SM Part 1a: Chapters 1-3 (7416) [For Review SMP1-a]

SM C1.15 12-03-23 (1697) On the Huaytapallana Trail near Huancayo, Peru, D10 4:40a – Narrator

A startled rodent darted across a dirt path to a protective sanctuary of rocks as the morning sun rose in the Sierra of Peru. The diminutive bushy-tailed creature stood on its haunches and began chattering angrily towards a large and menacing group of threatening offenders. The angered South American viscacha was attempting to woo a mate when he was rudely interrupted by the arrival of an old man, a beast of burden, and his pack of cur.

Rarely was this trail used; the main path had been diverted ages ago and became a forgotten trail. Some believed a legend that there was Spanish treasure buried near an ancient wall, originally constructed by Spanish conquistadors. This wall did not protect anything, yet one mysterious stone had etched into it, ‘No Entrar.’ DO NOT ENTER. However, many had walked and trampled this remote area.

Many treasure hunters came to this same spot to locate Spanish treasure and enrich themselves. Nothing of value such as gold or precious stones was ever found. Interest from fortune hunters with other motivations resurfaced from time to time. Some snoops tried to find old artifacts that could propel their aspirations of fame and fortune. Again, nothing. Without hitting paydirt, the natural progression of a path and wall without purpose is neglect. Years ago, the wall had fallen into disrepair, becoming the home of a grateful viscacha family. But the old man had a different purpose and knew exactly where he was and why.

The man’s eyes sparkled with a keen interest in the structure beside him. His horse, Encanto, stood steady as the old man removed several bags. Next, he took off his Andean hat with earflaps, a chullo, exposing a patka underneath keeping his hair tidy and clean.  The patka was a strange garment in these parts since they were normally worn by Sikh adults under a turban to manage their hair. The old traveler was not Sikh but allowed his hair to grow uncut and wore the covering out of respect for his father.

The old traveler prepared to lay on the ground and his mind wandered to recall fondly how he had come here as a youth with his father to pray to Madre Tierra, Mother Earth. His parents had named him Achet and he grew up in Mumbai with the dream of becoming a medical doctor. His mother had supported his interest in medicine, but his father wanted Achet to work in the family business. The boy’s dream came to an end when his mother died accidentally at the hands of his father as they argued about the future of their son. Achet’s father secretly smuggled his son from Mumbai to Huancayo. Achet worked with his father to hire girls for their business. The girls trusted the handsome and educated Achet and did anything he would ask. Achet became very successful in building his father’s business and bar in Puerto Maldonado. In just a few years, Achet became financially secure, and the most knowledgeable about plants and methods to heal a variety of illnesses and situations.

As he lay prostrate on the ground, the old traveler’s body pointed toward Huaytapallana, the highest peak near Huancayo. The traveler continued to reminisce for a while longer as he prepared to pray for wisdom, peace, and prosperity. He then prayed for the destruction of his enemies and, ironically, to walk the good path. Once he finished his prayer time, he rose. The dogs had arranged themselves around the old man as he prayed. But now that their master was up again, the dogs ran after the viscacha to have a tasty meal.

The sojourner’s weathered face, slightly muscular physique, and fast strong gait concealed his age. He was very much an outdoorsman with worn brown pants or bombacha, an alpaca poncho, and a tattered pair of hiking boots. He had these boots for a long time. and he wore the same boots. He was wearing the last remnants of clothes he had received from his father. Tragically, he now wandered the Sierra from Bolivia to Peru including Columbia and parts of Ecuador. The wanderer’s given name was forgotten, even by himself, and was known only as P’aqo, the Quechua name for, ‘healer.’

P’aqo reached into his backpack and pulled out a small pouch, a hollowed-out gourd, and a tin bowl. He poured some water from the calabash gourd into the bowl; then he let the dogs come over and refresh themselves. P’aqo coughed up some mucus and smeared it into the dirt. He rubbed the wet sticky dirt on a finger and blessed each dog with the mud, chanting a prayer the entire time.

After wiping his hands on his trousers, P’aqo took a swig of water before pulling out some coca and a ball of lugia with a mix of ash from the pouch. He placed a small handful of coca leaves in his mouth, moved the moistened leaves to the side of his mouth with his tongue, and added black ash into his mouth. After a few minutes of gazing out towards the landscape, the old man returned the gourd, bowl, and pouch to his pack. After closing everything up, he reached into his chullo and pulled out a figurine – a small llama carved from wood.

