Year 1543

 

Three subtle knocks pierced the soundless void of an old man’s cell.  At the back of the apathetic stone enclosure, he sat upright on a bed of shrubs and cloth.  The impatient genius, had his face hiding in his palms, while his elbows rested sternly on his knees.  Certain as to the identity of his visitor, a grin of relief appeared and he sprang to his feet.

“You made it!”

“Indeed I have Sir. My name is..”

“I’m very aware of who you are my friend.”

“It is of the utmost honor to make your acquaintance sir.  Are you dealing well with this ungodly captivity you’ve been resigned to?”

“Thank you, I’ll be fine, it’s not important anyways.  Your arrival is what matters, well done young man.”

The old man grabbed a thick book with countless rag pages, filled entirely with black ink.  Timelines, instructions, philosophies,  and diagrams covered every spec of the surfaces.

“I’ve included my wishes to authenticate your identity, the four of you, through the duration of time.  It’s imperative we think ahead and proceed with prudence to detail.   A consortium of minds who think like we do, can’t risk  a senseless setback due to identity protest.   As of today, and moving forward,  your foursome are known as  “the Firebrand.”  You my boy, are the Ghost.  It’s all in the dossier.  The others will now be the Creator, the Chemist and the Philosopher.”

“And you’re confident that the leaders will trust that these are your wishes?”

“I’ve included a letter that I want you to read at the next meeting in Rome.  All of the timeless names will be there.  That way, the words will come from my pen, in the same writing that beholds the secret to quantum mechanics. Once my discovery is shared with the others, they must urgently begin working.  If my idea proves capable, you four, will be integral to my plan.  Consequently, you’ll become the executers of what will be a critical mission, tantamount to the survival of our species.”

“Thank you sir, we are honored to be held to such an esteem by a man of your valor.”

“It’s your calling.  It’s our calling.  Each member of our society has been imbued with an attribute or ability that excels any of its kind among humans.  With that compels us a responsibility.  It’s no coincidence we’ve all found each other through the dredges of life.”

“I agree Nicolas.”

“Go on. Get to Rome and get these materials where they need to be.  I don’t need to tell you of the importance here.  I bid you good luck and a safe journey.”

 

June, 30th, 1951

 

Red mist hanged like a martyr, in the infinite sea air.  The vastness is punctuated with a never ending smattering of stars, relentlessly spilling beyond the bounds of the universe.  The all encompassing Earth was in full focus, from its sun beaming her rays against her moon,  exploding light over the horizon. Jonathan’s fickle lucidity, straddled the line of life and the unknowable.  It’s that grey area, where spirit and fate do their deliberating.   The skin of Adalia’s arm, cold and colorless, rests over the aft of their impish lifeboat.  Her hand alive, only from another source of life, clenches the pendant, while it’s chain drags in the water.  One of her favorite philosophical debates, was Kant’s question, “Are we in this world, or of this world?”  Jonathan jars himself back to life, to discover that she just found the answer.  Her lifeless body rested half on his numb legs, while her top half draped over the edge.  With the purity, grace and dignity that comprised her essence, she left him a painless and soothing expression.  A look that assured him, this was not farewell.  Jonathan knows why.  He may be the only human alive who knows, but this knowledge provided him the comfort he needed to finish the mission.  Still, the sand pouring through the hourglass, can not be reasoned with.   He lunged for the pendant and tucked it safely in the inside pocket of his pants, while he began to assess his surroundings.  Facing westward,  the seaboard was just meters away.  To the East, there was not a ship in sight.  Of the few humans left, he is comfortably, right where he wants to be. Where he has to be.

 

SPELLBIND

 

June, 28th, 1951

The hill continued to swell with citizens after Adalia’s procession came to a premature ending.  A fevered pitch was mounting among the silence, demanding someone break the ice.

Of the strangers that shockingly emerged from the forest, four men took lead as the spokesmen.  They introduced themselves as the Chemist, the Creator, the Ghost and the Philosopher.

