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WRETCHED WOMAN! WHY is she coming to my home? What could she demand from me this time? "Hurry now," I say out loud, yet no one is listening. Put everything away. She'll be at the door in less than two minutes. I can see her strolling up Commerce Road straight for the path to my home. Her pace slows as she starts to cross the precarious narrow pathway. My hands and arms move faster and with care to hide my laboratory beacons, flasks, and tubes. I draw the shutters across the entrance to the distilling project I am cooking in the bedroom. The sounds of steam hissing through the tubing cannot be hidden so easily. I don't need anybody prying into my work.
Anyone else coming here could be annoying, but not her, I abhor the woman. "Watch it!" In my rush to clear my lab, I almost dropped my crucible. Damn! Why is she coming here without an appointment?
Look around the front room, and look around again. Is there anything to hide, anything they shouldn't learn? Wait, she's turning around now and going back to the road. The Queen walking towards town called the witch over to chat. Look at them. They are so elegant. These mottled and form-fitting robes were all the excitement in fashion a year and a half ago when they were first introduced. Form-fitting my tragic body is not an improvement and something nobody should see. There they stand chit-chatting in the new protective hoods with their perfect hair and angelic faces visible for everyone to view. Much different from my malformed face and scarce, stringy hair.
They don't want me living among them. No, not at all. They transferred me to this dilapidated house on the far side of the city to protect themselves from me. I remember the luxurious home that I used to have in the city center. I miss it so much. It was the second explosion of my experiments that did it. Two minor explosions! So that was all it took for them to move me here to the outer edge of the outdoor amphitheater. For everybody's safety, they claimed. No one was even injured in those blasts.
My heart is pounding in my chest and throat, and my mind is racing. There's too much OxyContin in that last batch, I note to myself. My dopamines are pushing me past my comfort level. I need to get control of my thoughts before the witch and the Queen end their conversation. Why is she coming here! I don't want company at my house. They know I insist on appointments and at my crypt, not my home. What am I worried about anyway? She won't come through the front door, not one step. She'll knock and I'll open the door. Next, she'll breathe the foul rotten eggs and urine odors from the distillation cooking in my room and she'll refuse my invitation to enter.
They always accept her coven of orchard keepers and herb gardeners in this community. But, they don't know them the way I do.
My family, number forty-four, the last chosen for this planet's inhabitants, are always shunned. Yet since the dawn of mankind, my ancestors on ancient Earth and today on every human-occupied planet always contributed more to life. More than any witches brood and coven. We are the seers of everything, past, present, and future. We retain full knowledge and access to the universe; its gods, its divinity, its demons, and its hells. But we are always the outcasts.
Even the wretched witch is prized over me. It's always her first, while I am always the last to be sought. If they can find no other choice, then they seek the Oracle.
They are too sophisticated to be in concert with me, after all. I am an embarrassment. They think—what does the study of mankind have to do with foolishness such as magic and alchemy? Hiding me and my family in the back closet like they would hide old shoes. Much less, they would never admit to ever wearing such relics. Funny isn't it? They will put lotions I make all over their skin to make it supple and look younger, but they don't call that magic. They take my allergens to relieve pains, sickness, and it makes them feel better, but they call it medicine, not alchemy. They attach words that sound pretty and acceptable to their ears. In the end dismissing my family's contributions to their everyday comforts, health, longevity, and total quality of life by employing English relabeling.
My Egyptian ancestors brought to mankind, mathematics, geometry, surveying, metallurgy, astronomy, accounting, writing, paper, medicine, the ramp, the lever, the plow, and mills for grinding grain. Of course, we named it algebra; they call it mathematics. After we developed allergens, they called it medicine. Later, when we created alchemy, they called it chemistry. We even distilled their favorite beverage, alcohol, and they call it beer. We study mankind and they study life. Even now, free of anger and united through an experiment to discover the way out of the snare that binds us to this realm, we are still the ones they overlook.
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It was a year and seven months ago; I recall the day Vallena came to see me in my crypt. "Please, Oracle, guide me. Tell me how I can continue my love for Kelv." she pleaded, hoarse from hours of wailing. Her face and the front of her robe were damp from tears. "He's taken off to pursue his quest for the Prayaya of the Lord Buddha as a vagabond. There must be something I can do." She was crying and in physical and emotional pain. Pathetic!
I know she hides the Tathagata in her home. She and Mahá are trying to keep the secret for stashing the consciousness for the Humanoids. I realize everything. It was I who told her to build a stupa to conceal their secrets and to guide universal energy to Ziran. "That energy will aid the venerable arhat, Kelv," I told her.
