalcoatl come to welcome you, the truth seeker.”
Now frighteningly close, the great serpent, the size of a battleship, yawned its cavernous gullet, revealing a similarly expansive pallet of hues on the inside as well, and let forth a tremendous stream of blue flame that entirely engulfed them. There was a surging pulse herein that electrified him: 'It is god energy imbuing my soul,' he thought. All that passed and went through him, lifted his soul, seemed to inexplicably charge his inner being, his whole vibrational level. The Utopia he felt was illimitably beyond any drug-induced trip he had ever experienced, or even thought was possible. Just before colliding, Quetzalcoatl dove straight vertical for the verdant jungle at the base of the mountains. “Yeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” howled Don, his arms outstretched. Other dragons, of different origins and aspects looked on the passersby, regally perched on the jagged cliffs, some descending in a swoop, spinning and whirling, giving a stout show of their aerial prowess. Falcons, hawks, and eagles of comparable size joined them in the fray, intertwining with the dragons and free-falling in a tumble; they played and frolicked like children in the schoolyard.
“Am I dead?” asked Don. “You are more alive than you have ever been in this lifetime,” assured Larra. “Where are we going?” Orange and purple pterodactyls zoomed passed, eructing a boisterously loud reptilian bird-like call. “We are compressing space and time. There is something you need to see.” “You lead the way!” rang Don joyously.
As they careered through the cosmic ether, the topography began to change: the mountains grew smaller, the land more arid, though bisected by a multitude of rivers and their oases kin. Larra slowed down considerably, and they descended towards one of the rivers, hovering off to the side. Swimming, playing, and reposing upon the sandy banks of the river were, to Don, what appeared to be cave people of a much younger epoch. “Here is your homo erectus, caveman, about 450,000 years ago,” said Larra. “They were a simple species in the stages of evolution, comparatively; but they were of a kind heart and nature, for the most part, and carried a very synergistic and loving bond with their natural world.” Don watched in amazement as a vibrant herd of antelope came forth from the foliage along the bank and, with their snouts, nuzzled up to the hand of a respective cave-woman or man, the other generously returning the affection, ruffling their ears, caressing their bodies and chins. “Incredible!” cried Don. Immediately recognizing the severity of his unconscious blunder, he slapped his hand over his mouth. “Shit. Can they hear me?” he whispered. “All is fine, Don Noble; they can neither see nor hear you. We are on another plane entirely. Pleiadians are fifth dimensional consciousness. The event is coming. Observe.”
On these words there came a guttural rumbling and deep crackling in the sky. The antelope scattered into the bush and the cave people stumbled back, frightened. Yet they were still curious, and they looked up to the sky, following the redounding rumble. Don's jaw lolled agape as a massive cigar-shaped ship of silver and gold roared slowly out of a billowy cloud. The ship was leviathan, stretching at least 10 miles long and a mile thick. There was a huge docking door open along the midsection where stood a horde of 12 foot tall reptilian-like beings of a humanoid form; they wore spectacular suits of glimmering gold and silver and brandished some advanced rifle-like weaponry the likes of which Don had never imagined possible. Their eyes were large, yellow-green, and slanted like a snake; calling to one another, they bore a multiplicity of sharp and jagged teeth which followed in rows towards the back of their mouth. “Here are your Annunaki,” declared Larra.
They looked down upon the curious cave people and 4 leaped forward, plummeting to the river. The cave people yawped in surprise; but right before impact, the Annunaki spread grand wings of a superior metal not of this earth, landing in a tremor and blast of sand. The cave people cowered and backed away, some raising their hands over their faces defensively against the refulgent sky people. The Annunaki were decisive and quick; one of them shot a red wave of light from the high-tech rifle, immobilizing the largest of the cavemen. He fell immediately, and lay entirely still while the others ran into the brush. His aggressor methodically walked over, swung him over its shoulder and made a signal to the others. Vexed, Don watched intensively as all of them flew silently, and with no visible propulsion, back to the threshold of the giant portal. Briskly they commenced, disappearing with their hapless victim into the dark bowels of the ship.
