Dreamtime - Part 2 - Conspiracy - Chapter 4 - Dystopia

“Never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception.” ― Niccol™ Machiavelli

Journal Entry, December 21, 2012

It never ceases to amaze me, the lengths people will go to hide their true intentions. But what truly confounds me is how they will deny the truth of their actions, even after they are fully and publicly revealed. They will engage in all manner of self-deception and reinterpretation of events, large and small, to justify their limited, false beliefs. Today, my birthday, supposedly holds great significance for the Mayans. When it passes, those who predicted cataclysm, galactic alignment, or a global “transformation of consciousness” will find very creative reasons to hold fast to their earlier claims, even though reality has proven them false, or at least not proven them true. However, I fear those beliefs will have collectively produced an aggregate signal across human consciousness with disastrous and unknown consequences, which can only bode ill for the course we have chosen.

 Ethan James, Ph.D.

Awake. He glanced around, groggy through the haze between sleep and consciousness when dreams are still fresh. He did not know where he was or who he was. He reached across a bed, down the side, and over a night stand. At length he sat up with his feet on the floor and began to search for some sign, some explanation of what this was about. He could not remember what came before, only a disorienting blur of images and sounds. 

His mind filled with words of encouragement and comfort; home, peace, safety. He inwardly knew this to be a source of nurturing strength, something feminine, something grounded he could trust and accept without question. Whatever came next, he also knew he could draw on the calming, secure knowledge of his own considerable personal power, a masculine protective shield that he could use if he felt threatened. Internally he felt whole, completely integrated, not a single conflict to be exploited or inspired. Whatever he was, he was not afraid.

Daylight streamed into the room through the window behind him. He identified pieces of furniture, wall fixtures, and personal items. This was a permanent residence, a bedroom well designed to sooth and relax. The quality was refined and obviously expensive, the colors muted but warm. Whoever I am, he thought to himself, I have good taste. 

He heard a slight shifting to his left side. He was not alone in this room. Another person breathed silently, slowly. When he turned to see the source of the noise he took in a sharp breath. A man with light brown hair lay within the sheets, facing away from him. From the outline in the covers he could see the man was shorter than him with a small frame and medium build. He quickly sorted through his emotions, noting the easy familiarity he felt for the man. He was not certain what this meant, but he told himself to proceed with caution. 

He gently lifted himself off the bed and padded to the dresser to retrieve a wallet. In it he found an identification card with the picture of a man with hair darker than the one in the bed. He assumed this to be himself and he read the text. His name was Alessandro Sciarro. He lived in Milan, Italy. He was 5’7". He was born on June 21, 1992.

High in the night sky, a star flickered into existence, its light emanating from a stellar nursery within the Eagle Nebula 7000 years ago. Its infrared glow had finally reached earth to be witnessed by a trio of scientists gathered around an array of computer monitors.

"Incredible!" Michio declared, looking up from the monitors to regard his colleagues. “How could this be a coincidence? I mean, really, how could seemingly unrelated, random events come together to form a meaningful pattern?”

“An excellent question, Dr. Kaku,” replied Steven. “Is it all in your mind or is your mind creating the relationship, imposing the meaning on purely physical phenomena?”

Michio remembered his studies in psychology and recited, “Synchronicity. Carl Jung called it a meaningful coincidence, an acausal connecting principle or parallelism.”

“The search to find a cause, even if no cause exists, can lead to a lot of imaginative theories,” Brian cautioned, “In reality, events simply occur. All the time. Causality is just the logical attribution of a source to a destination, but it doesn’t actually link them.”

“Are you saying that there are no such things as cause and effect?” asked Michio.

“No,” replied Brian. “I'm simply saying that existence at the quantum level is always now, always the same energy, always changing. Apart from the mere fact of quantum entanglement, meaning and connectedness are only significant for the macro universe, the world of living beings at the size where quantum fluctuations are not noticeable. In short, the more stuff accumulated, the more convincing the illusion of permanency.”

“You make it sound as though there is no ultimate truth in the universe.” Michio said, sounding deflated.

“Oh there is,” Brian said, “but it's not a pretty one.”

“And what truth is that?” asked Steven.

“That entropy will win out,” Brian responded, “because eventually there will be no energy available to do work.”

“You're talking about dark matter and dark energy again, aren't you?” wondered Michio.