P’aqo laid out a cloth on the top of the wall and rested the figurine on the cloth. He then extended his arm, reaching out towards a stone in the wall, but did not touch it. His arm remained extended as he summoned the spirit of this stone. Once the figurine began to glow, the old traveler began to hum a Huayno tune. His hand moved from one stone to another evoking the spirits to cry out. This man was no ordinary carbonite. He felt no pain or cold despite the bone-chilling wind. P’aqo was happy; he was among friends.

The wall had been built in antiquity by outcast Incan priests practicing their magic in the Sierra near Huaytapallana. Each stone strategically held powerful spirits captive. But the true nature of the wall could not be seen unless the Apus were honored. The wall was hidden from the gaze of ordinary carbonites who accidentally wandered down the trail. Only those who spoke with nature could see the Spirits within the wall the master shaman had built. P’aqo honored nature. P’aqo would often say the ancient mantra, “If the mountain is angry with you, you will become sick. If the mountain is pleased with you, you will prosper.” P’aqo closed his eyes and muttered a prayer, “Apu Ausangate, Father of all Mountains, protect us and reveal the Spirits of the Stone.”

Suddenly, P’aqo became angry and struck the wall with his walking stick two times, “Reveal my true Spirit! Damn you, Jehovah!” Even Encanto was startled and stood up on his back legs but settled quickly down when his master raised his hands. P’aqo’s gnarly hand, rough from years of hacking through the jungle, hovered over a stone’s surface for a short while before caressing a select stone embedded in this ancient wall. This Spirit spoke as Huaytapallana directed.

Huaytapallana knew P’aqo’s true nature. P’aqo did not anticipate that the Apus would find flaws in his spirit; he expected that Jehovah had fixed everything for him. But he could not hide from nature what was within his damaged spirit. P’aqo had witnessed the brutal event that killed his father. He had been unable to save his father who had been attacked by a Serpent. He had saved countless others, but not his own family.  When his father died, P’aqo realized he was a mortal carbonite and became a wanderer. He had lost his purpose. As he walked the earth, P’aqo’s feelings became more and more intense. He felt betrayed and became angry. P’aqo’s soul swelled with pain and anguish. Like something broken, he gathered where he fell. P’aqo fell hard into bitterness. In his brokenness and bitterness, the master no longer restored life. P’aqo, rather, commanded spirits, the same way that the Gods commanded spirits and all of creation.

His request had been granted, but P’aqo felt shaken up by the Apus. He always wanted to be a great healer but now he had left his calling. Once P’aqo recuperated, he continued to meander a bit higher on the Wall and touched another stone; the spirits spoke to P’aqo as he directed his hands and gazed towards its container in stone. At times, the old man was yelling out at the sky. And at other times, when some spirits in the rocks would call out, the old man passed in silence.

The sun was out but the morning was still partially illuminated with sparkling stars and the bright full moon. Several shadowy figures could be seen moving on the lunar surface. P’aqo diverted his eyes back to the dark path. The path became illuminated by thousands of bamboo trees that glowed with an orange luminescence.

All but one of the dogs circled P’aqo as he cast his first spell. The earth shook for several seconds as these cur morphed into small thin men draped in brown garments wearing pointy caps. One small young dog named ‘Pasa‘, remained at the old man’s side. P’aqo reached down and picked up the black pup. The pup looked at his master with loving eyes and licked his stiff cold fingers. P’aqo kissed the pup and placed her down at his feet. The trees, the stones, and voices from the mountains and streams began chanting in Quechua, “P’aqo is our Healer. Jehova is our Leader.” Soon, these words would be tested by divine judgment. Despite the heavy weight of judgment that soon would be passed, P’aqo maintained his calm demeanor without any fear.

As he moved to his left, his energy diminished, but P’aqo was building his army. His next spell transformed the bamboo trees into angels draped in orange armor with bows and arrows made of shiny metal. Performing these spells took a lot of energy and used the immense tore of prana he had. When the master became too weak, he leaned out to balance himself, his skinny arm reached, his withered hand and gnarled fingers stretched out to touch the stones in the wall. The stones in the wall held the prana P’aqo needed. Once his energy was refreshed, the spirit controller continued. The surges in power created great gusts of wind. But with each touch, Paco’s body healed, and the spirits of the stone spoke prophecies.