“Did they kill him?” asked Don, turning up to Larra. “No. This is the beginning to the theory of the Annunaki of which you believe, Don Noble. It is true. That is why I have brought you here. Your efforts have not been in vain. You are on the right path.” Tears welled in his eyes but did not fall. “It is true?! The Annunaki are real?!” “Yes,” she assured softly, “they stepped up homo erectus with their own DNA to fashion a worker/warrior. Working with a few other higher races, the Annunaki manipulate your world today - utilizing material streams and media propaganda through the grey and black magic of the secret brotherhoods of their half-breed Nefilim descendants - more than ever before. To give you assurance and confidence, I was allowed to contact you. You have used your critical faculties, you have followed your intuition which is your Higher Self, your appointed angel, speaking to you – great things are happening in your life, Don. Of all the people in the world, you, are actually one of the most successful, for you have seen through things and penetrated the maya (illusion) that has been pushed upon your people. Are you beginning to see this now?” Unable to hold back the flood any longer, Don wept, “Yes.....yes I do!” His being swelled increasingly higher with the uncanny influx of vibrations that were entering him; for he had now opened up his thinking to them, to limitless possibilities, life, and bounty. “There is one more place I need to show you. Are you ready?” Don swallowed gleefully, “Yes.” “Alright,” nodded Larra.
The air seemed to peel back before them, opening up a portal that shined of stars and neon-strewn nebulae. “How did you do that?” inquired Don, vexed, for Larra had not visibly done anything physical to bring in this phenomenon. “My mind is linked directly with Mother on Alcyone. She wills my thought impulses, as long as they are self-less and of good intent. Many questions you will have. Be patient; more answers are coming.” She smiled and stepped towards the portal, Don holding gently onto her gigantic hand like a small boy crossing the street, and together they passed over.
All was a pastiche of light, color, warmth and emotions as they traversed the expressive patterns of the cosmos. Flowing into this, Don felt an overpowering surge of positive sentiments, almost like apparitions of himself, course through him like pleasant breezes of tropical air: bringing forth the color sensation of pink and orange, he experienced the unfettered joy and excitement of being a careless young boy again, lively and invigorated to enter every new day of adventure and learning. On this higher plane, imbued with this pure, divine energy, all negative thoughts and feelings, resentments of any kind, fell away as withered petals to the promise of a new season. Thinking of his reprobate boss and bully coworker now, the only thoughts that would surface were of love, compassion, and understanding: observing through newly illuminated spiritual eyes, Don could only feel a deep sympathy for these two, as fellow brothers who were suffering in a malformed and malcontent materialistic world of maya. Undulating forward, holding onto these enlightening epiphanies, Don looked down at his hand and saw with astonishment that it was fiery light, his whole body was fiery light, pulsing space and time as pure soul energy. 'I am realizing the Atma within me,' he thought, 'I am seeing it!' 'You are,' spoke Larra to his mind. Then ineffably bright rays of light coursed out of the surrounding space-matrix in which they flowed, piercing and electrifying his soul, bringing him to ever greater heights of self-realization, the coming to knowledge of the loving god within himself, his true self..... “The Atma!” he cried.
Zero Point
Hovering before it, pining as concertedly as he had ever pined, racing to objectify, rationalize, and contemplate, all these human tendencies left Don Noble for naught but the fact that he was an infant, an infant in the wake of what incomprehensibly swept and rolled before him. They were like distinct vapors of living beings, some red, some blue, some bright white, brown, green, or orange, or any combination therein of the infinite spectrum of light harmonic, flying slowly or quickly, or simply gliding softly about the place; some were human in constitution, some far from, exhibiting 6 arms in some cases, or 4 legs in another; some were giants, some were nymph-like; some seemed peaceful, while others, who were of a crimson aspect, flailed and slashed about, morphing into myriad demonic forms; yet the ones that began to gravitate in the field they now occupied were predominantly of the blue and greenish hues, exhibiting gestures of welcome and acceptance. Where this was taking place, the surroundings, was even more difficult for Don's human mind to futilely try and grasp. Purveyed in otherworldly luminescence expounded planets upon planets, moons upon moons, stars upon stars, nebulae, and infinite other coagulations of a cosmic sort which humans attempt to label to understand. It stretched to infinity; searching his soul, this he knew; but in the center of it all, if this indeed was the center, was a mastodonic hole of godly proportions, from which poured forth an equally immense stream of light, bright beyond any human comparison.
