The Writer's Tool Box

This  is a valuable tool for writers adding dimension to stories embellishing descriptions feeding the mind's eye.  If you have a visual of a place to look at a seed is planted, and when that seed is watered by the writer's pen roots sprout into being. There is an entire world out there just waiting to be discovered with your pen, or keyboard. A great way for the imagination to expand is by stepping outside the box. Investigating the world of difference; exploring the unknown.  Trust me these things are not in the backyard or playground up the road.  The concepts behind our block buster movies like Mission Impossible, Ian Fleming's 0007 Bond and Man from U.N.C.L.E. they all took place in exotic places.  The world is literally at our finger tips with tools like Google Earth, and YouTube.  We can't all hop a flight to destination exotica, but we do have wi-fi.
Why be satisfied with just wring about what happened around the corner or down the street when creating your short story, or novel's world. Do you know how much fun you can have creating that special place from the imagination.  Another tool of great value is WRITER'S GUIDE TO PLACES it covers 50 states 51 cities and Canadian Provinces; making your writing more authentic. And if you find yourself at a loss for words... like we all experience from time to time there's the Roget's Descriptive Word Finder.  Everything from A to Z nicely formatted, ya gotta love it.

But let us not leave out our characters we painfully birth painting our stories with other levels of dimension and populating the these places we've so meticulously created. Most times we see our characters walking in the flesh in daily life from the frustrating ass holes on the job to the most admired. A little frustration can go a long way if you know how to channel it and make a tool out of it. Even the media and all the drama that comes with it, and even the anger if you can recognize it's potential to your story... a tool to be used.  Sometimes the best ideas come from places of aggravation.  With an over active imagination, and annoyed immensely  I ended up writing
"To Resurrect and Avenge"  a 5 book series about Police Corruption and the Supernatural all this from being  aggravated before I retired. It was also a way of alleviating stress. Never get mad just get writing....imagine a haunted police department Head quarters build over sacred grounds offending the dead. Put it all in the box and think outside the box.
Some times you can even use the ass holes that are doing the annoying when creating characters.  We can be like Dr. Frankenstein, the mad scientist, the world's savior, or even the master chef. Our ingredients determine the character's outward and inward expression from the perfect villain to the perfect heroes. Most times its more then how your character looks, it's about the deep rooted physiological and dysfunctional character traits if they are to be the protagonist of the story. What about the lack of empathy?  How does our character express him or herself...with small words or long drawn out sentences.  Is there a key phrase this character likes to use. Does your character display numerous emotion states of mind? Does your character have a political stance...and what's his or her agenda,or ulterior motive. Life style, economic status, place of origin, family background, history, education all of these areas of life play a role in developing your characters. They should have a story to tell, when you use the tools from your tool box.  I'll be posting excerpts from To Resurrect and Avenge in the near future so come back to be in Another reality.
 Have fun creating and you can visit me at  
www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicles
 

The Secret Meeting

An hour later she sat at the prescribed location in the black Sedan waiting for the exact time before walking to the rear of St Agnes’s chapel.  Shadows cast by the tree lined path brought about a sense of uneasiness as the unknown seemed to stalk her footsteps along the gravel path.  In the distance a lone owl hooted in the night as biting insects attempted to seek out bare skin,” damn it,” she said swatting away the biting insects.  Uneasiness crept closer accompanied by a slight chill which was unusual for that time of year.  She mustered her courage walking along the path; wishing she had changed her shoes as gravel and heels never agreed to her feet. The winding path led her around the rear of the deserted chapel.  Despite the angles and saints that garnished its architecture she found no solace in the dead of night as it continued to unsettle her.  Her thoughts rolled back to the remote viewing session she took a deep breath to slow her pounding heart, but a thousand thoughts raced through her mind joined by a thousand questions.  She glanced at her watch ,” three minutes to the magic hour,” she thought to herself beginning to rethink her actions almost regretting not letting anyone know of her whereabouts. The moon’s illumination partially concealed by low hanging clouds left scant light penetrating the trees that guarded the secluded area creating an atmosphere where one’s imagination could run wild.  From the corner of her eyes she spotted movement by the shrubbery.  Reaching into her pocket she wrapped her fingers around the butt of the small caliber pistol.  The feel of the cool steel against her hand brought about a sense of momentary calm walking along the gravel path.

Then suddenly footsteps in the near distance alerted her to another presence.  Taking in another deep breath she paused ready to discharge the weapon should she feel the need to. 

“Dr. Grey,” a voice whispered from the darkness spinning her around with the weapon drawn.

“I mean you no harm…however if you shoot me you destroy your chances of learning the truth of everything,” the dark figure stated.  The manner in which he carried himself concealed his face as the dark fedora hat seemed to obstruct his facial features along with the dark suit with an upturned collar further concealing his identity as he took a seat on the wooden bench,” please be seated,” he said turning slightly away from her.  Realizing she was in no immediate danger she returned the pistol to her pocket,” Sorry…one must take precautions especially with the circumstances surrounding everything,” she explained approaching the bench.

“Thank you for coming alone, and I do apologize for the theatrics…and I do want to say that your close…closer than you realize.”

“You’re the one who’s been calling me…who are you?”

“It’s best if my identity remains anonymous at this time Dr. Grey for now refer to me as 7 my true identity is unimportant, but what I have to say is that there are factions within the Vatican who would do anything to keep their secrets…even to the point of making people disappear.  You have to ask yourself what is so secret that they would result to such drastic measures.  There is a wide spread epidemic of fear amidst the these so called men of the cloth, and the Vatican is slowly losing its power to control, manipulate and intimidate the world as it had once done.  They’re losing their influence over world events. Their inability to cover up media scandals is devastating the church.  It’s quite different than it was during the cold war where coups, assassinations and genocide were condoned by the Vatican’s silence when the targets were not of the Catholics persuasion; as insensitive as it sounds Dr. Grey it is a bitter truth.  How do you think the Vatican has come across its many treasures, and land titles over the centuries; treasures I’m quite sure you’ve questioned yourself in your position, and my god to be able to print your own currency that’s another topic.

But times are different now, with the advent of technology the church is desperately trying to keep pace with it.  During these times free will thinkers are at an all time high, and clergy abusing their authority is no longer tolerated…it’s all catching up.  They’re not use to it.  The Vatican once had long arms; arms that even reached to NASA…the world’s renowned space agency and other space agencies dictating what discoveries were released to the media and public and what remained concealed in classified files locked away remaining a mystery.  Do you understand the power they have harbored for centuries?  The discoveries made by NASA alone could change religion, and the laws of physics as we know them would no longer apply.

“The church would crumble,” she whispered wishing she hadn’t heard the words he’d spoken to her.  Despite her mind quickly digesting the info deepening her understanding she felt like a tiny speck of dust swirling about the vast universe.  

“Even the simplest truths pertaining history is dangerous to the church and its hold over humanity.  Why do you think some scholars are held back while others are propelled forward easily receiving their tenure, grants numerous funding and everything needed promoting the political agenda.  The long arm of the church is comparable to an octopus Dr. Grey why do you think mis-education is so crucial; keeping the masses ignorant and powerless is vital.  Power is not shared.  Remember the devil’s biggest scam was convincing man that he didn’t exist.

Illusions Dr. Grey combined with manipulation, deception, fear and intimidation.  A tactic used for centuries; keeping the masses ignorant…and how do you keep a people ignorant and powerless…by systematically removing their culture traditions and eliminating any and all historical origins that would empower them.  But on the advent of technology man is no longer dependant on bits and pieces of knowledge controlled by the church.  Remember those who were considered free thinkers were considered heretics and cast out, or even worst put to death.  That in and of itself is a whole history the inquisitions, Witch burnings, ect.  In today’s world there are no longer public executions as we know them.  They’re much more subtle under the cloak of secrecy. And there are many forms they’re executed; strange illnesses, assassination of character, and disappearances are popular as well,” he pointed out.” 

