Baby, I Was Born This Way…

Yesterday…  Monday February 21, 2011…  DAY  11 of the 9th UnderWorld…  

My back hurt & I was filled with a vague ‘irrational’ anxiety…

Yesterday –  65 + people left this plane of reality in a serious earthquake in Christchurch.   Yesterday –  also in New Zealand –  107 doomed whales beached themselves to die in a macabre and deliberate row along the shore.  Yesterday – another X-Class solar flare blasted out of our beloved Sun.  This super-sized wave of super-charged plasma is due to embrace Earth this Thursday / DAY 14,  & Friday /  DAY 15,  of the 9th UnderWorld – but I’m already feeling the Effects.

I don’t think there’s been much of a pause between the Valentine’s X-Class Flare last Monday, which knocked out power and communications in parts of Asia, and had flights re-routed away from the North Pole.   These on top of the several M-class flares we’ve already welcomed over the last few weeks.  So…  I agree with Little Grandmother, that it is probably not a bad idea to lovingly place  our crystals in “wildwater”… 

Yesterday – DAY  11 of the 9th UnderWorld…  With great love and with great sadness –  I  released a small crystal skull which had found me while praying ceremony in the Yucatan to continue his amazing journey…   I kissed him good-bye and set him in the snow,  on the ice,  in the middle of a small frozen lake…  I was sad to leave my dear friend to the cold and the stars, but he is ageless and an age from now someone else will find him, smiling up from the grass, when the lake is gone and replaced with flowers…  Please send him your Blessings.

So, what else can we do?


With Much Mmmmmuch Love  –  From the depths of my heart to each & every ONE of You:



Halfway down the path, the ground bucking in pulsing ripples beneath his feet, Ezekiel realized he’d rather not make a spectacle of himself at the rave. Too late to cough up the zombie cocktail he’d imbibed with such aplomb, he had grossly underestimated the Elixir’s effects. He was losing it. Ezekiel hated to admit it, but his grandmother had been right.

He was a fool.

And if he was going to make it through the night, his best option was to remember everything he’d ever resisted Maman telling him, and everything he’d learned in his lifetime as Father Leon. Ezekiel figured the best way to jog his memory would be to return to the lava tunnels of the People of One, within the volcanic shelter of the Mountains of the Serpent Virgin, at the edge of the Plantation Soleil.

Ezekiel sized up the trail. He planned to emblazon a path through the field of boulders at the base of the Great Fang. ‘When you’ve seen one rock, you’ve seen them all…,’ he slurred, weaving about like a drunken sailor. The moon obscured by sudden cloud, Ezekiel was enveloped with darkness come to life.

The sounds of the bush at night seemed louder than usual. The ground rising up to meet him, Ezekiel high-tailed it as best he could. Then, more a misplaced feeling than a sound, Ezekiel thought he heard something


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that did not belong. Fear tearing at his throat, Ezekiel hesitated on the path.

Accosted by a real presence, there was no doubt as to the entity’s nefarious intentions. ‘A ghost was pressing on him’, as Maman would say. A very bad ghost pressed down on his hands, his feet, and his neck, an ultra-dimensional force that had attained physicality with the power ofEzekiel’s increased attention.

A winged Dracula intent on keeping its prey from moving, at first Ezekiel couldn’t see it; then was sorry he’d tried. Whatever it was had skin like a fish, white scaly skin smudged with soot… Irresistibly drawn by Ezekiel’s quest for fire, a marauding, disembodied Reptilian was doing its damnedest to rip the young blood’s spirit from his body.

Desperate and lost, the lower fouth dimensional entity needed a soul with which to get through the Ascension Gate. Scared beyond his wits, in danger of hyperventilating, Ezekiel was about to let out a screen-queen scream when a power outside himself took over his lungs…

“Breathe… Breathe!” it commanded, “Let me breathe through you…”

Whatever this new energy was, Ezekiel figured he had nothing to lose by trusting it. He inhaled once deeply through his nose, exhaling sharply… He could almost see plumes of smoke curling from his nostrils… His body surrendered, the overshadowing breath took over.