“We’re sorry for your loss, and please trust our visit is rooted in compassion.  I’m afraid that we are facing a grave danger, all of us.  And we have some words to share that carry quite a robust magnitude.”

“Excuse me if this sounds a bit aggressive,” a towns person asserted,  “but I’m sure you can sympathize, with the confusion of what you’re telling us.  Our world has existed this way through generations, with no real sociological trouble, and I think it safe to say, we’re a happy lot.  The only variable in our contented stability has been the mystery of your people.  And you have to admit, it’s a bit disconcerting that you’ve chosen such a curious time to march through the trees and introduce yourselves.”

Gentle mannered and with a very delicate approach, the Creator stepped forth.

“We can absolutely empathize with your plight.  It’s only right and natural that this carries the effect that you’re feeling.  For us, this occasion comes with a bit of anxiety as well.  We’ve been preparing for this day for a good deal of time now, and we knew this part was going to be hard.  Is it alright to ask you to assemble a few of your town’s leaders to sit down and discuss something of pressing and critical importance?”

 

“Yes, I think we had better do that.”

 

The four newcomers and a small collection of townspeople headed back into town to talk. The chatter elevated, as the crowd on the hill began to react to the unexpected events unfolding before their eyes.

 Reveal

The procession had ended hours ago, and the lush green tapestry was increasingly covered with more and more townspeople.  The indications of what had happened have only begun to unravel.  A confusion about the white cladded strangers who’d emerged from the trees, was short lived.  Through folklore, a fear was born.  This fear, birthed by an unknown source, in an unknown time, had shackled the people of Madina Lake. Just a collection of words really, eschewed from a stranger’s tongue to a captivated set of ears.  The implications of which, gained increasing vitality until this falsehood became an undisputed truth.    It was a gripping example of perception’s stranglehold on reality.  A tale,  surreptitiously, weaved its way through the generations, unchallenged.  Time served to inflate its magnitude, and stronghold on the people.  Until today, the nefarious “river people,” quelled any adventurous or curious minds from exploring this magnificent land.  It fostered stagnant and complacent minds.  The collective conscious of the townspeople, eroded through time.  Minds were compressed to a small spectrum of a general self.  The effects of which are infinite, when analyzed.  The tenants Arlene postulated at the inception of this settlement, perhaps loaned too much credit to its people.  There is an innate curiosity in the human species that propels a society, arguably, forward.   If you castrate a people of this instinct, a shift in value will occur.  At this point in time, Madina Lake’s character has dangerously shifted.  The gravity applied to vibrational harmony, had lifted.  A subsequent vacuum was grossly filled with a different set of means to fulfillment.  And that is the fate these humans would succumb to, bringing it to the brink of collapse.   Arlene never intended a hierarchy.  She certainly never imagined one like this.  Darwinism is guided by a natural, and uncontrollable evolution.    But it also shouldn’t serve to qualify a human’s worth.   One can’t reasonably portend that everyone is created equal. But neither can one assume that a thinking species is sentenced to their lot in life based on their genetic composition.  Sadly, this is the path of the townspeople.  There is a soul in each human that has an insatiable need for acceptance.  An all embracing collective should have sufficed.  Now, individuals want more. They want everything.   Balance has fallen by the way of a one dimensional scale, tipped to the ground by reckless desire, and entitlement.

There was a new born hope in the tragic events on June 23rd.   Tragedy has a curious ability to reset a collective frame of mind.  Adalia’s martyrdom will be stained in time, as the event that pulled this truth from its subconscious dwellings,  to the conscious forefront.   Remarkably, while the townspeople intermingled with their new guests, an enlightened energy was palpable.  Even still, there were serious questions that needed to be answered.

 Spellbind

Jonathan and Adalia had slipped away when the attention was pulled towards the parade of white.  They were just beginning the mission that lay before them.

