Theosophon 2033: A Visionary Recital About the World Event and Its Aftermath

By Richard Leviton

Its September 29, 2033, and the Earth and humanity have entered a cathedral of Light 1,000 light-years tall and wide.

One Saturday morning in June 2040 Boston editor Edward Burbage is visited by an enigmatic traveller calling himself Blaise. Hes been off the planet for 20 years, helping to orchestrate a unique event called the Theosophon. Now hes here to tell his story and what happened in 2033 when Earth reality changed.

This Blaisehes clearly a human, age about 90, yet hes not in a human body anymore, at least not a physical one. He claims to have spent much of the last 20 years commuting from his home planet in the Celaeno system in the Pleiades to Earth. Why the Pleiades? Because thats where the prime designers of the Earth reside, and the Theosophon, a kind of galactic musical event, a song-fest of the gods, is the next step in the perfection of this design for consciousness.

The only reason Burbage believes him is that he has had a bit of a wild adventure himself. Copies of his newly published book describing this sit on his coffee table. Hes seen this intriguing Blaise a few times in the past, and, in fact, hes edited two of his posthumous books. Burbage notes, It wasnt that Blaise had a mystery to reveal to me; he was the mystery. Everything about him.

As the narration ripens over the next three years, Burbage is astonished to learn he was a key participant in the event even though up until this moment he had no memory of it. Blaise changes all that. The Theosophon, he says, was like a subtle, slow-motion psychic earthquake rumbling just beyond the border of normal perception, like a band of angels were shaking the Earth. It lasted a day, in terms of peak intensity, but it is still happening years later.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491775417

Richard Leviton

Richard Leviton is the author of 16 books, including many on myths and the global geomantic landscape, notably The Galaxy on Earth, The Emerald Modem, Signs on the Earth, and Encyclopedia of Earth Myths. He is the director/founder of the Blue Room Consortium, a cosmic mysteries think tank based in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Since 1984, he has been interacting with and describing the Earth?s Light body and through workshops facilitating in others directed visionary encounters with the planet.

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Copyright © 2015 Richard Leviton.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-7540-0 (sc)

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iUniverse rev. date: 08/18/2015

Contents

Foreword

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About the Author

The Blue Room Consortium

For Judith A. Lewis and Silver Boy

Foreword

I never thought I would meet this man. Like everyone else, I presumed he was dead, or at least, somehow, mysteriously vanished from the Earth. But the man sitting across from me in my livingroom was the same man I saw with Merlin on the Tintagel headland last September, some nine months ago. It was now June 26, 2040, and the man was Blaise. The human Blaise. The human Blaise who wrote the desert notebooks and disappeared from the Earth on December 31, 2019, never, supposedly, to be heard from again and about whose enigmatic life and deeds I edited two books. He was right in front of me. Him. I will put aside for the moment the other alarming assertion about Merlin and myself.

By calendar count he should be 90 years old, but he didn’t look that old. He looked different, preserved, in a way, altered, as if he had been out of the time and aging constraints of the natural aging process on the planet, however impossible or incredible that prospect struck one. It struck me as impossible.

I’ve been following your adventures with Merlin, young Edward, he said. I suppose he was right about the young part; he was 50 years my senior. I thought it would be instructive if I recounted my activities during the last 20 years. Not out of vanity or the idea anybody would be interested in me, but because it will provide some necessary background information on an event that has already happened, the Theosophon of September 29, 2033, and for another that is coming up fairly soon, on November 1, 2043, and which, I hope, if you are willing, will involve you, as well as a number of other people known to you. But I don’t particularly care to write it myself. I would like to dictate it to you, okay?

That was the, to me, dramatic beginning of this present book, the third involving this most mysterious but intriguing human called, for want of his actual birth name, Blaise, not to mention his vast entourage of what he casually calls the Blaise angels. Yes, angels, another topic on which I will defer explanation for the moment. Yes, the topics are starting to queue up, I can see.

Over the years since I edited the first in this unusual series, I seem to have become a kind of amanuensis to this man and his mission, or his sponsor’s mission. I refer to the angelic order he calls, avuncularly, Blaise, or the Ofanim. First, I edited My Pal, Blaise, which was published in 2026 and consisted of the contents of eight handwritten notebooks the putative author, Blaise, wrote during an eight-month solitary retreat in the New Mexico high desert in 2019.

Then I edited a follow-up book called The Blaise Conjunction published in 2034 and consisting of his written journals over a 21-year period, also mostly involving his activities with the Blaises. This second book was collated out of 7,000 journal pages by a music professor named Philomena Wilcox, Ph.D., the wife of Frederick Graham Atkinson, Ph.D., professor of comparative mythology. He edited and annotated My Pal, Blaise, and I was his editor at the publisher’s. He edited it because the notebooks were sent to him by fairly enigmatic means, and his wife edited the second book because the boxes of journals were sent to her, also from an unverified source. You could say both were roped into the work by rather precipitate means, both did their editing, then both were gone.

Both taught at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire. Both disappeared. Graham vanished in 2026 when he finished his editing; Philomena in late 2033. No official explanation has yet been brought forward to account for these vanishings, though regarding Philomena’s vanishing I do have a theory, though most of the time I do not believe it. Sometimes I believe it, guardedly. What is that theory? I believe she ascended. Blaise’s account introduced that possibility. My work with Merlin also prepared a foundation for believing that.

Let me not forget the first disappearance, by the human Blaise himself. Mexican authorities at the Palace of the Jaguars, an archeological ruin at Teotihuacan near Mexico City, found his eight notebooks on the lintel of that old Aztec temple. A regular stream of tourists passes by this lintel everyday and is hustled along by the guards. Somehow, the authorities reasoned, Blaise slipped past their attention and entered the small stone-built temple and disappeared by way of what he had been calling throughout his notebooks a wormhole and went somewhere else, presumably on the planet’s surface but many miles away. It seems he entered this chamber, activated something, and disappeared.