She took a deep breath as she rubbed the side of her temple attempting to stave off the approaching tension.  “I know it’s over whelming being centered dead in the middle of this situation with such extenuating circumstances.  I just don’t want to see you or your associates fall into a precarious situation being so close.”

“Why…why are you telling me this…why are you helping us?  What do you have to gain from this,” she questioned looking straight ahead respecting the stranger’s request for his identity to remain hidden.

“Dr. Grey I’m very familiar with your work, and a big supporter.  There are many who share our interest and secretly support you.”

“Yes…all of those anonymous donations from funds to equipment, military applications before they’re released to the public and other agencies and corporations,” she whispered as it all began to form an even bigger picture. 

“The answers you seek have always been in the Vatican, but now you must extend yourself outward into Vatican City to solve this enigma. During the second world war the allies had invaded and at the end of the war the Nurnberg tribunals were beginning…all of Hitler’s top officers and generals were fleeing for their lives as Hitler’s death squads, the SS, and Gestapo were all being rounded up along with its top commanders, and being tried and convicted of war crimes and then executed.  This created a mass exodus of war criminals out of Germany, however prior to the incident of Allies invading a strange and bizarre secret alliance had formed during World War II.  Despite the churches views and attitude in regards to the Nazi death camps one thing remained a constant the Jews were not catholic…non Catholics being persecuted under the Nazi regime was of no consequence to the church.  Believe it or not many of your Nazis were catholic…Nazi catholic priest in fact.  That’s the bizarre part…bare with me Dr. Grey,” he softly asked holding her attention prisoner to the strange and unbelievable he was divulging to her revealing to her a clearer understanding of the intricate web of deceit spun so many decades ago within the Vatican walls, “no matter how grievous the sin no catholic is denied the right to confession.  In fact there were many within the Nazi war machine who despite their actions claimed to be devout Catholics and as a result to dull the guilt from the atrocities they were committing the higher ups gave extravagant gifts to the Pope and other senior ranking clergy to absolve them from their sins and of course these gifts brought them favor so when the time came these favors were called in.”

“Let me guess…After the Allies invaded and when the tribunals began,” she said unsurprised.

“Exactly…passports, new identities, safe passage to havens in South America some even acquired positions within the church under an assumed identity of course.  Then you have Britain and the America grabbing up most of the scientist.  The rest made use of the rat lines,” he said appalling her,” yes Dr. Grey the rat lines run all through Vatican City…they were the way to the Americas, and other parts of the world for escaping Nazi war criminals.  Secret passages and hideouts used…I mean physical passages specifically constructed for a means of escape.  You will find that most of them run parallel around the catacombs and beneath the restricted archive bunker,” he said matter of factly,” yes Dr. Grey you are going to have to utilize the same underground corridors as the Nazis if you want to find this relic in time.”

 His words made her blood run cold; to actually walk in the footsteps of the most malevolent individuals the world has ever known,” the rat lines...oh dear god,” she whispered to herself with dread as he handed her a large envelope with the papal seal on top the left hand corner with the words confidential stamped across it in bold red letters.  The envelope smelled of mildew and dust with one of its corners covered in what appeared to be dried blood.  Don’t ask where it came from…that’s irrelevant just know that there are those who need you to be successful in your endeavors,” he pointed out walking away,” your work is of the utmost importance,” he said disappearing into the night.

Thanks for visiting Another reality I hope you have enjoyed the excerpt from The Dorian Grey Files Womb of Darkness now available at amazon.com. You can also visit me at www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals  

The Children of Banjul Part 3

Flailing arms and legs threw water into the air in every direction as the fight ensued.  Briefly Zaire broke the surface allowing his lungs to expel the water and refill them with air before returning to the struggle to maintain his life.  Their icy touch sent chills through his blood compelling him to frantically fight for his life as he swung the curved blade over and over having no affect on his tormentors.  Sinking back beneath the shadow waters the short reprieve gave him enough strength to break free and find his way back to a dry patch of earth as he reclaimed his composure breathing heavily.

Meanwhile in the citadel Mazula howled in madness by the news of Zaire’s escape,” incompetence,” he screamed at the captain of the guard as he swung the overly large hand across the man’s throat slicing him open.  Blood sprayed across the walls and his advisory's face shocking him.
 “Gather a dozen of my best warriors and ready my armor…I will oversee his capture… I will eat his heart.”

Finding their way through the darkness was like second nature as the smell of the stream’s running waters penetrated the air with nature’s nocturnal residents claiming their territory chirping and buzzing along the way.  A small and humble fire was lit where the women began to chant throwing herbs into the flames causing them to crackle. Bluish colored smoke spiraled up into the air as the flames danced wildly.  The elders began reciting the ancient prayer once recited by their ancient ancestors.  Children gathered more herbs and roots to throw into the dancing flames.  Young men fashioned hand instruments from nature’s fruits; rattles and hollowed wood would create rhythmic vibrations to accompany their melodic mantras enticing young women to dance to the rhythms that flowed through the night stirring the heavens.  One by one their consciousness became the collective.  The drumming continued the chanting continued the dancing continued.

Zaire stood upon the dry patch of small earth staring out into the unrelenting darkness,” this is madness,” he growled glancing up at the moon that appeared so close it was as if he could reach up and touch it.   Then the foul stench of the wind returned taunting him whispering,” there is nowhere for you to go warrior allow the shadow waters to claim you,” it whispered spinning the warrior’s head around in all directions to search for the words that stalked him.  Suddenly his heart began to race as if it were filled with a great burst of energy as his chest began to heat up beneath the chest plate with a surge of energy flowing empowering him, “I will be claimed by no such thing,” he said with new vigor silencing the ill words of the shadow waters.  Placing his hand over the chest plate he felt the heat radiating from the amulet as it spoke to him,” you have come too far to allow Mazula’s evil to impede your destiny.  For many generations the blood amulet has protected your line. It is not your destiny to perish at this time,” the amulet spoke clearing away all doubts and apprehension.”

“The blood amulet…it speaks to me?  Am I going mad it has never uttered words before,” he said to himself confused.

“Only in times of dire need does the blood amulet speak to the warrior’s heart…there is no need to be confused trust in your faith,” the words came.

“Your faith is sealed warrior…here in the shadow waters.”

“I think not foul works of Mazula,” he said taking the dagger from its sheath and swiftly cutting across his palm then smearing the blood over the chest plate diving deep into the shadow waters past the dead souls into the black abyss.    

Suddenly the small stream swelled running over their feet, and then up to their ankles.  They continued chanting the ancient prayers as the water grew deeper with its banks growing wider. Up to their waist they continued chanting.  Then suddenly a huge arm broke the surface followed by a leg just as huge.  Then coughing up water the great warrior emerged.  Bulging eyes peered out at the entranced villagers. 

“What manner of being is this we have conjured, is it a god…is it a water spirit,” they thought as the water born Zaire rose up.  The ground beneath his feet welcomed him with every step taken as he towered in height with strength displayed throughout his massive muscular frame.  The villagers remained speechless as stones; pleasantly surprised the magic of their ancestors was still strong and powerful almost making them apprehensive of their own power.   However a small boy named Ekewe walked up to the giant like figure.

“I am Ekewe,” he said with curiosity streaming through his small body. 

Towering over the small boy who only reached to his waist deaf to his words; looking with an undeniable fascination around at his surrounding for only seconds ago he was in an unfathomable watery abyss.  “The amulet returned me to its makers…the ones of the first magic,” he thought returning his attention back to the small boy.  Never had Zaire thought anything so unbelievable was possible.

“I am Ekewe. Did you come from the land of the ancestors?”

Zaire looked thoughtful, carefully contemplating his words. Ekewe spoke again thinking that maybe his words did not reach his ears. 