Jonathan was beginning to comprehend the mystifying elements of this unprecedented ordeal.  He had surmised that the four students of his, were unquestionably the leader of this tribe.  Only they were adults now.   After the last week’s worth of metaphysical chaos, this possibility can no longer be counter intuitive.

Down in the town center, the Firebrand began its meeting with the leaders of Madina Lake.  They sat in a quaint building on the edge of an unusually vacant Sapphire Square.This is the place that most everything happens in Madina Lake, including the seldom, but now necessary council affairs.

“You must, by now, have been keenly aware that there is plenty more Earth beyond this natural fortress.  Your admirable approach to such a supposition is something that we’ve been responsible for preserving.  This beautiful and mystifying land, was no accident.  Nor were any of its inhabitants.  The natural part is genuine, but the settlement part was not.  A group was transplanted here many hundreds of years ago. There’s a great irony here.  Since this time, your people regarded us as a threat or a fear.  Meanwhile, we’ve been here protecting you from a most certainly imminent attack or infestation.   We belong to a group, comprised of the most brilliant minds ever born.  So brilliant in fact that their discoveries, were often ahead of their time and as such, wound many of them would suffer murder, imprisonment and exile.    Either it was a scientific breakthrough that violated the churches word of God, and was deemed Blasphemous, or its revolutionary sociological ideas threatened to hijack the power majority from a King and his men.  I realize some of these concepts make no sense to you.  We’ve done our best to slip literature into your library, or bookshelves, so at least you’d have an idea of what we we’re doing here when the time came.  Sadly, it has been increasingly difficult to reach the minds of your people.  This lead us to believe that they got to you first.”

 

“Who are they?”

 

“It’s the force that is opposing our species. A rogue evil, whose idealogy dictates they have no regard for the species, has permeated into the masses.  Your people are shellshocked by the murder.  They think it is Adalia in that casket, and as it should be irrelevant, carrying the same tragic weight as any murder, it’s not.   Because they think it was Adalia, the whole town is in uproar.

 

“Are you telling us that Adalia is still alive?  Who’s in the casket?

“That’s right.  It was Pandora who was killed.   The physical identity of the deceased shouldn’t compromise the enormity of the murder. This is the sign that perhaps your town has been infiltrated as well.  These people I speak of are the ones who coordinated the killing.  They are a savage, reckless  people, with no regard for the basic decency of humanity. They’re takers.  They feel that our time here on this beautiful planet should be spent in an endless war to attain as much for themselves as possible.  They’re aware of the balance and harmony of our world, but don’t care.  They are the ego driven. Our forefathers had the impeccable insight to anticipate their influence grabbing hold of the masses.  An entire world exists out there, filled with billions of people in different sub-sects and territories.  Rich with authentic cultures of their own, and beautiful rituals, which at one point could co-exist with our host.  At this time, our group had determined that the battle was largely being lost.  Their infestation of ideals, values and morals had seduced the world.  The consequence of which would ultimately eradicate the species, and perhaps the planet, all together.  The struggle for power, and greed would collide with advances in science and technology, resulting in weapons could destroy the planet.  In advance of this fear, our people created a seed bank.  This bank contains fertile seeds for every type of natural necessity in the ecosystem.  When the day comes that scorches the earth, this is the key to it’s survival.  As far as humanity?  This is why Madina Lake exists.  This is the only place on Earth where each one can flourish.  This land is of tantamount importance to the future of our kind.  This is the only place on Earth that was designed in such a way that even their most hideous creation couldn’t reach.   Well my friends, we’ve overestimated the enemy.  The day we react has come. ”

 

Later that evening…

Lila’s Kitchen became the defacto ground zero for the townspeople to gather together and discuss the disappearance.  The local favorite, is a typical greasy spoon that has enjoyed its landmark status by being the best.  Its menu hasn’t changed since it opened,.and that date, while not known, is inarguably long enough to be impressive.  They do a unique perspective on the classics.  Lila grows and cultivates all of the ingredients by herself, with the same love and passion that she creates with.   The atmosphere is soothing without a hint of dullness.  But the real appeal, was that, whatever the time or circumstance, you’re assured to be in the company of friends.