Naturally, nobody believed him when they eventually read his journals, but no body was ever found nor was there any report or even rumor of him thereafter. He vanished immaculately and thoroughly. Presumably, he was dead. Yet, if you credited his journals, which, admittedly, was a tall order on one’s credibility, he was not dead, but had left the Earth via the wormhole network. The Palace of the Jaguars had seemed a suitable initial embarkation node for him. According to his writings, a wormhole only transports you laterally across the Earth, usually in short hops of up to about 400 miles; to leave the planet for other planets you need a stargate. Need I even point out the unreality of this?

That is, unreality to my mind in 2026 when we published his book. Now…yes, I admit, I must openly declare, as editor and human and, most recently, and still a bit unbelievably, a student of Merlin, I see it differently.

My adventures and tutorials with this fabled Celtic magus changed my view of reality. That of course is an understatement. I have been living amidst anomalies and supposed impossibilities for years now. Who am I to question claims about a wormhole and stargate network after the things I have seen, not to mention my own, most will agree, outrageous claims in The Mertowney Mountain Interviews. They are no longer outrageous to me, though I sympathize with most readers who will, I am sure, reel under the seemingly insupportable events I report in it. This new book will offer the reader further challenges.

This Blaise was now having a cup of Darjeeling. I had dark Italian roast. It almost seemed normal. I hadn’t even put away the box of my copies of The Mertowney Mountain Interviews which my publisher had just delivered five days ago on the day of the book’s publication. I had the impression that work of five years was already in the past, about to be superseded by the next installment. The Blaise angels had also figured in that chronicle, though not as prominently as in the previous two I mentioned, and the human Blaise was alluded to as well.

I suppose I should anchor this narrative a little. I am now 44 years old, a graduate of Amherst College. I was 34 when Merlin showed up, 40 when Blaise did. I work as a senior book editor. I live in Boston in a large house I own, and I have done both for about 20 years now. Up until a few years ago, even when I was assigned the first Blaise book, I was a mostly conventionally-minded editor.

I was schooled in the Greek and Latin classics. I liked Homer and Herodotus. Open-minded, I hope, but not blown-minded, so to speak, which I soon became. The Blaise material, the Blaise reality, can have that effect on your reality sense. Miraculously, I still have my job and in fact my publisher has opened up a new line of books to handle this array of unusual testimonies related to this Blaise. The present book, Theosophon 2033, is the fourth in this unusual series. Whether or not anybody believes the material, the books actually are selling well. From a publisher’s viewpoint, I suppose that is paramount.

I looked at the man sitting across from me in my comfortable livingroom. It was a warm summer’s morning, and a breeze sashayed the curtains by the large windows. This will sound a bit odd but I wasn’t sure how stable his physical presence was. He looked substantial, real, as we ordinarily credit humans to be, yet the vast mystery of his activities in the last 20 years, not to mention the bigger perplexity of where these activities took place, and how that was possible, made me wonder if his form would remain stable, or not simply wink out like a flashlight whose batteries have run down. It wasn’t that Blaise had a mystery to reveal to me; he was the mystery. Everything about him.

He was dressed simply. You’d barely notice him on the street. A pale blue teeshirt, beige trousers, sneakers. Just a few whisps of hair at the back of his head, but otherwise a smooth cranium; modest eyebrows, bright blue eyes, healthy skin. His body seemed very relaxed, well maintained, well exercised, lean, limber. I shuddered. Who wouldn’t? He had just told me he had recently come from the Pleiades and had been there for a considerable period of time.

I’d like to tell you about the 13 years of preparations for the Theosophon in September 2033, then the seven years of follow-up adjustments in its wake, he said, sipping his tea. He seemed to enjoy this simple cup of Darjeeling. I remembered from Philomena’s annotations to the Blaise journals that the Theosophon would be a large-scale event involving many points on the Earth, people occupying these sites simultaneously and meditating, and a certain amount of angelic and higher-world participation. All of it had been meticulously planned. She had been previewing this event, still in the future at that time. In fact, she was realizing she had been one of its planners.

At the time I first encountered the description, when I was editing The Blaise Conjunction, the notion seemed remote, unreal, and hard to comprehend. Prophecies and previsions may sound exciting, but how often do they come to pass? Now…well, as readers of my then just-published Merlin book might realize, everything had changed. I had sampled those waters and had a different take on reality. I am compelled to admit that they do come to pass.

Yes, the Theosophon happened. I assure you of that. I call it the world event. At the time of Blaise’s visit, it was almost seven years behind us; now it is 11 years past. It is a fact. Like all important spiritual events that affect the Earth, it was only minimally noticed, as far as I could tell anyway. It was like a subtle, slow-motion, psychic earthquake rumbling just beyond the border of normal perception, like a band of angels were shaking the Earth. It was an event involving the Earth and many other planets in this section of the galaxy. It involved a kind of Light infusion of Earth through a complex geometric grid. It took place in what physicists would call higher or hyper dimensions of space. It lasted about a day, in terms of peak intensity, but it is still happening years later.

Some people, I understand, though it is a tiny percentage of the living population, registered it, or at least perceived it, as something pleasant, benign. I don’t believe astronomers would have been able to register it on their telescopes. It was not as crudely disruptive as sunspot activity; it was more sly and stealthy, like the epithet of Christ that he comes to your heart like a thief in the night. This event, planned so unimaginably long ago, so meticulously, by a handful of planet designers, by architects of consciousness, including Philomena, whose book I had edited, who I knew, who had played Scriabin for me in her New Hampshire study, and by the man before me, this enigmatic desert recluse, had completely transformed the nature of planetary reality and few have yet seen it.

As for Blaise, certainly he was older than the 69-year old desert recluse he had been when he was last seen in physical terms on the Earth. That was 20 years ago. In physical terms, where had he been for these 20 years, and in what form? That Blaise had been a bit contentious, rebellious, even seditious, against the government, against consensus reality; he was still clearly an Earth human then. On the run, on a mission, and a bit of a prophet too, foreseeing then witnessing a momentous event in human history which, ironically, was unobserved by most when, as he claimed, the angelic order of the Ofanim started incarnating in human form for the first time in the history of the Creation. But this new Blaise, older, yes, by 20 years, was quieter, more serene. He had his answers. He had moved into the next level of his assignment; he had a much larger playing field.

