Well my darlings, here we are, and here we go… On the eve of December 21, 2012 – the Galactic Core Ascension Stargate – I wish to give you a LOVE Gift of two KEY chapters from ASCENSION: The FireFlower ((SCROLL DOWN!! for Chapters)). Although there are an infinite number of pathways to Ascension – the Ascension of every Being is Unique – the secret to Ascension is always Love.
LOVE is the Fuel of Your Personal Merkabic ‘Light Soul Chariot’…
In ‘Time Tunnel of Arcturus’ I wrote that I go into the garden and “do my merkabic thing.” People were curious: what ‘merkaba stuff’ do I do, exactly?? Merkaba, Merkana, however it is called or explained, the experience came first, before words, before books, before any mental concept or intellectual teachings of any kind on the subject. In essence, my merkabic field programs me – Divine Source ‘star-code’ downloads itself into the body, the personality, the human ego… NOT the other way around.
So here’s the thing: I don’t ‘do’ anything. It’s not about ‘Doing’ the merkaba. I’s about the Universe expressing itself. The ‘Goddess Merkaba’ is about pure ‘Being’. Being One with all that is, holding all Life in my Heart… This does not mean I run around all day with my hands in prayer pose singing hymns. Earthy, real, embracing of heaven AND earth, for me, it’s all instinctive, feeling, heart-centered movement of cosmic kundalini.
And since my human ego, body, personality, mind are limited by the very bounds of being human, I prefer to pray as follows: “I will to will Thy Will… May the Divine Will of Source Embody within and through me…” It’s that’s simple. True prayer bypasses the ego and the mind, to anchor from the Heart…
My initial merkabic activation happened spontaneously, without desire, without me wanting the experience. I could not want something I did not even know existed, far less name it. For years I could not even speak of it. Completely outside of my reality and world-view at that time, the cosmic switch was thrown, and my life changed forever. It was not, is not, and will never be, about me. An honest to goodness fully awakened merkabic field transcends the ego identification of the self, because by its very nature it is the living expression of All That Is. The human ego cannot contain it.
Merkaba, merkana, the semantics of ‘name-calling’ are really quite irrelevant. To the Ancients it was not the name of the ‘Light-Soul’Chariot’ that mattered, but one’s conscious and active participation in the experience. Upon death, acquired names, trademarks, certifications, you tube videos, number of pages and books written will not matter. All that will matter, all that will determine the degree and expansiveness of one’s Soul-light quotient, will be how much, how deeply, how selflessly and with how much devotion, one has actively served, cared and loved.
In the interplay of unfolding character and action in my novel, ‘ASCENSION: The FireFlower’ I write about the way of the Divine Feminine, and about the Goddess Merkaba – but it is purely descriptive and emotional. The paths to the One are thus revealed experientially – such is the Initiate’s journey. Although I can attempt to share my experience of the ‘Goddess Merkaba’ – think ‘spiral galaxy’ – I can’t teach its ‘activation’ in some kind of course because it’s not something that can be put into a step by step process that promises the moon and stars. It is not a ‘business enterprise’ and no one can ‘Ascend’ for you.
It just happens.
Does a baby need an instruction manual?? Just like being born, breathing, digestion and dying, the awakening and activation of one’s merkabic field is simply a natural part of being fully alive on this earth. It’s not up to me, it’s not about me. At play in the fields of the Lord, it’s between you, Creation, and Creator – nothing at all to do with taking a course, nothing to do with any type of organizational structure, mystery school or certification. It is not knowledge based. It has nothing at all to do with the mind.
Be invisible, pray, meditate, show up – Such is the way of the Divine Feminine. God knows who you are, where you are, the fullness of your heart and being. Mother Earth knows. The Christed Angelics, our Guides, know. There is no tom-foolery in the Higher Realms. That is enough. What happens within my merkabic field is always spontaneous, unscripted, experiential, never the same way twice – therefore quite impossible to predict – or quantify – although apparently there have been attempts to have it measured.