Ezekiel felt dragon-fire move through him. The power of pure life-force energy coursing through his limbs, a benevolent and powerful being had come to his aid. The attacking Reptilian retreated, shrieking its frustration and disappointment into the constant black of its night.

Newly prone to fits of fainting, Ezekiel struggled to maintain consciousness.

He sank, to the jagged surface of the rock below him – when the rock beneath him moved. Stone turned iridescent silver, Ezekiel picked out the noble line of  a curved spine that tapered into a flanged tail at one end, dappled snout silver in the moonlight at the other.  Eyes of living light bored into Ezekiel’s heart.

This was not Puff the Magic Dragon. This was the dragon of legend, and not a legend at all. He was not dreaming. As in fairy-tales of yore, Ezekiel’s body stretched out as if across the back of a faithful horse, the dragon carried him across the serrated pumice foothills of the Viper’s Fangs, towards the bubbling sulfur springs that dotted the slopes of the extinct volcano. At one of the stinking calderas, the dragon stopped.

For a moment, Ezekiel feared that he was about to be thrown into the


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boiling mud. When he was a boy, he’d hard cooked eggs in them. Dragon waiting patiently, finally, Ezekiel remembered what was required of him. He threw his gold watch into the seething pit, an offering. That much of Maman’s training came back to him in his moment of need. He hoped the Great Mother would accept his paltry gift.

Of late, Ezekiel’s conversation with the Earth Mother had been somewhat one-sided. She was ever-giving, unconditional in Her love, constantly giving him gifts – oxygen, water, life – and asking nothing in return. He in turn took her for granted, demanded constant attention, and always wanted more. Stopped on the high slopes of the Viper’s Fangs, the dragon finally spoke, smoke curling from its toothy jaws:

“So now that She’s been tortured to the point of death, how do you think She’s going to feel when She wakes up from her coma?” Ezekiel felt small. Very, very small. “Even though She’s nearly dead, and humanity with her, by the way – She still loves all of us, no matter what we’ve done. We are all Her children. And there’s still time. Not a lot of time – nanoseconds in geologic terms… But we have a year, or three, to redeem ourselves.”

“I gave her my Rolex,” Ezekiel huffed.

The dragon laughed contemptuously in Ezekiel’s face.

“The status symbols you’ve spent the best years of your life chasing can’t water the crops or bring out the sun. You won’t be able to eat your money, or take it with you when you depart this life. Ezekiel, do you have any idea who or what you are?” the dragon inquired.

Ezekiel was silent. He had always thought of himself as a native son. That is, until messengers from the stars had informed him otherwise. The silver sheen of the dragon’s great neck burnished with moonlight, Nagaradja nodded in understanding, his luminous eyes filled with the memory of time.

“I see, my man, I see. The shock of discovery is upon you.” Suddenly aware of his out-of-control self-righteousness, his blind self-importance, Ezekiel burned with shame. “There is nothing wrong with wealth, with material abundance…” the dragon continued. “The universe is endlessly abundant. Just look at the stars. Look at diamonds, lumps of carbon, the most common element in all creation. What is wrong is thinking that it’s all for you. That life owes you. Each breath, everything you have, is a gift. Not something you actually ‘provide’ for yourself.”

The Elixir working its magic, so much of what Maman had taught


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Ezekiel came back to him now with real meaning. He was overwhelmed with the full realization that everything he had came from Mother Earth’s body and heart, birthed from Gaia’s union with her lover, the cosmic Sun. But Ezekiel couldn’t remember Maman ever telling him anything about a giant dragon that lived on the grounds of the abandoned Plantation Soleil.

“Forgive me for rambling on so. I don’t get out much,” Nagaradja concluded. “Just sometimes, with Maman Lezarde.”

“You – you know my grandmother?” Ezekiel snuffled.

“Maman Lezarde? Of course! But if she ever told you a 26,000 year old dragon lived on the slopes of the Viper’s Fangs and that occasionally, when the moon was bright, they went to the beach together, would you have believed her?”