The Source bends, shrinks, and contorts my physical body when I prophesy the visions for them. My once whole body was strong and delicate. But then, Kings ask me to give precognition at their functions and when I tell them, The Source takes away my strength. First, I lost bones in my feet, causing me to hobble in pain when I walk. Then it took my left thigh, causing me to slump when I stand. Time after time, prophetic insight after prophetic insight, I pay for them all. A few of the more severe possessions caused the explosions when squirming in pain I kicked chemical containers into the burner on my meth table.
Years of service to the Royals and today my face contorts, cheeks collapse, eyes droop, hair thins, bones soften, back humps, and I am more crippled and disfigured by giving myself to their wants. I'm far from being pretty, like them, or like I once was long ago.
Another peek out of my window and I see they are still standing together on the road, and talking. The witch and the ruler. Visákhá fears what I told her at the wedding celebration. Death awaits her before the seventh year of her son. The prophecy is coming true. I also told them at their wedding her husband would be King and she would provide him with a son.
The queen came to see me twice over the last three years, ever since I shared her prophecy at the wedding. She seeks a better understanding of her death and a stronger sense of her child's future after her death. My wonderful queen. My love and admiration for you and the infinite love-energy you and my King returned to our humanity from the universe. I alone know who you are.
The Source doesn't work that way; minutiae details desired by humans differ from the visions from The Source. If I could die for her, I would.
They always hear me but they are blind to my words. I alone can see the future. I alone know everyone's destiny. Another quick peek out of the window. She's coming (the witch) towards my door. Bloody hell here she comes! But I don't know why she is coming here! Get it together now—she's at the door.
Vallena knocks on the Oracle's door and in a normal civilization, the Oracle would answer with considerable anger at Vallena for coming to her door rather than making an appointment for a meeting at the Oracle's crypt. On Planet Ziran, anger's seeds cannot put down roots.
"Hello, Vallena. Love to see you here at my house. Please come in," I salute the good witch of Ziran. My throat growls and a snake-like hissing passes between my clenched teeth. These barbaric sounds elude my attempts at self-control. She steps one foot over the threshold and into my house but then the odor of my distilling catches her olfactory nerves. The smell is similar to boiling cat urine. She pulls her foot back, her hand moves to cover her mouth and nose. Her eyes well up as she verps from the smell.
"Maybe I can leave this basket of fruits and herbs here and you can take them in later?" She speaks while trying not to breathe. I don't respond or move at all. I remain standing here with my arm, gesturing for her to enter my home.
"I don't know why you come here," I say without emotion. More hissing and growling accompany my expressions.
"It's about the baby," she says.
A sudden and powerful wind gust catches her off guard. She staggers to catch her footing as she's almost pushed off my door stoop.
"I know what you came for, Vallena." I snap. "I don't know why you come to my home when you know you need to make an appointment at the crypt." Still, being matter of fact with my tone. "I will be in the office in one hour. Please be prompt and don't mention the distillery smells to anyone. Never! Good day, Vallena."
I close the door being careful to support most of the weight while keeping an eye on the upper hinge. I'm trying not to pop the last hinge screw out of the jam. When it all lines up I throw my shoulder against the door followed by my body weight to force the latch into place. The jamb squeaks and the door thuds into place. Shoulder aches.
So then I stand in place, expecting to hear her steps as she strolls off. Placing both hands on the door, I lean my body against it as if trying to hold the door closed against an unwanted intruder. Uncontrollable noises in my throat, I'm making the sound of a Kodiak bear mother protecting her babies from a predatory cougar. After a few seconds pass, I hear her place the basket down. Then, after another moment's pause, the sound of her steps as she walks away.
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Straight to my kitchen, where I tear open an airtight cold pack containing my fungi spores. Picking up one of the larger slippery spores, checking it for mold before tossing it straight into my mouth, I swallow it whole. The taste of it would make me heave, so a swift swallow before it touches my tongue is the best way to devour these. They smell like three days with no shower and no deodorant armpits. Now, I must wait. Patience pays off and so I wait while my stomach and liver do their work of infusing the molecules from the fungi into my bloodstream.
Within a minute, the visions and phantoms show the sphere of existence outside my mind. "I need some White Widow," reasoning with myself out loud as I reach for the jar of marijuana. In my haste, the lid bounces off the rock flooring, and I load a pipe with a firm bud. This is from my crop of skunkweed, not from the witch's seeds. Three large lung-filling puffs of the Widow smoke and my heartbeat slows. The smoke tastes like warm bread and melted butter. The pounding in my chest stops and my throat relaxes, as does the rest of my body. The discomforts of my aching bones and joints become manageable, but the vision from The Source continues to demand my total surrender.