“Did you come from heaven… the land of the ancestors… in the kingdom of the dead who sit at the feet of the creator?  We pray to the ancestors to protect us from the man-beast Mazula.”

Zaire gathered his composure with the villagers standing around him.

“You must be from the land of the gods,” Ekewe said to the warrior, which brought a great burst of laughter from him, “no… I am no god,” Zaire chuckled, “I came through the watery abyss by way of the amulet into this realm.” 

The boy looked incredulous, “my elders chanted the sacred words, and I did not know what they meant… all I know is that they are words of power.”

Akosuwa then came forth with great wisdom radiating from her; the ancient one having lived over a century.  Zaire gazed at her with great admiration feeling her spirit.

“The prophecy is true,” she whispered walking around the great warrior inspecting him with diamond sharp eyes.

“You are Akosuwa the wise… my great grandmother told me of your kind when I was a small boy… people of the earth who birthed the blood amulet worn by my line.” 

“We thought we had lost those powers when so many of our holy people were stolen many moons ago and we were forbidden under pain of death the use of magic,” she said as tears streamed down her face.  Zaire knelled down on one knee honoring the elder.

Another villager emerged from the darkness; a man carrying a baby in his arms, “they steal from our land during the jackals’ moon.  They steal our people, they have stolen my wife. Our village grows smaller because of Mazula. 

Some of us have vanished without a trace…I have been calling upon you,” Choc said.  Zaire felt the pain of the village as they confided in him. 

“On pain of death no one will ever steel from your village again.”

“You are a god aren’t you,” Ekewe said.

“No… I have come because you have called me here.  An agreement was made with your ancient ancestors centuries ago, that when the heavens were in position the blood amulet would return to the children of Banjul.”

Suddenly loud angry voices penetrated through the darkness with Mazula’s guards wielding swords, chains and shackles waving torches as they burst forth from the forest with chaos erupting everywhere.  The tormentor’s voices penetrated the night denoting their cruelty toward those things sacred to nature. 

“Quickly blend with the essence,” the old woman said with the others in agreement.  Zaire looked intently around all that was left was the fire burning and the drums with the stream’s water steadily growing. 

“I don’t understand…why they didn’t revert to this strategy sooner and saved their holy people,” he thought to himself then realizing the use of magic was forbidden to them by pain of death.   Then shaken from his thoughts his presence was discovered by the king’s guards.

“We have found the prisoner…summon the king,” one voice cried out as they circled him with machetes drawn.

“Do not kill him he is to be the king’s sacrifice…find the others and kill them instead.”  Despite the drawn machete Zaire could sense their apprehension; the tension in their muscles as the smell of fear cloaked them, but he couldn’t distinguish if their fear was instilled by Mazula or if it was due to his uncanny escape and how he survived the shadow waters maybe it was all of the above.

“What is it that Mazula holds over you? You were once good men.”

“Silence you are not worthy to speak to the king’s guard,” one of the men growled with arrogance as the other four surrounded him.  One of the men held iron shackles to be clamped around his throat, wrist and ankles.

“Do you think I would allow you to collar me like some animal,” he said unsheathing the huge curved machete.

“There are four of us can you not count?”  Suddenly a large whiff of black smoke cloaked the man’s complete physical form with his screams ringing through the air shocking the others including Zaire.

“What sort of witchcraft is this?”

“Are you afraid…lackey of the king?” Then again the black plume of smoked appeared before the guard’s eyes cloaking him sending his screams out into the darkness as well.

“Where’d they go…where’d they go?”  Fear wrapped itself around him squeezing him taking his breath away.  Looking around desperately as he backed away from Zaire,” stay away from me,” he shouted steadily backing away from Zaire as he unfortunately backed into the sharpened end of a branch that impaled him through the armor he wore.  On the other end of the branch a young woman faded into view,” we will no longer be hunted like animals for your man-beast,” she whispered into his ear then changing back into a wisp of smoke horrifying the dying man.

“Demon,” the guard shouted as he charged Zaire,” call off your demon.” 

Metal then clashed against metal as the two exchanged blows.  Back and forth the blades swung as the two fought side stepping fallen branches trampling over the camp fire kicking ambers into the air unaffected by the flames while the king and the rest of his guards searched the area calling out into the night,” reveal yourselves we know you are here…by order of the king surrender yourselves,” the guard shouted with Mazula growing impatient.

“We will not be enslaved by the sadistic evil that has taken over our land.  The man-beast is not the true king,” a disembodied voice hissed into the air un-nerving them; causing Mazula to unsheathe the doubled edged sword forged in the devil’s fire giving it powers beyond human understanding.  The skull shaped hilt made for the overly large hand of the king swung effortlessly through the air separating the head from the villager whose words had taunted him spilling his blood on to the soft earth with his body fading into view.  His limp body laid motionless as Mazula stood over him,” find the rest and slay them all if they do not tell of Zaire’s whereabouts.

Zaire and the king’s guard locked into a deadly embrace continued,” surrender to Mazula and he will kill you quickly and I will not have to cut off your manhood,” he boasted until Zaire’s blade found a weakness in his chain-mail; falling to his knees he looked at Zaire in disbelief ,” why do you defend them? They’re nothing…animals scavenging in the forest living in caves.”

“It was because Mazula made them into what you perceived them to be….by taking away their homes…denying birthrights.”  The guard gurgled blood through his open mouth,” please…give me a warrior’s death.  I do not want the last thing I feel to be Mazula’s wrath for failure.”  Zaire looked at him intently with disgust.

“A true warrior does not prey on the weak and helpless…those who can not defend themselves.  You are not deserving of a warriors death you are deserving of the fate of the man-beast who sent you here to kill women and children,” Zaire said as Mazula made his presence known,” he is correct,” he added walking toward the dying man, and with one large hand he tore at the man’s throat slowly and cruelly sending him into convulsions of excruciating pain.

“ You will beg for your fate to be swift, but believe me it won’t…suffering shall be your lot,” he said as his last remaining guards made their appearance.

“Fail me and I will hold your heads as well,” he growled showing them the severed head of their fellow guardsmen with ragged and torn flesh dripping the man’s blood.

“This should prove entertaining,” Mazula chuckled as his two guards prepared to engage Zaire; circling him with shackles they intended to imprison him with.

“Hold still dog this won’t hurt a bit,” one of the guards snarled holding up the shackles intended to humiliate and degrade the warrior.

“Hurry…I don’t want to be in this god forsaken place any longer than necessary,” Mazula said watching his first guard fall prey to Zaire’s powerful blow from the hilt of curved blade that caught the man’s chin by surprise knocking him into the feet of Mazula.  Enraged with his guard’s failure the king’s twin blade cleaved  the man’s head in half,” I said to shackle him not to be plundered by him,” Mazula shouted diverting the other guard’s attention away from Zaire. The warrior took full advantage of the man’s distraction as he swung the blade across the guard’s midsection with such force his body spun around with his entrails splattering the king.  Mazula’s eyes bulged in disbelief his best men not only defeated but slaughtered before his eyes. 

“Am I still dirt beneath your feet?  What does the man-beast have to say now…the one who poses as a king?”  His dark evil began to rise up through him with such force it colored the night with his hate and loathing.  The pointed teeth bared his true nature as they seemed to elongate in his twisted mouth that foamed like some rapid animal.  Picking up the shackles from the blood stained earth,” you are my prisoner…surrender now and your death will be swift...however if you do not I will find everyone in this place and gut them slowly,” he growled as he swung the huge blade through the air manifesting a severed arm with a terrifying scream following; invoking the wrath of the villagers instead of fear. 

“Your evil will fall upon your own head,” the whispers came as a swift shove propelled Mazula forward into a tree.  Zaire watched incredulously realizing he was being given an advantage. 

“The dead await you…they await you for judgment man-beast.”

“The king is beyond judgments,” he roared swinging the blade again as it bore no fruits from his efforts.