A 5 year old young girl shuffled restlessly in her booth.  She had lifted the scarf and sun glasses from her mother, seated to her right, and was doing a bit of role playing with her friend, one booth behind her.

“I hereby elect myself as the next Adalia,”  with an unconvincing adult voice impression.

“I’ve got everything it takes.  I’m beautiful, and rich and all the town’s men will fight over me, mark my words.”

The other child giggled, enough to make her carry on the charade.

Their playfulness, innocent as it was, had a robust magnetism to it.  The voices carried.  It wasn’t  so much their subject matter, and the heightened sensitivity to its awkwardness, as it was its reaction to other patrons.     Their own parents didn’t notice, but they were likely the only ones none the wiser.

As the child continued to list the attributes she was to embody to become the next town socialite, in mid sentence, suddenly stopped.  She faced a captive audience by this point.  All expression of vitality, playfulness and youthful joy vanished, in place of a blank dark hole in her eyes.   At this very moment, her shoulders lifted, stomach retreated and she vomited all over both party’s booths.

 

Jonathan and Adalia managed to slip away unnoticed. The crowd was likely to head South around the bay, to the Divine Cemetery, before dispersing to an ominous evening. Jonathan learned by now, not to waste time with questions. He followed Adalia North along the lake towards the entrance of the forest. A few heavy gusts of wind predicated a rumble of thunder and a tease of light drizzle. The sky darkened with thick black clouds. Within minutes, a raging thunderstorm converged from all sides of the mountains. Once again, Jonathan felt the sense that this wasn’t a random act from an unobjective nature. Somehow, this was a message transmitted from the ultimate source. They pressed on into the swelling cast of trees, down a familiar path. Suddenly Adalia stopped and turned to face him. She braced his arms and looked him in the eyes.
“The cave is not exactly what it appears to be Jonathan. None of this is. I can only imagine what these last few days have been like for you, but I want to thank you for your fortitude.”
“If someone were to tell me last week, what I was about to experience, I would have laughed at the absurdity of their words. Considering the hyperactivity of my mind, I would have contemplated my reaction, had it come to fruition. Never would I have guessed that I’d have the will to make it this far. But somehow, you radiate a stillness that gives me the faith and conviction to never doubt myself or my instinct. So I should be thanking you.”
“It seemed that we were hopeless last week. When I found you, I summonsed the Firebrand. We invested everything in your character, and we were right. It’s not over yet. Soon, I won’t be here, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be gone, ok?”
“What does this mean?”
“Before it gets too bad out here, you need to go to the cave. You’ll see the torch at the entrance, like the last time. Just inside the East end of the rock, there is a stack of three rocks. Underneath the stack is buried a compass, a map and a photograph. On the map, there is a symbol of a circle bisected with four letter “A”s. That marks your location. Follow the path to the “Tetra Yuga” symble.”
“Oh that? Of course, I’m very well versed in ancient symbology, that’s one of my favorites,” he laughed.
She laughed back at herself for the seemingly pretentious name drop. “It’s an 8 pointed star, I’ll spare you the origin. This marks the highest elevation in the mountains. Once you reach the ridge, you will be able to see what lies beyond the confines of Madina Lake. Take the photograph and hold it against the horizon. If the other side of the mountain matches the photograph, we are well ahead of the enemy. If it doesn’t, we’re running out of time.”
What is it that I will be looking at if it doesn’t?”
“It’s called Scorched Earth. It means that humans have passed the threshold of what Earth will tolerate. In essence, our species is no longer welcomed here.”
“And what do we do if that is the reality we are facing?”
“I’ll need you to go back into town. At the cemetery where they will have buried who they believe to be me, find my headstone. It will have a few scriptures carved in the stone. At the bottom, will be a Crescent moon carving. They use that when they don’t know the family name of the deceased. It’s sort of a default crest. If I’ve succeeded with my mission, use a knife and carve out the moon. That’s where I’ll hide the pendant. Jonathan. The fate of humanity rests within the contents of this pendant.”
“No shit.”
She smiled at his choice to make an untimely, sarcastic remark.
“Well, what you don’t know is where this pendant needs to be smart ass.”
“I’m sure you’re familiar with Lucille?”
“The eccentric, soothsayer, fortune teller type….”
“Yes, that’s the one. It’s so interesting to me the way a mass of people can grab bits of obscure and not intimate encounters with a person and formulate a collective perception, while none ever actually knowing the person. It may interest you to know that she is older than anyone that ever lived here. In fact, she doesn’t actually live here.”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s an apparition. A spirit that chose to keep her energy here in Madina Lake. Moving on though, once you’ve got the pendant in your possession, bring it to her. She’ll know where its contents need to be.”