Hoping for a few more minutes to relax while waiting here in my kitchen but then a vision appears and I can see Mahá sitting in Vallena's spare bedroom. He's reading the Sovereign King of Sutras, the Sublime Golden Light. Tathagata delivered the teachings provided by the Buddha, Sakyamuni to Mahá. The sutra instructs kings to rule in a way that citizens are prosperous and live together in harmony. I see him reading and I hear the Tathagata playing music while he reads. The sounds are alpha waves that make a human intellect moldable and malleable. It's a brainwashing effect, but the purpose, in this case, is to enhance understanding. Besides, Mahá has implants and nanos. These prevent even the most powerful brainwashing techniques from working.
Tuned in with Mahá’s thoughts, I become anxious and troubled about his health. He's worried about the path forward. It's been more than one year since they made him King. But despite his achievements, not one reached the Buddha Fields. No one. The hunger crisis is postponed when he changed the palace gardens to fields of red lentils and white beans. Social unity is improved because he removed tokens and Royal privilege.
Meditation meetings are the daily normal and everyone participates. Invocations are made, chantings are repeated and four family tributes share how to live the Buddha's laws. Fulfilling the King's direction as well as building a community of happy and productive people.
But as it accomplished none to Nirvana. Every day for the last month he considers it is time for a child. Perhaps their child will be the one that leads the people out of Samsara. Drifting out of the vision and back to myself.
There are too many voices, too much anxiety, and far too many entities speaking in my head. Though the lesson is well learned long ago, when The Source comes to share a vision with me, it gets my full attention. They say pain is a fast teacher, and this body doesn't need to learn any more lessons.
After a quick check on the distillery. Make sure there won't be another explosion. It's time I push my route toward the city and to my office above the crypt. The Source continues to communicate with me, but our meeting must take place at the crypt.
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Fighting my visions, lumbering along like a drunk, as I trudge up Commerce Road. The Source is anxious and doesn't like to be neglected. It sends phantoms of screaming sharp-toothed giant bats with ear-piercing screams and swooping golden dragons spitting fireballs into my pathway as they try to stop me. I fend them off in what must look to others as acts of madness. The people can't hear or see the monsters and the spirits I'm making battle with on my journey. They see, instead, an insane woman staggering through the road, wrestling with herself as she makes her way to my office.
When I reach the office I stumble up the two steps and through the doorway. Wearied, I creep on hands and knees into my place above the crypt, and sprawl across the floor. The dank smell of humid air and soil from the crypt below fills the office. Groaning from the discomfort of my deformed back and legs, I roll onto my back and there I surrender my body and mind to The Source. The visions cascade into view as if a theatrical movie was playing out around me.
Thirty-three monks circle the monastery's enclosed chamber. They chant the invocation of the protection of the Buddha to defend against Rakshasas and other evil spirits.
The monks chant: "I prostrate to the bodhisattva, the maha sattva (great being), the one who holds great compassion, the superior Compassionate-Eye looking one enriched with power."
"gyalwé tensung tso la chaktsal tö" To you, the principal guardian of the Buddha's teachings, I offer homage and praise! Approach!
"nyur gyok tutsal tokmé trinlé kyi" Through your unhindered activity, swift and powerful,
"dukchen dra dang dü gek pam dzepa" You defeat malevolent enemies, demons and obstructing forces,
"shinjé shepö kanyen damtsik chen" Yamāntaka, together with your oath-bound attendants,
"bebhasata khor dangché la tö" The retinue of Baibhasata, to you I offer praise! Approach!
The Tibetan horns are played, bells and symbols are rung and then they chant:
“om bi pula garbhe mani pra bhe
ta tha gata dhari shani
mani mani suprabhe bimala sangara gambhira
hum hum jvala jvala
buddha bilokite guhya
adhishthite garbhe svaha
padma dhara amoga jayati churu churu svaha"
May I whose name is—(they chant the eight names of those inside the chamber)—completely purify all the negative karmas and defilements collected from beginningless rebirth in Samsara, the ripening aspect in the evil actions, disturbing thoughts, delusions, sufferings, and all the collections of negative imprints, and may I quickly achieve the state of enlightenment.
Invocation of the Kámakalá performed by the witch, Vallena, takes place inside the enclosed chamber. I'm horrified at the image of the eight of them joyful, all smiles, excited, and preparing for Shiva and Sati to possess Mahá and Visákhá. They will first drain the couple's bodies of sexual fluids and energy, then the possession takes place where Shiva enters Mahá and Sati enters Visákhá. They copulate while being possessed, ending with Queen Visákhá pregnant. The child will be a prodigy among us. Conceived by the Gods, outcasts from the Heaven of the Thirty-Three.