“You got it. It's not that the energy is gone or the information is lost. It's just that the particles (dark matter) are uniformly repelling each other (dark energy) so they cannot interact. In this scenario nothing changes. The end of causality. The end of meaning.”

“Ah, but vast information structures, like galaxies and stars, provide a lasting counterbalance to entropy and meaninglessness,” Steven interjected, “the precious discoverable islands on an endless sea of indeterminate chaos.”

“Yes. I do believe it,” agreed Michio. “The stars are the ultimate answer in the ever expanding, ever cooling universe. The information gathered and created in one stellar birth remains intact for billions of years.”

“Are you forgetting the Second Law of Thermodynamics?”, Brian countered. “The sum of the entropies of all participating bodies increases; therefore, you can't create information without increasing the rate of expansion of the universe.”

“Exactly.” Steven said. “However, the star itself becomes a local force for decreasing entropy, expelling the entropic, dark energy far away from the event. It slows the expansion and cooling in its neighborhood. Around it forms planets, moons, asteroids and comets. In fact, there is evidence that information is outpacing entropy from a universal perspective.”

Michio continued, “And what is more important in the universe than the information structures sustained on planets, such as earth? Repositories of heavy metals, complex molecules, organic material, life, and DNA.”

“Oh but wait. Consider a black hole,” Brian suggested. “What happens to all that beautifully structured information when it passes beyond the event horizon where not even light escapes? Can a singularity support life or thought?”

“Precisely my point, Dr. Greene,” Steven responded. “Supermassive black holes are at the center of galaxies, billions of them. Stephen Hawking would first tell you that the information is lost, slowly over billions of years. Remember Hawking Radiation? Then he would tell you that it does escape through quantum perturbations in the event horizon. I don't like his solutions, but I do like the one predicted by Einstein.”

“Oh, oh. I know this one,” Brian chattered in mock excitement. “Einstein called it a ‘baby’ universe composed entirely of planck length particles with an infinite number of states. Basically, all the information is compressed down to a point many times smaller than the nanoscopic.”

“Now, if that doesn't sound like an ideal situation for higher order consciousness, I don't know what is,” Michio tittered in typical fashion.

“While your enthusiasm is premature,” Steven continued, “I share your conclusion that consciousness or some kind of consciousness altering event is possible within a black hole. However, the level of energy required for structured information, like human consciousness, to survive such an event is yet undiscovered,” he mused, “perhaps within another dimension, superimposed or phased over the dimension created by the singularity.”

“Maybe. And maybe not,” Brian concluded. He so enjoyed playing the skeptic. Theoretical physicists could so readily depart from reality. “Who's to know but a device or a being existing in one of those dimensions? I’ll keep my eyes peeled for its arrival.”

"It passed without anyone noticing it," Chairman Shan spoke, seated at the head of an extravagantly large conference table, "the proverbial tree fallen in a forest." He looked across the room at the assortment of executives, bankers, heads of state, international arms traders, and dealers in oil, gas, precious metals and gems. 

"Buried in a subsection of the emergency stop gap bill to fund the United States federal budget through the end of the next quarter," Shan continued, "is a deal designating our subsidiaries the exclusive suppliers of a wide range of products and services to the US government and its allies for the foreseeable future." A mild, yet enthusiastic applause erupted around the table. All of them stood to make an alarming profit from this, The Insight Group's latest action, and the carefully orchestrated series of similar measures passed in parliaments and seductive deals struck with ruling governments around the world. 

Amid the applause, Shan stood up. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and turned to face the evening lights of Bangkok. He fancied himself the cliché picture of a villain in a James Bond novel, a thought that almost caused him to laugh aloud unintentionally. 

Another thought refocused his mind: a ruse within a feint disguised as a plan concealing a conspiracy involving a betrayal covering up a pact made in secret to avenge a public humiliation by a trusted friend ... on and on it went through his deviously superior intellect. Layers peeled back to reveal more layers until his cunning was sated. All eyes remained on him as he turned to regard the Board of Directors with disdain.

"You may depart after you've left your instructions for payment. The details of these transactions must be discretely distributed among untraceable fictitious companies within accounts in private banks." Shan spoke his next words very emphatically, "No national or government banks connected to the international banking system, gentlemen."