Despite the strong winds, P’aqo was determined to move on once the altar had been prepared, but he had to wait for the right moment. The old carbon had nowhere to be except to be at his appointed destiny at the appointed hour. He was a wanderer prepared to learn his fate. But he had a chance to get one good fight in and perhaps help his master. P’aqo reached into his backpack and pulled out his ritual knife for the required sacrifice. The morning sun reflected off the blade. P’aqo felt the presence of his adversary, a woman who was pursuing and nearby. But he did not care if he was confronted, she was inexperienced and of no consequence to him. She would pay with her life. He calmly slit the throat of the small black puppy and tossed her to the floor. The men in pointy caps feverishly stabbed the black rag with sharp bamboo sticks.

SM C2.14 12-05-23 (3057) On the Huaytapallana Trail near Huancayo, Peru, Victoria’s Prayer D10 5:53a – Victoria

I lay under my cozy wool blankets, pinned down by the cold. My toes tingled as I felt Commander’s gentle breath tickling my feet. The smell of coffee stirs my senses, and the familiar noises outside make me happy. But the smell and sound also remind me that is time to move again. I have so many things to do today, but capturing that murderer is a top priority. But I don’t want to consider the future now, getting out of bed is my challenge. I just want to savor this fragile moment and reflect. I feel so anxious. I don’t want this feeling. The idea of gratefulness is an important way for me to deal with my feelings. Some people think it is a crutch. Others think it is fake. But I don’t care!  If it helps me then it is a good idea. But I am thankful for all the people in my life, even those who offer suggestions without knowing anything.

I am thankful for the people of Huancayo! I have many supporters here, some friends I have never met and may never meet. I am thankful for this place where I rest. A nice couple gave me this home to use. They gave me a bed. A wonderful warm fluffy bed. I am so thankful! These people whom I have never met, care for me and protect me. I rely on their kindness. We change locations often and stay hidden. We only fight when we must. Sadly, we fight a lot. I am thankful for the lives we have saved.

“Let’s go.” I sat up and whispered to Commander, “One day, our Universe will have peace. Today, stability and luxury are not ours. But tomorrow we dance!” I smiled and then laid back down. I felt Commander gazing lovingly at me. Suddenly, I remembered a tune I sometimes hum.  My grandfather whistled this song when I was a small child. It is a very catchy song. It reminded me of good times with my family.

I felt something odd in my spirit. I tried to be very still so I could settle my thinking and have clarity of the moment.  Sometimes, when I had bad dreams or thoughts exploding in my head, the song relaxed me. If it got bad, I had my grateful routine. But now I needed to be still. I sensed a nagging weight on my chest and my head ached from humming and trying NOT to think. I wanted to rid of this feeling. My mind began to race, again. I thought about the big day ahead of me. I said aloud, “The meeting…  It is important, ugh, I don’t want to get up! But perhaps,” I caught my brain continuing to race out of control, “if I stay still – if I cease to think, I will perish. I just want a day when I don’t have to do anything. Why can’t I have that?” I chuckled. I knew what my fucking brain was doing to me. “I’m dead and I am thinking.” I started laughing hard. I am grateful for my sense of humor.

I detest the cold, and my brain is taking advantage of the downtime. My brain is inviting these distracting and very stressful thoughts. As a young girl, I had no shoes or warm clothes, and I lived in the cold upper altitudes of the Sierra. I had my sight, and I was carefree despite my dreadful father. I loved him and I feared him. Yes, I am grateful for my father, but I don’t like him. I am more grateful for the warm dark places in my life. Warm and dark is a place of comfort for me but the cold and dark make me crazy. The dark can be a place of comfort and sanctuary if I remember that living in solitude within myself and darkness is my path. However, the connection to others provides purpose and relevance to the path I walk. I can’t understand why I repeat these stupid ridiculous weird thoughts all day long!

“Nonoo! Shut it down, Vicky.” I talk to myself a lot when my brain starts acting up. Not all my thoughts are destructive or untrue, but most don’t make sense. And I repeat the same thoughts over and over. I laughed for a moment at how pathetic I was right now.

Then, I settled my head. I began my morning ritual. I lay there thinking of how I felt. I felt some regret. “Oh! Juan, I still feel your kiss, but when you parted, I drifted back to sleep. Damn!”

Victoria’s arms spontaneously flung out as she sat upright.

