Masters of Illusion in the Garden of Time

By Forrest Somma

Sundown, a freewheeling artist of note enters into a state of dispare he cannot shake. He seeks alternative answers from a Dr.Shinto. under hypogensis Sundown enters the land of the path. Four warrior, priests of the order of the dwellers of the threshold descend into matter in that realm, carrying the great artifact the yeshe. Vows are broken and the barer of the yeshe hides with it as it consumes him in dialbo cave. Sundown is captured by one of these beings and in time escapes. Continuing on the path he meets his mentor Toshin. He is trained and excels in ancient survival and defensive techniques. Under Toshins guidance they assault dialbo cave an a attempt to retrieve the yeshe and place it where it can do no more harm. So the saga begins. In time Sundown returns to the present day reality. Slowly the world slips into cataclysm. Sundown and company enter 2400 B.C. In an attempt, in the past to alter the present and avoid the coming mass destruction that is upon most of the world. Yet, none of them are safe from danger from within or without.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477109212

Forrest Somma

Forrest Somma was born in Richmond, Virginia. His interest and direct experience that led to the emergance of this book were or are, philosophy, meta-physics, music and unexplained phenomena. Yet, he always loved a well told story.

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Copyright © 2012 by Forrest Somma.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012908235

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4771-0920-5

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4771-0919-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4771-0921-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

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This book is dedicated to the seeker, those

who have found and those who have not.

Author’s Acknowledgement

D.D. Forrest

Gordon Wright

Lama Karma Chopel

Marifi Somma

and special thanks to Wayne Darden

Contents

The Path of the Pilgrim

The Gift Within

Mars Rising in the Wind of Neptune: The Syllogism

Emerald Zenith of the Apriori

Fated Assembly: The Orphic Egg

Eclipsed Horizons

Epilogue: The Epitome of the Lion of the Sun

Moon and tide were turning, as we depart sand.

Captain called down and said make haste from

this land. We are the masters of our own destiny

on the sapphire water forever sailing free.

One

The Path of the Pilgrim

1

The ceiling fan turned aimlessly above as Sundown lay on the lumpy mattress. The TV was tuned to a channel that was mostly snow static. He had checked into the Hotel Arch Top Detroit, Michigan, but it may as well have been the Bates. He had driven here from Virginia, seeking relief from a condition that had so far defied identification. He turned his head, and the Bible that was placed on the 1950s-era nightstand by the thoughtful Gideon came into view. He thought to himself, There are worse things than dying. But the thought quickly passed. It was replaced by an awareness of time. He had come to the Motor City to see the unconventional Dr. Shinto. It was his last resort in a long string of attempts at explanation. As he got off the uneven rock which the Arch Top called the bed, he wondered if Dr. Toshin would employ rattles and beads. The thought amused him. As he moved through the shave-and-shower routine, a sickly feeling of internal rupture overcame him. He shook a Valium into his hand, then decided against it and returned it to the vial. He had a persistent and continuing feeling of unreality—of not knowing who he was or what his personal landscape of events even meant anymore. At one time, he thought he knew. Now his knowledge and ability seemed distorted and useless. Like he was being torn to pieces and dragged into the undertow of a great whirlpool at sea he had never seen forming. Further, he had felt numb to most inner and outer perception for some time, for an amnesia of the psyche was crystallizing within the deep recesses of his being, holding sway over the shadow of his entire consciousness. Sundown was born with two gifts: his body was athletic, and his mind was in a high state of perception and awareness. He stood at six feet tall with long blond-brown hair and green eyes. As a recognized artist, he seemed to be able to look around the corners of reality and bring the hidden into view using canvas and color. Yet this gift became unsettling as his direct perception started to weave together truths that contradicted not only his perceptions of everyday reality, but also all that he knew and was conditioned to believe. In time, this paradox of perception vs. conditioning began to tear him apart on the inside. And in time, he slipped into despair. It was a turn in the road he hit with too much speed and could not negate and eventually lost control.

