of the Sun God - Selected extracts
Book One - The Fall
The Oracle (p22)
The class stood in a semi-circle before me and as they meditated I watched
their faces and read their auras.
Of the nine, two had promise, but one was radiant. She stood out as
the one for whom I had been waiting. Altea was expected. The light surrounding
her physical body was bright colour and so stunning I was hard pressed
to define the particular hue. Clearly, they descended directly from
the heavens above. A sign that this young woman was the being the crystal
of Atlantis had been cultivating for millennia. I could see her story
between the lines of colour, however along with the unique path of mastery
was a stream of information with promised a departure from the ordinary.
She was being called to undertake a serious mission which would require
a powerful determination.
As the ceremony proceeded in the physical realms, I drew my awareness
into the depths of my soul and watched time unfold before me. There
are moments in time which stand in direct alignment... although they
may be millennia apart. It is as if one stands in the tide of awareness
at the point when it is neither moves out or in... like capturing the
inhalation and the exhalation of a great universal breath in one still
perfect point of time. At these moments it is possible to heal past
and future wounds, wounds which haunt humanity until atonement is achieved.
Duand’s Advice (p66)
“Time is the main factor.”
“What are you saying?”
“Continue as you are, Odan. Hold onto your sense of sovereignty,
be conscious of what is happening around you and work for change; but
be aware that you may have to do some work outside the timeline...”
He smiled a moment at the idiocy of language. “At some time in
Still Odan looked puzzled.
“Do not let it concern you. Time is a difficult construct to work
with. Be aware, however, that your soul’s purpose continues through
all time. It is not restricted to one physical embodiment. With Sianna’s
help I have been investigating how to create a portal between the worlds.
It is a psychic phenomenon and requires considerable focus. Allow yourself
to be immersed in events but keep your unique perspective. Don’t
allow Senat to trap you in his reality. Listen to the planet. We have
formed ourselves in the physical, therefore, it is physicality we must
take into account. Danuih must be our guide in this.”
Sisterhood of the Rose (p91)
The women stood in a circle, naked, birdmasks concealing their identity.
One after another around the circle... an eagle, an owl, a raven, a
hawk. Eight in all. Each drew upon the spirit of the bird to create
a momentum of its own. One by one each bird began to chant, a tone...
A-U-M... the sacred word, the word of power reverberated through each
being as they chanted until all had joined the symphony. It circled
around, spiralling upward and around... down, around. As within so without.
There is a kind of music which is heard so deeply, that the singers
become the tune. Such was this song that the sisterhood now sang.
A-U-M is the foundation sound of being. It is humanity’s attempt
to reproduce the sound of creation, the point from which thought began,
feeling and action. As long as the sound persists... repeated, chanted
endlessly, so the vibrations form a cohesive sound, it acts as a stabilising
factor for the universe. It attracts the universal divas, the great
builders of the solar system, who create as the sound forms around them.
A-U-M... A-U-M... A-U-M. The tones work their way into all bodies, creating,
building, ensuring total receptivity to the force of life. This sound
transcends all others.
And so the divine sound worked on Odan and the sisterhood, forming them
like clay into one divine being with one mind, one body, one soul.
Osiris, Divine Agent (p122)
On the planetary stage Senat had chosen the role of antagonist. He was
doing the pushing. It was up to others how they moved with that. Meanwhile
it was imperative the thread of Love be preserved for the final moment.
It is always good to have a happy end, Osiris mused with a wry smile.
But when? Time gave every action an odd sideways motion, like looking
into a distorted mirror and seeing yourself puffed up and awkward.
Physicality was at the heart of the experiment of course. It seemed
the Source wanted to play this out to the end, becoming denser and denser
with fear. It was an unexpected state of affairs, but one couldn’t
help being astonished by its effect upon events. Death, he supposed,
was the most obvious development. Until recently, any being in a physical
body simply chose to leave when the time was right; when they decided
they required a rest, or a change of physical pattern. Fear was now
creating physical symptoms of emotional and mental dis-ease and actually
shutting down the life force circuitry compelling the being to vacate
the physical body. It seemed that as humanity focused more on the importance
of physicality it drew death ever closer. What bewildering mastery!