It was true. Ezekiel had dissed so many of Maman’s teachings. His ignorance astounding, the tears were beginning to flow. It was a start. Like a blind man gifted with sight, the startling beauty of Maman’s simple way was revealed to Ezekiel. Her love and gratitude for all life everywhere was deep and true.

“Now we’re getting somewhere…” Nagaradja bellowed softly, purple smoke venting from his mouth, his lips inked with violet flame. If dragons could smile, Ezekiel would have sworn Nagaradja was grinning. “Yesss, it is important to honor the spirits of the ancestors. Make offerings to earth and sky at the painted rocks of the forgotten People of One…”

“I guess it all depends what you’re offering,” Ezekiel sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Nagaradja kept talking… “The ancestors are waiting for you to connect with them. Such is the divine purpose behind the creation of human museums, however inappropriately their contents were gathered. Someone who had a life in Ancient Egypt four thousand years ago can go see a familiar object, even if now reincarnated, he lives in the city of New York. One can go back to the land, or to a museum to commune with the medicine people who created the sacred artifacts, acknowledge the spirits of those who came before. Set their spirits free…”

The Dragon’s breath was violet flame. Nagaradja dwelt within and above the Earth, and moved freely through both air and water. At flow in faith, on the winds of the cosmos he surfed eternity’s great sea. “I don’t much concern myself with the affairs of men. I’ve watched you come and I’ll watch you go. But it will be lonely without you…,” he said wistfully.


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“Remember, we Dragons can survive even on a lump of carbon. We breathe pure prana – pure life-force energy – in any dimension or element. I am that, I am… But you humans can’t do that. Unless you remember how to breathe the way you used to… The Breath of Origin… Then, humans could change their experience of reality overnight. Overnight, if they wanted to. The choice is in the heart.”

Nagaradja’s message was simple. Disaster was upon them, unless they remembered the sacred breath. Ezekiel had witnessed the dragon-fire, and now felt the blaze of Mother Earth’s fire-breath pass through him… He too was one with the holy flame!

“Now you know how I breathe, how I exist without the need for food, for garments. Like the holy men of India who give up the external casings of clothing, when this internal life-flame ignites, no one is safe from its purifying inferno. No king, no president, no murderer, no millionaire.”

His loins tingling, his kundalini rising, Ezekiel’s skin burned with amethyst heat. He too was one with the Holy Planet. Embarrassed, Ezekiel struggled to maintain his composure.

“Yesssss,” Nagaradja continued. “It is one breath, the same breath, of which we all partake. The Breath of Origin, the One Breath which breathes through all of us… The privilege of hearing, seeing the hidden beauty of life-fire on Earth, is yours this night. You called and I answered. I am what is left of the temples of Atalan, and the secreted gifts of the People of One. Earth guardians and witnesses to ages past, we Dragons are Earth Ancients who evolved with the Mother.”

“We exist at a higher dimensional frequency, visible only when we wish to be seen. Love is a frequency, after all. Our purpose is to guard those energies of the Earth called by humans ‘ley’ lines. These lines of force are the Mother’s arteries, a network of light across Her body that distribute cosmic prana from the vortex centers through which She breathes Her sacred cosmic breath. The Breath of Origin breathes through her too…”

Without conscious volition, effort or direction on his part, Ezekiel could feel the pattern of his breathing change. There was no longer any distinction between the in-breath and the out-breath, it was just one breath, the steady, constant, silent pulse of the Breath of Origin, the one breath, breathing its looped breath through him, as it ever did and always would, through every living being, star and planet.

“The Great Pyramid at Giza, Stonehenge, Sedona, the great temples of


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Macchu Picchu, of the Sican, the pre-Incan civilizations of the Southern Americas – these are known to you. Yet you have forgotten their true purpose, and your innate connection to them. While those who secretly rule have never forgotten that true power lies in the hidden realms. Have you not noticed where and how structures of importance around the world are built? More often than not, over node points of the sacred geometries of Earth’s life-web. For balance and protection – or control and domination?”

