At First, There Were Eight/ Part Four

 

My essay “At First, There Were Eight” just went up in Dark Mountain Journal. This is the companion piece to “Entering the Tunnel of Time in Cappadocia,” which went up last December. In both 2022 and 2023, these were the last pieces DM published for the year. Not sure what this means. I guess both involve panoramic views of world destructions, with hints of a larger cosmic context and hopes for cultural renewal. A pessimist’s way of saying “Happy New Year!” This is part four:

 How much, reader, do you know about yourself, how much is securely tucked in the realm of “known unknowns,” and what shards are still waiting to be unearthed by a shepherd? Yet beneath us, the ground remembers. There are skies that have solidified and cracked. There are oceans that turned upside down. There are urns that hold the bones of radioactive giants, of yogis so violent they can kill us with their love. There are eggs that have grown much larger than our planet. You who through these convolutions have followed me this far, who have climbed the broken stairs to a tower with no top, who floor by floor have plunged down through the flames of collapsing cultures, who have reached across dead oceans to a coast where the sun is green, you believe, perhaps, that you have read this book, but probing here and undoing blockages there, it could be that the book has read you. Fret not, the energies thus released are only the beginning. Great bliss and despair await.

 Do you not remember having read this book? Well, that is a separate issue. Such a book is fully capable of reading on its own, with no help from the living. I can empathize. Like you, I know how unsettling this can be. Be glad, at least, that your discomfort goes only this far, your sense of dread no farther. Just imagine what it was like to write a book that was not yours, to see your hand write words that were not quite your words, to cross them out then cross out your corrections, many dozens of times over, when you realized that no simple act of transcription was involved. What fun it would be to “channel” Occult Masters. You could win friends and influence people. With their higher-dimensional algorithms, they could help to market your Total Seerhood. If only you didn’t have to pass harsh judgement on your work, not once but every day, in this life and in others.

 Instead, my instructions were to actively descend, to actively ascend, to actively shrink, to actively expand, and to find some way to bring you with me, without your full consent, perhaps, without your even knowing you had come. I was to jerry-rig a technology that would let the fifth element speak, to call from hiding the primal power of the word. As satellites crash, as the ocean inches up and then finally pours through subways, as the last bees buzz, as we one day note there is no glass in our towers, we will have gained some fluency in turning against time, some skill in subverting the opacity of space. We will see the remnants of the First Ones in their graves, painted red, facing east, with those small stones clutched in their hands. Why is it that they clutch those small stones in their hands? Together, long ago, we will turn with our fingers the pages of this book.

 Continue reading at:

https://dark-mountain.net/at-first-there-were-eight/

Masks of Origin: Regression in the Service of Omnipotence is available through Untimely Books and Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Masks-Origin-Regression-Service-Omnipotence-ebook/dp/B0BLTCBJP8/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2XISN0WF9K6ZA&keywords=brian+george+masks+of+origin&qid=1697981230&s=books&sprefix=brian+george+masks+of+origin%2Cstripbooks%2C77&sr=1-1

 https://untimelybooks.com/book/masks-of-origin/