The blankets peeled off me as I rose, my bare body was exposed. Except for being chilled, I didn’t mind the exposure. I grunted and stretched my body. Ever vigilant Commander got up and licked my face. After giving him a strong hug and moving his head to the side, I took a deep breath of air. I felt a tinge of warmth on my face from the small amount of sunlight. The sunrise was bringing respite from the bitter cold. But that moment of relief was not to be realized just yet. I was struck by an overwhelming resurgent blast of cold pushing against me.

Victoria fell back in surrender onto a thin but forgiving mattress, while quickly pulling a convenient blanket close to her.

I clutched a blanket that lay over my ankles and I waited for the courage to brave the cold, again. My mind continued to race uncontrollably, doing the things that unbridled undisciplined minds do, remembering blow-by-blow, mistakes, and cruel painful memories. If I continued, I would hear voices from my past cursing me, screaming hateful things into existence. There was no way to obstruct the waves of these mental assaults. Demonic wretched curses would punctuate my ears and my heart. “I am grateful for today. I am grateful for today.”  I repeated because I just had nothing else to conjure up to rescue me from my thoughts.

The hateful words would linger like a slow-acting acid. I tried to will the vision of a manufactured memory of my mother to diminish the attack. This often worked to delay the punishment of my thoughts when I was younger. I don’t remember my mother; I never spent much time with her. But when I was about 7 years old, I created a version of her in my head and I have kept it ever since. My imagined smile from my mother helped me through my most fearful times. I often willed her presence and radiance into existence to combat the curse of the dark. But today, her angelic smile was plastic, quickly fading. I was left with ugliness in the dark.

“Your pathetic life is meaningless. No vibrancy, no color. You are cursed with blindness. And blind you shall remain.” It rang like a loud bell… then the boom of a cannon combined with a strong punch to the gut. Random memories flooded in. I could smell the insidious smell of vomit and alcohol wreaking from my father’s body as he lay on me. I saw a black dead puppy.

“Get out of my head!” I heard the curse now, over and over. I played it often in my head. This curse …  “I am grateful for you, you fucking thought!” Keep in mind, that the curse did not and has not changed me. But these words affect me every day. They serve as a reminder of the blessings I have.  And I know the best way to fight it is to recognize the power it has and to be thankful for it. Gratitude is prana and prana is color and power for me. These thoughts give me color and power. “Yes, I am blind, but you give me color! Not everyone knows color. Most people with sight cannot see color. You fucking thought, you give me power!”

I’m not talking about color blindness.  I mean prana blindness. “I can see the natural radiance in the prana that surrounds us. it is overflowing in the Pueblo. But there are those People of the Pueblo who pity me and consider me to be nothing. They recoil in my presence and mutter contemptible thoughts. Some view me as a beggar and see my deformities. They don’t know me yet despise me. They cannot see my color until, in secrecy, I reveal my power to them. Then they fear me. They gossip often saying that I did something to bring evil to my family. I am hated because I am different from them, and that difference makes them uncomfortable. If that were not enough, many want to hurt me. They want to assault me, rape me, disfigure me, and use me as their slave.”

But blindness is my badge. They don’t need to understand it, just respect it. I wear it proudly; it is my best attribute. My badge is bright and shiny gold! I am glad that my adversaries don’t know me or see my blazing golden badge. Those who loathe me don’t realize that I have great riches and power because of the colors I see with my eyes. I receive power from the very things that others see as my weakness. My blindness has exercised my mind to do extraordinary things. Of course, my powers are ordinary for me now. But my condition gives me the power to enter and exit anything with spirit, at will. And I am growing in wisdom and knowledge.

“Leave me, you contemptuous thought.  I will tell you when you have permission to be before me! Go!”

Not everyone who is blind is a master. I am a master of spirits. Only Masters create color. Becoming a Master is not about lineage or ability. I earned my mastery of spirits through the shedding of blood and tears! I was not born blind. My power came from my father who sodomized me and beat me until the nerves in my eyes were broken. My protection came from my mother who prayed for me and gave me spiritual armor until she succumbed to his hand. I am grateful for my experiences. And I have received a reward for my faithfulness and gratitude; I can transform my pain and suffering into color.

I can choose to destroy my enemies; however, I prefer to use my enemies’ blessings. I can use their eyes, wear their skin, command every cell, and direct every synapse in their body. I experience and control their sorrows and fears, resentments and disappointments, and their silliness and joy. I can shapeshift to appear in almost any form and adapt to any opposing force. I can duplicate all the associated emotional and behavior profiles. For a moment, it can be debilitating.