“So many monuments, new and from time immemorial, stand on cross points of the magnetic rivers of Earth where giant vortexes of invisible but palpable cosmic energy pulse and breathe. Some monuments are designed with huge domed roofs and ceilings, each capping a vortex with its own pre-historical Dragon protectors and guardians of fate. Yet we dragons have long been tyrannized in a careful campaign of defamation,” Nagaradja protested, stamping one clawed foot.

“Who hasn’t heard of St. George ‘the dragon slayer’? Just look at all the churches named for him, and the stained glass windows commemorating the slaying of dragons. The real St. George was a friend of Dragons, who banished an etheric Reptilian Overlord – not a Dragon! We may be cousins on the evolutionary tree of life, but dragons are not Reptilians. Dragons have both heart and soul! And all true kings since the beginning have been friends and allies of Dragons!” Nagaradja roared, fire blasting out his snout.

Ezekiel’s breath caught in his throat. He recalled the stained glass window of a dead dragon with a sword through its heart, another one of Griffin Arakiel’s precious relics hanging in the formal dining room at the Light Resort.

“Unlike most Reptilians, Dragons are Guardians of the Christ Consciousness Grid built by the Ascended Immortals to protect the Mother and Her children. Many Dragons have been imprisoned, and with every Reptilian blood sacrifice of the human children of Earth, Dragonsshed blood rubies of their own crystal tears!”

“But why is the Grid so important?” Ezekiel could not help but wonder…

“Each major vortex is an inter-dimensional portal and star-gate to inter-galactic travel. Each time an earth protector, a human being or Dragon of Earth, Air, Fire or Water is harmed, chained or attacked – the energies of the Earth Mother are more easily commandeered and


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controlled. For whoever controls the life-web – the Grid – controls the world. It is one of the reasons the Mother has had such difficulty awakening. She has been badly injured by the Reptilian Queen’s organized, systemic resistance to Her.”

Nagaradja had Ezekiel’s rapt attention. It certainly explained the reason for the secret base on Esperance, as well as all the recent UFO sightings.

“Nuclear blasts set off in the South Pacific, the result of human ignorance, were the Reptilian Queen’s attempts to rip the Mother’s precious body open at the location of her perineum. This act was equivalent to the rape of a planet, a galactic atrocity,” Nagaradja explained sadly.

“At great cost, Dragons allied with awakened earth humans, the Star-Nations and the Immortals were able to save Gaia. Some of the star-people even went so far as to dismantle nuclear missile silos in the Midwest of the United States and in Russia. The true beginning of glasnost!”

Ezekiel tried to tell himself that Nagaradja was nothing more than a vivid hallucinatory projection of his subconscious mind. The scary thing was, what the dragon had to say made sense to him. Scary sense. As much as he wished, he could not dismiss Nagaradja’s transmission. Ezekiel had done his research. He’d read about the earth grid in the Cannabis Times…

How the ley-line energies of the temple stones of the ancient world were broken, dispersed and displayed in museums throughout Europe and North America. Some patterns more subtle than others, there was a great circle track that linked the pyramids of Giza to the glass pyramid of the Louvre in Paris; to the almost unknown pyramids of Toronto to the nearly decimated pyramid mounds of the forgotten Cahokia, squashed under the St. Louis Arch.

All monuments of importance, or why build them in the first place… Why bother transporting obelisks, the standing cores of truncated pyramids of Ancient Egypt to the European capitals of Paris and London? Rather difficult in the era of horse and cart and sailing ship – unless there was some greater purpose?? Not to mention the relatively new obelisks in Washington, D.C. and in Buenos Aires. Was the goal to serve, or control, the Mother?

Dragons and ley-lines, Ezekiel was no expert. A building was only as good as the people within it. Yet he could not deny the obvious. Many structures, ancient and modern – schools, temples, churches, towers –



appeared to be nothing less than stone markers on the life-web of Earth. And what if Gaia was conscious, and fully aware of the actions of the human children of Earth?

What if Gaia was alive and pulsing with massive currents of geomagnetic force which streamed along fixed points and channels? Humans naturally drawn to settle in the energizing flow of the earth energies, many were probably grid-keepers without even knowing it. Simply living and breathing from the heart and with pure intent meant they were not spewing added soul pollution into the grid.