Shan paused, closing his eyes and gathering his thoughts. What the room's occupants could not see Shan could see so very clearly. From each carefully selected member of his board of directors emanated a dull, gray cloud of dust. This submolecular particulate had filled the room, yet it had not coalesced or shown any form of cohesion; only random patterns of movement with disregard to gravity. Shan breathed in deeply, drawing the dust into the center of his body. Before long, the room was emptied of the mysterious substance and Shan's body pulsed with quiet power. 

Shan was reminded of himself as a young man in his early teens, exiting the walking paths of a crowded street in post second world war Yangon, Burma. He entered an alleyway in the south end of the market district and handed a stack of soiled papers to a British officer. In return he received a single card. On it were the credentials of his new identity, a change that would drastically alter the course of his life.

He did not want to know the boy he used to be, did not wonder how he might have lived on donations and temple offerings. He despised weakness. He detested the monks who had raised him. This document was for him a cleansing, a departure from the history of a country caught for centuries between the grasping hands of great empires, eroded by the endless tide of foreign and internal wars, and denied a common voice amidst ethnic and ideological plurality. It marked the end of his given education and the beginning of his chosen name, his new destiny - Shan, the proud and vital people, who fought valiantly against British occupation and were responsible for the largest expansion his country had ever known, the Toungoo Dynasty. 

Shan had known more than the monks had ever tried to teach him. He knew what it meant when a gray mist fumed from his instructor's eyes or when a wall of blue vapor could trap a man just as surely as a steel door. It made perfect sense to him that he could see and avoid the toxic perfumes of political and religious speech while others simply passed through them, oblivious to their mind numbing incapacity. He was clearly superior and others never questioned his claim, not with the ease he bent them to his will.

Shan quickly established himself as an upstart gang leader in the local streets of the South Market. In three months he had turned all the members of rival gangs into fanatical soldiers of his own followers, crowning himself kingpin of Yangon. Every shop owner paid his enforcers protection money, every ministry of the local government was infiltrated by his army of informants, and every illegal, illicit trade went through his lieutenants. A common thug in his Toungoo army was every bit as loyal as a captain and every bit as dangerous, for their loyalty was repaid with a small share of Shan's power and his will to dominate. Desperation was the air he breathed, fear was the blood coursing in his veins, and anarchy was the beating heart of his thriving enterprise.

The city of Yangon, once a colonial success story with infrastructure, industry, agriculture, commerce, tourism and trade, suffered the fate of many colonies after the Second World War. The decolonization of Burma swiftly descended into revolution, political infighting, and ethnic division. For Shan, this situation was ripe for his unstoppable influence. The Anglo-Burmans, those of mixed European and Burman heritage who still remained in positions of power and civil service, were uniquely fearful of change and accepting of Shan’s promises. The people were simply not equipped, lacking the discipline of internal reality to withstand his suggestions. All but the monks. The Buddhists of traditional discipline proved formidable and particularly resistant. But for their presence, Shan would have enjoyed unrestrained control of his country. 

In Yangon, Shan learned just how to use these small pockets of incorruptibility to his advantage. The people accepted an endless succession of revolutions because there existed a small semblance of predictability; routine was their poison. In order to survive, they compromised their personal beliefs because they perceived that at least a few others had not; piety was their mayhem. They decided not to flee the country en masse because they still felt represented by their own ethnic faction in the never-ending civil war; hope was their prison. For through it all, the monks offered a way out, a single carrot of peace and unification, elegantly alluring and wholly unattainable.

Over every place where the people gathered hung the pall, the inert expression of their hopelessness and resignation. In every event of extinguished human potential, their bodies slowly released a chaotic dust, the distilled timeless, changeless essence of entropy. This dust could not escape the confines of Shan's domain. Instead it remained there, choking the innate human tendencies to free thought, imagination, and creativity. 

At will, Shan could siphon off the mysterious dust and he used it to increase his power and his reach. He channelled its energy to tear the edges of transcendent individuality, that place where people go to find hope in their beliefs and comfort amidst their suffering. This separation caused a local rift in dreamtime, further spreading entropy and chaos. No more permanent blow could have been dealt to the Burmese than to separate them from dreamtime.  As a result, Shan's influence increased throughout Southeast Asia. 

Shan used his rift to spawn a succession of insurgencies in Burma led by the Red Flag and White Flag communists, the White-band PVO, the Revolutionary Burma Army, the Arakan Muslim Mujahid, and the Karen National Union. Just when economic stability seemed within their grasp, Shan's Toungoo army went to work sowing discord and the fear of crypto-communists within the government, leading to the military coup of 1958. Repeated attempts at democratic elections over the next three decades maintained the illusion, each winner nationalizing commerce, banning opposition parties, and arresting demonstrators. 