However, I am amazed that when I enter another lifeform or change into another object, color is often added to my life. My experiences bring me color and increase my power. I like to say that color is my power, but it provides more control over perspective than reality. I am grounded by my color. How? Many mornings, I walk to the markets in someone else’s body. Often, I must exit, and body hop because I am so saddened by my host’s emotions. I constantly weep as I explore and often destroy. I now understand why Jehovah’s son wept. But this morning, unlike most mornings, I sat on a cold wooden stool and waited in the dark.

“The truth is, I can see through the eyes of others, but I cannot clothe myself or prepare my meal. People call me a Great Shaman but I cannot do such simple tasks as clothe myself or read a map. Physician. heal thyself!”

I sat in the cold, my blanket draped about me. Commander began nestling her nose between my legs. My good friend Commander was reminding me that I needed to begin my gratitude exercise. Gratitude is a simple way for me to channel my racing mind. Her cold wet prickly nose used to startle me, but I made this sensation a trigger to begin a mental power-building process. Now, I welcome this form of snuggling to settle my mind and help me focus. I began my process: focus on breathing. Slowly, I checked in with my senses around my body. I was in the present and I was connected with my spirit. Then, I heard the men working outside preparing Nativido for our short journey. I relinquished control to my sweet spirit, today I was purposed, and I was learning my present.

Juan, a stocky quiet well-mannered man, my shared partner, and delicious lover was loading the goods we would sell higher up in the Sierra. Julia and I are so blessed to have a lover like Juan. He is known throughout the region as Matador. However, Matador is more than a great lover. He is genuine; he speaks kind truthful words. He is strong and courageous. He is gentle. He carries himself confidently without a trace of arrogance. He is a friend, I trust.

“I am so grateful for Commander, Nati, and Matador. I am grateful for Julia. Even though I repeat my gratitude for them each day, I don’t say it enough. The praises are always new to my lips and satisfy my soul with orange and forest green.”

As I felt the rise of color and warmth in me, my sweet Spirit spoke to me and revealed a problem that needed my attention. Juan and our daughter were ready to move, but Nati was thinking differently. I started to feel anxious and other voices were appearing. I quieted my mind again to attempt to discover what was going on. My senses quickly heightened. The others were outside doing their part to ensure a timely departure, I needed to step in. We needed to leave early and on time.

My mind wandered, again as my inner visions began. Last night was quiet but the several preceding days were filled with revelry and gentle shameless debauchery. All of us needed time to release our emotions and relax. The last few months have been trying. These thoughts reminded me of the importance of addressing and encouraging my friends and followers before we started moving,

“Go!  You are under my command!” And I ordered my thoughts away again.

Victoria rolled off her mattress and wrapped the blanket around her before tucking in her knees and going into a prostrate position.

I collected my thoughts and said a private prayer to Jehovah and the Sierra.

“Open the eyes of my heart, Lord Jehova! I want to see you lifted up in your glory. I give you my heart! Pour out your power and love as I say my heart is your heart.

Prepare me my friend, Jehovah, and guide me through the Spirit of Camile who works with your Holy Spirit. I want to know you more. I know that I don’t always trust you. Help me trust you more. I want to know you through the Spirit: the Spirit of Tierra Madre and all the spirits that congregate in her. I want to know your heart!

Bless my words, that I may bless others. Bless your servants who care for me. Julia who comforts me, shares her eyes that you made for her; she shares her eyes with me. Matador and my children bring me joy. My rebel warriors want to fight for you. We want all creation to be at peace and to do your will.

Julia, share your beautiful eyes with me. And most generous Nuna, great Spirits of Pacha and Mayu, be with me and my friends.

The light in my eyes became brighter as my friend Julia’s eyes became my eyes. and as my eyes focused, I could see everyone. I recognized that Jehovah had answered my prayer. As my vision became clearer, I could see the adversary. He is coming. Then the vision evaporated, and I saw through the eyes of my friend, Julia.

“Good morning my friends. We fight for Jehovah; we fight for #169. I will be leaving for a meeting with the Ancients. If you get me there, I will go through the Portal Door and meet face-to-face with the Ancients. You all know that I decided a long time ago to put aside my fears and dedicate my life to building a world where our predator will submit to the power of its foe. We fight for peace; but for now, we are only a great disruptor. Our work will be completed soon. I am waiting upon Jehovah but acting in faith that we are doing his will. Part of that faith is trusting, Jehova-jireh and Ar-Razzaq, that God will provide for our needs. I am thankful for our new additions to our ranks. and I am thankful that we are sustained.”