“Insomuch as each major planetary vortex is an inter-dimensional portal and star-gate to inter-galactic travel, the heart of a human being is no less. A higher frequency human breathing in conscious sync with the breath of the Mother, the planetary avatar, breathes the one breath, theBreath of Origin, the breath of the Cosmic Heart. The sacred heart of the human is therefore a gate to the stars, and even, to Heaven,” Nagaradja concluded.

Apparently, Maman did much more than garden. Her life work unsung, Maman Lezarde had done much to free the dragon lines, to prepare the way of the coming Light. All along his eccentric grand-mother had been a friend of dragons, and guardian of the vortex of the Crystal Pyramid, dimensional gateway to the higher realms over which the pyramid had first been built. Maman Lezarde had held space in her heart for the rest of them, a caretaker of truth such that the later children of Earth would be reminded of the mysteries and returned to Love.



With newfound humility, Ezekiel shuffled along behind as Nagaradja easily picked his way across the boulder strewn slope to the foot of the larger of the Viper’s Fangs. The bright night still young, the Viper’s Fangs radiated strobing pulses of moonlight that penetrated Ezekiel’s skull with mind-numbing intensity that did nothing to calm his racing thoughts. He would never look at dragons the same way again…

On the verge of vomiting, time and time again Ezekiel retched the acid contents of an empty stomach. The glittering, crystalline paws of the Sphinx of Esperance beckoned, but Nagaradja refused to let him attempt a straight line across the boulder strewn field. Instead, the Dragon Elder insisted Ezekiel walk the subtle weave of an ancient labyrinth back to center.

“Respect, my son, respect is everything…”

Somewhat distracted by the shimmering vapors of his hands de-materializing and re-materializing before his eyes, it took Ezekiel what seemed hours to negotiate the enfolding curves.

“Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road…” Ezekiel intoned, walking in a dream he was not dreaming.

But Nagaradja stayed close, keeping him on track with the steady kick of a back leg, and the mobile support of his muscular tail, which Ezekiel clung to with the desperation of an old man on a walker.


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Somewhere between midnight and dawn, Ezekiel lurched to a stop at the feet of the alabaster-veined Sphinx. He had lived practically on top of it his whole life, but the only way he’d found the hidden entrance between the Sphinx’s Paws was through ignominious accident. Maman would say there were no accidents. Nor did she believe in co-incidence.

“You never saw me either, and I’m old enough to remember dancing with the Children of One…” Nagaradja reminisced, reading Ezekiel’s thoughts as easily as if he was cracking coconuts for Maman Lezarde at the beach.

“We brought down the moon when I was young…  Before Arakiel’s rule, the Reptilian Queen at his side…” Nagaradja could not hide his bitterness. “The great peoples and palaces and temples of Atalan downed long ago beneath the sea, this tunnel complex is what remains. The tunnel complex and the Crystal Pyramid, which I believe, Ezekiel, you have already seen, have you not?”

Without waiting for an answer, Nagaradja gave Ezekiel a gentle shove through the veil of orchids that hid the stairs between the sphinx’s paws. His eyes dilated and glassy, this time, Ezekiel could not blame it all on a bump on the head. The young gun half-heartedly told himself that everything was going to be alright. Either that, or he was certifiable. Nagaradja chuckled at his discomfiture, and continued…

“Esperance, or ‘The First Stone’, as it was called by the People of One, was the refuge of survivors who struggled to maintain the wisdom and glory of Atalan as she began her crumbling, decadent, descent. Our island home was the starting point of a migration which allowed the Ancestors to flee with their knowledge, along the spine of Caribbean islands knownto them as ‘The Stepping Stones.’”

“Legend has it those islands were left by the Creator to guide His true people, the ‘Children of One’, to the distant safety of the mainland. This place is now known as the tourist wonderland of the Yucatan. So many children of Atalan have been pulled to visit the islands, the ruins on theisthmus… In their present incarnations most of them are not consciously aware, but their travels are about much more than fun in the sun. They are retracing their steps, and collecting their memories.”