Sooo… No need to ‘do’ anything other than just be your own beautiful heart-self . No one else can do what YOU are here to do, because although we are all One, your Merkabic heart signature is unique to you. ‘Just Be’ in the garden, in your bedroom, by the fire, in the tub, in the park, in nature – wherever! Wherever you are, love and serve with your whole heart!!! P.S. The Story Chapters presented here make most sense if one reads both chapters in their entirety. Much Much Love, Andromeda – You Are Another Me!!!
BON VOYAGE & SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE…
CHAPTER 36 ASCENSION: The FireFlower Pages 303-310
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT 2009
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
“Respect, my son, respect is everything…”
Somewhat distracted by the shimmering vapors of his hands dematerializing
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.
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
“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 known
to 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 the
isthmus… 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
“A new civilization was born from the ashes of the old. Again magnificent
stone cities, resplendent with pyramid temples, priests and
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.”
“As if nothing ever happened,” Ezekiel said, with sudden
“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, Ezekiel
was 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
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
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
past to the future, to welcome the return of the light of human
superconsciousness, and the 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
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
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
“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, Maman
Lezarde 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
“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:
We Are We Are One, We Are One
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
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 a
few 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.
CHAPTER 37 ASCENSION: The FireFlower Pages 311-316
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT 2009
From the uneasy silence of his sanctuary, Griffin observed the
rising of the dawn. Die-hard devotees danced in the sunshine, the
music of the night still bombarding the Light Resort with noise.
The Ascension Gate had come, and gone. No one had been airlifted into
outer space, and the rainbow of moonlight over the Viper’s Fangs had
melted into evanescence.
Over-exposed, Griffin knew that Gabrielle had recognized his fallen
nature, as well as the Goddess within herself. She would not fall for him
again. And not since Atalan had Griffin felt the thundering of dragons
dancing, the purifying purple fire of their sacred breath liberating the
life-web of the Mother. Dragon fire transmuting shadows in the magnetosphere
to light, his Reptilian pure-bloods had begun to flee the surface of their lost
world for the outer dimensions of deep uncharted space.
All except for his Reptilian Queen; of all his children, she had received
succor from the Most High. A being created far from Heaven, she had not
bounced back from the other side. Her earthly vehicle reduced to a small heap
of gray dust in the middle of a hospital bed, the resurrection keys were not the
Reptilian Queen’s to give. Baffled, the doctors were calling it an unsolvable case
of spontaneous decomposition.
Everything was falling apart.
So what if some deluded individuals thought it was 2012. What was
‘2012’, anyway? Just a point in the vastness of the unpredictable future
upon which humanity could focus its greatest fears and highest hopes.
That in itself could create the so-called ‘shift’ of the ages. But as far as
Griffin Arakiel could see, nothing had moved the inner gears of the collective
reality into heaven, and time was still playing itself out. Besides,
he’d scheduled the rave at the Light Resort a night early – just in case.
From the shadows of his dark dream, Griffin observed Arriana intermittently
and throughout the day, death-still in the sarcophagus. He
had broken the girl’s heart, but not her spirit. At sunset of the third day,
Arriana stirred, but did not wake from her necromantic dreaming.
It was incomprehensible; the poison had not killed her. The blood of
life and the blood of death running in Arriana’s veins, perhaps the soothsayer’s
prophecy was true. Past midnight, she clung to life. Angered and embittered,
Griffin had yet to attain satisfaction.
Beyond redemption, beyond love, Griffin’s lack of conscience had seen
him through many a vale of tears. Still not over getting over his goodness,
he’d have to finish the job himself.
He was the only one who could.
Arriana did not know much, but of one thing she was certain. The
Goddess of a Thousand Thousand names was greater than the tragic attempt
in her lifetime as the Atalanean Priestess to steal fire from Her.
If She willed it, the Goddess could bestow a renewed heart to any who
asked. It was then a stranger, a slight man in white appeared, and spoke
these simple words:
“All that I have lived I endured that you might know Love.” The man in white
paused, as if distracted by a distant unpleasantness. “It is all a dream, even the
worst of it,” he said gently.