Vallena tells them, "We do the eight stages of the Kámakalá and invoke Shiva and Sati to join us." Vallena leads the orgy party invocation.
I watch it in horror. Paralyzed laying here on the floor of my office. The Source continues to show me. Those taking part in the orgy are four women, Visákhá, Kyphi, Merliana, Vallena. There are four men, Mahá, Drrea, Danip, and Airodia. They stand together naked in a circle. They sealed the room off with doors bolted. There are no windows, and they light the room with two-hundred and forty-four Tibetan butter lamps scattered throughout the small circular space. The smell of burning butter fills the chamber.
Six of the orgy party surround Mahá and all of them touch and fondle him, performing and displaying many expected and some obscene and unusual sex acts. They kiss, lick, touch, pull on, and penetrate him, leaving no part of him untouched. Mahá masturbates while everyone continues to stimulate and heighten his arousal to a state no one would experience, aside from a morbid ritual. So then the arousal is complete and his body releases an abundance of life-giving fluid. The orgy party collects the fluid and feeds the abundance to each other, sharing the sperm from one to another, and in the end, Visákhá swallows the whole of it.
Next, there are six of the orgy surrounding Visákhá and all of them touch and fondle her with many sex acts, and some of them are more obscene than others. And like before with Mahá they arouse and excite every part of her body while she masturbates. As she climaxes, she expels her vaginal fluids in spurts and they drink her into their mouths. They kiss and share her fluid. After everyone had a taste of Visákhá they give the bounty of her mating fluid to Mahá and he drinks it down.
Their ritual orgy progresses as Vallena, perfect execution in every way, performs all eight of the orgasm-inducing ritual steps. Each step produces an intense orgasm and progresses through more perverse ritual sex techniques. The orgy party will drain Mahá and Visákhá of their energy and drain them of their human sex fluids. The two will slip into a trance caused by chanting, smoking marijuana, and physical exhaustion.
Afterward, once the trance is accomplished, Vallena will lead the party to chant the final invocation; calling Shiva and Sati to overtake and possess the King and Queen. From there, The Source inserts an egg from Sati and the seed from Shiva to start an embryo within the Queen.
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The witch knows the ritual! My inner voice screams inside my head. And then I say it once more, audibly. "The witch knows the ritual!" How can I stop the orgy? My mind wants it to stop, but my body is still paralyzed and sprawled across the cold stone floor of my office. The Source holds me in the unyielding grip of this vision of an unpreventable future, and I cannot do anything else. I can't even look away, though I never wanted to see any of it. For the rest of my life, I will not get these visions out of my mind.
I know the gods they invoke, Shiva and Sati from the Asura Heaven Realm. At least they were in the Asura Heaven before Indra, King of all the heavens, threw them out and banished them from rebirth. Shiva and Sati held a love for each other that was like no other love before or since.
They were the most beautiful of all the demigods and devas. The two of them displayed their muscular and ripped bodies and decorated themselves in flamboyant and colorful garments. Everywhere they went, they boasted about their gorgeous bodies and perfect facial features to everyone.
Shocking the devas and their fellow demigods, one day they stopped wearing robes. From that day on, they went about displaying and flaunting their beautiful nude bodies. Then one day, their lust for each other went too far. They began displaying graphic and explicit sex acts out in the open; in front of anyone and everyone. Indra, King of the heaven realms, had had enough of their lude and lascivious acts and with a mighty flash of his lightning bolt, banished them from the heaven realms, refused their rebirth in the lower realms, and cast them asunder into separate ends of the universe.
Ever since and for untold eons, Shiva and Sati hunt the universe trying to find each other. Alone, lovelorn, and yes, lustful and eager for sensual gratification.
Now and then, a Yogini witch summons them into a ritual sex orgy and if the witch performs the incantation with every detail completed, Shiva and Sati enter the body of the sacrificial couple. Once inside the couple, they copulate. Wild, dangerous erotic actions of fleshy debaucheries take place as the two demigods revitalize and relieve their agonies of lust. They must hurry in their zealous adventure, as the curse of Indra isn't far behind. They will be cast out of the couple, once the curse finds them, and thrown again into opposite ends of the universe.