His stomach sinking, Ezekiel tried not to gag; he knew the feeling, all too well…

“A new civilization was born from the ashes of the old. Again magnificent stone cities, resplendent with pyramid temples, priests and


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priestesses, pictographic writing and a calendar more accurate than the Gregorian one used today, rose from the jungle’s fierce heat. Masters of space and time, Mayan timekeepers rode the quantum surf of the cosmic zuvuya. And still do,” Nagaradja winked.

It was just a dream – but Ezekiel burned with curiosity. Clear as crystal, Nagaradja the Great knew far more than he chose to tell. The Dragon took pity on Ezekiel’s ignorance, and threw him a bone.

“One fact regarding the Maya, I must set straight. Your archaeologists claim that they tossed human sacrifices into the sacred wells at Chichen Itza. Even an idiot knows that a landlocked people living in the heat and drought of the tropics with no water other than rain, would not pollute their drinking cistern with decomposing flesh.”

It seemed obvious, Ezekiel had to concede.

“As you may know, Dr. Masuro Emoto has recently proved that water is a living, holy substance. Like liquid crystal, water takes on the qualities of whatever energy or thought is imprinted upon it.”

Nagardja was going somewhere significant with this line of thought, Ezekiel could tell, and he was taking him along with him…

“The Maya bleached the bones of their dead, and placed the dessicated remains of their best, brightest and holiest in the water, which then received and carried the imprint of their wisdom. The ancestors thus ‘lived on’ in the water to bless the soil, the crops and the people. Not unlike the relationship between Christians of the Crusades and their holy water and holy relics, the skulls and bones of their saints. The Reptilian Queen did corrupt Mayan Civilization, eventually. But despite her addiction to blood, even she needed fresh water to survive…” Nagaradja paused,his eyes filled with sorrow.

Again humbled, Ezekiel put two and two together: he had escaped ‘Maktemba’; while entire civilizations had not.

“Yes, Ezekiel, the litany of grief is endless. The ‘games’ of the Roman Coliseum; the gas chambers of Nazi Germany; Stalin’s Soviet Gulag; the guillotines of the French Revolution; the Rwandan massacre; the Reptilian-possessed ‘leader’ of the ‘Lord’s’ Resistance Army of enslaved children in Uganda; and the impetus for every unjust war you can think of. Not to mention basic torture. Millions upon millions have suffered and perished, to what purpose, and in whose secret name? War does not end after the last bomb is dropped. The broken-winged, physically, mentally and emotionally wounded are expected to join the ranks of the living, even though they are traumatized with death.”


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“As if nothing ever happened,” Ezekiel said, with sudden understanding.

“As if nothing ever happened,” Nagaradja echoed. “Nothing worth killing for, the only revolution which matters is therefore the flowering of peace from within. Let us return now, to the matter at hand,” Nagaradja nodded, ever patient.

Humans were slow to learn, but once they got it, nothing in the universe could stop them. Knowledge of the Breath of Origin, the key to the sacred temple of the human heart, was innate, programmed into every cell and segment of human DNA. With Nagaradja as his guide, Ezekielwas again returned to the hidden ledge and the locked doorway marked with a six petaled flower carved in the stone.

“Just like your heart, there is no lock, no door, no wall of rock, and never was,” Nagaradja proclaimed, following the bliss of the breath of fire as the door to the inner sanctum of Atalan stood open before his gentle presence.

There was no locked doorway, no wall of rock, and never had been.

The Breath of Origin the secret key, there was simply a spacious entry to a smallish cave with walls of glittering crystal alive in the violet fire of the Dragon’s breath.

“A temple of the Mother, the inner sanctum of the Crystal Cave is a fortress of the Clear Light. All are welcome but only the truly pure of heart may enter,” Nagaradja intoned, suddenly solemn.

Well acquainted with the content of his own thoughts, Ezekiel tarried outside as Nagaradja made his entrance. Inside the sanctum, inscribed on a floor of fine white powder sand, was a pattern of two large, evenly interlocked circles.

