The Desecration

On a cloudy and overcast day at what appeared to be blocks of empty vacant land and a neighboring cemetery tension and malice loomed overhead. A frustrated crowd standing along Rosa Parks Boulevard fed up with bureaucratic red tape, and dishonest politicians who constantly took advantage of the underprivileged for their own means stood by restlessly watching and waiting to see what additional propaganda would be propagated before the community and media in a small parish on the out skirts of Monroe Louisiana. 

A history of false truths seemed to have paved the way for inequality in housing, job availability and a soaring crime rate accompanied by a ruthless police force with a pension for excessive force.  A failing health care system spawned over crowded hospitals with insensitive doctors, nurses, and staff that set the stage for malpractice suits that drug in an out of corrupt courts while lives were ruined or lost.  Now the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back set in motion the second largest protest since the civil rights era almost sixty years ago was now in full swing.  The desecration of a 18th century Negro cemetery connecting to the Underground Railroad outraged and appalled the community. Heightened emotions flooded the city making not only local news, but national and international news as well.  News van after news van crammed into the parking accommodations provided for them while police stood by eagerly awaiting the opportunity to ticket and tow the media covering such a historical event that would eventually expose illegal and corrupt activities between politicians, police and land developers.

"400 hundred years...what more can they do to us...that they haven’t done already," the woman's magnified voice boomed through a megaphone standing in the path of a bulldozer.  A dozen cameras zoomed in on her with boom mics extended capturing every word.

 "They have stolen this land the same way they have stolen from the red people.  They have killed us and we have returned through the next generation...they have killed us again and we return in the following generation.  What is there to fear?  They have killed off our leaders, but their spirits are with us by way of the ancestors.  They have already taken from you...what more do you have to lose," she said continuing to inspire and excite her fellow protesters as more joined the ranks. 

"Sisters and brothers there is blood in the land we stand on.  The memory of our ancestors along with their remains lies in this ground.  We must respect their burial grounds.  Have they not given their blood...their sweat and tears in for this soil?"

"That's right our ancestors deserve better...the right to rest in peace," a man's voice shouted as he chained himself to another, and that person to another all linking themselves together combing flesh, and steel as their ancestors had been aboard slave ships. 

"You will no longer desecrate the remains of our ancestors or defile the ground in which they rest in," another woman shouted. 

The crowd gathered around the construction vehicles blocking their way to do any further damage to the cemetery.  "This is a historic site that must be preserved it has that right," she said. 

Eeriness lingered in the air. Illegally exhumed graves revealing decrepit wooden boxes containing the remains of the dead and up rooted trees created a dark atmosphere of malice. 

The University's forensic archaeologist department had already inspected, and carbon dated the site reaching the conclusion that the remains were more than three hundred years old, and of West African ancestry, and recommended preservation of the site.  Professor Moreni Ngosi head Louisiana State University of the department of anthropology stood by watching the events unfolding before her eyes wondering when the police's patience would wear thin with the obstruction of their new police administration complex;  a site that had become real estate for the taking. Adjoining row houses to the cemetery where so many were forced or swindled out of their homes by developers years prior to the present event contributed to the community’s resentment.  Moreni Ngosi continued watching the smug expressions of those in blue.  A look of contempt blanketed their faces as the speaker continued to spew out venomous, but accurate comments in regards to African descendants' turbulent history since coming in contact with whites at home and abroad.  Her words were like a double-edged blade cutting indiscriminately.  Professor Ngosi knew the young woman spoke the truth, even in Nigeria the African American's history was a sensitive topic.  She feared for the young woman's life. 

"How long do we have to listen to these porch monkeys," she overheard a cop say to his partner.

"Until we get the word...alright so stop your freaking wining."

"Well it would be nice to have a new H.Q. instead of that piss hole for a district house," he said as the two leaned against the cruiser with folded arms across their chest like the rest of their co-workers the majority being white; their black counter parts reassigned to lesser details.

 Despite the hot and humid temperatures she could not help but feel an icy chill in the air; the mounting tension from the police and the growing frustration from the community created all the makings for a violent out come.  “The university's board of directors could pull the plug on the project at any given time; depending on the politics," she thought to herself.