Sundown’s life became rough enough. And now for the grand finale. On this very day, like most others in the past few years, his very internal structures felt like they were exploding with confusion and bewilderment. It’s all good! he told himself, not believing his own lie. He had a couple of hours to make his way to Shinto’s office. He pulled his long hair back into a ponytail, put on his coat, and began to head out of the hotel. As he passed the desk, the clerk said, Nice jacket! Do those designs have any meaning? He referred to the purple and green dragon relief intertwined with the former band emblem on the back of the shot leathers. It means I had a life I understood once. The clerk commented, How nice! And then he rolled his bloodshot eyes at Sundown before returning his attention to his television and a half-empty bottle of Land Shark beer, his sixth for the morning. As Sundown opened the Arch Top’s lobby doors, the bright sunlight seemed like a friend he used to know but could not relate to any longer—like it shone for others, but not for him. Yet fighting or ignoring what was happening within seemed to make conditions worse, as time passed over him and bled into what seemed like an uncertain future.

He walked to the rear of the hotel into a nearly deserted parking lot. He went to his car and unlocked it. He then fired up the Chevy Z28. He sat for a moment and listened to the V8 and could feel the thrust from the glass packs he managed to have installed in the dual exhaust. Here, he felt there was a condition that made sense—a precision and unity in this machine of perfect order, unlike the inner storm he had come to know within. He retrieved the crumpled piece of paper that held the directions to the doctor’s office as he slipped the Z into gear. American muscle cars, they were almost profound, he reasoned. As he held the direction to the doctor’s office in his hand and examined it, he considered what he was doing and put the thought of mechanical precision aside. He just wondered if present events would yield any understanding or relief as to what was happening within or if he had wasted a lot of time and gas. Stab it and steer, he thought as he rolled onto Motown’s maze of streets and traffic. He got lost only once, arriving at his appointment twenty minutes early. Dr. Shinto shared a building with an import-export business. His office was upstairs from a display of African and Indian masks in the street-level windows. He saw a large sign on the bottom office that said that parking was in the rear. He pulled around the back and obeyed putting the Z28 into park. He got out and saw another sign: Dr. Shinto second floor. It led him through a door and up a flight of steps and into a small waiting area. A buzzer sounded as he entered a room furnished with what he thought must be reproductions of late fourteenth-century Chinese dynasty furniture, but if these were copies, they were very good ones. Yet something told him they were real. A voice from deeper in the office said, Please have a seat. I will be with you in a moment. There didn’t appear to be any receptionist. Shortly an indeterminate-aged man entered, dressed in all-white silks who appeared pleasant and calm. I am Dr. Shinto, he said, extending a hand. As they shook, Sundown thought he seemed familiar, and this sickened him deep within, for he had never been to Detroit and certainly could not place Dr. Shinto. I am called Sundown, he managed to say. Indeed, Dr. Shinto replied. Come in please. Light streamed through a window with crystals and other objects, illuminating the floor strewn with cushions of various sizes. Dr. Shinto kindly gestured toward these, and Sundown chose a large comfortable one. Smiling widely with his dark eyes on a level with Sundown’s, Dr. Shinto said, Describe, as best you can, your difficulty. Well, Sundown began, I have had a feeling for a long time, like a knot at the root of my soul. At one time, I thought I knew who I was. Now there seems like a disruption in my identity and a deep vacuum in my essence. It’s hard to concentrate. Loss seems to follow me and my dreams haunt me deeply, especially in the waking state. My ability to interact with people, even with my friends and family, has been deeply affected as has my entire being. I have done well in the past as a professional artist, and now I cannot even fulfill my contracts. It’s as if I exist in an alternate reality of the shadows instead of the light. Like I’ve gone past an event horizon and am now being broken up, and there’s no return. Sometimes I feel like I’m going mad. I have seen other doctors of various schools of thought who have prescribed regimes and medications, but my condition not only persists but has also deepened consistently as time passes.