Underneath the decades of political and social movements, the Toungoo held tightly to their power and never wavered in their true loyalty. The gift Shan imparted to his soldiers was the ability to create a perfect deception devoid of self-importance and pride. Thus they obtained unerring acceptance of Shan’s truth. So complete was their domination over the rabble, that the true nature of their imprisonment and the true identity of their captors remained hidden, even to the Toungoo themselves. They wore no emblem, swore no creed, boasted no pride, and held no assembly. They existed below perception, out of earshot, behind thought, and before decision. Their number was unknown and their influence undetectable, so that the situations the Toungoo created were simply accepted as the way it was.

The designation of Burma as Least Developed Country by the United Nations only reinforced Shan's truth. His occupation of Burma, known publicly as the longest ongoing civil war in the world, was a complete and utter success, sending countless Burmese into the waiting arms of the Toungoo, a second dynasty that had already surpassed the first. Its reach quickly extended to Thailand, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Bangladesh, Nepal, Tibet, Malaysia, Korea, Indonesia, the Phillipines, deep into China, and many native island peoples of the Pacific. With each new locale, Shan's truth twisted into a new form of ignorance, a new kind of blindness, where old ways were forgotten and senses were numbed.

Through his Toungoo, Shan orchestrated decades of regional upheaval and destabilization through foreign strategic alliances, trade wars, economic monopolies, rebellions, student protests, and land wars, even entrapping the world's superpowers through the years. Shan’s truth had become a global undercurrent, locking humanity in a cycle of inevitably escalating armed conflict and eventually, with the emergent trend of global terrorism, striking a drumbeat of fear and paranoia that invaded and pervaded the human psyche. Globally broadcasted images of exploding bodies, ethnic genocide, hijacked airplanes, beheaded prisoners, and murdered civilians filled international news media, mesmerizing policy makers for the foreseeable future. All these events served Shan’s empire and his dominion over human consciousness. 

Without a true counterbalance, Toungoo influence grew unfettered for decades and its effects on human development became permanent. Whole generations came to maturity in a world where nationalism, isolationism, totalitarianism, fundamentalism, racial supremacy, war profiteering, and human trafficking were simple facts of life, unchangeable and unchecked. To be an open society that valued privacy and freedom of thought, belief and movement became an unacceptable vulnerability in the face of Shan's truth. The lessons learned from colonialism, revolutions, civil wars, slavery, and two world wars were lost, dooming the living to repeat the mistakes of the dead, this time with stakes much higher and technology more devastating.

Nowhere in the world did Shan's truth find a safer home than in the West. So removed were they from the greatest suffering and oppression that his deception was faceless, nameless, and thus completely unnoticed. All versions of the truth became equal where populism, greed, and self-indulgence informed the social conscience. Corporatism absorbed all blame as a cost of doing business, making personal responsibility a discarded inconvenience. Global economic and political cycles disguised the scams and schemes of the elite, creating an enormous vacuum of power and money that consolidated greater and greater wealth in the hands of fewer and fewer individuals, forming the new nation-less, global oligarchy of super powerful rich. These became Shan's primary target's, those most unprepared for his insidious suggestions.

A ruse begun.

Shan visibly relaxed, took a deep breath, and addressed the board saying,  "I do not need to remind you all that this meeting never happened." 

They would each affirm their loyalty and obedience with enthusiastic assurances, but Shan would take no chances. He laced his words with a command signal and reinforced them with a dominating touch, as he shook each hand on the way out. His touch strengthened the hypnosis being induced by the signals each of them carried, while each dream cycle made his possession more complete.

A pact in secret.

Shan retired to his private suite several floors up. He had felt it during the meeting of the board, but now it was too strong to be anything else. Something important had occurred in dreamtime that caused a massive displacement of dark energy. 

It had happened before but on a much smaller scale. It usually meant that someone on the planet had attained enlightenment, a rare event for certain. On occasions even more rare, an ascended being moved through local dreamtime and entropy would decrease to unstable levels. It had very recently become a considerable strain on Shan to continue his sphere of influence. 