"Hey professor Ngosi," a voice said shaking her from her thoughts; turning around she saw Officer Sierra Sheldon a seven  year veteran that earned her reputation as a female Malcolm X and Angela Davis all rolled in one; a intelligent, assertive and conscious police officer.  She withstood the onslaught of racism and sexism like a damn holding back a river of ignorance from patrolmen to supervisors; intelligently putting them all in place.  Her first year was equivalent to hurricane Hazel.  One visit to a Lukumi root woman, and a Harvard University educated attorney resulted in a lucrative law suit against the department with three patrol officers and supervisor terminated extinguished any further harassment and a hands off policy.  Sierra Sheldon pretty much came and went as she pleased. 

"Well...look who it is...my favorite cop."

"Yo what’s up girlfriend?"

"I am so glad to see you ...I tell ya your co-workers make me nervous.  Is it necessary for them to be so...I don't even know the words for it?"

"You mean racist," Sierra laughed.  Without warning, her radio crackled with the dispatcher's voice interrupting them.  "Excuse me," she said sensing something about to take place.  An uncomfortable feeling settled down in her stomach.  "Hey...it looks like it's about to get ugly out here...you might wanna roll; a dispatch just came down from the chief...they want the crowd dispersed."
The loud boisterous command echoed with intimidation and hostility coating each word.

"You are to immediately disperse from the area or be arrested."  In less than thirty seconds police were donning gas mask. 

"I'm going back to the lecture hall where I belong.  I'll talk to you later be safe Sierra," she said heading for her vehicle,” let me know how everything turns out…you know how the media likes to edit out the truth."

"Oh I know that’s right, it's not gonna be a walk in the park...I'll tell ya that much," Sierra said looking at the vulnerable houses in the distance knowing how far the wind can carry the air born irritants.  It was summertime and most poor people did not have air conditioning which meant being trapped inside a hot box or choking on tear gas deployed in a densely populated area.  She knew how cruel those could be tossing tear gas canisters into and beyond the crowd knowing the wind could pick up at any given time.  "This is bull shit...they ain't gotta go there like that," she said while donning her mask.  The first canister popped rolling toward the protesters that were already dispersing the area.  The bluish white smoke sprayed out, and then pandemonium broke out as protesters and on lookers made a run for it as stinging eyes impaired their vision.  Some blinded by the gas ran headlong into police wheedling plexi-glass shields.  Instantly extendable batons dropped helpless protesters to the ground where boots found their way to torsos and other exposed body parts.  Spurting blood sprayed the ground as cries of agony rang out in the air.  Screaming women hysterical over children falling under the shields of the police as they tried to flee drew news cameras to film cruelty fueled by anger over the activist’s words of truth.  Even through the tear gas and chaos, the woman's words continued through the megaphone cutting like hot blades through butter.  Sierra was amazed at how the young woman had managed to evade the blows of the batons and continue her fiery speech; now flagrantly criticizing the boys in blue referring to them as closeted white sheet wearing Klan descendants; infuriating them further.

 "Yo what are you doing," Sierra yelled watching a co-worker unsnapping the holster of his weapon.  She caught his arm in a deadly death grip," there's no need for that...they're just trying to get away from the gas."  When the two looked up a host of cameras were rolling film  with lightning speed her hand reached up and snatched the officer's mask off his face in front of the cameras.

"COWARD hiding behind a mask and badge like the Klan did with our ancestors hundreds of years ago,” said the angry voice through the megaphone.

"Fuck," the exposed cop growled trying to hide his face; caught in the act of drawing his weapon on an unarmed man overcome with tear gas.  Sierra quickly lost herself within the crowd rendering assistance along with the medics that had finally arrived at her request.  As the gas began to dissipate so did the commotion as most of the protesters had managed to flee, but not un-scaved.  However, there were those who bravely fought back and were either hospitalized and or arrested, but to Sierra’s surprise, there was no sight of the outspoken young woman activist despite checking all the police wagons there was no hide nor hair of her.  "I'll be damned," she said to herself feeling perplexed and bewildered lost in her thoughts.  "Hey buddy...what’s ups...it was a real bitch out there with that full moon...got these Klan boys off the chain.  I knew I shoulda stayed the hell home."