I suppose that last year of his on the Earth, hiding out in the desert cabin, was a prolonged transition. When he escaped from the federal black-ops detention center in Utah, he had already crossed the border into the fantastic. I refer readers to his alleged escape from prison by learning how to walk through the walls of his cell and get away through the nearest wormhole. Very dramatic!

Those who have read that earlier book will remember Blaise had been involved with detailed geomantic research and field application to do with planetary engineering models for the wormhole network and that he refused to divulge the key coordinates to government agents who wanted them to control the system. Various representatives had first tried to seduce Blaise’s cooperation with grants, projects, and sympathetic colleagues put in his way; then they tried to force it. They failed consistently, and they failed to keep him locked up.

He was marvelous, quite impressive, really, the way he refused to cooperate. He had spent a lifetime acquiring this information from his own research and deep memory recall, not to mention from the Ofanim’s tutoring. I can see now, in retrospect, how all that technical geomantic information, the maps, diagrams, grids and matrices, the mathematics, the Blue Room research, was the foundation for the Theosophon, for all that this Blaise did afterwards. His work had detailed the energy structure and processes of the Earth; he researched it, mapped it, explained it, calling the subject planet geomancy, and much of the time he was out in the field, the geomantic landscape, fixing it.

Now, seven years after the Theosophon and the unaccounted, sudden disappearance of Philomena Wilcox, who had spent years puzzling out the earlier sudden disappearance of her husband, he is back on Earth, right here in my home, telling me about it. I qualified my attitude about Philomena’s disappearance because how can I remain confounded about its mechanism and portent after my five years with Merlin and the mysteries of incarnation, matter, and consciousness he revealed to me? It no longer puzzles me, though it amazes me. Blaise’s story, his explanation, is even more mysterious than his vanishing.

Our manner of working, me as amanuensis, Blaise as storyteller, was that on Saturday mornings he would arrive at my house about 11 a.m. and we’d start. Not every Saturday, for it took about three years to complete the dictation in one or two hour segments. I spent the intervening time, when I wasn’t at work, transcribing and preparing his chronicle for publication. It was a bit like the way it must have been for 19th century American readers anxiously awaiting the next monthly installment of a Charles Dickens page-turner, serialized in magazines.

I found myself eagerly anticipating Blaise’s next visit and story installment. I found myself waiting anxiously to find out what happened to Frederick Atkinson and Philomena Wilcox, where they went, what they did, and the same for Blaise. And I found out, and so will you, the reader, in this account of the Theosophon.

Blaise never called ahead or pre-arranged the next meeting but somehow he always found me at home with no other pressing engagements. He seemed to know whether it would be convenient for me to sit with him and he only came on those Saturdays when that was the case. He was very considerate. He stayed for a few hours, recited the next segment of his activities, then left. I don’t know where he stayed or what he did the rest of the week. Some weeks he didn’t appear. He never spoke about this or told me. I guess he considered it irrelevant. His narrative, or what I call visionary recital, covers his years 2020 to 2040, from when he first left the Earth to presumably the day before he arrived here.

The division of the text into numeralled chapters is arbitrary. It does not demarcate days or even individual dictation sessions, but rather, to me, evident pauses in the energy of the narrative, pauses for breath, you might say, for the ideas to settle, and, to a degree, the fulfillment of certain themes of narrative. He spoke clearly and articulately, as if the entire recitation was already written in his mind and he had only to spool it out in spoken words. He spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, without undue drama or emphasis, though it was a fantastic story.

I didn’t notice this at first, but after a while, reflecting on the quality of our sessions, I realized we were never interrupted. No phone calls, no knocks on the door from friends; even the streets outside my house seemed unusually silent, as if everybody was staying indoors or talking in whispers. My mental state was undisturbed by wayward thoughts or impulses; it was steady, focused, attentive.

Once I realized this then I saw that we were having these sessions in the famous Blaise Rotunda of Light. Made famous, in a small way of course, in the books I had edited where it was mentioned frequently; and its legend was strengthened a little in my allusions to it in my own book. I saw we had been meeting inside the Rotunda, girt by the six blazing diamond white fire pillars, each of them offering forth a Blaise angel ten feet tall. In some curious and, I must say, enviable, manner the Blaise angels were creating our marvelous conditions of quiet, focus, and concentration, all free of any form of interruption. The human Blaise, I think, took this entirely for granted as if that is what he expected from his angelic colleagues and which they willingly provided him.

The Blaise Rotunda of Light, as the human Blaise explained it, is like a garden gazebo, though more formal like a rotunda, created by this angelic order as a meeting space for angel and human interactions. It exists in consciousness. It is a circular structure with six upright, evenly spaced, crystalline pillars, a large round table, a huge diamond, more like a geode, of innumerable identical facets. It can be any size, from the size of a room to the size of a planet, as needed. You enter the Rotunda, stand by the table, the encircling pillars blazingly bright behind you, and peer into the diamond geode. Sometimes you enter it and it then seems like a crystal cave the size of a major sports stadium. That’s where we met. I will confess the place has a delicious, lovely, modulating effect on awareness.

Blaise the renegade. Blaise the outlaw. Blaise the hermit. Blaise the geomancer. Blaise the mystic metaphysician and consort of high-ranking angels. I was appreciating the inexplicability, the mystery, of what was before me. Who are you, really? Are you in fact 90 years old? You don’t look it. If your body is transfigured into a different biological consciousness container do the years still rack up on the now vanished human form? Who could answer such a question? Are you still a human, or is this a convenient semblance to keep my attention on?