Dr. Shinto looked at him knowingly and said, You are not mad. I may be able to assist, but you must trust me and have faith in yourself, as well as the process, which may be intense at points. Further, it is you alone that must pull yourself out of the state you now find yourself in. This comes from being free of the known and understanding directly ordinary and obscure phenomenon. Afterward one releases even this understanding, for all one does and perceives become a formless art form, perfect just the way it is. I can only guide you on the path out. You alone must walk it. At that point, Sundown felt beaten down and felt he had little choice but to try. Finally, Sundown said, I am willing to do whatever is necessary to restore my sense of well-being. You came highly recommended. I only hope you are correct and know what you are doing. Dr. Toshin smiled and crossed to the far side of the room and turned on a purple light that began to strobe and instructed Sundown to stare into it. As he did as he was instructed, Dr. Shinto spoke quietly, speaking in a language Sundown did not understand and had never heard spoken before. Dr. Toshin’s voice began receding as Sundown went under, and his mind became still. The pulsing pool of light began to fade as images and words took its place. He went deeper, and he began to be aware of hidden levels of consciousness and deeper still to the very core of submerged perception, under the hypnogenesis so deftly induced by Dr. Shinto. And the hidden truth, right to the essence of the core, began to emerge.

Come and breathe deep and in whatever state you find yourself listen to the tale of this pilgrim who has searched for the truth that lies in the human heart. I, who came to be free of the known and struggled to be true to the mystery of the unknown. I, who have endured the pain of life, the shock of birth, and the fear of death and the withdrawal of the very balanced and peaceful state I had sought.

It became known to Sundown that in the past, he had entered into the state that the flesh and mind is aired to. Indeed living with the fear of the loss of pleasurable conditions and conditional experiences and existence itself, good and bad relationships, forces both within and without, known and mysterious. He had clung to ignorance, passing for wisdom and at the same time hoping that the inner hidden and outwardly apparent suffering, which has arisen, would pass. For he began to sense that this is the human condition of the unrealized man. Yet knowing this brought him no comfort, and he continued to feel a great tearing of his inner being within.

Sundown labored through these corridors of pain and bewilderment. Desire he could not control nor hope to understand. He wondered if the difference between himself and those who no longer crave the experiences of existence was genetic or karmic. He further thought, Are seekers the only one to wonder on such things? Yet often he wanted to be able to just turn his perception off or at least down. Early in the journey, he wondered at the mind’s desire to escape or know an immutable truth. Yet he also realized very deep within that ceaseless change and flux was the only condition a human was guaranteed. But the reality of guiding the changing events for a positive outcome took an understanding beyond his past and current ability.

Many, he began to see throughout history, had found themselves in the shifting sands of time, unprepared for the outcome of change; they lost control and were lost. Yet Sundown still dreamed of enchantment, or at least personal balance, envisioning a universe free of war, of beauty like the art he created—a world where no extremes of darkness or light rule but a middle ground. Much later he would realize conflict was the opportunity to test one’s resolve, the metal of one’s intent, and the truth of one’s direction. Yet many of his decisions to this point were born out of desperation. Left with desire for great internal balance, he was consumed with the fire of youth and filled with the visions of old age; Sundown’s heart had become inflamed. He was on fire and controlled in part by fear for his present and future destiny. Yet his perception also rightly revealed the conditions created in this realm by the species as a whole. Yet he found himself unable to use this knowledge for any benefit. As the long set of conditions that washed over him submerged his being in confusion. He could transcend somewhat what others forced upon the world as truth but not his own perception of the actual. He knew the transitory nature of the past and the transitory nature of what is but was unable to track how he should act on this knowledge. To make matters more complicated, the feeling kept arising that that there was a way back but he was blocked at every turn from knowing the answer.

All along, Sundown was a simple pilgrim on the road. But this knowledge continued to be mostly submerged and buried by layers of travail. And being born in an industrialized, materialized society which was in a state of chaos itself, the answers seemed illusive. It would take an understanding beyond his conscious reality to know the true condition in which he straddled. For to be balanced, he realized much later that he needed to be the lens that creative and healing light passes through. Still, this seeker had lost his direction, and the night was coming in the perfect storm that was his reality. He strayed from the path of his own inner perception and understanding.