All questions which arose to his mind now, he did not, surprisingly to himself, even consider attempting to utter in any physical manner; instead, he merely thought them and awaited a reply, as if by automatic instinct. 'Where are we? Who are they? What is that beam of light?' they flooded like the dry river basins in the Southwest monsoons. 'We are at the center of your Milky Way Galaxy.. ....where the Creator of your universe emanates from. They are the souls of humans and many other races of this universe,' Larra responded. All was thought now; they communicated strictly by thought-form. Even the telepathic transmission came through to his mind in her voice. 'To the black hole center of the Milky Way is where they go to further their spiritual evolution between death and a new birth. Many orders of the upper hierarchies shall work on the various contents of their etheric, or cosmic soul bodies, in this transition – what your Gnostics refer to as the hierarchies of the Angeloi and Archangeloi, some of these being the folk spirits. The beam of light is what some truth seekers and seers of your people have come to know as the Photon Band. It is a band of higher vibrational ether, point-sourced creator energy so to speak.....higher conscious, pouring directly from the heart of our cosmic creator out into our universe. You have been in the Galactic Night for a very long time, Don Noble. You are extremely lucky to have been born at this stage in earthly evolution, for you are about to enter the Galactic Day; you are about to enter the Photon Band prophesied by the Maya, to be fully immersed in it, and enter into the dawning of a new Golden Age for near 2,200 years. That is, if humanity so chooses. The Band will allow collective thought to carry the pole in either direction; this is why karma is speeding up in these sacred times. For a very long time in your linear counting, humanity has suffered and toiled in disharmony, gravitating strongly to the negative sphere of the serpent spiral, the polar wheel of life. Collectively, your thoughts have been very limited.'
'This is what the Annunaki push for, it is what they want: to keep human thought bound and limited, so that you may be more easily swayed and controlled, to unwittingly keep doing their materialistic biddings here on earth, staying bound in this cyclical wheel of victim-hood and uncritical naivety, all the while they continue to rob earth's minerals behind the curtain, bringing them back to their depleted existence on Nibiru. Thought manifests into physical reality, all is thought – even your quantum physics is now beginning to confirm this – they know this, and they cannot have you jump into an entirely more evolved paradigm of existence by your collective foci coming together in harmony – the opportunity of the Photon Band, moving into complete harmony with the plethora of life awaiting your arrival in galaxy. Many other races in the galaxy, like ourselves of the Pleiades, want to see humans join the rest of the galactic family that anxiously awaits their evolution. But earth has been quarantined for a very long time, because of your violent natures, your destructive power-mongering and selfishness. Violence cannot be allowed to enter the heavens....space. Many different races of the Galactic Federation, including ourselves, have visited earth, brought signs, and in many other ways tried to help you evolve and see through the net of the Annunaki......but, because of the universal cosmic laws, laws of thought, karmic laws, we are limited right now in the assistance we are able to offer. This is due to the freewill aspect of the universal laws. We cannot come to aid in any truly magnanimous form until a certain quotient of your planet becomes self-aware, and is thinking harmoniously, beyond all competition, holding love, compassion, and harmony in their hearts.'
Every word of the thoughts she carried lifted Don's soul vibration higher – clarity was like ecstasy right now, and he couldn't get enough of it. 'More. Tell me more!' he cajoled. 'All that the Annunaki have placed into position on earth has been ingeniously imposed to create competition, disunity, and combativeness within the human race – think of your ancient war tenet....divide and conquer. Having stepped up the evolution for some of you (for there were indigenous populations that developed naturally), they feel they own you, much like lab animals, slave workers. They have had nearly 450,000 years to study you and your behavioral responses; they know your weaknesses, they know what works; this combined with technologies far beyond your reckoning.....manumitting yourselves and your home planet will be no easy task. Much has been built to keep human vibration low and limited, since all is thought vibration, light harmonic. Long ago, humanity had more direct contact with their overlords, the Annunaki. It was in these times that one of your cities rebelled, Babylon. Anu, the ruler of the Annunaki on Nibiru, had been passing himself off as god – in a monotheistic sense - to humanity for a very long time; but many of you knew he wasn't the true god of this cosmos. Babylon knew this, and had the courage to rebel. So, to tighten the noose of control, it was here that Anu first split your tongues into babel, so that you would not understand one another and unity would be much more difficult. Here he also split the one universal spiritual following you had into the various world religions of today, twisting the stories of the true Messiahs who have incarnated on the earth plane to help you evolve, and writing himself in as god. Anu knew religious differences and intolerance would also foment disharmony, disunity.....thus was his aim – divide and conquer, separating harmonious collective thought.'