“It seems you have no more power here,” Zaire laughed further angering Mazula.

“I have enough…I am the king, guards,” he shouted out,” guards…your king summons you!”

“It seems his majesty has been abandoned…or worse they have died at their own undoing.

“Is that so scum who proclaims himself a warrior…I am curious tell me before you die what dark magic was it you used to escape the shadow waters,” he asked stepping closer to Zaire breathing putrid breath from his lungs into the night air tainting it.  Zaire stood fast unafraid of the man-beast with an unwavering resolve. 

How did I survive the shadow waters….it was with no dark magic I can assure you... let me show you instead,” he said suddenly charging Mazula with the curved blade swinging it so fiercely it was almost a blur shocking Mazula and catching him off guard.  He was quickly backed up a considerable distance.   In an instant the two found themselves at the water’s edge with their confrontation ensuing as the water became waist high.  One by one fading into existence wisp of smoke materialized the villagers to witness the warrior take on the wickedness that had ravished their land for so long nearly stripping them of everything they held dear.  Water splashed high up into the air; over and over the two exchanged blows and matched strength.  At times they would fall beneath the surface thrusting about and then rise again in a fury.  Zaire managed to block the over sized hands as they both sank beneath the water.  The two then broke the surface gasping for air.  “Mazula your reign of terror is over your fate awaits you in the shadow waters,” he shouted seizing him by the throat squeezing with all his might as they disappeared back beneath the surface of the dark water. After a while the water’s surface became still as the massive amount of water transformed itself back to shallow stream revealing only the weapons from the confrontation at the villager’s feet.

I hope you have enjoyed another story from Another reality thanks for visiting

   

The Children of Banjul Part 2

 An explosion of anger threw Mazula into a fit of rage hearing the bitter truth.  Grabbing a torch from the wall it grew as if the king’s anger was increasing its size.  The flame danced wildly as it took on Mazula’s malevolent spirit. Over and over he struck the warrior with its flames biting at his skin as he ranted and raved foaming from the mouth like some wild rapid animal terrifying the council until Zaire fell beneath the savagery.   

“Your majesty you’ll kill him how will he serve as the sacrifice if he is plundered to a pulp,” his trusted advisor said to him snapping him from the rage that revealed the beast within.  Throwing the torch to the floor it returned to its normal size, “take this dog from my sight… to the dungeons with him and at the rise of the jackal’s moon he’ll enter hell’s gates.”

Bruised and battered sprawled out on the dungeon’s floor human waste and filth surrounded him as rats ran across him.  Quickly gathering himself swatting the rats from his body he then backed away from the unidentifiable filth.  As he further gathered his composure he attempted to gain his bearings as he noticed his cell seemed to be isolated away from the others as he found it unusual to be the only prisoner in Mazula’s dungeons.  However in the distance he could hear horrible screaming.
 “The man beast is no doubt satisfying his unholy appetite with the suffering of others.”  Pacing back and forth testing the fortitude of his cell a bitter conclusion and realization almost dampened the warrior’s spirit. “Think…think there is a way out of this god forsaken place.  I will not fall prey to Mazula’s blood lust,” he declared finding a place on the floor suitable enough for him to make himself comfortable as fatigue compelled him to close his tired eyes.  But the horrible screaming went on snatching sound sleep from him, and then suddenly there was silence.  “Poor soul… may his ancestors guide him into the light to cross over to the kingdom of the dead to be with his honorable ancestors… for god has been merciful to him to allow death to take him from his suffering,” he prayed as sleep finally embraced him.

“Warrior…warrior you must escape before they come for you,” the faint whispers urged slowly stirring him from his hard earned slumber.  Looking through the darkness at nothing he stood up,” who is it that calls out?  Is this place cursed playing upon my mind robbing me of my sanity, or have my dreams become torturous…leave me be evil of Mazula.”

“It is not the will of the ancestors for you to parish in this place…the guards they come for you… I will do what I can to help you,” the disembodied voice said,

“Who are you…are you a ghost of this place trapped here?”

“Only one of many I have just passed over I heard your prayers for me…thank you for relieving me of those sufferings.  I will not see you suffer at the hands of Mazula’s evil.  Your words were the first holy words this place has ever heard.  Mazula’s guard are just as twisted as their king.  They will come to torture you and to break your spirit for the sacrifice.  Quickly position yourself to have the advantage then I will do what I can.  You must do the rest.  Take the guard’s tunic and helmet and make as one of them and I will show you the way out of this place, but you will have to survive the crossing waters …it is an evil place with many water ways and they are filled with many horrors thanks to Mazula’s wickedness.  I must warn you your chances may be slim to none in the shadow waters.”

“I’ll take my chances…my destiny is not to be another sacrifice of the man beast who claims himself a king,” Zaire vowed strategically positioning himself for the element of surprise.  The heavy footsteps of the guard echoed in the distance as he concealed himself in the darkness blending in listening intently for the sounds that would spur him into action.  With the heavy cell door swinging open the moment was quickly seized as bodies slammed against the cold dungeon walls breaking bones adding to the blood stained cell.

“Quickly...you will need weapons and disguise yourself as one of them,” the disembodied voice reminded him.  Immediately Zaire clothed himself as one of the king’s guards.

“Follow the passages where the air is the purest.  There you will find a hidden passage way out.  It’s where the guards snuggle out the bodies of women who died at the hands of the beast’s depraved pleasures.   Their bodies are taken to be exposed of at the water’s crossings a cursed place that has now become the shadow waters.  You must hurry I can help you no longer the fates they come for me to judge my soul,” the voice said fading away.

“Thank you,” Zaire said with gratitude.

It wasn’t long before Zaire was out of the citadel, but what awaited him was equally dangerous.  The crossing of the shadow waters; water ways that proved to be unearthly no man ever dared entering the watery realm of the dead for fear of drowning in the shallowest depths of water. Zaire made his way from the citadel through the forest with the ground beneath his feet becoming ever so moist as the earth signaled he was coming closer to the watery place where not even aquatic life existed.  With every step taken he felt as though the earth was in protest of his very presence.  Despite the chill that clung in the air he sweated fiercely struggling to go on through the marsh-like land.  “This place is cursed,” the wind whispered in his ear carrying a foul stench,” are you cursed as well warrior?”
 Zaire dared not to stop fearing the ground would swallow him whole.  “I am Zaire of Banjul son of Jakuta and no curses fall upon my head,” he retorted as the mud began to thin out becoming something that resembled water.

“You trudge through the tears of many…be warned trespasser trespassing in this place will be your end,” the wind whispered.  As he glanced down into the water he could not believe his eyes as a woman’s mutilated body seemed to have faded into view and then became evasive from his sight.  “Mazula’s victims,” he growled as the water became deeper in some places.  As he shook the image from his mind’s eye the ground became solid where he found his footing again where he rested briefly.  Looking around through the light of the full moon the marsh seemed as if it would go on forever in all directions with the water reflecting the moon. Then a strange and hideous sound pierced the still night; a howling that became louder turned his blood cold. 

“The jackals’ moon,” he whispered grabbing the curved blade that hung at his side.  With his heart racing he looked out on to the vast waste with confusion taunting him, how long have I been in this madness…which way is out,” he said desperately.

“It does not matter warrior…killer of maidens.”

“I am no killer of women,” he shouted offended at the accusation,” I grow weary of these accusations,” he shouted again.

“Liar…you wear the stench of woman’s blood on your clothing you carry the dagger that has drank the blood of many a virtuous woman,” the wind whispered as a hand from the water grabbed at his ankle; quickly he shook the disembodied hand from his ankle and began running deeper into the shadow waters without direction or bearings. Soon the water rose up to his waist and then his chest.  His efforts to swim in the cursed waters were almost thwarted as a dozen hands grabbed on to him pulling him under. His lungs began to burn as he fought to reach the surface of the water; with the blade in his hand he swung frantically at the apparitions pulling him deeper into the water.