Duand, on the other hand, like the more pure of heart, had retained
the mastery to simply vacate when he knew the time was appropriate.
Belial, along with his priests and scientists, didn’t agree of
course. They had even begun preaching that passing was a problem, a
mistake, a distortion of what was divine will. They even seemed to be
considering physicality as being a mistake, we had descended into it
somehow, as if it was a depth of despair, a punishment for some alleged
crime. This amnesia of divine presence was something Osiris found oddly
engaging. It intrigued him to watch how it manifested in the people’s
minds as if they not only deserved it, but actively sought guilt and
victimhood. This duality consciousness resulted in odd companions.
Sister of the Water (p125)
At last they found themselves in the provincial capital, on the far-reaches
of the canal system which stretched over the great plains to the city,
and rather than stay a night in the town and perhaps attract unwanted
attention, they continued straight to the canal station. After honouring
the goddess of the waterways in a shrine dedicated to Khe-Ta and securing
passage on a barge into the city early the next day, they were offered
a bed for the night in the lodge of the holy sister who managed the
toll gate and shrine.
There were a number of these women sharing the title, Sister of the
Water, stationed at shrines all across the plains where the canals and
streams connected to larger waterways. Osiris explained to Sianna that
they were not individuals as such, but rather were an individual hierarchy
of nature spirits, much like her own faery folk, but, unlike her kin
who possessed clear individual personalities, they had one collective
will. In the ancient days before descending into solid physical bodies,
the hierarchy had been called ‘Angel of the Water’.
Like their mothers before them, these women were dedicated to honouring
water and, like water itself, had a single mind-soul. Despite long distances
apart, each thought, emotion and action was empathised within each other
sister and it was said that when they entered the water, which they
did on occasions like the Festival of Water, they merged so completely
that they disappeared into its soul; only to return re-energised for
the following year.
Foreseeing of Destruction (p134)
“The opposition to our House will grow simply because duality
is being anchored more deeply into the cellular patterning of humanity.”
Osiris paused and took a deep breath. “Our opponents are intent
upon destroying that which threatens their reality. Ask yourself what
is our intent? Look around you. What do you see? A temple space dedicated
to creation. This is the same energy. We must honour their strength
of purpose, as we honour our own. Both attitudes are a manifestation
of the One Truth. If you stand in your power, in the knowingness of
this, you will be invincible. If you become karmically hooked, your
will and that of the Source will be compromised. But even this is unimportant.”
He added as an aside. “It is a moment of choice. Without choice,
we are lost. Use your free will to choose with wisdom.”
He stopped speaking and reached down for a sip of water from a tumbler
on the table near his seat. As he straightened, he raised his head and
again drew in the beauty of the windows, one by one, as if to fill his
being with inspiration. Slowly the beauty before him dissolved into
despair and destruction. Screams of agony assailed his inner ear as
he witnessed the colours fade and the glass shatter into splinters of
pain. Blood red, now the only colour, seeped... filtered across his
vision. Despite his words, he flinched from the future reality. Sculptures
fell and were broken by men whose only permitted emotion was anger...
the rest lay concealed, hidden behind armour as solid and dense as the
boots they wore to destroy. Artworks of beauty, created in celebration
of the wonder and love bestowed upon the world by the Source, lay in
ruins. Men and woman alike were hurled, like broken dolls, from their
cruel hands where they huddled to await the inevitable fate. Physical
suffering and death.
He averted his eyes from the windows and turned back to the audience
before him. Eager, young faces waited upon his words. All this in a
second of time, he marvelled as he witnessed himself outside Time itself.