Don gazed out at the grand expanse: purple and verdant green nebulae shot off to his left; spirits spun and danced, one a group of tall and slender elves; and after they passed by he noticed it. A purplish pink spiral began to gyrate before them. Starting off small, it quickly grew, and continued so on a geometric scale. The wonderland aura it put forth imbuing them, and all surroundings, in its radiant pulsation.....'Its love flicker,' thought Don. His etheric eyes went wide. Then it froze, and the spiral changed to what only could be likened to the core color of the sun, replete. A few moments hung like this in suspense, until suddenly, countless ships, spherical in shape and of the same chromaticity as their source, zoomed out of the miniature sun and filled the space like fluttering fairies. 'Those,' offered Larra, 'are what some of your kind in the know have coined Mercador ships, the vehicles of the Spirits of Fire, pure light beings existing in 10 dimensions simultaneously......omnipresent.....the Christ aspect. They are the ones who have incarnated on the earth plane as Messiahs such as the Buddha, Mohammed, Christ, the Viracocha, and Sai Baba - to name but a few – to help humanity evolve and bring your souls back to the light of oneness, unity. It is no coincidence that they are here now; for there is no coincidence. They have come to greet you, and offer their encouragement. Send forth your love and appreciation for this in thought, and they will receive it.' 'I am sending it,' responded Don. Receiving their love, he sent forth his own vibration of love, one crisp and pure, joyful beyond any former comprehension, now that he was being transformed. 'Will you tell me more about the Annunaki and our current plight?'
'Yes. Anu used world religion against you, and very much of his aims were completed by warping them, Christianity in particular; for while all ancient religions contain some truths, there have been many untruths purposefully inserted to wield control. The Annunaki know well of the human propensity to fear, hence they conspired and brainstormed, and gave Christians their hell, their ever-burning torment. For what could instill more fear than the thought of burning up for eternity? They know human psychology very well. As I indicated, Anu also wrote himself into the bible as god; for he is the jealous god, the angry god, the spiteful and vengeful god who backs armies, the all-too fallible and imperfect god controlled by his own ego and emotions. It always surprises us how few devote Christians see through these transparencies; for the creator is a perfect consciousness, and a perfect consciousness could never create a hell or exhibit these types of ego manifestation. That the creator would possess an ego which would demand sacrifice, be it human or animal, is utterly absurd. All this in your Old Testament mythology is Anu. He used the unwitting Patriarchs to work his inimical guises and schemes. The Ark of the Covenant was a device of superior technology, harnessing the nuclear power of the atom. This is how Anu destroyed the rebellious city of Sodom and Gomorrah; he wrote in the bible that the city had become decadent and evil, but the truth is they rebelled against his enslavement, of which they had become aware; and so Anu sent winged Annunaki with the Ark, and swept it away in a nuclear blast. Even in your present day, Geiger Counters still register extremely high radioactive fallout in this place. There is much more to confer to you about these ancient religious manipulations – more will come as you progress. Seek truth and knowledge with energetic discipline, and the vigor of your delving shall lead to connective synchronicities.....This is the higher benign orders of the cosmos speaking to you.'
The Mercador ships, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, began jetting in patterns all around the sky, leaving a neon-glowing tube of effulgent white light in their wake. Through this, they were forming patterns, intricate matrices that were unfolding right before Don's unbelieving stare. 'Align your focus, Don Noble, with what the Annunaki are using now against the critical judgment of humanity. The sons of the Nefilim are few in number comparatively, but through secret brotherhoods, their knowledge of what is happening in the spiritual world that influences the physical plane, and higher technology beyond your reckoning used for malign intent, they are the dominant forces of the entire globe, streaming their will upon humanity. Remember, to divide and conquer is the Annunaki's primary tactical prerogative, as this keeps collective human thought scattered and confused. They do not want you to focus on harmony or goodwill towards others, for this would change the paradigm they have set – again thoughts manifesting as reality. They want you mesmerized by material and blinded by self-interest. This they accomplish by being behind the streams of the economic complex, national interests, the media, industry, religious powerhouses like the Vatican, materialistic science and medicine, agriculture, the global war machine, much that includes entertainment, and many others. They are the ones behind most of the terrorist attacks, for this allows them to incite anger against your other global inhabitants, further dividing you and pulling vibration downward, permitting them to tighten the noose of fascism through this appendage of fear. They used Hitler and Nazi Germany as a modern test case to realize the extent to which fear can sway you en masse. Hitler had been induced into a meth-amphetamine psychosis – he was naught more than a thoroughly brainwashed, programmed machine. The rest were swayed by their own hate and the fear storm cloud of the S.S. The secret brotherhoods of the Annunaki set this chain into motion in the periphery and Central Europe long before WWII. They were the ones behind the curtain. Yet his karma brought him to this evil place. The Holocaust again served their purpose of depopulation, while at the same time being a grandiose test case in fear manipulation unto the masses.'