In another place not far from the citadel the exiled and displaced gathered around a small fire in regret remembering how their land was transformed into a place of sorrow and oppression by the cold and heartless Mazula who believed in nothing; slaughtering at will those who occupied the once tranquil land for the riches the earth blessed them with.  Brutalizing enslaving, and dehumanizing many for what he perceived to be an affront to the natural law they were captured for their spiritual essence; for no commoner was worthy to possess such a power.  Suffering had taken up residence as anguish dominated the once serene land.   Afraid to leave the safety of their homes they were nothing more than prisoners within their own land until they fled Banjul once a place of abundance; now nothing more than a wasteland that held painful memories.   

Thankful for escaping the king’s oppressive rule they still remained in fear being hunted for their spiritual essence; the keepers of the earth and first magic were slowly dying out and they soon became nocturnal as it was the only time they felt secure; concealed within the darkness.  Gathered around in a small group of what was left of the village angry words were exchanged.  The small fire that burned flickered wildly revealing the fear etched on their faces, “Mazula continues to hunts us like animals despite the fact we have abandoned his lands.”

“He hunts us because of who we are… the color of magic flows through our veins…it does not matter that we have not called upon the fates or the earth mothers or any other force of nature,” Choc said looking away from the faces that searched his for something other than the words he spoke as the fire began to pop and crack. 

“The fire says you lie…and someone has called upon the unseen,” the old woman said softly as hushed whispers seemed to intensify the atmosphere.

“I am sick of hiding, being hunted and my people enslaved because of our birth right.”

 “We are hunted and enslaved because you are recklessly angry you endanger us all by whatever it is you are doing in secret Choc,” an angry man added.

“No…it is because we do not fight back with our gifts,” Choc said jumping up from where he sat with anger almost seizing him.  Only by being rational would he be able to remove the fear and despair from those he loved, “how many have we lost I can not begin to count it grieves my heart.  We were not meant to exist in anguish, and our ancestors did not wish this suffering to be our lot.  They were the keepers of the first magic.  How is it we have fallen so far from our destiny?  Condemned for our love of the earth mothers and her fruits… the only thing we are guilty of is being nature itself and being one with the heavens.  That is not to be punishable by death.  It is to be honored and when we do not honor the sacred way that is when we become cursed by those who hate for no just cause. We shame our ancestors by not embracing our birth right…and that is why we do not fulfill our destinies.  We are the keepers of the first magic, and yes I have called on the fates.  It is time for change I will not be led to the slaughter for the pleasure of evil.”

“Then you will die a horrible death in Mazula’s pit of hell.  We have lasted this long without the fates or the forces of the unseen,” one man said.

“This is not living when we only come out at night like stinging insects. We are people of the sun we are of the earth.”

“She is right this is not living fearing whenever the sun rises, and scavenging for food and hiding in caves,” another added.

“At least you are alive to scavenge for food.  How many of our women have met their demise in the citadel and now lay in the shadow waters' mass grave,” his words taunted.

“It is because you will not fight for us…we have a weapon given to us by our ancestors deep within,” she shouted as anger replaced fear.

“Please…we can’t get anywhere by arguing among ourselves,” Choc said,” I have called upon the unseen for aide before we are all dead and gone. Yes I have communed with those whose spirits are no longer with us we can not go on like this.  Those souls must be acknowledged and given prayer,” he went on without remorse or guilt.

“You have doomed us all by calling on the spirits of the dead.”

“No…we are doomed if we do not honor them.  They should be honored they are of our blood…taken away from us by Mazula to endure a horrid death and to be laid in the shadow waters that was once a place that fed us and quenched our thirst and bathed our babies.  Now it’s a place where the spirits dwell and it may be a place of hope for us,” he said.

“Then let us prepare for the old ways to open the way…the stream is where we should be,” the old woman said in agreement with Choc convincing everyone to embrace the ways of the ancestors.

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The Children of Banjul Part 1

The citadel loomed over the city of Banjul oppressive and foreboding.  Its stone structure’s spires seemed to stab into a dark sky with its arch carved towers keeping a watchful eye for the possible invasion of enemies  and enemies of the unseen world as well.  Walls built of volcanic stones and boulders rose up to great heights surrounding the place that was once the sanctuary of its people; now only vacant structures and pathways with the occasional stray goat stood witness to the abuse of power as its population fled their homes, some in exile and others thrown into the citadel’s dungeons for minor infractions of the law, or worse accused of manipulating the forces of nature and put to death. Only the king was permitted the use of the occult.  Those condemned had their essence extracted to be used in spells to vanquish enemies of the petty conqueror that oppressed them now.  

Deceit and treachery from those thought to be loyal instigated political turmoil and in-house fighting among the ranking patriarchs.  Conflict of foreign policies and a lack of alliances became an open invitation to over throw Banjul’s ruler emperor Lagolas.  Chaos and uncertainty ripped away at his being as he watched his kingdom slip from his grasp as his sons died one by one engaged in battles that possessed no strategic value nor rhyme nor reason only that false accusations made stated that the bordering kingdom’s long standing treaty between neighboring lands had been violated there by invoking an act of war.    Lagolas had long suspected Mazula’s treacherous deeds played a part in the events unfolding with his obsession for the sacred essence; an ancient magic that proved to be neither true nor false only a mystery shrouded in darkness.  Many perished in search of it’s the sacred essence; an opiate with many attributes to open doors to the spirit world and summon its occupants to do one’s bidding, or change one’s physical appearance.  It was the key to overcoming death to live as a god, to turn lead to gold possessing more riches than one could imagine.  And last but not least having sway over the forces of nature.  Many have died for this quest that remains elusive leaving behind blood soaked lands whose spirits can never find peace.      

 In the throne room sat the embodiment of barbarity king Mazula referred to as the man-beast cursed by his ancestors a war oriented soul who lived for the sake of battle.  Blood filled dreams afforded him no peace as restlessness fed his appetite for cruelty.  He would never be afforded the simplest pleasantries of life; the scent of jasmine, the sweetness of honey would evade him as bitterness and the stench of death would remain his closest companion.   

 Losing his son in battle his heart pounded with rage as he inhaled and exhaled. An unquenchable thirst for carnage rose up in him with anger flowing through his veins as if it were blood as he denied an unimaginable truth.  The unholy conception of his son was an abomination before nature itself.  That one fateful night a witch an enemy of his ancestors deceived him sending him one where death had embodied her.  In his time of weakness ignoring the faint stench of death that hung over her accompanied by her cold embrace he indulged his urges.  The attempts of his ancestors to return her back to the kingdom of the dead were futile as he did the unthinkable and banished his ancestors, a fate worse than death itself.  But the powerful spirits would not be denied revenge of such sacrilege.  Propelled by fury an unrelenting curse fell upon him never would he know peace again or of life’s pleasantries as he fell prey to lowest of bestial natures.  His thoughts would be of confusion creating his reality around him with a twisted and dark mind that only viewed the world around him as his enemy suspicious of everyone. Uncontrollable fits of anger often led to someone’s execution.   Afterwards when the anger faded he claimed it as the will of the gods.  It was often whispered that the king engaged in human sacrifice to sooth the raging beast inside of him by eating the hearts of his victims; thus the reason for his rather un-nerving appearance.  The sharpened teeth with nails black as slate was reason enough to fear Mazula.  His blood lust nature draped his spirit as if it were a robe, obsessed with power the tyrannical beast ordered those with loyalties to the previous ruler to be singled out for banishment or death according to their rank or status, or more importantly his mood for the time being.   Empowering those from his inner circle he quickly replaced the generals of the old king whom he despised, and replaced them with individuals lacking the ability to think for themselves and would agree to anything to simply appease the twisted notions of the war mongering tyrant.  From such like minded individuals he formed his own political and judicial council to execute his bidding.