Not long enough for anyone of his audience to even notice his response,
but someone did. In the front row, Sianna had picked up his mood. Her
mouth was slightly open, voicing a silent horror. Beside her, Heron
watched him. Side by side at last, they were patient lovers, setting
aside their love for something greater... as did so many others before
him. Osiris just wanted to enfold them all in his arms and protect them...
save them from what they were about to endure. Tears fell down his cheeks
as he heard the screams and saw the torn bodies bloodied and broken
amid the rivers of scarlet. Terrified lovers being forced to watch the
brutality of crucifixions upon those whose only crime was to live with
a different knowing. That we could sink so low, so deep into darkness,
was in one sense horrifying but in another astounding. It was unthinkable,
but as real as the beauty and glory which was now restored to his vision.
Two - Grace
Tess’ realisation (p 15)
Tess wished she could add something simple, but there was nothing she
could hang any words onto. Whatever ‘it’ was, hung there
in the ethers just out of reach, like a word on the tip of one’s
tongue or a dream disappearing into the deep recesses of one’s
mind. She thought she must really be going out of her mind to even be
looking at it as if it was real. More than anything else she knew she
had to atone for something. The sound of the crystal shattering, suddenly
echoing within her mind, was the realest thing she’d ever heard.
Mike and Fear (p 29)
“I saw Tess the other day. She came into the shop to buy a wetsuit
for one of her boys.”
Mike’s heart beat loudly, his hand holding the glass half-way
to his mouth tightened slightly, but he knew Hugh had not noticed any
of this. He nodded. “How was she?”
“She looked great.” Hugh knew Mike well. He glanced across
at him waiting for some response, but his friend was busy with the food
on his plate. Too busy. “She asked after you.”
“She asked how you went at the tournament in Tokyo.” A pause.
“She didn’t buy the wetsuit.”
The atmosphere was loaded with unspoken thoughts. After another moment
Mike asked, “Is this related to your conversation about fear?”
Hugh laughed. “You’re asking the question mate!”
Mike leaned back in his chair, drank some more beer and grinned. Images
of Tess flooded into his mind bringing a relaxed sense of relief. It
was good to voice his thoughts for a change. “Well, some women
are just so bloody intriguing, aren’t they.”
“Why did she leave?”
“God knows.” He returned his attention to his plate.
After another silent moment, Hugh asked, “Did you have an affair?”
Mike smiled to himself. “If it’s any business of yours,
After another slight pause, Hugh ventured, “Perhaps that’s
why she left.”
“Briony thinks she’s verging on insanity.”
Now Mike wished Hugh would stop talking about her - he didn’t
want to be imprisoned in their reality - but he also wanted him to continue
so he had the luxury of thinking about her, assessing her, savouring
her, without having to take responsibility for initiating the thoughts.
He paused before saying, “She would.”
Hugh raised his eyebrows.
“She’s jealous. Tess has much more power.”
After a long moment, Hugh said more to himself than his friend. “I
think that there’s one pure force which converges in our subconscious
and fragments into all the emotions that we need in our lives. I think
fear’s like hundreds of small sub-emotions which change and fragment
constantly as one develops.”
Twin Towers (p 40)
Finally after Sim and the boys left for the day in the illusionary world
outside her realms, she went to turn off the television but was riveted
to the spot when she saw the reason for their excitement. Planes were
flying into concrete and steel buildings like arrows through a soft
cake. People waved frantically from high in the buildings, debris showered
down on the street below like a macabre ticker tape parade, as the smoke
and flames took hold. The distressed voices of the news readers muted
in her ears as she watched first one tower... then the other... collapse
in on itself and drop to the ground in clouds of grey dust and rubble.
The news flooded into her body... bled through every fibre, as she collapsed
in a heap on the lounge room floor, compelled to watch the never-ending
re-runs of the event, crying bitter tears of regret and guilt.