The Vesica Pisces.

“Remember, wherever two circles meet, divine light is born,” Nagaradja explained. “A divine coupling, the sacred feminine and sacred masculine exists here in perfect balance.”

Within the heart of the vesica pisces was drawn a simple flower within a third, fainter, smaller circle. The flower was large enough to fit a person’s outstretched arms, and the outer point of each of its six petals was defined by a massive, single-terminated quartz crystal.

The ancient Atalanean crystals clear as water at the moment of creation, the quartz was programmed with the unadulterated wisdom of the Children of One. The records of a lost civilization were a gift from the


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past to the future, to welcome the return of the light of human super-consciousness, and the advent of the rainbow tribe.

White gold with inner flame, the Atalanean power crystals were beginning to glow from within.

“The crystals are not necessary, merely helpful, in the amplification of soul memory. Each of us a link between the sacred Earth and Sky, there is no real need for props, man-made buildings, or to intellectualize. Our hearts are enough,” the Dragon Regent said, his great flanged tail twitching from side to side.

This was it. And Ezekiel was not sure that his love was sufficient.

Here was the test, the moment of truth Maman had spoken of. Ezekiel had been jumping hoops all his life, to confront the one he couldn’t sink, fake or fumble.

“Ritual has its uses. But when ritual is real, it finds you. Just like death, you cannot say no.”

On the threshold, Ezekiel quaked.

“What will happen when we open up to the Oneness of our true Being?” Nagaradja spoke in generalities, in terms of the royal ‘we’ – but Ezekiel knew exactly who he was referring to.

“I don’t know. I – I don’t think I’m ready.”

“If you say so, Ezekiel. The responsibility of a King of Atalan is great to bear.”

Did he say… ‘King’?

“True kings are few and far between, and a King of Atalan rarer still. What man is ready to let go of ego, greed, self-importance and personal suffering, in exchange for a life of true service?”

‘Not me!’ Ezekiel thought, ready to sprint down the lava tunnel all the way back to Maman’s…

Nagaradja examined Ezekiel closely, his excitement betrayed by the small, measured licks of smoke and flame erupting from his nostrils. “Yessss… I see… You possess true understanding. A king is a servant, whose life belongs to the Creator and to his people.”

Ezekiel felt ready to pass out. Who was he to follow in the footsteps of the Children of One? The one to keep a dragon waiting…

“Which human will be the one to tip the balance of creation in favor of the Clear Light?” Nagaradja asked, softly, of the night.

On the verge of an evolutionary leap, Ezekiel’s dormant ‘junk’ DNA was called to action. He was a human being, and a man who’s most sincere desire was for truth; for his own spiritual liberation and that of all


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people everywhere. Ezekiel did not dare call himself a king; the cave might spit him to kingdom come. But he owed it to the planet to find out. With that, Ezekiel stepped forward –

and was welcomed to the inner sanctum of the Crystal Cave.

Before Ezekiel had time to think, Nagaradja had shoved him into position, into the center of the interlocked triangles of the Atalanean power crystals set in the pattern of a six-petaled flower. Blinded with light, overcome with dizziness, Ezekiel dropped to both knees. Everything was spinning around him. Synapses firing at ultrasonic speed, the higher aspect of his soul came on-line.

Past-life memories and abilities intact, Ezekiel’s being ignited with a powerful wave of remembering. He would no longer need the diaries, except to confirm what he already knew. What struck Ezekiel as odd, and oddly comforting at the same time, was how familiar it all seemed. His true self greeted him, a constant friend despite his long absence and karmic amnesia.

“We’ve been waiting awhile for this, have we not?” Nagaradja said, moving slowly clockwise around the crystals.

Arms and legs shaking uncontrollably, Ezekiel raised himself to one knee, his head bowed before history. Before his life as Father Leon, he had known the true Lelia, the true Priestess of Atalan. Before she had lost her life, and the Reptilian Queen had taken over her body. Fool, fool, MamanLezarde had known he was a fool.