'Simplistic findings will ring true....like the alchemical secret of controlling the masses through the printing of worthless paper money. They horde the spiritual secrets of birth, death, and disease to keep you enchained. Humans long ago lived much longer than today – even this is conferred in ancient texts – for you had been given certain alchemical knowledge of life extension: such as transmuting gold into the life-extending elixir, Ormus, which is to be ingested on specific astrological alignments. But your numbers were growing too many to properly control, and they could no longer allow people to remember the story of how they invaded your world, so you had to die quicker; thus this alchemical knowledge was withdrawn back into secrecy. They twisted messianic stories like Christ's: for the mana, the life-giving bread that He passed out to the vast crowds, was actually an alchemical elixir that had been taken from you by them. Christ also spoke vastly of reincarnation; this, the Vatican extinguished as well. You were a slave in Anu's Garden of Eden, and it was one of the Spirits of Fire that appeared and tried to lead you to the truth, the truth that the Tree of Knowledge was one of Anu's life-sustaining vessels, and you were his ephemeral slave; thus it was that he had you banished.'
Larra's body suddenly shifted color to a deep azure. 'The transmission is ending. Will you come with me? There is one more place I would like to show you.' 'Yes, definitely,' affirmed Don. The inter-dimensional portal peeled open the space before them, and together, they stepped over once more. All was a crackle of humming electrical energy and body-suffusing warm light as they careened headlong in the stellar abyss of fluxing energies and color. Don tried to grasp how long they had been traveling in this instance, but despite the plenary delving of his logic, he found that here, he could produce no inkling, no rudimentary conception even, of time. Here, time was no more than a subconscious past-life experience in a way.
And the next thing he knew was the mellifluous, reverberating sound of vibrating air; but this was much more than any mere sound in the sense of the word, for this vibration, though he thought it quite impossible from the orgasmic apex he had already reached, lifted his soul yet higher and higher in every moment of presence and lofty percipience. Panning the space, Don thought she had taken him to heaven, if such a place really existed. They stood beside a stream-fed pool of turquoise sparkling delight, robed in vernal flora in bloom of captivatingly strange assortment, the plants and flowers of distant space: some were fern-like Jurassic throw-backs, except that the curled limbs unfurled and caressed Larra as they passed by, lighting up from the contact. Flooded and overwhelmed by this visual stimulus of Pandora's Box, Don grappled to stay focused. 'What is making that sound?' he thought. 'In answer to your first musing: heaven is the cosmic ether, Don Noble; it can be whatever you make of it. And the sound harmonic is coming from there,' she turned and pointed behind them. Wide and mammoth, here stood a crystal bowl of light-purple, jade sapphire, and glinting white diamond aspects, from which, above it, streamed a spiral of water from a subtle fall. 'This is Nalya, our healing crystal bowl. Her sound raises the Atma, the soul core vibration. She has a most healing voice.'