……..continued

SPELLBIND

The intellect level between these two, rendered any formal goodbye a waste of time. Instead, they allowed their eyes to lock for a brief moment, which proved to express more than any ritualistic gesture could anyways. Down he raced towards the cave, without paying mind to the high likelihood that he may never see her again. This notion, had he belabored the issue, would have unexpectedly pained his heart. Jonathan is a man of intuition and decides in the first seconds of meeting someone, the depth of which they’re capable of connecting. Adalia, of course, operated with this same sort of sixth sense, and the chemistry between them was palpable.

________________________________________________________________________________

June 25th, 1951

the Cave

Jonathan’s mind was captivated by the series of horrors that had it surrounded. It wasn’t compelled by intrigue, it was captured by a fiercer opponent. An elusive, and intrinsically superior opponent, whose force usurped his human mind and demanded his instinct to take over. His logic surrendered to the comprehension that this entity is beyond human border. it exists inside and outside of human ability to interpret the world.
“Chemicals?” he thought to himself. This was an invitation for an exchange of dialogue. That is something our capabilities can deliver. For the first time, I was able to deploy the human’s unique ability to think. The word “chemicals” is unambiguous in many respects, and certainly when served from a sinister tongue. Chemicals are manmade. The over arching tone of whatever is happening in Madina Lake, or perhaps even beyond, revolves around a battle. Not just a battle among two factions, but one that seems to be backed by the natural world and its order. The species have a malignant cancer that disrupts the natural balance and order of Earth. The cancer is unique in that its symptoms include personality traits, such as greed, and power. Chemical is synonymous with manipulation. Medicine is an unnatural combination of compounds that would never, under ordinary circumstance, have combined naturally. When administered, it floods the blood stream and attacks agents. This can easily be contended by the healing intentions they are created for. However, human behavior changes when intoxicated. Highs can be squandered and lows compressed. Troubles can be temporarily numbed, while the source of the anguish is never addressed. He casted aside the notion for now, but suspected this will be useful in the not so far future.

Jonathan started to regain feeling in his physical body again. He felt who he was again. The blackness began to flicker. His experience was projected onto a screen of blackness. Yet, he refused to accept that it had been a dream. How can a real conscious experience, conclude as a dream without the the transition of falling asleep? Furthermore, how can a human exist simultaneously in both? Then again, how had it always been able to? The voice shouted its last sentiment as it seemed to fade away, “It’s possible to kill you in your dream Jonathan! You won’t always be awakened within seconds of your death! Don’t you love those dreams that feel so real that you carry them along throughout your day, still wrestling with how real it felt? Debating the message or purpose of the dream because it was so powerful, that it must bare significance to your real world. Go on Jon, don’t forget me! the name’s Bigsby, in case you want to enter it into your travel logs. ” The voice screamed with a hideous cackle. “the last voice I ever heard on Earth was a guy named Bigsby!” he laughed again.
That this entity had seemingly overtaken the soothing force of the last, which referred to himself as the “ghost,” had sucked every drop of will from Jonathan’s mind.
When the last wave of hope curls and fades into the sand, there was a profound weightlessness that enveloped him. He let go. He unclenched his mind, body and spirit, leaving it’s fate to chance.