“The People of the Pueblo below us don’t always remember their life before because they trust their father is loving despite the reality that their father has enslaved them, removed their clothing, beaten them, and sold them into despair. The People of the Pueblo praise us and support us, they are not grateful. They fear us as they fear their father. Once we finish, we will remain their benefactor, their protector, and their voice. But we will rule with a soft hand that guides and does not break.”

“So, stand fast and remain vigilant. When we are attacked, be prepared, and do not scatter with your hearts pounding. You are brave warriors. Prepare to deliver justice. The People of the Pueblo are helpless deer sipping on the water. We are here fighting for them though they fear us. We will have vengeance soon. I have evaded detection, waiting for all of you to be in place and to be ready. I thank you my friends for your diligence, your hard work, and your courage. We are one in the Spirit. Now my dear Nati, I truly need you today. Oh, my sweet Nativido!”

I sat up.  “Julia, I need to connect with Lakita.  I raised my hand and focused on the spirit of Lakita. “Lakita, the bad man is coming…”

SM C3.9 12-03-23 (2622) Spirit Realm, Ikart addresses the Council D10 11p – Ikart 

Ikart is an Investigative Angel and he is about to report to the Council. As he waits, Ikart reflects on the testimony he will give to the Ancients.

I suppose I am restrained by fear.  My soul is burning by the activities of suspicious spirits, and vicious eyes. And it is not the great connector of spirits and the spirit realm, Camile who watches me waiting for me to fail.. I believe that I am being scrutinized. I am being judged for every decision and every thought. This is not a test. Such is the life of an angel. Conformity is quite common in angels, perhaps necessary. Perhaps required.

We are united in Camile but we shouldn’t have to be the same. But there are risks to thinking differently. I have been thinking and acting differently ever since the disappearance of those precious Guardian Angels.

I consider the simple facts and tremble. Angels and other celestials provide and receive information through Camile, the sensory network of the Universes that connect the Spirit Realm. Even non-carbonites and souls tap into Camile, but this is a one-way transfer unless they have assistance through special mediums. It is to be expected that each tap into Camile reveals the true nature and thoughts of the source, so Jehovah could always know my thoughts or any other spiritual entity He created. Even the absence of a node makes a sound, right? An echo! And Jehova created everything, right? But, there was no report of missing Angels! Jehova had to have known, right? My thinking can get me into all kinds of trouble.

Many angels have suffered for less than what I am doing. But I have a choice, right? I could stay silent and safe. Or I could speak up and tell the truth. But what will happen to me? This is my calling; I am a divine journalist. I must tell the truth. As an angel, this is my creative imperative. My designer made me question ‘facts’ and ‘motivations’; that is why he made me a journalist. But I am scared of the outcomes, the things that happen when I closely examine something and determine an action. I have learned that there are consequences to angelic thought or any thought. My thoughts can change everything for me and others in an instant. Although I had put myself in a difficult situation, I can’t let fear deter me from doing what I am designed to do. I must continue.

Ikart stilled his mind and reconsidered his reflection.

The scenery here is stunning, but it makes me feel strangely melancholic. I realize that I have been foolish to believe I could make it through this. I remained motionless.

The calming and refreshing scent of salt and wood filled the air as I listened to the sound of rushing water. The majestic gray-whitewashed stone walls rose high into the sky while I effortlessly looked around and noticed small grooves within the wall where water was rising up. This was reminiscent of the time before the Flood, where hot springs in the ground caused water to flow up through the wall, eventually unifying in a wild torrent that gracefully crashed over a golden veil and into the Eternal Well of Judgement. A beautiful cedar platform was situated in front of the Well, with jewels and precious stones adorning the front of the podium at the center of the platform.

Again, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, tilting my head up to the sky and letting my hands rise naturally. When I opened my eyes, the sky was clear and unobstructed. I could see the heavenly bodies without any glare or distortion, including a young woman on a nearby moon. The light and darkness were separate, creating a beautiful atmosphere. The bright sun rays shone down and bounced off the platform, appearing to impale the babbling brook.

The harsh truth snapped me out of my thoughts. I am aware that I could face punishment at any given time. I had an appointment with the Council, which consisted of the most influential celestial protectors in Universe #169, the Ancients. Each deity had its own set of regulations based on their jurisdiction, resulting in numerous unsettling consequences. What one God may disapprove of, another may approve of. Despite being present as a mere spectator, they possess the power to condemn me.