Shan had not absorbed this much entropic dust since his old rival, his nemesis, had left the dimension of spacetime. Shan thought again of Zeya. It had been so long he had stopped wondering what became of him. When Zeya chose ascension, for that could be the only reason for the events that occurred over fifty years ago, Shan’s power had grown exponentially. In this light he understood what was happening to his favored agent, Heng Wei. Zeya's return must have realigned his loyalties, as it always had when they were still novices in the Yangon Monastery.

If Shan had a second in command, it would have been Heng Wei. He was always protective of the one person he wanted to call friend. He shared his thoughts with no one but Heng. He trusted no one but Heng. The foolish so-called masters in the monastery were forever trying to dominate Shan and separate him from Heng. 

Zeya was the only one who could keep Heng from turning back to Shan. Zeya and Heng always tried to invite Shan along on their adventures through the city and surrounding countryside of Yangon, but favored Naga Zeya would not allow Shan the freedom he wanted. Shan knew that Zeya knew what he could do and, like the masters, Zeya could resist Shan.

The three of them, orphans of the Japanese bombing raid of Yangon on December 23, 1941, were the most promising pupils to ever enter the monastery. Heng was the oldest by two years and Zeya was younger than Shan by a year and a half, yet they contentiously vied for Heng’s attention. 

Heng was a powerful ally for the acuity of his nose and his keen awareness. In the early days when they first arrived at the monastery, Shan and Zeya would try to catch Heng unaware at a chore or sleeping. Every single time, Heng would call their names aloud before they had even approached. He would further shame them by identifying their relative positions, stances, and the items they were holding. Nothing could escape the nose of Heng.

Although Shan was still discovering his karma, he clearly knew he was unlike all the others. He found that he could focus on an individual and subtly suggest a thought, a feeling, an action, or an attitude and just wait. He saw that the effect was not instantaneous, but required that the target should sleep and, more importantly, dream. His own dreams became lucid and would involve the intentions he had imparted to the target, who came to him in his dreams. Once there, he reclaimed the intentions from the target in dreamtime and took possession of the target's will to act on them. While he retained the memory of the dream, the target did not. Henceforth the target would begin to incorporate the foreign intentions into its own internal reality, even reinterpreting previously held beliefs and actions. 

Shan’s suggestions could not be given directly, but rather they had to be pushed through the undercurrents of speech, tone, inflection, rhythm, timbre, and other forms of language. Although the masters were unaware of Shan's push, they never followed him into his dreams. He guessed that it had to do with their mental discipline and the personal dedication to their Buddhist traditions. It was the same for Zeya, the favored one, except that when Zeya was around, Shan found it difficult to push his intentions at all. 

Heng, on the other hand, was wholly susceptible to Shan's suggestions and often found himself escaping from the monastery to play Shan's favorite game. Shan would make Heng track down a target by the smell of their desires and fears. He would push the target several times and also push the target's trusted friend or spouse. Soon both targets believed the other was sleeping with his wife or girlfriend, stealing from his business, or plotting his murder. They would visit the targets one final time to push the command to act on their intentions. Shan would gloat to Heng over the chaos they had sown, sometimes enjoying Heng's discomfort more than the actual display.

To Shan, trust was too fragile a bond, the easiest to break, just another trap, like love. He trusted so little that it was quite amusing for him to watch trusting fools fall victim to their own traps. To his understanding, Shan was actually doing them a favor by dismantling a false belief and freeing the caged animal from its unnecessary restraints to behave the natural way. 

Shan was not always successful in securing Heng for his schemes. More often it was Zeya who caught the attention of Heng and he did not need to push suggestions to do it. For Zeya was a natural guide to Heng because of a gift that Zeya received through his karma. 

By a simple word or gesture, Zeya could allow his friend Heng to become aware of unnoticed gaps in his perceptions or misunderstood aspects of his beliefs. It caused him untold inner turmoil, but Heng thoroughly delighted in the exercise for the chance to experience internally what he naturally discovered through his nose in his external surroundings. 

Heng cherished this gift of insight even more than their friendship. Through it he came to understand that Shan was the source of his confusing beliefs. While Zeya and Heng grew closer, Shan and Heng grew apart. Their conflict drew to a conclusion when Heng and Zeya set a trap for Shan. 

They explained Shan's game to the masters, who then observed him with Heng. After one such episode of chaos ensued, the masters had all the proof they needed to expel him from the monastery. Despite much debate over whether to outright destroy Shan, it was determined that Shan was less of a threat if Heng remained behind. Shan learned from his mistake and vowed never to forget their cruelty.

A public humiliation.