Don felt every molecule that comprised him humming in harmony with all life, creation; human language was far too deficient to describe the high he felt. 'Amazing!' cried Don expressively, waving his arms and holding them up to the Milky Way and infinite space that was their sky. The ground that he stood on was glowing white crystal, it too, warm and subtly oscillating. 'Will you join me on a walk?' sent Larra. 'I would join you anywhere,' rejoined Don. Larra smiled sweetly, and they ambled down the turquoise pool. The pool was about 50 yards wide, but extended to infinity. Passing by the various ferns and flowers, Larra extended her hand, and more plants moved to it, touched her; and when they did, their verdant green morphed into a matching turquoise bio-luminescence with the pool. 'This has to be a dream,' thought Don. 'It can't be real.' 'Yet it is, Don Noble. You are very lucky. We are on the outskirts of Maya, one of the stars of the Pleiades. This is the source of Gaia's, your earth's, Mayan starseeds. We sent forth that culture to uplift humanity and bring to you the prophecy of light, that of your evolutionary leap in the Photon Band to which you will be entering completely in 2012. Time acceleration is beginning to reach its climax for you now; karma too, is speeding up geometrically, this due to a number of factors, one of which was Anu incorporating uranium into your being so as to keep better tabs on his pets during his long, lonely orbital journey on Nibiru. Nibiru's revolution around the sun is 3,600 years, a cycle replete in the data of many ancient civilizations. You, and all others are feeling it intensely now; that is why times seem exacerbated, more difficult, more chaotic. All this is part of the benevolent cosmic plan that is unfolding from the source of the Creator. Human will has mired itself into this predicament.....and human will must pull itself out.'
'The challenge that lies before humanity now, that which is most critical, is to free itself from the chains and lies of materialism........to see into the separation and isolation, the selfishness, it promulgates through its snares of competition. You must resist the materialistic stream with all the power of your soul and being, and bring forth continuity, cooperation, compassion, and love. This is one of the messages being brought to humanity now by the Messiah Sai Baba. In other incarnations, he was once like you, an aspirant and seeker; then, through hard spiritual toil and discipline, delving into the spirit behind all, and by living these truths in action, he came to full self-realization of the god within himself, his soul, his Atma. Christ, and many others, did the same. You all have this ability.........It is time for you to realize it as a whole, as one – then you will make the jump. The journey will never end; the possibilities are illimitable.'
Asudden there was a tremendous pulse of electrostatic energy that pervaded their space, and 4 mythical dolphins surged up from the pool, twisting and twirling far up into the ether of Maya and reentering the turquoise with not a splash. They were undulating beaming light in character, almost somewhat transparent; and like Larra, they too were of unusual size, comparable to a mid-size car. Their bodies, in shape, held true to the symmetry of earthly dolphins, but their faces were something altogether new to Don – they had defined characteristics, finely tuned individual faces, pronounced lineaments, personality faces, each one of them, quite like humans do. Eagerly, they jetted to the side to meet Larra who was crouching down. They immersed their heads, gently nuzzling to the touch of Larra; and while they did this, they produced an electric chirping sound, like that of some cosmic bluebird. They looked up at Don with excited eyes, redoubling their chirping. 'Go ahead,' signaled Larra, 'caress them. It is safe. They know only love and affection, caring and succor. They are the Naladrin........the undying dolphins of Maya.'
Sheepishly, Don knelt down and placed out his hand. Immediately two of the dolphins rushed over, but, intimidated by their sheer size, he recoiled. The bewildered, sad expression this put to them melted Don's heart and he quickly rejoined. Instantly upon making contact with them, he felt tremendous pulses and surges of raised energy, directly receiving the pure emotions of love and affection the creatures felt towards him. 'They remember you,' conveyed Larra. Don's face and thoughts were confused. 'This was your home for a very long time, Don Noble......until you volunteered to help awaken humanity. That is why you have incarnated at this crucial time in human evolution. You volunteered for this mission. You don't remember right now.......but in time, you will. Come, walk a little further with me.' Regally she rose and they continued on, the Naladrin swiftly following like loyal dogs, frolicking in aerobatics along the way. Don smiled, overjoyed.
'Even the Creator consciousness of your universe was once in similar, yet different, humble and nascent circumstances of self-realization. And look where this soul sits now! To become like this and beyond is a destiny all conscious life can realize. All that is, all thought-form, moves towards higher conscious, even that which is regarded as the plant and animal kingdom, and that considered as mere elemental matter. The full cosmology of spiritual life, for the spirit sits behind all, is grander than any of us fully realize yet, even we Pleiadians. Great anticipation and excitement lies in the knowledge that we will forever be learning. The Creator also is perpetually learning, through receiving your experiences as free-will extensions of this same Creator thought.'