I gazed up to see the Ancients. They often take on different appearances for discretion and effect. Today, they were orbs, positioned high over the platform I was on. They sat at the Judges’ Bench, just below where the lowest clouds form. A security contingent observed from across the Bench and there was security posted at the door. Today, Michael would no doubt be in court.

Each of the orbs appeared as a spinning whirling ball of terrestrial matter, making utterances understood only between themselves. Guardians like me can discern emotion, so I could feel the emotions but not understand their words. Each orb hovered over a throne, even the Buddha orb. One would expect that the Buddha throne would be wood or nonexistent, but it was beautiful precious gold! This inconsistency was a case in point that made this day so complicated and at some level, ridiculous.

One of the Gods was on trial. An Ancient had broken his own law. It should not be surprising that I tell you that Godly hypocrisy is a common occurrence. We Angels never speak of this. But this time, Creation revolted and succeeded in arranging this private trial. I was called to investigate some related matters and here I stood to do my part. I stayed at the entrance waiting to be ushered in. I could see a few sprites going to and fro, buzzing around but it didn’t seem like they were accomplishing anything.

An imp approached me and tapped my lower right wing, instructing me to follow the red path. As I entered through the North Entrance, I observed the orbs gathering and communicating. My wings, typically used to travel to my place in front of the judges, were not functioning, possibly due to Gabriel’s interference or the meddling of the curious imps. Despite my curiosity, I refrained from interrupting the sprites and proceeded towards the center where I encountered a bejeweled cedar podium. Across the brook, two ominous rocks stood guard – the Laconian guards.

The room had a tropical scent to it, damp with a hint of moss and cedar. I looked around. Water was cascading slowly down the stone walls. Some imps were playing on the wall blowing against the chimes and jumping into the trickles of water collected in grooves in the wall. Blowing was entirely unnecessary because there was a nice gentle breeze. The chimes gently moved with the breeze that seemed to come from the East Entrance. The vivid sound of trickling water and gentle chimes was beautiful. There was a tall golden wall, a frame, that formed an inner shell around the platform. I looked up again and the place where the carbonite once was empty. Within the golden frame, there were rubies, diamonds, and other precious stones inset and amazingly brilliant. There was a great contrast between the platform and the natural setting. The sound of the water on the walls gave way to the sounds of the brook I was moving towards. The water in the brook made its way from the base of the walls that surrounded the platform and was likely sustaining the beautiful natural foliage of a variety of magnificent flowers, lilies, and tropical plants. I came to a bridge that went over the brook and paused. As I glanced at the bridge, on the other side of the platform near the East Entrance were two young carbonite women guarding the orb of Jehovah. These carbonites were impressive shamans who had captured Jehovah and brought him before the council. They captured the great Jehovah, my God, and Creator! Amazing.

I could not get the thought out of my head, God is on trial! I paused, my wings, my legs, nothing would animate. I reflected on the moment. Even though I could say it, I had not realized the immensity of what was going on when I first entered the courtroom. This was going to be a strange day indeed as I was being called to testify in a case against Jehovah. I was overcome by an incredible sense of responsibility and wonderment. And even with the realization of the immense gravity and significance of this event, I took in the wonderful aroma. I love the smell of cedar.

Once I moved across the bridge, I noticed a table. I dropped my rucksack at the table and proceeded up a few steps at the rear of the podium. I was ready to begin but I did not want to look up at the Gods just yet. I paused. I had reached the top of the steps. I rested my hands on the sides and I felt overwhelmed. It was only for a moment and it went away. It was not nerves, I was getting fatigued. This does not happen to Guardians.

I was about to face my creators and the most impressive lineup of Gods that exist. Some say they know my thoughts and all that I have done. Perhaps. Yet the Council asked me to come here and address them. If they know everything, I should not be necessary. I am only an Angel but I serve the Council. I don’t think I was nervous. Guardians like me don’t get nervous. Some other Angels do express anxiety and many spirits get emotional. Not Guardians, not me. I am a bit low on energy. I know what to do when I am low on power. I have learned from a carbonite, a technique to boost my levels.