Throughout our conversations Blaise never revealed to me where he was staying. He would arrive on Saturday morning, stay for several hours, take tea or coffee with me, then depart, to where I had no idea. He was here, then he was gone. The thought was surpassingly strange, yet it seemed supportable by, as it were, the lack of contradictory evidence, but I had the impression—maybe it was a suspicion, a hint, an intuition?—that he returned every Saturday to the Pleiades. Was it instantaneously? Did he have to travel in spatial terms? Was he even genuinely here in the first place or was it only a convincing hologram?

I didn’t know. Even more troubling, though, I admit, it was equally intriguing, was the suspicion that he was not even alive anymore, certainly not in the conventional sense. It would be too simplistic to say he was dead. That would not touch it. He seemed to be breathing; he scratched his bald head now and then, shifted his legs, recrossed them, repositioned his clasped hands in his lap occasionally. He appeared to drink his tea. His cover story as an embodied human looked intact. I was, for the most part, I think, buying it. Or trying to.

To say he appeared changed, transfigured, rendered transparent, mutable, and protean is better. I had to change my notion of what dying was; maybe this wasn’t dying at all. He had left something behind, something tangible, like a fixed human male body, or maybe I should say his contractual association with it, yet he borrowed the semblance when he needed to make a plausible insinuation of his consciousness into human reality, such as visiting with me. He sipped espresso, but he did not need to; it was a gesture, like Merlin said of drinking tea. The gesture itself is healing, even if the tea is imaginary or in that case, insubstantial. Maybe the espresso never made it to his stomach, or had to. Some Saturdays he had tea, others espresso—was any of what I saw of him real?

Blaise looked real. He could pass as a believable human being in a crowd. But then Merlin looked real and I knew it was all show, yet another metaphorical semblance for my edification, or, more likely, for my confounding. I was tempted at times to lean over and touch Blaise’s shoulder to see if was solid and thereby real. I realized of course this would prove nothing; a good semblance will have verisimilitude down to the finest detail. His shoulder would feel bony and hard.

His blue tee-shirt seemed real, nicely pressed, fairly new, well cared for. His beige trousers were without wrinkles though not assiduously ironed into creases. His sneakers were relatively new, without smudges or stains or tears. His eyes bright blue, clear, sharp, intelligent, without bloodshot or blood veins. I was increasingly having the feeling this was not the true Blaise, just a façade. As you’ll read in his account, most of the time he was in a different type of body, so maybe he just got out this body on Saturdays as a fresh set of dress-up clothes.

He said to me one Saturday morning as I ran through this customary epistemological catechism, You know, Edward, knowing you on the soul level and for many of your incursions into human reality, I could just as well say of you that your adult male body, your editor’s posture, is also all a set-up guise.

As his story unfolded I realized I had wasted my incredulity on Blaise’s seemingly physical presence in my Boston townhouse. It was too small a focus. What truly began to tax my credulity was his story itself about the Theosophon.

Edward Burbage

Boston, Massachusetts

June 26, 2044

1

I’ll tell you this, right from the start, I had much better access to my pal, Blaise. All of them. I could turn to them, as if they were people in the room, and ask questions. Discuss matters. Strategize. No veil, no dimensional gradients.

It was one of the first things I realized. I was in a room, an office or library perhaps. I turned to Blaise to ask a question. I realized Blaise was there, seemingly palpable, that I could ask questions without the need to tune in, download, or concentrate to create a cognitive bridge across the differences in our natures. I think I might have said, Oh, Blaise, now that you’re here, I have a few old questions I wanted to clear up. Typical of me, they were quantity questions. Blaise answered readily, even drew me a diagram to help illustrate the answer. They’d tell me how many of whatever I was asking about.

Of course, knowing them, they might have just pretended to be in bodies. For my benefit. To ease things. Still, the communication was quicker and easier.

I met with the Blaises in their Cave Heavens inside the vast diamond. Each identical facet of this universal diamond that was their home was like a crystal cave, though its size made it more like a cathedral, or even larger. At times it seemed each Cave Heaven was a copy of the entire diamond with its 40 million facets. Yes, a regular hall of mirrors that place is, quite confounding.

Each Cave Heaven or crystal cave was surrounded by six tall pillars in a circle. Each pillar seemed to be a sculpted, static form of a terrific heavenly bird—you’ll remember their penchant for bird forms. This one was like the Thunderbirds but with the enigmatic timeless quality of the Black Eagle. The bird head was at the top of each pillar and they faced in to the open crystal cave where I stood to meet them. They gazed throughout the created universe, and they looked at me.

I realized at once the answer to a question I’d had. Would there be any Blaise angels left in the heavenly realm after they started incarnating as humans in 2020? Yes, plenty of them left. They did not empty out the heavenly realms in the mad rush to take on human bodies starting on January 1, 2020. You know, I was never sure how many Blaises there really were. I always thought they fudged the numbers, had two sets of bookkeeping. I wouldn’t put it past them that the Blaises who left to incarnate on Earth came from just one Cave Heaven, and that each of the 40 million Cave Heavens replicated the whole diamond. I suppose the Supreme Being has the accurate, definitive count on those Boys.

One of the first things I noticed was how good it was to be away, to be somewhere else, out of the Earth’s gravitas-heavy gravity well. You have no idea how strong a pull that place has until you leave it. I mean leave it, not in an airplane or limited range high-atmosphere ship, but to get definitively beyond its gravity field, its Light grid, even, in this case, the solar system it’s embedded in. You have no idea how heavy it is, how easily and thoroughly you take that for granted, the pull of gravity, but I mean more than just its physical aspect. The frequency signature of the Earth, its physical mass, its Light grid, and its human accretions upon that Light grid over the many millennia of planetary habitation. It gets into your head. Like smoke threading a subtle geometric pattern of Light.

I sometimes wondered, afterwards, if I had ever been there, on Earth, fully. I had memories, vivid visual impressions, of concentrating my attention in a specific landscape site on my home planet in the Celaeno system and projecting a virtual expression of myself, an avatar, a Doppelgänger, people used to call such things, adjusted for Earth reality and human expectations. Coming back here I merely dissolved the apparitional form of my Earth presence. Close. It was something like that, but nowhere as simple as that. You so take a place for granted; you can’t appreciate that kind of immersion until you leave; then it seems like a dream and quickly dissolves, like a wind-blown mist.