Her trust in people shattered, yet her battered and bruised heart told
Arriana she could trust him…
“These days,” the man continued, “I merely observe the eternal play
of the Light and the Dark, the dance without end until at least one partner
surrenders the desire to lead. I look at it from the middle and above,
sideways and from below. I AM both the Light and the Light that has
Yes, very familiar…
“To go beyond both, to illuminate the path beyond duality, that is why
Proof Copy Ascension: The FireFlower Page 313 Copyright 2009
we are here. To bring together the pieces within ourselves, to be non-dual
beings in a dual universe – then it can happen for the rest of the family.
All our relations. Human. Pleadian. Anunnaki. Martian. Sirian. Reptilian.
“Who are you?” Arriana asked.
But Yeshua was already gone, disappeared into the highest realm.
Only the imprint of His voice remained…
“This shall you do, and more. And remember, it’s all a dream…”
When Arriana opened her eyes, Griffin Arakiel was above her, the hatred
still in him. Cold pain of an obsidian blade against her breast, with
him it was always hate and more hate, never love. Arakiel hated that she
loved him. The experience of her love for him so painful, he had not given
up his desire to destroy it. Her love proved him wrong in every way. And
in order to validate his miserable existence, he needed her to choose soul
death through despair.
Or he would choose for her.
A dagger’s ruby-red dragon’s tears about to be washed with her blood
exactly the way it always went, Griffin held the razored blade in the air
above Arriana’s heaving chest. With it his Reptilian Queen had excised
many a sacrificial heart, twisted love offerings to his cursed rule. But
there was something of which Griffin was unaware. The obsidian dagger
was exactly the same – yet within Arriana, everything had changed. She
had remembered her part in the divine play.
Still, Griffin did not drive the dagger deep.
After all they’d been through, what could he be waiting for, Arriana
wondered…? Get it over with… Let me go… Let me go home… The being in
the body of a girl closed her eyes. Yes, Griffin hated her. His fear the denial of
love, fear was the root of his hatred; but he hated himself more.
And her fear of the darkness – her very own darkness, of which he
was merely a reflection – was just another way of denying love. Arriana
followed the trail of her terror to the shadow place, a light-less cavern of
blackened ice deep within. Darkness upon nothingness shrouded with
icicles of sharpened tears; and there another shadow of deeper darkness,
a black flame that burned with rage. No one to speak of, yet there it was,
darkness within the dark, an entity unto itself.
“What is your name?”Arriana asked the hidden void within, that had
remained a secret, even to her.
“My name is Cruelty Love Withheld, the Fruit of Pain and Fear and
Hate. And – I – am – yours.”
On the threshold of her own death, Arriana recognized the chaos of
darkness disowned – and its inevitable result. All she had witnessed, all
the suffering she had unwittingly helped create; all her self-abnegation
and unrequited love – none of it was separate from her essential self.
Her unloved inner dark was the missing and fractured piece of her
soul that she herself had rejected and abandoned. The part of herself she
had not forgiven: the root of all her problems. Waiting life after life, feared
and forgotten, for her to reclaim it.
Arriana could no longer deny her deepest desire. The Angels and
Celestial Beings surrounding her sighed with relief. Finally, she got it;
Arriana’s deepest desire was to be totally filled with love. Arriana addressed
the shadow of all her shadows:
“Forgive me, for abandoning you.”
The flame of darkness stirred.
“And where am I to live?” it asked, finding it difficult to believe
“In my heart,” Arriana answered simply; she could no longer deny any
part of her being love.
The shadow’s dark flame turned into a river of black-ice-fire ready
to flood. Arriana felt the fear rise up, threatening to choke her breath
and blind her eyes under its opaque hood. Her broken heart open wide,
Arriana’s faith in love held firm. All she could do was let go and embrace
her fear with love.
She let her Shadow enter.
Within the inner sanctum of the sacred heart, her shadow found the
void that Love had kept warm in its absence, patiently awaiting its
Home at last, her dark had not returned empty handed. In its
presence was a gift. Black ice slowly melting, the split pieces of Arriana’s
broken heart came seamlessly together.