*

 Dozens of Torches lit the circular chamber as shadows danced about free of a physical counterpart against the grey stone walls.  Evil had been birthed; taking up residence where justice once dominated.  Zaire stood before the war council scarred and battle hardened exposed like a raw nerve beneath the chain-mail armor as he felt resentment for accusations made against him at the battle of Zokarius defending Banjul against her enemies.  A place where war raged for as long as anyone could remember, in fact it was completely lost as to why the fighting continued some say it was over unclaimed riches of sacred essence, others say it was over land and what was buried deep within the earth.  Many reasons were given as to why countless wars reigned with its casualties populating the ether. 

Surrounded by political enemies his jaw clenched as he gazed out at the faces that gloated over his perceived defeat.  “Mazula’s lackeys… I knew the time would come when honor would be replaced with decadence of heart where cowards who had never held a sword would determine a warrior’s fate,” he thought.  The council knew they could never persuade him to their political view or control him.  “It is much safer to annihilate what cannot be controlled,” they thought. 

The men seated before him in positions of perceived authority formed the council of law most of which were politically corrupt and immoral void of integrity seething with hatred.   Old and bitter envious of Zaire’s strength, and courage they sought to judge the warrior standing before them.  Battle wounds marked his body like badges of honor.  Restrained by the kings guard’s with heavy chains securing him was the only reason why the council felt so compelled to express such condescending and arrogant overtones laced with complete disrespect when referring to the warrior before them.  Only the privileged witnessed the many sessions of innocents on trial for fabricated accusations falsely lodged against them with no recourse.   

“You are hereby accused of a most heinous act… resulting in the death of your captain… the king’s son Mazula the II heir to the throne of Banjul…by the use of the forbidden knowledge of the dark arts….no commoner should have access or knowledge of the occult or conspire with demons or the dead.   Should I go on,” the voice bellowed out condemning Zaire to doom in just a few short words.          

“If you must to confirm your self appointed importance,” Zaire shot back angering the council that sought to dis-credit him and tarnish his character and reputation like so many that fell before the hateful and vindictive council of Mazula’s political Hench men. 

“I was ordered to slaughter those who posed no threat to anyone…women and children, the old and sickly after the battle was won, despite our captain fleeing at the height of the battle… it is where he met his demise.  He was cruel and cowardly he showed more cruelty to his men than the opposing forces we battled across our blood soaked lands,” he declared as his memories slipped back in time to the raging battle taking place in his memory vivid and clear as the events played over in his mind’s eye.  The sound of clashing steel rung out as armor was splashed with blood.  His ears filled with the screaming of dying men as they fell; some with limbs sheared off.  Others fought on with blood streaming down their faces some even with protrusions of the enemy’s weapon still embedded in their bodies.  He remembered the many times the swift breeze of the enemy’s battle ax whizzing by his head missing him narrowly because of the assistance of the powerful amulet and precious gems that adorned the breast plate that covered the massive chest.  Painted with his enemies’ blood concealing it; it blessed its wearer with power and strength making him nearly god-like, and victorious in battle like his father before him and his father before him.  The amulet’s great power protected them while all others perished in the heat of the battle.  No one ever knew where the amulets came from.  Some speculated that the amulet birthed itself into existence in the far reaches of another realm and was only attainable by those whose bloodline was worthy.  Others say it was cursed as it condemned all others around it to befall a most violent death while engaged in battle as it fed off of the blood lust of war, but no one knew for sure.   So many thoughts had run rapid in Zaire’s mind he couldn’t  help but to wonder if he himself were not cursed, but quickly shook the thought from his mind; for there was no room for doubts or fear as he was jolted back to the present.

“How do you plead,” the words thundered.

“What difference does it make to those of no moral standing…it is of no consequence how one pleads when the outcome is predetermined by the ill deeds of those who abuse their authority in such ways,” the warrior stated defiantly.

 “Then so be it you have here by been found guilty of the black craft and here by sentenced to death Zaire of Banjul son of Jakuta.  Have you any last words?”

“Yes I do…How did the war council come to this conclusion? What proof do you have? Where are your witnesses?  I have the right to face my accusers.” 

Then suddenly the room seemed to have chilled and dimmed with the torches’ flames flickering as dread made its presence felt,” what proof do I have…my son is dead and you are still breathing,” the king said circling Zaire sizing him up as if he were to be devoured at a feast.  “He was a most skilled swordsman trained by only the best since he was a boy,” he snapped breathing heavily with gritted teeth; teeth that were filed down to a point.  The overly large hands that hung by his side baring black nails became clenched fist.  Standing before Zaire seething with hate and loathing for a man who had survived a battle that had taken his ill conceived son enraged him. 

“Sire…your hands,” a voice said gesturing to the droplets of blood that were trickling down to the floor forming a small puddle that darkened and then fouled the air.   Mazula glanced down momentarily un-phased by his blood he’d drawn from himself by his unrelenting anger.  “This dog before me dares to ask for proof I am the king and I need no proof.  You asked to face your accuser…here I am,” he growled only inches away from Zaire’s face ranting insults inciting the warrior to challenge him.  Zaire turned his face away from the hate filled words only to have an unbearable strong hand grab him by the jaw as black nails dug into his skin drawing blood, “what does the dog have to say,”  the king said pushing his face away leaving angry wounds that bled down his neck.  The horrific odor nearly took Zaire’s breath away.  Anger began to rise up swelling the warrior’s chest flaring his nostrils that took in the putrid air that seemed to add to the agitation of his spirit.  The insults and blatant disrespect he received after serving his kingdom perturbed his spirit.  To be rewarded with abuses from those whose quality of life had been greatly improved 100 times built a fire of rage he struggled to silence, but it would not be denied.  From deep within his spirit he felt the surge of truth bursting forth,” the demon seed you spawned dealt his men nothing but tyranny and misery gaining him many enemies.  His abuses of his office and authority granted him nothing but hate.  On the battle field he cowered behind sending good men to die in ill conceived battle strategies of poor planning…because they were expendable…and his father was the king.  The general’s advice was ignored because his father was the king.  He was arrogant ignorant and stupid filled with self importance like the rest of your lackeys.  What got your son killed was not magic or the dark arts or demons it was him fleeing from the heat of the battle as it threatened to overtake our position. We pushed the enemy back while your precious captain ran like a whipped dog…you can not blame magic for his cowardly demise.  And since I am to die my words will forever haunt you,” Zaire said with great satisfaction.  Suddenly an ear piercing howl rang out from Mazula somewhere between human and bestial shocking everyone except Zaire who saw the king for what he was. 

Thanks for visiting Another reality visit again for part two of The Children of Banjul. 
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The Feminine Principle

At 238,300 miles away

what is it the moon represents; intuition, emotions, inner life, the female principle, the yin energy, initiation into the mystery systems?  Just what is her celestial purpose as she changes her appearance in the night sky effecting our moods, behavior and emotions. Numerous mysteries have always surrounded  the moon.                                                                                                                                              

 At 180 degrees the moon will be in opposition to the sun birthing a “full moon.” Legends from man’s earliest   times veil the moon in superstition and fear. On the opposite end of the spectrum she has been venerated, revered, and honored by the Dogon of Mali. In West Africa  the Yoruba in Nigeria associate the moon with the deity Yemoja spirit of the ocean with many attributes, one being the ebb and flow of the ocean due to the  moon’s influence.  She is also associated with the feminine mysteries.  

Numerous cultures around the equator acknowledge this celestial body as a benevolent as force well; despite her distance of over 238,300 miles away from us.  These moon goddess worshiping cultures include the Caelestis of the ancient Carthaginians of North Africa, the Suk and Pokot of Kenya and Uganda in East Africa.  In ancient Iran the Elamites acknowledges the moon in their scriptures as “the moon god Napir”.  The Fon of Benin acknowledged Mawu or Gieti as a deity associated with the moon.