"No shit...did you see that shit?"

"No what?"

"Fucking Wagner...that bitch was ready to shoot somebody," she said leaning over whispering, "I had to stop his dumb ass; snatched his mask off right in front of the cameras...dumb ass didn’t know it was me.  Two can play at those games," she said laughing as the two slapped five.  The area began to clear out as news vans and choppers returned to their news rooms; with the latest on how the city's finest conducted themselves at a civil  protest; an already bad reputation hung over the department like a dark storm cloud.  Now an officer's face featured on the evening news in the process of drawing his service weapon on a helpless protester created a continuation of open hostility, and criticism toward the department and not excluding the mayor’s office.  Overwhelmed the mayor's secretary and administration assistants were bombarded with incoming calls from City Council members to State Reps.  The phones never ceased ringing.  The press congregated outside the prestigious office with cameras and microphones at the ready.  The hallways remained congested as security struggled with distinguishing press from average citizens who had come to complain about the fiasco.

I hope you enjoyed an excerpt from "To Resurrect & Avenge"  written with with consciousness in mind.  Another reality continues to keep your 3rd eye fed with thought provoking articles and speculative and historic fiction.  To read more visit www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals 

Momma Tutu

“Serve your slave masters well an when you die you will be rewarded in heaven,” his voice boomed as if it were magnified; while Getty mimicked the de-humanizing words craning her scrawny neck around to glare at the field slaves.

 By now something other was making its way on to the physical plain; something of spirit; something of a fiery nature, something invoked to protect those descendants of very powerful and ancient ancestors. 

The more the good reverend Windwood preached his fire and brimstone sermon demeaning the field slaves the more offended the Congolese Nkisis spirit became.  The more verbally abused they were, the more the powerful Nkisis spirit rose up in anger. On and on the good reverend Windwood ranted his fire and brimstone sermon, then suddenly the painting of the crucifixion of Jesus fell from the wall.  The field slaves trembled with anger and resentment; knowing within their spirit, they were to be no servant to any man. The sermon paused momentarily; taking notice of the falling painting one of the ushers removed it from the floor.

“The lord wants obedience and no other heathen gods shell be worshiped before him,” he shouted pointing to the field slaves causing the rest of the congregation to turn and glare hateful looks.  Again, the air filled with tension bordering on hostility.

“Some house of the lord this is,” Buck muttered, “they about a second away from lynching us...even if we is somebody’s property.”

“You nigras hush ya pie holes while the reverends preaching,” one of the ushers growled.

“Damned slaves oughta have they own nigra church, and not in here wit good Christian white folk.” 

 Mae bit down on her lip until it bled trying to hold her tongue while she held tight to her high John root. 

“It’ll be over soon, “ol man Reese whispered.

“Not soon enough...Indians snuck up outta here before it got started...lucky,” Buck grumbled. Momma Tutu seemed to be the only one unaffected by the sermon as she stood quietly with closed eyes; giving the appearance she could be standing up sleep, but little did they realize she was fighting hard to keep Zarabonda from lashing out.  In her mind, she was in another world as Zarabonda spoke to her inner ear.  He re-affirmed thoughts that had previously visited her mind thoughts that were horrible in nature.  Zarabonda revealed images to her mind’s eye concerning Missy the master, and the good reverend Windwood.  A flood of imagery poured over her making her nauseated.  The wickedness of the good reverend Windwood and Ebeneezer Everts was unlike anything she had ever seen before.  The images were almost maddening, but she withstood them, and their extent of their evil.  Her legs buckled almost dropping her to the floor.  Reese and Manny steadied her, “the heat must be getting to her,” Manny said.

“Ain’t no heat can get to a pure blood Congo woman...them visions she be having...now hush up,” Reese whispered as the hell storm sermon went own. 

“We all need to pray sisters and brothers...pray for our president’s salvation of his soul...because disobeying the lord, and setting nigras free, he has doomed our great nation to HELL.  Pray sisters and brothers...pray to Jesus for the confederate south to be strong...pray for them godless heathens to find Jesus and be good slaves...pray for our brothers and sister that suffered from the slave revolts that left good Christian plantations in ashes.”