2

Sundown knew he had lived on the trail of tears longer than he cared to remember or even acknowledge. And now he found himself traveling at the bottom of a black canyon within murky black water flowing to a sea of pain. Further, he had no knowledge or memory of anything that may have occurred before the terrible present he now found himself in. As he moved with the current, he observed great historic persons along the way that attempted to bring him surcease in what was becoming a trial by fire. It seemed they were trying to use magic. Yet Sundown thought, why were they in the same dark and unpleasant reality he now found himself in if they had any answers to anything meaningful? Further, he wondered why they would expend any effort to help him or anyone else anyway. In the end the most powerful among them that he could perceive did little to alter the direction of the black waters his emotions and now he himself rode. He knew now, however, why his spirit name had become Sundown. He then saw companions he had known from some other reality, in altered forms above the canyon’s dark top edge. As he reached out to them, they became like a group of coyote tricksters, for their advice was shouted down to him from the rim in broken tongues and hearts bound in the iron of ignorance. So he existed alone in the dark twilight—singing forbidden songs, tasting forbidden fruit, and seeking forbidden knowledge. He found himself pushing aside the skulls of those who preceded him on the watery dark path. He was himself adrift in the shallows at the bottom of this vast black canyon that it seemed all humanity must traverse. Farther down the murky water, he saw shadows; they were leaders from a lineage of perverted teachers covered in the blood of the innocent. In his delirium, images begin to emerge, vast empires their expansion and their disappearance—the Mayan, the Egyptian, and the Anasazi. The water seemed to change to the color of red. Voices of the dead spoke to him from the ashes of the undertow. The living screamed out in terror. He became a slave to this experience, unable to extract himself. He felt both dead and alive. He was given a ring of thorns which in despair he chewed until his mouth was sliced and he could no longer speak—only experience. He only knew that he existed, and willingly and unwillingly, he became a savage—existing to fight tooth and nail in the realms of perversion by day and driven to escape his bitter realities by night. He chanted, believed, cursed, discarded, and recorded. He pierced his own heart, lost sight of his own knowledge, and alone he drifted into the mystic.

Sundown came to and found himself washed ashore on an emerald sand beach. The black water and the darkness filled with sounds and images were replaced by blue green oceans and clear green sand and brilliant sun shining through the blue sky. How long he drifted, or what had and was occurring, seemed somewhat unclear. Through the black water canyon, he only knew that he existed, because his dreams were all consistent, like a reversal of ordinary reality. Sundown had observed many things, that others he might encounter would’ve called magic. Though broken, he was driven—even sustained—by some unconscious knowledge. He knew not where he was or why, or what terrible force within or without the mind’s eye had caused the last series of events to unfold, or even whether the past was real or a vision. Memory became stubborn and clouded. It seemed he had drifted out of hell’s canyon somewhere on the ocean but only had some kind of latent emotional feeling, which made him seem like a speck in a universe of darkness.

The sand began to shimmer as the light and atmospheric pressure began to change; his reflection started to surround him until the images became crystal clear. It became like he had entered into a hall of mirrors. Within his consciousness, a loud voice spoke to him in deafening silence. Who are you? I don’t know, he answered truthfully. Well, spoke, you may yet know freedom. Why am I here? he asked. The force of your past actions and intent brought you. I cannot remember the past, he replied. Easy, the voice answered within his mind. It is only flotsam now, something that is passed beyond your conscious knowledge. In the end, there is only now and it is this now point that breaks into all infinities.