On that beautiful morning in spring, amid the chaos and anguish expressed
by the media, when she had cried herself hoarse, Tess’s body refused
to walk. At some point she was aware of her own vulnerability. She also
lost the power of talking, so stunned was she and so cognisant that
she was totally and utterly responsible. Her whole body shook inside,
as if she was indeed the towers and when later she watched it again,
as they crumpled to the ground, she agonised over the burden of knowing
that every being on the planet relied upon her. Perhaps this was, at
last, her insanity being played out on television screens the world
Ironically Sim thought she was behaving rationally for once. If this
was what it took to have her beside him, he thought, then it was worth
it. Perhaps they were okay after all. Pretending he felt as strongly
as she obviously did, he held her sharing the distress, feeling as the
world seemed to be feeling. She let him believe what he needed to.
Without any doubt Tess knew she had unleashed events which resulted
in this act. She could not ignore any longer the pleading of her higher
self to deal with what had happened... to fulfil the contract which
would have her atone for what she had done.
“Mike,” she began. But where to begin? “Do you have
any idea what is happening to us?” she asked, shivering and trying
to control her awareness of it in the face of his awesome presence.
He looked up at the sky a moment, as if surprised that water was falling
from it, then back at her. There was an intense silence which filled
the space between them.
“Yes?” Elation filled her. Goosebumps rose on her arms,
at the nape of her neck. It wasn’t the cold. She realised how
she’d braced herself for an entirely different answer. “You
do? Oh at last!” It was the final proof that she was not crazy.
It wasn’t insanity which told her without any doubt when the I
Am gave her a message, via a song, a symbol, a work spoken... a pod
of dolphins. The certainty which filled her in such moments now was
absolute proof of its reality.
And, she suddenly realised, she would meet her divine complement, her
“Shit, Mike. Why haven’t you told me?”
“I just have.”
She was aware of the euphoria which surged through every cell of her
body. From such lows to such highs. “What do you know?”
“I have five supreme beings on at me on a daily basis, telling
me to listen to the ‘little one’. You. They say we have
work to do together.”
The goosebumps spread up her neck to the top of her head. She smiled
and said softly, “You must have always known it was me. You have
always treated me with sacredness.”
He regarded her.
“You must make a choice, Mike. It’s up to you now.”
Rebecca (p 130)
Shamans and mystics live the ‘experience of god’. It is
what is at the heart of religion’s dispute with alchemists. They
don’t need any book to explain what is happening for them. They
have no need to write down, even in poetry, how to bridge the gap between
the material and the gods, but they teach other humans that if they
can see, or glimpse even for a brief moment, what is at the end of the
rainbow, then anyone can. Those living authentically simply know it
is a matter of being.
The ‘language of the world’ is at the heart of humanity.
It is something we understand, deeply and profoundly. It is not about
words. It is frustration with the human condition which creates the
yearning for the journey Home. Loneliness is the drug which causes a
reaction, to seek out the core of humanity, the reality of the divine
connection. In this hidden place is the archetype. In here, the kings
can be found. In here, beats the rhythm of the Great Central Sun which
marks the boundary, the place of union, between the divine and the human.
There is no space here for fear. It is the place where humans choose
to walk the road of intuitive awareness without any ‘buts’,
ignoring the distractions which always threaten, those things that make
separation okay for just a little longer. Commitment to a sacred path
without human regulations, without agreed upon rules or limitations,
without an agenda, can be fraught with difficulties. Fear has a habit
of putting labels on everything and life without labels is like a path
without a safety rail. When risks are taken, the abyss threatens.
At this moment, when the tail of the Timeline circles around and is
grasped in the mouth of the serpent, there is a moment of clarity when
it may be safe to walk this path, after all when fears are embraced
the abyss can be recognised for all that it is.
Standing outside, I witness Altea, Mike, Shar and the others as they
negotiate along the path, as they find atonement. As physical manifestations
of the archetypes, they must ascend. Their alone-ness, their desire
to create a paradise for humanity, compels them Home.
The scribe’s dilemma... I want to be more, do more, am more inside
what is. With every story. With every one.
Step in, I hear. Simply step inside and become at-one with
All That Is.
to Daughtr of the Sun God
© Pam Giblin (Selenna) - Hobart, Tasmania 1992, 2011