You ask what it was like to leave. It’s like you’ve been visiting in Europe. You’ve been there months. Travelled around. Saw lots of sights. Met people. Even settled down for a few months at a cottage in the countryside, like Devon. Then it’s time to go. You knew this was only a provisional reality. Not a definitive one, not the true one, not the one you came from and will return to. There is a wrench when you leave, but, you know, that’s mostly the body and emotions reacting, like a dog too comfortable on the rug by the fire to get up. You remember yourself as you were before you came here, how reality was. You’re going back. It’s good. Your work is finished here, the travels concluded.

Now, when I come to visit, like here in Boston with you, it is provisional. I am partly or tentatively here. I can wink in and out of my presence here. I suppose I could say I am not entirely sure where I am, that is, where I am definitively anchored, but I suspect that is a fallacious assumption anyway. I have become aware of, have acquired, I should say, a certain freedom of location. I can be in several places simultaneously, even in several times when I need to. I needed to have this fluidity, this protean apparitional dexterity, in setting up the Theosophon during those first 13 years after I left the Earth. Don’t misunderstand me. I did not single-handedly set it up; it was a large group job.

I will come back to that circle of Blaise birds and give some more detail. The pillars seemed about 300 feet tall; they encircled and defined an open space perhaps 150 feet wide, maybe more. Beyond the circle of pillars, which were a brilliant white, like white marble made of fire, and up above them as well was a domed rotunda. It was a pale olive green in hue, a Blaise Light temple. Beyond the pillars were chambers, alcoves, gateways, arches, the sense of a great deal more to this temple. All of this was set inside the spherical diamond which consisted of 40 million identical crystalline facets, what I called Cave Heavens.

The place felt alive, but you cannot conceive of the degree of this aliveness. It was as if the universe itself was rivetingly wide awake, lucid, fully attentive. In a sense, this Light temple, this Garuda Nest, as the Buddhists and Mongolians would call it, was an architectural personification of the attention of the Ofanim. It saw everything, looked everywhere, missed nothing, a celestial bird perched atop the world tree, all the landscapes of reality opened up to its perception. Talk about meditation, or concentration, or focused awareness. I could just plug myself into this network and skip years of Buddhist meditation.

I gradually understood I was here for my briefing. I came here first when I went through the stargate. I had expected to arrive in the Pleiades, in Celaeno, and in fact I did, but I also arrived here, a kind of split attention you could call it. Earth to Celaeno is 430 light-years, but you know, it took only seconds to get there, to the nearest planet in that solar system within the huge Pleiades cluster. Stargates are efficient; I give their designers a hearty handshake of thanks.

I see you looking at me intently, studying my features. How old am I? Chronologically, I should be 90, except I am not. Think of a car that you put in the garage for 20 years, never driving it. It is older, but the mileage hasn’t grown. Much of the last 20 years my Earth human male body was in the garage, unused. It was older by the clock, but not in terms of mileage, or lived use. It was like the clock stopped. The thing about stargates, you should know, is they change your body form to the dominant sentient species form of the planet you’re visiting. Your body gets transformed, shapeshifted they used to call it, to that new form.

That’s the body that gets the mileage clocked on it; your earlier, arrival body gets put in a kind of cold storage. Actually, it has been molecularly changed to provide the materials for this new form suited to the new planet’s physical requirements. Then when you return to your point of origin, you get it back. I don’t know how they do the bookkeeping on the age numbers, whether any of these bodies in fact age. I suppose the years must be credited somewhere.

As for your head, well, that’s a different matter. You get both heads. You have the continuity of your Earth-based awareness though now divested of Earth-planet materiality and its presumptions and necessities and how they structure and filter cognition, but it still feels essentially like you, just stripped down, lean, fat-free, very trim and essential, transparent in a sense, and you get the new cognitive framework, in this case of the Celaeno planet in the Pleiades. You need to have both body and mind changed to adapt to the new planet, yet not so much that you are so disoriented you forget who you are or why you are. I knew all this before I left, as I had gone through the stargates before, but it still arrests your attention a bit at the moment of arrival and mind-body transition.

I said my arrival in the Celaeno system was upstaged by my arrival in the Blaise Light temple, the one with the pillars, olive-green hue, and the diamond. For a moment I wondered if in fact I had, accidentally, inadvertently, died in transit. It had that sublime quality, that deep quiet, like one has stepped out of the bustle and churn of reality into a still in-between place, a serene node in the Bardo. The Blaises laughed at me. I heard laughter from all around, from the diamond caves, the pillars, the bird-forms atop the pillars, even from the floor.

I soon figured out that no, I was not dead, just in-between, probably in-between the moments of time too. It was okay; I liked the place, how it made me feel. It was probably that gap they once told me about, which they said seemed like magic. Magic exists in each gap of your time, they had said. "In each moment there are 23 gaps. Magic is imperative: Ma-gic. You think about that, Grail Knight." I had, and now I was doing it. I was in one of those gaps, with them. I was in a gap between the 23 pairs of chromosomes defining the human.

One of the Blaises handed me a book. It was large, thick, its cover pale blue edged in silver. The title was etched in silver too. The Theosophon. As soon as I touched it the book expanded and changed shape. It filled the rotunda space in which we stood and created a wrap-around environment, so we were now inside the book, and its contents were displayed as maps and diagrams around us. I could walk up to them and see them in detail, and I noted they had an arrestingly lucid reality, so detailed and vividly present were their contents. The bulk of the display was a complex geometric form. I saw it, yet I was in it.

Inside it, I found it hard to make much visual sense of its shape. I saw many lines all around. The pattern was regular but complex. I had the impression I was inside a crystalline form and the lines were the shape’s edges. I had the impression this figure occupied more dimensions than a 3D shape. It was like seeing forms within forms, and it looked different from each angle I viewed it from. Then I saw the shape from the outside, as if it were a miniature display.