He felt himself changing emotions from bewilderment to a sort of calm. The strangeness of what was happening was seemingly not that unusual. So he asked, What are you? I am that which is submerged within that is being brought out. Light, sound, and images seemed to return to normal. He was left on the emerald sand beach with the ocean lapping below the tide line. He walked exhausted into the dunes. What he saw was a plateau of sand and after about a quarter-mile bushes and small trees seem to spread out everywhere. He aimed for these and sat under a cedar tree and collapsed. Four or five hours later, he sluggishly awoke. The sun had moved around 20° from the center of the sky to the horizon. The sandy soil had a purple, greenish tint; the air was sweet and clean, and he became almost overcome with the beauty of the pristine environment. The trees gave way to a savanna with an astounding vista. As night fell, he lay on the grass, listening to the insects, though his head was light from all that had happened and from lack of food and fresh water. When the stars came out, they seemed like they were right above his head. They made him feel like we are all alone in the vastness, crying for what is lost, never to be regained. But this land and this path would prove to be a teacher of unprecedented proportions. Before the sunlight returned, he awoke and started moving; there were small animal trails, but he hadn’t seen any of them. Early after the daylight eased over him, he came upon a creek. He fell into the water and drank until he could drink no more. The water was clear and sweet. He noticed up on its bank a plant that looked a lot like watercress; he tried a little of it, and it seemed like it might stay down, so he began eating the wild salad. Being refreshed a great deal, he became concerned about what direction he should head in this vastness, with so much light and space. If he was wrong, he would not survive long. He kept tracking west until he could walk no more and collapsed in the vastness of the prairie lands of the path.

They ran, panting hotly. They were hounds, feverishly sniffing down every hole in the ground they came across, circling and spreading out. The pack leader was the first on the six-inch hole opening, howling wildly. He began to dig with his paws, making the mouth of the hole wider; and the other dogs came to his location, barking and circling. Squealing came from the hole as a small pig was pulled from its burrow. Two hundred yards away, the two walked their trained eyes on the savanna. Aye, Gailib, they’ve got another one. Lumgal, who was a little over four feet high with large green eyes and guiding a very small burro, replied, We will eat for a week from this day. He wore a large belt of rawhide with a shiny gold buckle that he now put his thumbs in with delight. They had been running the dogs since around three that morning. Gailib pulled a flask and took off the top and drank deeply. The swill of a dethroned king, he babbled. Lumgal replied, Aye. Yet Lumgal’s eyes had caught something else. Two of the dogs had begun circling without digging and were barking wildly. Lumgal thought suspiciously, this is probably trouble. As the two moved toward the commotion, which seem to be getting more intense, they froze! There thrashing about in the grasses was a man, around six feet high, who was trying to get the hounds off him. Lumgal became agitated at the site of what he was seeing. He took a whistle out of his green woolen tunic and blew, and the dogs immediately started returning to the two. Ho, pilgrim of the mire, who is half dead in the savanna, Lumgal said.

Sundown was parched, and one of these hounds had put teeth marks in his leg. His head hurt badly, and he hoped he could stand up without throwing up again. Lumgal continued, How is it you come to be in the bog of the savanna? Did you come through the sea? he said, laughing. You don’t look like you came across the sea. I was guided by that which is merciful, Sundown replied. Lumgal looked at him and said, Whatever guides you doesn’t seem very merciful to me. Mercy in this place is relative, Sundown answered. At that, the two began whispering to each other suspiciously. They then asked if he was hungry. Yes, he said simply. Follow us if you are able. The three walked the short distance to what appeared to be a hunting camp. Lumgal pulled the tarp from a sack on the burro and instructed Sundown to sit upon it. From a bag, he brought a container, opened it, and began putting the substance upon his wounded leg. It was cool and soothing. There were six dogs, and they sat obediently looking at what was occurring. Gailib began building a fire and butchering two of the prairie pigs. My name is Lumgal, and this is Gailib, and who might ye be? he asked him cagily. I am Sundown, a pilgrim in your land. He looked at him with one eye almost shut and asked, Do you have anything to trade for the passage of these lands? Sundown considered deeply and saw the problem. It was not so much because of the other two that were here, but this place was beginning to have its own reality. A reality he could not yet track. Sundown stared at Lumgal and finally spoke. "I have little on me, as the two of you can easily attest. However, I may be able to pose a riddle. If you cannot answer it, you will give me some food, water, and information such as you may have. Lumgal looked at Gailib, who was busy putting a spit over the fire, but