Don's mind reeled in the complexity and magnitude of what she was conveying. Sensing this, she continued, 'Try not to be overwhelmed. Use your cognizance of ignorance as a motivating impetus for a lust for true spiritual knowledge. All is thought, even the light super-strings of your quantum physics. We are all extensions of the Creator thought thinking within and upon ourselves; here is the freewill aspect. Speak to the dead. They want to help humans still flitting on the physical plane; but they are repelled by materially obsessive thought. Speak to the higher beings of the cosmos, like ourselves, the Christos Unities, the Sirians, the Venusians, the Enochians, and many many others. Most are benevolent, and want to help humanity evolve. We have technologies that can heal the earth from the damage that has been done. The legitimate crop circles that you see, such as many near Glastonbury, are not only messages to humanity, but sites where we send healing energy into the earth.' She paused for a moment, and then continued: 'Are you ready, Don Noble?' 'Ready for what?' he fumbled. 'Ready to return to earth?' 'No! No no!' his mind cried. 'I can't go back! Please! Please don't make me go back there!'
'You must, Don Noble; it is your mission, your destiny. You do not remember, but you volunteered for this. I know it is a violent and terrible place; but there is much there that is still pure and good – go towards the good energies. They will lift your vibration while on the physical plane.' 'Please....please, Larra....don't make me go back there.' Don scrambled. 'I could do something else, anything. I'm sure there's other good work I could do in the cosmos. I'll do it. Just don't send me back there!' 'I'm sorry, Don, but you have to: earth is where your karma lies......earth is your destiny in this the fifth post-Atlantean epoch of human evolution. Awaken humankind, think to a whole new paradigm of which we've spoken, one beyond economy and competition, one where you could all inhabit superior bodies, one of grand technology used for the betterment of life for all creatures, one where earth, Gaia, is rebirthed in green harmony. Extricate any wrong thoughts of victim-hood. Strive and seek for self-empowerment and independence.....freedom from the chains of the Annunaki's material system. It will be difficult: but love the Annunaki; pray that they choose to evolve with you in the Photon Band. One of the messages of Golgotha was to love your oppressors; another was the realization of the capacity of god even within the human vessel, the Atma. You all have this.' Don was on his knees, emphatically gesturing for mercy with tightly-clenched folded hands and a grim countenance of sorrow.
'Please do not be sad. You are very blessed,' she assured. 'You have been chosen for direct contact whilst within incarnation – that is extremely rare, and most fortuitous. This journey was to reinvigorate you, to strengthen you and give you hope. Has it done so, or have I failed?' There was a pause of silence and stillness. Don's head was drooped sullenly over his chest. Moments passed painfully like this; Larra rubbed his shoulders and caressed his head, her awesome hands going halfway down his back and engulfing the latter. Slowly, he raised his eyes up to hers, 'It has done so. You have not failed. You're right.......I need to do this. I can't leave the rest of them behind in blindness.' 'That is the spirit, Don Noble, the correct attitude! Hold onto that perception.'
'You are
god, Don Noble.....All of you are. You just need to realize it. We Pleiadians love and care about you very much. Remember that.'
Ahura Mazda Risen
A yellow beam of sunlight, of the richness of butter, crawled over the windowsill and sat firmly on Don Noble's face, causing him to stir. Eyes still closed, he wiped his mouth and sounded a primitive grunt. Suddenly he shot upright, eyes ablaze and peeled wide in shock and disbelief. Jerking to his right, he located the gun: he had meant to kill himself, at least that much had happened, he thought. What about the rest, he continued to grope; it couldn't have been real. Yet despite being suicidal the day before, and now jobless with no good reference, he felt like a thoroughbred, vital and indomitable; Promethean, ready to face the Kraken, Medusa, or any dark horde of assassins. “Your vibration.” 'No,' he shook his head, 'can't be.' Though however pragmatically skeptical he vied in the direction of logic, his intuition obsessively bent to the antipode, to the event.