I saw that it was in fact a complicated geometric form consisting of many dozens of square faces and many edges framing them and perhaps three dozen points of bright golden light at the corners of these squares. In one of them I saw the Earth, a little blue-white marble occupying a vertex at the center. Occupying the other vertices were planets and stars. It was a lovely sight, like a cluster of bright, sparkling colored jewels set in a spherical lace doily, that and the fact that this spherical doily seemed to occupy many dimensions at once.

You’re looking at a 5D cube, also called a penteract or decateron, said Blaise. "It is a cube shifted up to five dimensions. It has 32 vertices, as you saw, and 80 edges and 80 square faces. It also has 40 cubes and 10 tesseracts or 4D cubes. It is the shape for the Theosophon, and it is spread across a significant portion of the Milky Way Galaxy. A holographic copy of this same form is implicit and already highlighted in the Earth’s Light grid by way of geomantic nodes spread across the planet’s surface. These nodes must be occupied by humans during the Theosophon as must the galactic nodes be anchored and illuminated by a heightened concentration by sentient intelligences.

We say ‘sentient intelligences’ to suggest they are not necessarily humans, but they are ones who care about the Earth, its role in the galaxy, and the galaxy itself. All of this, and more, must be orchestrated then performed simultaneously for the Theosophon’s success. It will take advance work, which is why you’re here. We have allowed what we hope is a generous amount of time for this, roughly 13 years.

Then things got more complicated. I realized the 5D cube had been static. Now it was moving, as if rotating. It wasn’t rotation exactly; it was revealing its multidimensionality from all possible angles. It seemed to be changing shape, but I knew it was revealing its fundamental compositional shapes, and it looked like a living organism, even if its body was a hyperdimensional geometric form. Yes, the Earth occupied a vertex in this shape, but as this shapeshifting form was a singular, unified field of intelligence and awareness, the Earth was all of this.

Or, I should say, I saw that this was the intention of the Theosophon, that the Earth should awaken or upshift its dimensionality into this complex 5D cube. It probably wasn’t rotating at all in the sense we usually understand; rather, its hyperdimensionality through expressing itself, my seeing it, made it seem to me it was rotating. It was being itself in five dimensions, creating the effect of spinning. As the 5D cube rotated, I saw its many edges, squares, and faces from the different angles this afforded, looking down its vertical axes; it looked like an eyeball, spinning around, taking in all the world around it, seeing it in detail.

The Theosophon display now shifted its location. It was a circular golden hall marked by seven large sculpted golden heads in a half circle. They looked like sublimely crafted deity heads perhaps 50 feet tall. Each seemed like a window into another world, a portal we might pass through, and through which the original of this deity representation was viewing our reality. It was subtle, but the golden heads hinted of a feminine or goddess quality behind them. Standing in another but wider half-circle were several dozen figures. They were very tall and quite large, much broader than the average human, for these did look like humans, though their heads were large and hairless and emitted light.

They seemed to be both standing quietly in this half-circle and walking in and through the Theosophon display of the 5D cube. I realized it was a hologram which tends to dissolve spatial distinctions. They occupied the vertexes, walked the edges of the squares, cubes, and tesseracts in a manner similar to a prospective home-buyer walking through the rooms of the house to get a firsthand sense of the place. They were testing it out. I felt dizzy for a moment as the number of these tall golden figures seemed to have multiplied radically. There were many dozens now, maybe hundreds, of them, occupying the nodes within this complex geometric form.

It gradually dawned on me that they each had made copies of themselves, or maybe it was even simpler than that, that these were capable telepaths and they were projecting their awareness into multiple, simultaneously occupied locations and my cognitive habits interpreted this as being a multiplication of their forms. In practical terms, it did not matter. Each figure was experimenting with the alignments by standing in all possible aspects of this form. Each had entered a five-dimensional mode of perception. Each was like a rotating eyeball.

I turned to Blaise. An explanation would help, I thought. Who are they?

Don’t you recognize them? Blaise said. We thought sure you would.

I did. The memory welled up in me quickly like a fast rising water table. In many respects they all looked the same, but I recognized them by their mind signatures. Here were their points of individual distinction. Yet, in a sense, they were all the same in mind too in that they were telepathically linked and of one mind, as the saying goes—in agreement and resonance with views and goals.

From an Earth perspective you might say their personalities had become transparent, and what they were transparent to was more important than the tenor of their individuality. So I recognized them. They were in the Council. It had headquarters on a few planets in the Celaeno system, including this one. They were involved in the administration of the Theosophon; they had helped with the planning and would help with its execution: they would help me, and anything to do with the transmission of Light across the dimensions and worlds.

I felt walls of bliss and focus and marvelous mental concentration surround me. It was Blaise, their signature, their way of saying Hello! They can’t help themselves: that’s how they feel, that’s their signature, and it is lovely. For a moment I was encased—we all were, the Pleiadian Council members, the golden heads, the room itself—in this swelling wall of diamond-focused bliss. It wrapped all around us, inside and outside the mind; that boundary soon dissolved. It was the feeling that all the answers are at hand, that the reach of consciousness has no limits, its ability to perceive and comprehend boundless.

There was no anxiety, no stress, no urgency, no consternation, no grasping. It was all at hand, available without effort, part of the implicit goodness of life. I knew them well enough, if such a thing can be said with an ironic grin, that the Blaises often did this bliss-swelling number as a mark of confirmation for something well done, accurately said, or acutely understood, the way the gods used to rain down flower blossoms or pound on drums in the sky as they observed the activities of the mortals on Earth and approved of the outcomes. I used to chuckle over those endearing scenes in the Mahabharata, and half of the reason for my mirth was I knew Blaise had written all those accounts.