 In 2500 BC during the new kingdom in ancient Kemit known as Egypt  the moon deity of the time was referred to as Khonsu the wanderer a revered deity.  These early astrologers/ astronomers predated Western civilization.  By observing the night sky they recognized the moon had eight phases it cycled through within 28 and a half days similar to a woman’s menstrual cycle.

At 238,300 miles away with a diameter of 2,155 miles and mass of 8.09x 10 19 tons it isn’t  difficult to locate in our night sky as she rotates on her axis every 27.2 days and orbits our planet every 27.3 days; measuring 12 degrees; 55 minutes.  This lunar body traverses the celestial sky transiting through numerous star constellations of the zodiac contributing her influences intensifying that particular zodiac’s energy pattern every two and a half days. Was it any wonder the ancient Kemites referred to this celestial body as Khonsu the wanderer that blessed the heavens.  The moon’s subtle influences intertwining with those energy patterns of the zodiac make for an interesting out come; for instance her influence during a full moon on fire signs tends to intensify urges, needs and restlessness.  While in air signs the focus is concentrated on conscious awareness and the intellect.  Her effect on earth signs intensified their tendency to focus more on practicality and applying usefulness in a meaningful way to their daily lives.  In water signs feelings, emotions and creativity tend to be somewhat expanded.  Like the rising tides of the ocean an everlasting ebb and flow the moon’s energy is effecting us regardless of our beliefs.  Those subtle influences are reflected in our moods and behavior; considering our physiological make up is  at least 90 percent fluids.  The moon is responsible for the ebb and flow of the tides of the oceans of the world.   Can you imagine what it would be like to have more than one moon orbiting our little piece of the solar system?  Mars has 2 moons, Jupiter has over 16, Saturn 19, Uranus 15, and Neptune the planet of dreams, inspiration and illusions has 8, all of which makes their orbits and transits according to their cycles.

To the contrary of our most basic beliefs there is no denying of the presence of celestial influences throughout our solar system; we are the third planet from the Sun, and first planet from the moon, and how does this celestial body influence our emotions according to our individual zodiac?   The astrological sign that the moon resides in the moment we enter this material word  determines the way we respond  to events, people and circumstances, and emotion.  While the astrological sign that occupies the house determines the area of life in which we respond the most instinctively.  Man, mineral, plant, bodies of water; the moon has her undeniable affect over it.  In West Africa our ancestors the Fon people of Togo knew when to plant seeds in the earth by considering the moon phases, the ancient Yoruba of Nigeria knew when to perform certain initiations according to the phases of the moon.  Those seafaring ancestors in Mali knew the strength of the tides varied greatly with the lunar phases.

 Its effect on the mineral world is very in depth . The moon stone for instance with its pale yellow appearance possesses numerous metaphysical properties; tending to grow stronger or weaker as the moon waxes or wanes.  As a symbol of hope it was carried by seafarers for protection.

In regards to medicinal purposed it was said to reduce fevers.

 In India the stone was considered sacred for lovers.  Possessing feminine energies, and characteristics it was also used to aid with menstruation and child bearing.  It also maintained emotional balance, and was beneficial in dream interpretation, all these things were in connection to the moon.  Our emotional well being depends on how well we acknowledge our feelings, needs and gut instincts.  Some of our biggest mistakes come from ignoring or over riding these natural responses to external and internal stimuli.  When certain needs are not met, or feelings not properly expressed we tend to compensate for them in destructive ways, or have unresolved issues in various areas of our life.  Simply put the moon’s gravitational pull on the tides also affect the water in the human body affecting the emotions, metabolic rate and other physical functions.  Laboratory test reveal that many changes take place during moon phases which cause brain waves and electrical pulses to fluctuate.

The moon transits faster than any other celestial body compared to the inner and outer planets; hence the word month is derived from the word moon.  These transits are extremely valuable when they are understood.  The moon symbolizes habits and the subconscious.  Many things lay deep within the subconscious, some believe remnants from past lives may dwell there.  Here the moon’s nodes may be explored.  These are points formed by the moon’s orbit around the earth as it intersects the earth’s orbit around the sun.  The north node is referred to as the dragon’s head while the south node is referred to as the dragon’s tail.  The head of the dragon points toward evolution, and expansion, while the tail indicates abilities and talents from past lives. They are always opposite; forming the nodal axis. 

 Life can be like a tight rope or as easy as walking across the street when these energies are balanced.  The sign the nodes represent is the shift that must take place for our future, embracing the essence of the north node is to evolve spiritually.   When the moon is in your moon sign you should be more sensitive “feelings flow more freely at that point. 

Collectively the moon has influenced major events as well.  She has  influenced the  humane realm of behavior dramatically  in regards to historical events please note the following.

  On Wednesday January 16, 1991 while the moon was in Aries ruled by Mars this marked the beginning of the gulf war. 

 563 BC The moon in Taurus ruled by Venus was inspirational for the birth of the compassionate  Buddha into the world.

    On April 11, 1968 while the moon was in Gemini ruled by the planet of communication and writing the Civil Rights Act became law.  

  On August 28^th 1963 while the moon was in Cancer, Dr. Martin Luther Kings’ I had a dream speech rocked the nation with emotion and compassion.
  On May 10^th, 1994 with the moon again in Cancer Nelson Mandela was inaugurated in office in South Africa.

  On Tues the day of Mars February 19^th, 1945 while the moon was in Leo US forces landed on Iwo  Jima.

  In 1932 while the moon was in Virgo archaeologist worked relentless in North Africa to unearth the tomb of the pharaohs Tutankhamen.

   On Tues another Mars day with the moon in Scorpio in 1993 the first bombing of the world trade center shocked the nation, however on Sept 11, 2001 again on Tues a day of “Mars” the world was devastated by the catastrophic event taking place that day. 

  On Tues November the 13^th of 2001 when the moon was in Sagittarius the Kabul fell to the Northern alliance.

   In 1841 while the moon was in Capricorn the Apache wars began.

   On November the 17^th 1869 while the moon was in the sign of Aquarius in North Africa the Suez  Canal was formally opened.

   On Monday November 11^th, 1863 President Lincoln gave his Gettysburg address while the moon  was in Pisces.

Let's ask the question; is it by coincidence that these things occur, or could there be some connection to this celestial body some 238,300 miles away from us orbiting our little piece of the solar system.  Why was man so intent on landing on this hunk of rock in the sixties?  Space exploration started with this celestial body so close to us with her phases intriguing us for centuries.  If we use her phases to our advantage as our ancient ancestors have our lives may become easier.

New moon  is conjunct 0 to 45 degrees ahead of the sun in which the ancients considered to be a period for the sowing of seeds, or an innovation period.

Waxing crescent moon    45 to 90 degrees ahead of the sun was considered a period of expansion.

First quarter 90 to 135 degrees was a time of action.

The Gibbous Phase 135 to 180 degrees, the ancients considered this to be a period to analyze and perfect.

The full moon the sun and moon are in opposition, 180 degrees of one another. Two distinctively different energies are contrast to one another making their influence felt in the manner of mood swings, increase of police activities, and breaks in reality for those suffering with mental challenges.  Ancient and indigenous African cultures sought this time for harvest, fulfillment and initiation.

Disseminating moon 135 to 90 degrees behind the sun was a period for communication to the immaterial and enlightenment.

Last quarter from 45 to 90 degrees behind the sun was considered a period for reorientation.

Balsamic or dark moon 0 to 45 degrees behind the sun was considered the period for release or closure.  Some cultures considered this phase the last of the eight incarnations.

Were the ancients as primitive as Western culture perceived them to be? How savage could they have been to have studied the movements of the celestial bodies that influenced their daily lives, and to pay homage to these attributes of the creator; erecting temples and shrines in honor of the god, and goddess force in the heavens millions of miles away.