It was soon after this that there seemed to be something going on independent of him in this bizarre realm. Since the sensory traits of this place were so unusual, every action was more of a feeling than the normal human reality. For the first time since he’d arrived here, it felt like two opposing entities were in there with him. A mental duality of these two forces. The balance it created regenerated some spirit inside Jonathan, although the intensity grew fast. It was as if an ego was fighting its host mind to the bloody death. It was the Ghost. There was a sense of purpose coming from the Ghost, but as they raged on and on, it’s objective was unclear. Jonathan wasn’t getting what he felt the Ghost wanted him to.
He raised his hands and gripped his head like a vice. Nothing can silence what isn’t truly noise. Instead, it’s a robust and insidious stream of power that forces a man to use any attributes he has to make it stop. His two minds, each bore a spirited conviction, and both were flanked with an objective manipulator, there to insure its own agenda.
The Ghost swooped behind him with lightening speed and disappeared. While passing, something was tucked into Jonathan’s shirt. His mind walked the tight rope of realms. Afraid to commit to losing his mental balance to either side. With his back against the the cold stone, he planted his hands in the dirt to push himself to his feet. There they were. A pile of three rocks, abiding the exact placement Adalia had described.
The very instant after that, the whole shadowy realm vanished.
________________________________________________________________________________

June 25th, 1951

The Chase

“Did you really think my instinct would succumb to your role playing?” Adalia angrily contested. This hellish figment of her tortured childhood was now hunting her like prey, through the very forest he abused her in as a child.
“You, and your procrustean league, have an unbridled and quite laughable arrogance,” she said.
“Interesting to hear the word ‘laughable’ used in any contexts, considering your circumstance,” the man retorted. His head ticked twice to the left, before slowly bowing, while his eyes remained fixated on hers.
“You’re a blind sheep serving an aimless shepherd, in a game of which you have no qualification to engage. Whomever you answer to has clearly not done their proper reconnaissance. Of course. the gluttons shoved their chips on quantity over quality. You’ve devoted your faith to this, but have you invested any logic? It doesn’t matter how many sheep you have if you’re battling shepherds. You are a despicable abusive failure, incapable of suppressing his own demonic urges. What strategist gets behind a tactical design of recruiting the weakest minded to battle the front lines. Thankfully, they’ve determined you to be best suited to eradicate his own daughter. They surmise you must have the ability to win the affections of your abandoned daughter. Surely, I’m so insatiably desperate for daddy’s love, your job is a breeze! Sadly, I’ve never been your subordinate daughter. I’ve never surrendered to the pure love a child naturally surrenders to her dependents. The paternal influence isn’t required until after the mother does her diligent duty. I’ve possessed the ‘required’ paternal requisites before you even existed. Where I come from, we choose our entry point into the physical realm. That’s all I needed, and I took it. So you can report this failure as a result of stupidity. When they heard “father,” they were sold. You were a portal. That’s all.”

Bigsby appeared amused, while he slowly removed his top hat and hung it on his walking stick.
“From where I’m standing, this curiously qualified confidence of yours is negligible. You have no physical prowess to save your altruism now. You can eschew any rhetoric you wish, but if were you, I’d consider my circumstance. Aside from being your father, I’m a quite keen killer. In fact, if I’m being completely honest, I get off on it. I actually become aroused when I plunge my fingers into flesh, and watching the life, stubbornly, cling on as long as it can. Their death is imminent. They know it and I know it. Yet, for some ungodly reason, they fight like dogs, for that extra thirty seconds of misery. I’ll never understand that, but admittedly, it’s quite a thrill,” Bigsby joyously replied. A smirk contorted to a full on smile, exposing his hideous, yellow, crooked, teeth, under a ragged, evil face.