He was the fool King of Atalan, who’d given up a kingdom for love, and got nothing but his throat cut in return. Ezekiel winced. He could see the jeweled crown that had once sat on his head, but not his love-struck face…

“To remember more would only confuse the present,” Nagaradja interjected, with wisdom born of the ages.

Great flanged dragon tail pounding out a hypnotic beat against the floor of crystalline sand, Nagaradja pulled Ezekiel back to the now.

“Feel free to join in any time,” Nagaradja said.

The weight of the ocean of time pressing upon him, for Ezekiel it was easier said than done. Nagaradja’s gnarled, ancient feet playing counterpoint, the dragon began his chant:


Awaken, Gaia-Maa!

We Are One, We Are One


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We have come, we have come,

Children of the People of One,

Mother, we have returned

To serve you, and protect you

Ezekiel was dancing like a white man. But it did not stop him. He and the last dragon of Esperance danced their love for Mother Earth. Nagaradja danced for times long past and the time to come… Ezekiel danced for Maman; for his birth mother, the unfortunate Sister Florieta, beyond his reach in the Convent. For the true High Priestess of Atalan. For Arriana, he danced. Love drawn in endless circles around the crystals of power, Ezekiel and Nagaradja danced for Life.

Grid-busters at prayer in the Crystal Cave, last Atalanean hold-out, they summoned the Dragons of Earth. Ancient protectors set free by the power of love, Gaia’s Dragons came and danced with them. Dragons of Water, of Air, of Fire and of Earth, they came. A chorus of Dragon voices lifted up the Mother, reclaiming the life grids of Gaia and dismantling forever the dimensional prison around Her…

Day of Light, Day of Light,

You have come, you have come,

Breath of One, breathe through us,

Breath of Origin, shine forth!

We Are One, We Are One

Over and over, together they chanted the ancient prophecies. Blood lightning firing his veins, Ezekiel rode his breath, the one breath, the breath of origin… Pushed to the outer edge of inner space, in the cool fire of the amethyst blaze Ezekiel’s clothing was about to spontaneously combust. His clothes turned to sacred cinders in violet flame, Ezekiel was stripped to his skin.

Thus made ready, Ezekiel experienced dimensions impossible to describe with words.

Timeless hours passed.

Inexplicably covered in ash, from the threshold of the inner sanctum of Atalan, the pale light of a soon to set moon washed Ezekiel clean. He’d been blessed, with a vision or two. He had ridden the dragon, climbed a volcano and helped save the world; or something like that. However, in the fading moonlight Ezekiel wasn’t sure if the door to the inner sanctum had ever opened, or if a cave of crystal in fact existed. Faced with a wall of rock, the crystal sanctum was again closed, and Nagaradja was gone.



Ezekiel was left staring at the flower in the stone.

Next to his toe, something winked at him in the starshine. Ezekiel leaned down to pick it up the piece of shell from its bed of crystalline sand, and gasped. In the open cup of his hand, greenly iridescent, a dragon scale gleamed back.

“I am the record-keeper, the truth-sayer, the witness!” Ezekiel declared to the open sky and ocean, thus claiming his throne.

Nagaradja could hear him.

He just knew it.

From between the paws of the alabaster sphinx, Ezekiel exited the Atalanean tunnel complex. Where were his damn clothes? Strewn all over the black rock of the volcanic hills, no doubt… Ezekiel hobbled over the sharp terrain, but found nothing, not even the charred remains of afew tattered pieces of cloth.

By force of habit, Ezekiel looked at his wrist, and then grimaced; he’d thrown his rolex into the volcano.

Like his garments, it too was gone.

And still, he had not found her.


ASCENSION: The FireFlower

The End of Time… But Not The End of The World


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3 comments on “Baby, I Was Born This Way…

  1. This is brilliant! There are so many things in these chapters that strike chords in me. I know this isn’t just a story, as I have had personal experiences of the Earth energy grid, which bear everything you say out. Please, please read my blog -scrolling about two thirds of the way down. I’m not trying to promote my blog – this is related to what you say about the Earth grid, which has just given me confirmation -again- that what I did was right.

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