“YES JESUS,” a voice from the congregation cried out.

“Let no man steel from the lord,” the reverends voice bellowed out.

“That’s right rev...Let no man undo what god has ordained not even the president of this United States...amen,” a man’s voice barked.  The congregation had become so excited with the reverend’s hell and brimstone sermon it was like a wild animal catching the scent of blood in the air.  Whispers wishing Lincolns demise flowed around from the various pews, “they need a rope for that no good vermin,” another voice spoke from the front of the congregation.  Intentions of violence filled the air like smoke from an erupting volcano as the good reverend Windwood’s words fueled the hatred.  Hooping and hollering in the name Jesus ensued with hand clapping, and feet stomping to the chants of amen save the south sweet Jesus.  The congregation was so excited and riled up that they had forgotten all about the slaves in the back of the church.  By now, Getty and the master's children had begun to feel uncomfortable. Having never seen the whites in such a state of mind, the closer it came to Lincoln's emancipation the stranger their behavior became, as true feelings revealed themselves.

"These white folk is smelling blood in the name of their god," Momma Tutu said; snapping from her trance.  "I say we need to get the hell outta here...they is a split second from a lynching," Buck whispered nervously motioning them all to the door.  It was not difficult to slip out un-noticed.

Back at the slave quarters, Momma Tutu sat in silence rethinking the events of the morning as did everyone else.  "Is that what a good god fearing Christians is suppose to be like," Maggie asked shaking her head," they ain't no better then rapid dogs...calling us heathens...they just as evil as the night's long."

"I can't take no more of those words of the lord," Buck said laughing to himself.

"I don't know how those dimwits in the master's house do it...them white folk hate them just as much as us, and they sit up there Sunday after Sunday sucking it all up," Mae said in disgust.

"I even heard that oldest dimwit spouting off like that reverend Windwood; call'em self preaching to the others ....craziest thing ya ever wanna hear; a house slave imitating a country preacher putting down his own kind," Reese said noticing Momma Tutu's despondent look," you alright? Ya scared us for a minute there...ya having another one of them visions wasn't ya?"

"Yelp, and it was mighty powerful...them folks is something evil...offended Zarabonda to no end...took all the strength I had to keep'em back...I is still feeling a bit winded.  He woulda tore that place apart!"

"I saw the picture fall from the wall," Mae said.

"Wasn't no falling...it was knocked from where it hung.  So much wickedness up in that place....Zarabonda saw them white folk...all of them and how they’d rather see us dead than freed....and that girl Missy....I feel sorry for the girl...she got the devil's seed growing in her belly."  Everyone gasped at the old woman's words.  "What you be saying?"

"I be saying she got the seed of that evil preacher up in her.  Poor girl been passed back and forth between the master's bed and the good reverend Windwood's bed.  Master's seed wouldn't take ...him being all sickly and everything," Momma Tutu said with disgust twisting her face, "make me feel unclean just talking bout it."

"Me too...been feeling something awful every since setting foot in that church," Rufus complained.  It was not long before they all complained of ailments and bad feelings. 

"That's the evilness in them words they be preaching...pure evil that just grabs a hold of ya.  Me people called such evil the Bucra; an evil thing birthed from hate," Momma Tutu said turning down her mouth and frowning as though she tasted something sour.

“Ain't nothin but one thing for us to do...we gotta get cleaned from the white man's evil on us...cause if we don't it'll just eat us alive bit by bit eating us from the inside...all kinds of sickness be on ya before ya knowed it."

"Like the Massa?"

"Yelp ...just lik’em."  They all cringed at Momma Tutu's vivid description as she went on.

“When the owl hoots we‘ll meet in our special place, and you all knowed what to bring."

"Momma Tutu....I hate to say it but something's telling me we is gonna need a little more than just some roots and all....remember what we all talked about? You saw how riled up they was in that church...it ain't gonna be long...we gotta be prepared to make a move.  We is gotta protect ourselves."

“Reese is right I knowed about a path that leads up in the hills to those red people's village...them ones that don't come down to here, and they ain't friendly wit whites either.  They know we is here and that one day we is gonna run away...and they know they is the only ones we can run too."

"I heard it was some slaves living up in them hills already from other plantations after the uprisings," Buck said.