It was all there, like a verbatim data chip in his mind, every moment, every exchange, every encounter he had experienced with Larra passed before his mind like a living picture. Juxtaposing either the deep uncanny complexity of a far-out dream, or an unreal reality beyond anything even his preternaturally sci-fi and fantastical mytho-mind had ever imagined, Don bounced up the stairs to the kitchen. One thing was certain: he felt juiced, invigorated, like an entirely new man.....new superhuman. 'Something's going on. It has to be.' he thought. Thundering up the stairs, he stopped, whereupon he caught sight of his reflection in the glass of a hanging picture; Don was astounded: his formerly sunken, drained features were now full and shimmering with life; his eye sockets pressed forth healthy within his skin, its color reinvigorated and the coarse lines faded, now smooth and vibrant; his aura was no longer enervated, but alive and ambitious; even his hairline seemed thicker and more robust; and his brown eyes sparkled with zest and alacrity, no longer spent by the machinations of modern life. The reflection drew a tremendous smile and continued thundering up the stairs.
At the refrigerator, he grabbed a carton of unpasteurized orange juice and chugged straight from the source. Finishing, he replaced the cap and stood there for a moment, scrunching his forehead and rubbing it with his fingers. Something like this would haunt him for ever, might even drive him bat-shit insane. “Why does shit always have to be like this?” he spoke to himself. “Can't a poor bastard just get some tangible hope, some hard evidence of the phenomenal.”
It was then that he turned and saw it. Radiating vacillating neon colors, the gargantuan flower turned towards him and unfurled one of its prodigious fern-like limbs, gently rubbing his forearm. Don reeled backwards to the floor in a crash that echoed into the basement. Repelled by his fear, the plant recoiled. Wide-mouthed, Don ogled it in disbelief and simultaneous amazement. Here was one of the Maya plants 'in my goddamn kitchen!' Slowly and carefully he rose, cautious not to upset the plant any further, and approached it. Seeming to sense his feelings, it turned and extended a number of arms, once again softly engaging his forearm; and as tears welled and fell like the end of a horrible drought, Don reached out and returned the touch, lovingly stroking the plants downy limbs. Its blossoming head was the size of a large TV, and it slipped through a multi-colored pantheon in each passing moment. It sat in its own space-tech terrarium, looking quite self-sufficient.
“Nnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooblllllllllllllllllllllllllllllle!” it fluttered the most exquisite vibrating call, turning its flower to his face and flaring its petals. A tear fell onto one of the petals and the entire plant turned a crystalline turquoise with lambent specs of sun. “Thank you, Creator......Thank you, Larra,” whispered Don as he joyously wept upon the plant. And when the last tear fell and Don smiled bravely, the otherworldly Maya plant and its container softly dematerialized, like the miniature stars of fireworks falling to the ground.
Later that morning he made a phone call to his old surf-crazed cube-mate. “Ken, it's me.” “Brother, why didn't you call me back last night? What the fuck! I was worried. That's such bullshit that they fired you,” Ken rattled off spasmodically, like some meth-head on the boardwalk after a solid fix and a cup of Joe. “Sorry, I just got your messages; I was a bit preoccupied for awhile. Thanks for caring, Ken. I don't take a friend like you for granted.....especially in L.A. No worries about the job. I know it sounds pretty nuts - considering this economy – but I'm actually really happy about all this. It's the push I needed to really do something I care about.....something I feel good about.” “Dude, are you on acid right now? Is this Don Noble?” Ken joshed. Don chuckled. “I fuck'n hated that place. I was slowly decaying in there.....gradually watching my meaningless life pass away before me in obscurity and menial repetitiousness.” “While at the same time getting shit on constantly,” resounded Ken comically. “That too,” rallied Don with a smirk. “So anyways, I wanna go surfing, brother. Would you teach me?”
Ken hiccuped astonishment, and then swallowed, regaining composure. “Whaaaaaaaaaaat! Really, Donnie? I've been try'n to get you out there for 5 years! Why now? What happened last night? Tell me the truth.” A moment of silence hung impatiently on the cell waves. “I had an intense dream.......and I realized that I've been spending way too much of my thought-life looking at the glass as half full in this neck of populated SoCal.......when there are so many incredible energies all around me. Surfing definitely seems to be one of them. I wanna be as stoked as you about life, brother. I've seen surfing give you that.” “That it does my young kook apprentice. You're on! I will teach you, young padawan.” Don laughed, admiring the space the plant had occupied. “Thanks Ken. Can you meet me over here after work tomorrow, to help me pick out a board?” “I'll be there at five, howley.” Don Noble smiled as the epiphany bore into his soul: The possibilities in life were endless, as long as you kept yourself open to anything..........anything good for the betterment of all.