“What I’ll never understand is, how this miraculous source was capable of, and spawned such a malevolent, sinister cancer to exist among us.”

Until this point in the pursuit, Adalia was leaving her fate largely to chance. However, a few hundred yards back, she noticed that perhaps, someone or something was looking out for he. She noticed the Juniper trees, which flourished in abundance in Madina Lake, began to feature subtle distinctions. As she passed each one, the branches and exposed roots, didn’t resemble the ordinary Junipers. They generally grow from an axial position. However, instead of straight down, these form a helical shape. This was the undeniable indication that she was about to enter a power zone. Of the many seductive nuances of this land, the power zones are the most intriguing and palpable. The branches and roots are reshaped due to an immense natural phenomena of energy that is constantly erupting from the land. It is dramatic, and measurable by science. There are two of these plots in the Madina Lake perimeter. From an analytical perspective, they spin compasses, debilitate electronics and have the ability to transform physical matter in some objects. From a spiritual perspective they hold altruistic, supernatural abilities, that overpower any human capability. Adalia’s spirit proves the dominating weapon in this dual.

The dear outsmarts the hunter. I let you chase me like a dog, all the way to this land before I turned to face you. Your twisted chemistry is aroused by fear. Aroused by the physical inferiority of your own female child. We, connected souls, have the added benefit of channeling. You’re standing in a power zone, where your darkness pits even the nature against you. Here’s the pendant you’re after. You were so close! While you burn, I suggest you lament over the fact that you were a mere inches away from your glory. ”
Reveling in this circumstance, of which she fantasized for years, Adalia was not about to end it here.
“Now that I’m holding all the cards, let’s talk. I’ve been curious about your people. What is the purpose of your logo? I understand the power of symbology. I understand your type requires acceptance, as tantamount to your survival. I’ll give it to you, you’ve successfully infected the masses with that clever notion, making our side’s efforts very difficult to usurp. The cross was brilliant. An image so simple, so powerful, so useful when searching for your own. Then you incorporate the mythology, defining its origin. A man, an altruistic, courageous leader, who embodies the narrow spectrum of basic human value. “He suffered for YOU!” you say. “the son of God, his holiness, and your creator, decidedly absorbed excruciating pain for future generations of fellow humans, so that YOU, can …can what? Exist in fear, crippled with guilt for having natural human feelings? Feel shame and inadequacy while serving the protagonist of a fairy tale from an ancient relic?
Even sadder, the harrows such an arbitrarily contrived idealism has spawned. This same tale would be spun by others, over and over, creating more of your disgraceful forces. You placate their people’s fears. Shockingly successful, absolutely. I never imagined mob mentality to be so pervasive. So blinding. That despite the ethical and moral ethos, the subtle differences in each was enough to cause pain, bloodshed and death to millions, who naively made an enemy out of those buying the same premise. Well, you can’t fake what’s real. You’ll never tip the scales of faith over the line of what’s intrinsic. I’ll never comprehend how you penetrated the mind so profoundly, but you did. Simply not knowing, fosters an incredulous desperation to find out. The first to pretend they know, gets the minds.”

“You describe this motive with perfect detail. You recognize it’s brilliance. And you limit yourself to one example that speaks to the profundity of our empire? As you’ve conceded to how it has bewildered your clan, you’ve failed to acknowledge the remaining 70% of humanity. They’ve all succumb to one or another scripture of ours. And just to fill in the holes for you, our genius has built in its very foundation another bunch of behooving characteristics. Their faith builds within them over the years as life erodes. As life snatches their loved ones, takes their innocence, builds fear, loneliness and abandon, it spawns a passionate need for respite. who is there for these broken weaklings? their faith is. who will forgive them for the mistakes they knowingly committed? who trusts them in a world of lairs? So as I listen to your rhetoric, I beg the question… how on earth have your lot found yourselves in this compromised position?
I may not be the hero who got the seeds, but, i’ve learned enough to see to it that the seeds wind up in our soil. and that’s what really matters isn’t it?”