"Is that right? Well why ain't we gone," Rufus said impatiently.

"Just hush boy, ain't time yet," Momma Tutu snapped, "tonight just bring what ya need," she said in a whisper as they all dispersed from the shack.

An imminent sense of danger cloaked the descending night while an undeniable resentment filled the air with hostility all stemming from the good reverend Windwood's Sunday morning sermon of superiority and supremacy only hours ago. 

What was it about those who came from across the ocean in chains stripped of everything they owned; doomed to a life of misery providing comfort and wealth for those that spilled the blood of the original inhabitants.  Laboring from sunrise to sunset day in and day out; seven days a week was their blight.  Was it the determination of dreams of freedom?  Was it the desire to exist in a humane existence that fueled such animosity and resentment from whites to the point of unspeakable acts of cruelty and inevitable violence that set the stage for an imminent demise?

 Finally, the owl’s hoot echoed through the night catching the ear of those who sat in anticipation of invoking the powerful Congo spirit.  One by one, they all slipped off carrying their meager belongings and farming tools with sharp or blunt edges. They all blended into the night. The full moon hung low in the sky with a hint of red around its outer edges as if to suggest some catastrophic event approaching.  

Again, they seated themselves around the fire giving thanks for the little they did have and to be able to pay homage to the creator in their ancestral way despite the fire and brimstone sermon’s threats of physical violence from those who hated and feared them.  Their prayers to the powerful Nkisis spirit asked for safety, protection, salvation, and to be delivered from the cruelty of those who would see them dead before setting them freed.  They prayed to be relieved of an existence of torment and misery.  They prayed to the Congo spirit to be cleansed from evil that had tainted their spirits upon entering the white's place of worship.  Again, roots found their way into the fire sending the pungent smoke into the air.  The spirit's mantra echoed repeatedly.  Small rattles and other items that served as handmade instruments kept a steady and hypnotic beat enticing them to dance around the flames that demanded more of the pungent roots and herbs.  Soon the wind made her presence felt as she whipped at the flames.  Dark clouds made their way to block the moon's illumination.  An entire atmosphere became charged with something ancient and primordial as another presence ripped through the material plain washing over everything like a vast ocean. 


I hope you enjoyed an excerpt from "To Resurrect & Avenge "
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As usual I'm writing from the 3rd eye for your 3rd eye in Another reality 

Africa's Stellar Gnosis

Our galactic sun 4.5 billion years old is a medium sized star sum 93,026,724 miles away from the earth at a temperature of 9,900 Fº degrees.  This sun is a stellar (G) type with a magnitude of 4.83.  Such a star absorbs strong metallic lines in its spectrum, not to mention the solar flares generating geomagnetic storms that sometime disrupt communications satellites and even our techno toys here on planet earth making life somewhat miserable for us earthlings.  In astrology the significant “other” of astronomy the sun is considered the giver of life representing our consciousness.  It is our personal power, the self, the ego, the pride.  The sun represents creativity, vitality and health. The sun is positioned within the 12 zodiac constellations traversing them at 30º degrees every thirty days intensifying the vibration that particular zodiac constellation emanates.   Zodiac is a Greek word meaning circle of animals.  In the Zulu creation story, or genesis story it was said that the animals came from the star constellations.

The sun is our life force; imagine if our sun no longer existed or simply refused to function; providing warmth and illumination chasing away that which brings darkness whether it be the frigid cold or fear.  How would the crops survive?  

For thousands of years our ancestors and other cultures paid homage to the sun for its many life sustaining gifts.  Their Health practices included the sun’s healing properties to optimize health. 

Our ancient ancestors were aware of the pineal gland’s spiritual connection to the third eye, or what is commonly referred to as the black dot and how the sun’s energy activates it elevating our consciousness especially during meditation, and other metaphysical practices.  The ancient people of Kush and the Kemites were known for their spirituality around the globe as the name Ethiopia was a Greek name which translated to “people of the sun” while another Greek name for Egypt translated to “people kissed of the sun”.  That is how many of the Greek philosophers referred to the great teachers of ancient Kemit as they sat at there feet leaning of the advanced sciences of astronomy at the temple of Lunu “place of pillars”. The Arabs referred to this place as “Ain Shans the well of the sun”. It was the Greeks who named it Heliopolis temple of the sun as they paid homage to the great fiery orb in the sky.