"This must be a fantasy! This can't be the way forward," I hear myself screaming. My screams reverberate through the crypts below my office. "The oils! If she uses the oil, the Queen will be impregnated!" I must try to stop them. But then I see Vallena using the fungi oil she crafted to ensure women get pregnant when they come into contact with sperm. There she is on her knees facing Mahá. I watch her putting the oil onto the King's genitalia preparing him to penetrate the Queen. Except it's not the King, and it's not the Queen; it's the possession of Shiva and Sati.
The Source stops showing me the future and I can move my arms and head. As I struggle to raise myself off the floor. Coming to my senses back in the present day, I see Vallena standing just inside the office doorway. The bright light of the binary stars flooding through the door outlines her tall, slender frame. She's been watching me and listening to my screams.
"Thank you, Miss Oracle," she says in a joyful tone. "This is all I needed to know. The oil will work and our Royal family will receive a baby. I always thought you were a man. Never did I once think you were a woman. Apologies, Miss Oracle."
She walks out of the door, and I watch her walk down the road. I try to scream, "Don't do it!" But my voice is gone. Why would the witch initiate a pregnancy from exiled gods? Cast out from heaven and all living realms, their intention brimming with an unquenchable lust for power and desires of the flesh. What hell does she conjure?
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That was the last time I could speak and the last day that I could walk. The Source took my voice and my legs. Today, a year to the day later, the King summoned me to his courtroom. Wheeling along the Commerce Road I make my way from my home to the palace. The one in the center of town they had taken from me. Visákhá my beautiful Queen, returned it to me. She had this chair built for me.
Swarms of robotic bees dive overhead and circle me as I make my way to the palace. Once in a while a robo-bee hovers in front of my eye and appears quizzical about my presence. They left me in a hurry when the birds that live on the cliffside of the amphitheater appeared. The cliff birds make a sound that is more like a scream than a song. The orchard birds sing with melodic tweets. But only cliffside birds are found on top of the mountain.
Around the tight turn off the road onto the palace walk. Not far ahead is the passage into the lower courts and I take several minutes to sit here just inside the arched opening to regain my breath and fix my appearance. Such as it is.
The hallway to the courtroom and the courtroom itself are lined with magic flowers. Magnificent displays of colors, sparkles, beaming, and they flash at random intervals. The scent, I had not noticed before. It reminds me of honeydew melon with sweet morat sauce. When I entered the courtroom, I wheeled to the center table where Mahá is sitting. As I approach he stands in front of me, holding his three-month-old son in his arms. The baby is crying and fussy.
Mahá says, "What is the auspicious future of my son? Tell me what you've been shown about his life."
I answer, "There is nothing of joy or good ahead for you, my King. This child you named Zosimos is an abomination and a danger to both you and Visákhá. My voice was now returned and I can feel tears running down my cheeks as I explain what The Source showed me.
"Your son Zosimos will grow and develop at an unrealistic pace and by the time he is three years old, he will already be in the body of an eight-year-old. His mind too will develop fast and he will be educated and contain profound intellect. He will retain insights and knowledge from the gods and devas.
"Be forewarned, my King. Before his seventh year, Zosimos will kill both of you. He will murder you, Mahá, and your beautiful wife, Visákhá.
Mahá cradles Zosimos in his arms while he stares at the infant he's thinking, life is too precious and rare. He could never kill his baby, even though his baby would kill him and his wife. While he contemplates the prophecy, Visákhá enters the room and says, "Time to feed our little man." When she then sees me, I turn the chair to wheel myself toward the door.
"Wait!" she shouts. "Did I interrupt the blessed Oracle?"
I turn toward her and say, "No my Queen. I am done here. With your permission, of course." My sunken cheeks are still wet and a teardrop hangs off the bottom of my chin.
"Is everything okay?" she inquires.
"Everything is excellent, my Queen," answered Mahá. "This child of ours is hangry. He demands supper."
As I wheel my way out of the King's courtroom. Feeling like a puzzle that can't find the missing piece, and then Vallena passes me in the hall. She winks as she flies past and then darts into the courtroom. I pause and turn my chair so I can look back at them. Vallena goes straight over to stand beside Mahá. They watch as Visákhá opens her robe and presses a nipple to Zosimos' lips.
They'll need to make a decision for the child's family now. Will he be family one or family two? The parents will decide before his first birthday. This is our way of passing on the Neuralink from generation to generation. For now, we rejoice with a baby to raise and a lot of celebration because our King and Queen have a son.
While most people go through life unaware of the transformations that are taking place within them, (perceptual blindness) always thinking of the self as being the same person, Mahá and Visákhá as a routine are aware of the shifts happening within them. It's what makes them the vessel for what is ready to come. Perhaps that is the wrong verb (come):
They are the vessels for what will now be.