I remember Blaise telling me about the Pleiadian Council of Light. That was long before I had any direct experience of it or met any of its constituents. A federation of 26 billion members based on several planets within the Pleiadian system, the members deriving originally from the Pleiadian planets but then expanding into the quadrants or large-scale divisions of Pleiadian space. At the time Blaise told me this, which was roughly the year 2000, Earth had 14 Council members. The Council had many agencies or operational divisions that oversaw projects supervised and presumably initiated by the Council; I surmised the design of the Earth’s Light grid and to an extent the human genome was one. It made sense the Council would be involved in any subsequent upgrades, especially a Light shift on the scale of the proposed Theosophon. It would be like calling in the original architect and builders for a proposed house renovation.

I looked at the seven golden heads. They were enlarging, as if on fire. Each was now like a flaming sun-orb with the suggestion of Pleiadian facial features. They were so large now their size seemed to expand beyond the size of the hall. The whole of the Pleiadian system opened up to my sight, as if the place had become a planetarium, except I knew I was seeing the star actuality. For these seven golden sun-orbs were representations of the Seven Sisters, the seven principal stars of the Pleiades cluster, and the sun-heads were the stars’ ensouling intelligences, their egregores at the level of suns, their seven Sun-gods.

I saw the numerous planets in the Pleiadian system, those associated with these seven, embedded like jewels in the stepped gravity well of the solar system created by the heavy mass of each Seven Sister star, and those of the other 300 Pleiadian stars, and they each had a flaming golden head blazing at the solar system center. This was a galactic neighborhood, an urban complex.

I saw Council members on most of these planets, or at least the suggestion that each planet yielded a number of members, and I marveled at the essential unanimity Council membership implied, the resonance of mind and spirit existing across 26 billion members. On Earth you’d be lucky to get three people to agree. I saw—no, I remembered—the scope of our activities, how many planets we sought to inculcate the Light upon, meaning the possibilities of expanded awareness and cognition, the opportunity to know reality, to understand it. I remembered my own unit and our projects, including those on Earth. I remembered the degree of long-range planning we went in for, and the necessary patience we cultivated within ourselves to wait as long as it took to be achieved.

Patience? Christ, that one didn’t exactly translate well into the human me. I was always impatient, wanting things to move faster, the Light to ground sooner. Maybe it was the energy setting of the human body on the planet Earth. Maybe that tended to preclude or limit anyway the calm nobility of patience. Maybe it was the radically reduced lifespan by the time I reached my last life. You live to 70 years, maybe 90, but that is still so little time in which you may expect to see any of your projects mature and bear fruit. Even the simple act of lighting a zodiac takes 180 years, so that’s a minimum of two long lives. That’s all different here. I can feel the long, stretched out, relaxed patience. Maybe that’s a relatively recent development. I can’t say we exercised exemplary patience with Maldek; a lot of impatience went into manifesting that débâcle.

I saw, and I remembered, some of our outposts on the Earth, at Chaco, Tent Rocks, and others, smaller versions of this Pleiadian Hall of Light in which I now stood surrounded by the Blaise Rotunda. I saw too the portals placed peripherally at many of the Earth’s zodiacs, and of course elsewhere, that allowed interdimensional access to right here, or to the full Council chambers.

The first time I saw one of these I was baffled. I couldn’t make it out. I squinted; I strained; I wished I were more clairvoyant. That’s the trouble with things that are in 4D or beyond and you’re stuck in 3D with some psychic ability; you can’t form a plausible image out of it. It looked like a ship, sleek, mauve-colored, but I couldn’t fix its shape in my mind. If it was a 4D shape that would explain it. You would see all its possible shapes at once, that is, see it from all angles at once plus the time dimension, and it wouldn’t have been an Earth shape to begin with. You’d need Pleiadian eyes to see it properly. Human eyes would deliver you a visual distortion. They’re not used to seeing things in 4D.

Blaise had said these portals were doorways to ships. The Earth had 66,600 of them, and they conducted one to the Council of Light in the Pleiades. They facilitated Light grid maintenance, presumably by Pleiadian grid engineers. These nodes were access points to interdimensional doorways; I suppose it was on the same order of logic as airport terminals: first you enter the terminal, then you find your gate, then you enter the plane. That’s the same kind of sequence.

Blaise likened the interdimensionality aspect to how we are when fully clothed. I was in England at the time so you’ll appreciate the sartorial references. Outermost you have your raincoat, hat, and scarf; then your jacket, jumper, and trousers; then your underclothes, like a teeshirt; then your actual body, warm and dry. The dimensions are like that; the portals take you from body to raincoat.

It wasn’t just the impatience I was glad to shed. It was like an irritable skin. It was the unsurpassed nonsense and all-round bullshit of Earth life. The conditions under which we had to operate at this point in time. Secret governments, black budgets, alien conspiracies, veiled space programs, black ops, surveillance, spying, genomic assault, pervasive lying and deceit, all that. Add to it the unending rash of speculation and misinformation and deliberate disinformation passing for metaphysical knowledge and current news. Goddam, how did we ever let this place get out of our hands and into the management of total idiots suffering psychoses of power and control of all types? It’s a disaster.

All the stumbling, inept attempts to formulate an accurate picture of affairs, all the inflationary postures, the posings, the drama, the glamour, the heroic desirings, the chronic, perpetual messianic forecasts, the soteriological recipes, the salvation scenarios, the cosmic saviors-manqué marketed like product brand names, the spiritual celebrities, the apocalypse heroes, the never-ending supply of dilettantes and pretenders and millennialists scurrying to the most preferred locations to get the Light first and best, the well-paid savants, the vanity and narcissism, the egoism, the commercialism of it, the selling, and the selling out, the Ahrimanic infiltration, never getting it right, sometimes getting it egregiously, flamboyantly wrong, and liking it. I had none of that any more.

Now I stand a reasonable chance to get briefed on the true state of affairs, free of the filtering, distorting, erroneous layers of human incomprehension. No doubt I contributed to that appalling morass of misinterpretation too. No more!

Then I laughed. I haven’t lost any of my crabbiness despite being in a Pleiadian body. I’m sure all this fustian will drop away given a few days here. What a crazy place this Earth is. I was glad to get a break from it for a while.