For it was in her Shadow’s power to heal her soul of pain, dry the tears
of love unanswered – with love long-dormant for the divine spark within.
Nothing to do, nowhere to go, she and the darkness were already one.
Arriana understood: the darkness was also part of the Light. Whatever
happened, whatever Griffin did or did not do, all paths led to God. Great
Mystery had never held her original sin against her. So she was finally
able to follow suit.
Released from the past, from the defining Atalanean moment on
which she had based her entire karmic story, Arriana was at peace, at
last. The burden of a shared history dissolved in grace divine, love was a
choice which Griffin refused to make. Arriana had denied the darkness
within herself, while he continued to deny the light. An act of supreme
hubris, for him, there was no way back to the Garden.
Surrender to what is, opened the gates of God’s limitless grace, but capitulation
was the requirement of divine pardon. It was this Griffin could
not stand. Forgiveness the root of his fear, at his core Griffin would not,
could not accept that he too was deserving of absolution; nor could he
risk finding out for certain.
“Do what thou wilt is the Whole of the Law,” Griffin chanted, blade
pointed unerringly, ready to drip with blood.
So there he was, the love of her life, still waiting, with the knife.
“Do what thou wilt and harm none, is the Whole of the Law,” Arriana
spoke, free of all fear. “In the Presence of Love, you have no power. Love is
all powerful. I am Love. I am that… I am… You are Love. Love is all there
is. The time has come to accept it. I have.” The whispered Word spilled
from Arriana’s cracked lips unstoppable as the blood ready to pour from
the cavity Griffin was bent on cutting into her chest…
“Surrender to Love now. Be who you truly are… Love is who you truly
are… Love feels wonderful. You have no idea how good Love feels… It is
better than anything you have ever felt before. Love is coming to claim
you as its own. Give in to it. Allow yourself to accept its embrace…”
Griffin would not, could not, hear her…
It was not about him.
He could not stand it a moment longer, the look of love in Arriana’s
eyes. How dare she know love, indestructible, unfathomable love, at the
core of her being… The girl would die trustingly, eyes wide open, her life
volunteered. The rage in him boiled over. How dare she show him no fear!
Weak, already close to the moment of death, she would not cheat him of
his final pleasure.
Both hands clenched around the obsidian dagger’s hilt of gold, Griffin
raised the blade high above his head, thumbs anchored on shining tears
of dragon’s blood. But Arriana was beyond him, beyond heartbreak, beyond
He had catalyzed her being, and for this, Arriana was grateful. In universes
before this one, she and Arakiel had been twin-flames and would
remain so. They had simply played another round in the eternal game.
She could feel the energy of her entire life-force center in the top of
her skull, pushing against its rooftop of bone like a baby wanting to be
born. She knew – she had always known – in dying there was nothing to
fear. Love would carry all of her, all the way home. In its wake, she hoped
Griffin would eventually swim.
“There is nothing you can do to stop the return of the Light. It is coming.
It is the Dawn, gifts of Life and Love borne on the rays of a Universal
Sun. The Most High does not love me more than it loves you, or less. All
Creation’s children are loved the same. We are the children, the children
of the People of One…”
Empty speech to his ears, Griffin had to put an end to Arriana’s babble.
A final thrust and the long-awaited words of the Daughter of the Stars
would be nothing more than bubbles of blood on dead flesh.
Griffin was ready to plunge the knife.
The threads of time would remain forever untied.
Sacrificial razor slicing the air, Griffin was momentarily blinded by the
burning pyre of his own rage… Blood dripped from his fingers onto the
dagger and the cold stone of the empty sarcophagus.
His own blood.
The obsidian butterfly had flown.
Arriana was gone, disappeared, into thin air.
All alone in the Crystal Pyramid, in the dagger’s streaked blade Griffin
Arakiel stared at his Atalanean reflection, at the thin white line of a scar
that matched the fresh, self-inflicted scratch cut across his throat. His
feet firmly planted in the dust of Arriana’s Ascension, the past did not
equal the future. Arakiel was left behind, to contemplate the bitterness of
ASCENSION: The FireFlower
The End of Time… But Not the End of the World