Alessandro first suspected that something was very wrong when his dreams began to feel more real than his waking thoughts. Each night he awoke from dreams with emotions so strong and situations so vivid that his conscious life became a shallow buoy on a raging sea. In the heart of that sea was a quiet inner voice calling him to go; to where he did not know. Through that voice Alessandro remembered who he was, but he could not recognize who he had become. 

More unsettling than his dreams were his insights about people around him. They came suddenly and painfully, accompanied by a sharp sensation in any one of his senses or internal organs, places where he previously had no awareness. None of it made sense, except that his insights about himself were also occurring with alarming speed and were accompanied by intense visions and emotions.

Alessandro Sciarro was an event producer for the fashion industry, employing the most free-thinking, unconventional fashion consultants in the business. He had made a name for himself by reinventing the concept of the televised fashion entertainment event. The excitement he built for brands that had become commonplace and stale made the public fall in love with them all over again. His talent was in sparking new ideas without seeming out of place or garish. Designers and models flocked to his events just to be a part of the show, to feel like they fit in with something brand new, yet changeless and eternal. 

His true gift was in the way he made people feel. The business of fashion was rife with envy and venom, knockoffs and pretense, betrayal and vapidity. Through it all, plenty of artists bravely brought happiness and good vibes to their dressing rooms, but there were none like Alessandro. He made people forget the illusion of surface beauty and discover the deep richness of inner light. It made everyone and everything he touched feel magical, inspired. He had no misgivings about changing the industry, yet he spent himself like a supernova, recklessly spreading his creative light.

That light had begun to dim as his dreams turned to nightmares and his awareness of others brought unending, shocking revelations. Unnerving internal dialogs revealed another side of himself he had never known. Alessandro felt as though another man was taking possession of him from the inside out. It wasn't a feeling of wrongness that caused him concern, but the sense that the world he knew was falling out from under him. All of this was hard to accept, but what he couldn't understand was why he only felt calm, secure in his purpose. 

His purpose. The notion felt strange because he used to know what it was. Now he only wanted to forget he had a purpose at all. If his dreams were to be believed, great suffering was to come for all those who did not love the light. Indeed, suffering was coming for all, but especially for those who loved deceit. If his new insights taught him anything at all, it was that the lies people tell themselves have real consequences, no matter how good the intent. A war was coming, a revolution in which there could be no bystanders. The world he knew would not endure his purpose. 

As he contemplated its meaning, he fell into a trance. Deep in the center of his frontal lobe, synapses sparked wildly. The arcs of lightning danced in blinding circles, looping with resurgent, repetitive patterns. They formed a tiny wormhole around a particle entangled with the Plane of Streaming Radiance, through which he inwardly stepped for a mere nanosecond. In that instant, he found himself floating within a sphere made of crystal with a woman bathed in light that glowed from within. He recognized her, bowed with his palms together in front of his chest, and was about to speak before she met his eyes.

“Welcome, Zeya the Seer,” she said in the language of light. “You have returned.” 

“I have chosen,” was all he replied, using the same language. He found that it brought him immense delight to speak it again.

“What do you seek, oh Seer of a Billion Lights?”

“Your counsel, oh Woman of Wisdom.” Alessandro said, giving her what could only be translated as a wink in this ascended lightbody.

“How could I presume to tell you what you already know, Seer?” she shimmered in brilliant colors, most resembling a blush.

“Samadhi,” Alessandro bowed again, “I have come to petition you for an alliance with the Plane of Human Beings and those who remain in the third dimension.”

Samadhi only let her radiance twinkle unintelligibly.

“Our universe has known only balance for seemingly endless cycles of death and rebirth, but I tell you now that it ends, has already ended.”

Samadhi flickered her radiance and focused a beam of red glowing light into Alessandro's heart chakra.

He responded with a cone of white glowing mist that showered her third eye chakra saying, “The separation and rarefaction of light beings and dark beings has been all in error. Our denial of desires and liberation from suffering has created a dualism with consequences fatal to the universe. A balance must be restored before all paths cease at once.”

Samadhi floated toward him and touched the crown of Alessandro's head with the tips of each finger. A wave of immense joy spread over his entire lightbody and he entered a state of equilibrium before returning to the third dimension.

Author's Note

Please be brutal and blunt, but provide constructive criticism. I'm not one to care for niceness concerning my work. The world won't be nice, even if this is my first attempt at writing.