The interdimensional portals, the fact the Earth had so many, infiltrated Earth reality like long roots from a large, healthy, and ambitious tree. That fact in itself spoke much about the intention of the Light grid designers: surely it meant that somehow humans could have access to these doorways, were invited to, and, in the other direction, with 66,600 doorways, it implied a great flow of Pleiadian grid engineers and maintenance crews must have regularly passed through them, or else why so many doors, and all of this, ironically, or sadly, unsuspected and now unused by the bulk of humanity, at least in current times.

That many points of entry suggest a meticulous, even prodigious, level of planetary Light grid maintenance. You could, I’m sure, also send Light infusions through these doorways, like incense. The most obvious conclusion you could draw from this prolixity of portals was that humans were meant to be in contact. Earth was pre-connected to the Council of Light by its own geomantic design. Earth reality was hard-wired to the Pleiades from the planet’s inception.

It was funny, or ironic, I suppose, because for so long the official public view of the possibilities of intelligent life elsewhere in the galaxy, a view routinely reinforced by all the governments of the world, was that it seems unlikely and of course no proof was available to make the case for a yes. Meanwhile, the planet is equipped with 66,600 Pleiadian grid apertures, portals facilitating easy access for grid engineers to keep the planet’s Light fine-tuned. Presumably, Pleiadians had been coming and going at a good clip for millennia and the planet is perforated, riddled through, dimpled with alien apertures, and, surely, there was considerable human traffic through them to the Pleiades. You can see how amusing this is, when framed against official policy denials?

So here is another rich geomantic endowment knowledge of which got lost. According to the Hermetic logic of the geomantic design, there must be equivalent trapdoors, sideways portals, or Pleiadian grace notes in human DNA, as well as in the etheric field of the Milky Way Galaxy. Blaise always insisted on the fact that what is outside will be found inside us and on the Earth.

As I stood there in the Pleiadian Light temple with the golden heads, I realized I had no idea what time it was. What time it was here. Logically, I knew it must be the year 2020 and the month January back on Earth, and the Blaise Babies were starting to be born, and more conceived all the time, but that time, that time flow, was gone, of no relevance here. I wasn’t even in a human body any longer, and the body I was occupying was directed by a Pleiadian time flow.

Do you see my point? My new Pleiadian body was anchored in a timeframe, but conceptually I was adrift, with no sense of that time, though I suspected it flowed faster here because there was more consciousness, more Light, and less gravity. I wouldn’t say, exactly, I felt floating, but my body felt much lighter, buoyant. With regards to gravity, time, and light, I was now living in a new country. It’s like when you first travel and enter a new country: you have to learn their ways, acculturate yourself to their norms, their weather, food, climate, all of that. You have to get used to the different quality of light, the meteorological conditions, the general flow of reality, its effects on your body, what it does to your sleep, metabolism, sense of self, your feel for reality overall.

The Hall of the Golden Heads, as good a name as any for where I found myself, though I did eventually learn the Pleiadian term for this temple space, seemed to stretch out and open into the galaxy behind it, the Pleiades cluster. I saw many more flaming golden heads, intelligences of the Pleiadian stars. It seemed less a hall and more a distributed telepathic alignment of kindred minds.

It wasn’t as if all these golden heads and the innumerable Pleiadians I was now also seeing situated on planets in the gravity wells of these suns were assembled here, as if they traveled once a month to here for plenary sessions. They were always here, when necessary; it was just a matter of focusing their attention this way. I realized I was seeing some of the Pleiadian Council of Light, the part that occupied the Pleiadian system itself, which, as Blaise had said, was its origin. It seemed a considerable part of the 26 billion total membership, though presumably members are drawn from evolved planets across this galaxy.

Physical travel to here was unnecessary; considerable numbers of light-years were involved. The stars in this cluster are not packed together like buildings a city. Between Alcyone and Celaeno, for example, lie six light-years; between Pleione and Taygeta are nine light-years; and six light-years separate Merope and Sterope. Six light-years is about 36 trillion miles. Not very close, is it? Astronomers say the 300 to 400 stars in the cluster (nobody on Earth seems to have an exact count: some give the number as low as 270, others say it’s 1,000) are spread out over 110 minutes of arc or a two degree field at a low density, and they say if you were to weigh all the mass of these 300-plus stars it would total 800 solar masses, that is, it is 800 times heavier than Earth’s sun. That’s a lot of gravity. That is an odd but entertaining thought, packing together all the Pleiadian mass into a vast dense ball. That would make a hell of a Sumo wrestler.

I said the Pleiadian stars are not packed together tightly like buildings in a city. But the Pleiades is like an urban complex in a different sense. Though light-years separate the many stars in this cluster, the overall impact is like a clustering of solar systems, several hundred contiguous solar systems and gravity wells, lying relatively close to one another, unlike the isolation of Earth’s system. The combined impact of 300 stars situated fairly close together, with their 800 solar masses, is to create a massive collective gravity well, a heavy mass center. I suspected this correlated with the important role the Pleiades plays in the galaxy. Esoteric sources say the Earth and its Sun orbit Alcyone in the Pleiades every 200 million years; maybe it can’t help it: the gravity pull on the Sun is irresistible.

Earlier I said I could not tell what time it was. It was worse than that. I did not know where I was within any unit of time. Was it the same day as my arrival? I seem to be in a different kind of existential space, a vibrational tier either higher or sideways or in some manner removed or extricated from normal time, even for this planet in the Celaeno system. That meant I was outside time which meant knowing what day it was would be meaningless as I was not inhabiting that day, at least, not yet. Maybe the Council members all lived this way, outside of normal time, or in a higher time, or a more stretched form of it.

Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It was more a matter of scientific interest, and I suppose I was looking to get my bearings here. New body, new planet, new conditions, new timeframe—who wouldn’t be looking?

I should be more gracious. The Pleiadians I stood amongst were anchoring me to this new reality condition in their own way. It felt like it did the