Acknowledging and interacting with the feminine aspects of nature and of the heavens was considered a most sacred practice and approached with reverence and admiration.  Unfortunately Western culture's fast pace world allows  no time to marvel at the moon in her many facets of beauty; only when tragedy rears its ugly head do we stop and say “oh it must be a full moon.” 

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The Storm's Calling

Paranormal stories supernatural, occult, new age, what ever you want to refer to them as they all contain elements of the metaphysical.  A basic understanding of any metaphysical subject is extremely invaluable.  It could be the oral traditions from a culture's spiritual concepts. Fantasy and  fiction writers' understanding of the basics will go a long way in character development, and origins.  A whole cast of heroes and villains come from just a small understanding of metaphysical science for fantasy writers or any creative story teller.  This is a story centered on the Kundilini and it's Chakra system originating; an Eastern metaphysical concept of how energy flows through our body utilized by many indigenous cultures around the globe.
Now the story begins

Stabbing down from the sky wet and cold came the rain accompanied by fierce winds carrying the spirits of the ancestors strong and powerful.  The villagers scurried in an attempt to escape the brutal elements with their meager belongings, but the fierce winds seem to tear away their homes with the exception of one who stood defiantly in the path of the violent rains and destructive winds. 
“Fools…you don’t honor your dead; especially now.  This is the thinnest the veil has ever been between the physical world and the spirit world… so shear almost like silk.  Eventually the veil will begin to deteriorate in different places and those whose eyes are aligned with their spirit eyes will be able to see on to the other side and those on the other side will be able to see on to this side.  They may even cross over.  Some will go mad,” she said seeming indifferent to the storm raging around her as she was not effected. 

“Miraku…Miraku…you got to get out before the Ganges flood everything,” the young man said soaked carrying a basket containing his belongings standing in the door way allowing the cold rain to find its way into the small structure that served as Miraku’s home.  “Boy…do not fear the Ganges.  The river spirits bring good fortune and clean away the bad.  This is a cleansing so much has plagued our people.  Close my door,” she said pulling him inside immediately calming him.
“We have lost our dream senses…our many ways to dream and communicate with the other side…that’s where our people are, but we can’t see or hear them.  You lost your spirit eyes and the will to dream your world.  Because you’re covered in dirt and filth…that’s what fear is…  Its hate…stop hating and dream walk.  Sometimes dream walking can shift your reality into another existence and teach you…give you wisdom boy. Close your eyes and still your mind boy.  So even when you hear the clock on the wall ticking and the traffic in the roads somehow your spirit sight has shifted now you’re residing in a distant world of spirits in a place comprised of mostly water elementals and ancestors.   They walk the surface of our world. These beings are elements within elements that create their own individual realities and ours too; multi-dimensional plains,” she said in his language compelling him to become still and thoughtful despite the raging winds and rain that pounded all around them yet doing no damage. She listened to the wind and then went on,” look  to the rain look inside of it, and listen to the wind use your spirit ears and eyes.” 

He began to stare out of the window into the falling rain. At first the rain was as if a thousand drops were all falling randomly then simultaneously becoming a sheet of wetness.  The wind once a howling in his ears now became words possessing a familiarity.
He listened closely disbelievingly,” Grandfather,” he asked,” that’s impossible my grandfather has been...”                                                                                

“What…dead.  Why do you not call him what he is… an honorable ancestor with a message he’s been trying to give you since he crossed over.  Open and listen,” she snapped returning his attention back to the storm before him. Again the familiar voice came speaking to him in a way he understood telling him the story he use to tell him when he was a child.

“Long ago populated among the more unique plains of existence was a village of people called the Khakras.  This was a culture steeped heavily into the ancient Rites the way we once were.  They relied upon their chosen to successfully complete a dangerous Rites of passage to empower them…many did not survive.  An arduous journey into the denser plains of existence was only the beginning of the perilous Rites of passage.  They must engage with the non-evolved and attempt to open the seven bridges of consciousness.

On Kun-Li’s fifth cycle she journeyed through many doorways only seen with the spirit eyes during the most sacred time of all ”the storm’s calling” the time celebrated by the water elementals.  Translucent and fluid they relished in their essence existing on the material plain and the non-material plain.  It was their time to congregate with other nonphysical beings, including the ancestors.  Messages were always being relayed back and forth between realms from the living and the dead and others.    At that place of many waters it was divined by the great oracle that her time had come to undergo these Rites.

“Kun-Li… it is you who must insure the opening of the way for the bridges of consciousness, and in doing so you cannot allow your essences to be dissipated or corrupted,” the crystal being whispered in a raspy voice as she glistened eagerly awaiting  the wisdom of the oracle.  The oracle flickered within the bank of mist that hovered over the luminescent water.

“At the base of the mountains in the temple of the deities is where you must find the Kundalini and become one with the fire element.”

“The fire element…you mean I must confront the serpent of fire,” she uttered with fear cloaking her like an eclipsed sun.

“Do not let your fears darken your light….how will you successfully complete the Rites in the denser plains?”  Immediately Kun-Li’s ambient light was absorbed by the mist; beckoning Kun-Li to ride the mist to the mountains of the moon. The mist weaved and coiled around her essence embracing her raising her as the mist traversed from the place of many waters with Kun-Li in its embrace.

Gazing from the mountain’s base was the fierce Kundalini.  Diamond shaped black onyx scales covered the powerful body that coiled around the mountain blocking its entrance.  The emerald eyes watched the approaching mist.  “Ahhhh another wishes to descend down into the abyss of dark matter.  Huuuummm how interesting.”  Patiently the serpent sat awaiting the descending mist.  Kun-Li could feel the atmosphere changing with every breath the serpent took as the mist swayed back and forth with her essence.  Kun-Li wondered how the serpent would react; considering none of the others returned from the denser plains.  Kun-Li attempted to fight back the fear that threatened to dominate. 

“I can smell your apprehension and almost taste the fear that threatens to ravish you.”  Kun-Li paused debating whether or not to approach the serpent that had been destined to swallow up the bringers of fear with its fire. 

“Tell me….shell I devour you now or later,” he hissed spraying fire with every word burning away the mist that had concealed her essence dropping her to the ground. 

Kun-Li’s illumination flickered frantically; being so close to the serpent’s muzzle.

“If you devour me I will not be able to fulfill my destiny.”

“But it is my destiny to devour fear….after all I am Kundalini,” he boasted.

Kun-Li thought intently,”I must master my fear,” over and over Kun-Li repeated like some melodic mantra until the flickering illumination became an ambient and a steady glow.

“Immmmpresssive,” the serpent hissed, “so tell me….what is it that is one with the darkness?  If you answer correctly you may mount the Kundalini… but do not let your ignorance doom you.”
Kun-Li thought long and hard before answering.  The serpent’s head weaved back and forth waiting for an answer with its unblinking emerald eyes gazing over her making her feel uneasy as his tongue darted in and out in an attempt to distract her. 

Kun-Li’s illumination began to pulsate brighter, “it is in the darkness where all colors are one.”

“Immmmpresssive Kun-Li you have earned the right to mount Kundalini, but before doing so remember….other worlds can be terrifying so remember to always master your fear and you will prevail as we descend into the lower realms; there we will rise up burning away all lower base instincts opening the way to the seven bridges of consciousness of the temple up to its apex gaining enlightenment fulfilling our destiny.” 

So with one swift leap Kun-Li mounted the great serpent where they became one raising up to the apex of the temple of deities in a great ball of fire.

Instantly his attention was snapped back to the monsoon’s violent rains and rushing waters.  However, his fear seemed to dissipate as he looked out on to a storm that appeared to bypass them with the Ganges gently carrying them along its currents as if the meager structure was somehow transformed into a seafaring vessel.  He looked at Miraku incredulously,” it is the will of the ancestors,” she said sitting back smiling.
I hope you have enjoyed another story from Another reality and thanks for visiting