The ancestors referred to this celestial body as Ra, Helios, Sol, Amen-Ra, Olofi, and many more.  The ancient Kemites were not the only ethnic group to pay homage to the sun.  From Africa’s east coast to her west coast, and from the Ganges to the Euphrates Rivers and continent to continent homage was paid to the sun.  When we think of the Sun god automatically we think of Ra or Amen-Ra.  However Alkabulan / ancient Africa consisted of numerous Sun Gods and Goddesses and other sun deities.

Wai, this sun deity of Zaire, and central Africa was believed by hunters to control the animals.

Asis was another sun deity of the Suk and Pokut in Kenya and Uganda.  A number of ethnic groups in the Congo, and Tanzania acknowledged a sun god known as Iruva.  The people of Cameroon referred to this deity as Loba and paid homage at sunset to assure he would appear again at sunrise.  In addition to Ra who was depicted by a sun disk and falcon in Kemit / ancient Egypt in the Nile delta was another sun god representing the sun’s more destructive power and extreme heat known as “Mahes” depicted in the form of a lion; hence Leo the lion in astrology.

 On the coast of West Africa the Dogon of Mali who where colonized by the French lived along the cliffs of Bandiagara not far from Timbuktu.  They possessed extremely advanced astronomical knowledge.  The Dogon knew Sirius was the brightest star in the night sky, and it had two companion stars (Digitaria star) and the female (Sorghum star) the second companion star.  When Digitaria is closest to Sirius it is the brightest, when it is further it gives off a twinkling effect. The Dogon are also aware of the rings of Saturn and the many moons of Jupiter. And least we not forget the Yoruba of southwest Nigeria who referred to the sun as Olofi and have sacred rituals performed at sun rise prior to any rites of passage, or ritual.

Our ancestors and numerous cultures knew the sun’s power and how it was responsible for elevating the spiritual energy referred to by many names, mana, ase, chi, and prana      

The ancients knew of the metaphysical effects their stellar star had on man, plant, animal, food, water, mineral, and the earth itself.

Ashanti Kings and other rulers along Africa’s Ivory Coast were abundantly rich with alloys of gold and brass, but mostly gold.  Gold was not only a symbol of physical wealth but metaphysically this alloy contained a projective energy whose element was fire associated with the sun emanating great spiritual energy considered a source of wealth as well. 

Many Kemetic / Egyptian ornaments and artifax contained precious gems, alloys, and crystals because of the spiritual vibrations that emanated from them that were similar to the sun’s vibrations.  For example clear quartz was another invaluable gift from the earth that not only projected energy but was receptive as well, influenced by both the moon and sun.  Citrine was worn to remove fear present in nightmares, hence its projective energies of fire; fire giving illumination.  Amber another gift from the earth associated with the “Akasha or Akashic records” better known as ancestral memories, or DNA markers whose element is the sun was worn for spiritual development. 

A stone all too often taken for granted is the zircon crystal, or zirconium which possesses a fiery vibration associated with the alloy gold. 

The most adorned stone by the Kemites was the Topaz because of its association to the sun god Amen-Ra.  Another stone of the Kemites that was associated with the alloy gold was tigers-eye a stone of invaluable and innumerable properties also associated with the sun. 

And last but not least, South Africa’s precious gem the diamond this precious gem vibrates a projective energy possessing a fiery quality whose element is the sun of course. Many Africans have lost their lives over this precious stone, and many lives have been ruined because of the wealth, and status it generates.  Is it any wonder so much blood has been spilt over this gem?  

An ancient wisdom echoes from Africa as she was the giver of civilization birthing the sciences of astronomy, medicine, art and mathematics.  Socrates, Plato, Herodotus, and many other Greek philosophers and many cultures sat within her temple walls digesting and absorbing the stellar gnosis of ancient Africa.  None surpassed her in spirituality as she was blessed by the sun. 

As usual writing from the 3rd eye for the 3rd eye in Another reality please visit again for thought provoking articles and short stories. You can visit me at
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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