His last words fell on deaf ears. Adalia had instantly vanished out of thin air.
When you slip through dimensions via a power zone, it’s a different ride all together. Its technical nature is manifestation.
Despite the contemptuous and threatening circumstance just feet in front of her face, a familiar sensation swirled around her like a tornado funnel. Like an explosion without a mushroom. There was no ceiling to this detonation. In fact, contrarily, there was nothing that can describe this in physical terms that reason can grasp. There was no sound, no smell, no sight, touch, nor taste to this experience. It registered only with the elusive and undefined sixth sense. Sound was boundless, time didn’t exist, and any physical property of our Earth lost all relevance. It was as if the enormity of our globe began to inflate like a balloon, with no tension pressuring the latex wrapping. The expansion became inconceivably infinite. It was such an existential sensation of never ending matter that the brain had no mechanism to cope. This was light and awe and bliss. The only mechanism in the human construct that can even offer a sign post to this realm is sound. Sound is created from vibrations that turn into waves. This is the language of whatever this place was. Sensations, vibrations, and the spirit interpreting them is the only way to experience this place.
As the expansion boomed boundlessly, Adalia drifted towards the source. Was this death? Was this heaven? Had her father actually killed her and this was the new path she was to explore? She knew the wiser. This wasn’t her first trip to the Astral Planes.

the cave

He opened his eyes, as if the whole thing had been a dream. Right down to the morning fog, his confusion lingered. There was a letter clenched in his hands. He was definitely in a peaceful place now. Still could not be described by human senses, but what he felt was love, and only love. It was the Creator who stood before him. Where he was, layers of perception denying reality it’s chance to shine. Truth or fiction. The Creator was a vast and critical improvement. It was the mind colliding with the voice that cohabitated his brain. He peacefully reflected on his trip through the cave. Were multiple spirits colliding, or are they in tandem with each other? Are they different at all? Which one am I? If I’m feeling the emotions that are discharged from the other, it must be something separate from the self.” he thought. Although hazy and in a bit of pain, never had Jonathan felt such relief.
“Take the canoe back to Madina Lake. Lucille is waiting for you,” the man said, as Jonathan had already dozed off.

the chase

And that’s when it happened.
When you slip through dimensions via a power zone, it’s a different ride all together. Its technical nature is manifestation
Despite the contemptuous and threatening circumstance just feet in front of her face, an overwhelming detachment consumed her. Her perspective of consciousness dramatically expanded. Like an explosion without a mushroom. There was no ceiling to this detonation. In fact, contrarily, there was nothing that can describe this in physical terms that everyone can comprehend. After this observation struck her like a bolt of lightening, it didn’t take long for the rest to follow suit. There was no sound, no smell, no sight, touch, nor taste to this experience. It registered only with the elusive and undefined 6th sense. While this was being deciphered by her intellect, this new method of interpreting existence instantly proved to behold more psychological power than the other five combined. Sound was boundless, time didn’t exist, and any physical property of our Earth lost all relevance. It was as if the enormity of our globe began to inflate like a balloon, with no tension pressuring the latex wrapping. The expansion became inconceivably infinite. It was such an existential sensation of never ending matter that the brain had no mechanism to cope. However, fear was not its weapon. This was awe and bliss beyond what comprehension. The only mechanism in the human construct that can even offer a sign post to this realm is sound. Sound is created from vibrations that turn into waves. This is the language of whatever this place was. Sensations, vibrations, and the spirit interpreting them is the only way to experience this place.
As the expansion boomed boundlessly, Adalia drifted towards the source. Was this death? Was this heaven? Had her father actually killed her and this was the new path she was to explore?