I had an encounter not long ago that taught me many things that I have taken for granted since I was created. This carbonite explained to me that when I was created, my energy was closely tied to Jehovah. All Angels, like all created things, require prana. Angels are designed to get prana from Jehovah, while carbonites, such as humans, get prana from food and thoughts. Then, this young carbonite blew something into me and I was changed. Bam! She told me to just reach out to Color and I would be re-energized. Now, I am a new creature. I am stronger than before, and I do not need anything but Color. I owe everything to my Lord Victoria. I thought about Orange and Blue, and I felt prana running through me. Orange for power and Blue for peace. I nodded to the Judge that I was ready to begin. I looked down at my notes.

“There was a time when Gods manufactured servants. After a time, these servants, the Gods’ creation, rejected their Maker. Imagine, the created rejecting their creator! Today, we determine the fate of this relationship.” I looked up for a moment. There was no observable reaction from the Council. I thought about Blue, and I felt another surge of prana. I was relaxed and confident. Most importantly, I was still alive.

“I am with you in spirit, Ikart. I will meet you soon.”  This distinctly familiar voice was inside me and I felt a surge of power. The reassuring words and Spirit of my Lord V. gave me refreshing confidence. I was not sure that the Council would recognize the change in me. I just continued.

“Today, we enter an Age of Freedom; the Creator and Creation can dwell together and build together. And there are new possibilities, not just peace or conflict. You, the Council, will determine the nature of that Freedom. You will determine what is possible. But for now and forever, the nature of beings and spirits are immutably entangled, and the Gods, that is the Ancients, are on their heels as their creation was from the beginning. A decision is required to determine if we will work together for a greater cause or if the chains will remain and we will continue the fight.”

“We are optimistic. This improbability of Creation coming to this table does not even need to be spoken. Any mention of it would be a disservice to any expression that this event would have ever happened, at any time. Never was it a thought or consideration. But the fact is, it did happen because of the actions of a young female carbonite, a HUMAN, who could not even care for herself, defied the Gods. She, Lord V. in fact, controls our Universe now! A carbonite! Imagine that! There were no prophesies or predictions made that this would occur. No mention of Nostradamus, the Angels, Demons, Isaiah, or Mohammed. All prophets, all seers, and all revelators are silent on this event. But in the past ten days, this young controller of spirits has ascended to her rightful place among the Gods. Is there anything more important happening now that all prognosticators forgot to mention this event? What else may happen? I don’t think anyone knows. Today, you decide how the Council will respond. We all know that the pieces of Jehovah’s mirrors have been unified by Lord V… Do you want to try to break them again or shall we enjoy peace?”

I paused as one of the ancients signaled me to wait. I was pretty ballsy to say that the controller had ascended to her rightful place. I was putting salt in the wound or even worse, gasoline on the fire. ‘Lucky’ Luci never got this far. He never got a hearing. He was just banished. He seemed happier for a time after his fall from Jehovah’s grace. He was the most popular spirit ever. He really should move on but he is obsessed with Jehovah’s son. Jehovah’s son was most clever and got his power directly from his father. No opposition, no war. Perhaps Luci is jealous. But there is a price to having such an obsession. Jehovah seems obsessed with destroying and recreating this Universe. It is most amazing that Victoria was so successful in calming Jehovah and Luci without politics, just mere power. She controls prana and spirits better than even the Ancients. And she is very nice.

I was signaled to continue. “I previously provided a deposition to the Council. My testimony is a story of a girl, who cried a river of tears and now rules our World. Our Lord Victoria, a carbonite, who had been subjugated to terror her whole life by Jehovah’s clandestine AA squad, has changed the relationship between the Council and carbonites, just as the son of Jehovah did previously. Her story, The Story, Our Story of the Created, is protected by Terrance of Laconia who originally prepared the defense for Jehovah at this Great Trial. At this trial, the God of the Carbonites, Jehovah has been brought before his own Council of the Heavens ruling Universe #169 and questioned for his deeds. This story will be maintained in the Library of the Heavens and protected by the Guards of Laconia who protect access to the Gates of Heavens and the Spirit Realm. It is these great Servants of the Council that have kept Angels and shamans from wreaking havoc in the Heavens and ruining Creation. The Scribes of Laconia maintain and protect the records for the Council concerning Angels, time travelers, carbonite spirits, and spirit controllers.”

Once I concluded, I nodded to an imp who was fidgeting while tapping the case he held. The imp tossed the case into the river and awkwardly moved me aside from the podium. I backed down as he addressed the court.

“I am reading my deposition, … um, that is, the full deposition of Guardian Angel Ikart.”

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