Three - Sound




Tension arises from Fire crossing Water in Ether.

From tension, harmonic waves.

Pulsating Light, vibrating sound coalesce into name and form.

The One becomes the many.

We are the Voices of Light, waveforms dancing on the ethers.

Our harmonies stretch out across the universe.

North, south, east and west, through infinity to the edge,

Producing the three worlds.


For there to be Light, so must there be Darkness.

Perhaps Darkness precedes us ...

The darkness was always there.

The demons always in chase, pursuing our light.

But we are triumphant.

The Light will always overcome the Dark - in Time.


Our struggles are awesome, fiercesome, awe-filled.

The clash of Titans.

Titans we are ...


The War in the Heavens, war between

Light and Dark

Gods and demons

Truth and Confusion

Freedom and control

Open and closed

The battle eternal to generate the Music of the Spheres.





In womb-like Domes of translucent light we sing, gathered together using sound to keep the Knowledge safe within our Hearts. Our lives revolve around generating these songs of Wisdom. Throughout the days and nights we come and go, to and from these, our Domes of Light that cover us and shine up, out into the infinite sky, beyond the planets, the solar system into the stars, the galaxies.


Some have Forgotten how the Domes came to be - but I remember. I remember the great Beings of Light who gently carefully laid down the cosmic grid, the network of harmonic lines on our sweet blue-green planet that would insure our Remembrance, at least for a time, as Time moves over us in Space.


I remember the great Beings of Light who used sound to emit the frequencies that became the Domes around our planet. There are 144 of them, the expression of the harmonies that sustain and hold creation together, the frequencies of preservation - 12x12. These Beings taught us to use sound to purify our consciousness, our being, and the bodies that are increasing in density.


We gather inside the Dome beneath the arcs of translucent light, cascading colors of phosphorescence ever in motion, ever moving one into another, electric rainbows of light. Our songs must resonate with the primordial frequencies of Truth and Wisdom, the Knowledge that we are, beneath our apparent differences, the One. We must aspire to Truth in sound, for the Principle of Magnetism is always at work, and like both attracts and creates like. As we are, as our consciousness is - so will be the Dome and our world.





The tension began in ancient times when we became beautiful, irresistible to our gods and the vast array of celestial beings in the higher realms - and even the demonic beings in the lower. Our interactions with the Myriad Worlds were often the source of mischief, as well as delight and high adventure.


A strong and handsome sage or graceful king seated in contemplation within the spreading roots of a majestic and noble tree was often too much for some lovely heavenly celestial dancer, and she would take human form temporarily to intoxicate and seduce the unguarded one. From such trysts, many children were born. Or it may have happened that one soft summer day, a voluptuous young virgin might be gathering peaches and plums in an dappled orchard, and her charms simply overwhelmed the good judgment of a less than scrupulous deity - thus again a child was conceived.


These children and their lineages were thought to be superior to the others not born of divinity. Such perilous thoughts of superiority were fertile ground for pride and vanity - and from these faults grew tyranny. Those who thought themselves better than others also thought they had the right to dominate, to control, and possess more, if not everything for themselves - all the gold, all the land, all the women.


The ones who lived in Wisdom and still had the Knowledge of the One in All formed a solemn alliance, the holy order of the Sacred Warriors. Many of these were also the half-breeds of celestials. They pledged their lives to protect the people from the growing number of tyrants that threaten peace and the natural law of the land.


I am one of these. I am a Sacred Warrior. It is not an easy life. From the time of my early youth I have been schooled in Wisdom and trained in war. From dawn to dusk I am taught the ancient primordial Knowledge of Wisdom and the skills of war. I know the sounds of the many rhymes of Knowledge that are passed down through the generations. I am skilled in the arts of music, painting, and poetry, even in dance. I excel in the arts of swordsmanship, archery, and the axe. I am a fine horseman, can drive a chariot in the wildest race, and a ship across the sky.


There are, of course, those terrible weapons given to us by the gods, weapons with a forbidding and awesome power of destruction. They are therefore rarely used. Only in the most desperate of circumstances, the most dire need do we wield these deadly energies - for their poisons remain in our lands and water, in our hearts and mind. Only the warrior who has cultivated an absolutely pure heart may use them, for they would destroy the lesser man.


We have been warned by the gods who give them, for each time these weapons are unleashed, the frequencies of our world are lowered and we sink deeper in our illusions, losing ourselves into density and finally into matter itself.


Many have already come to think that they are their bodies. They have become seduced by the demons to believe there is nothing beyond the six senses and they are losing the sixth. The demons are the agents of the Forgetting. The sages and Seers know better and in schools teach the Sacred Warriors and our brave women the Truth.


We have not yet come to fear death. Every warrior knows his reward for courage, honor, and integrity will be his allotted time in one of the heavenly regions, a period of time that befits his heroism in battle and his wisdom in living. These are temporal and illusory realms enjoyed by the subtle body, but enjoyed nevertheless. Each spends their deserved period of time in a blissful place that reflects their own beliefs and desires, places of beauty relative to the consciousness of each, until his or her merit is spent and the time comes to return here to Earth.


For we all Know we return over and over, in lifetime after lifetime. We enter magnetically into the holographic strands you term DNA, the threads which provide a body with inclinations in agreement with our own. These are the lineages of ancestors we all contribute to as our actions alter that DNA in the bodies we inhabit. These are the threads that make up the Fabric of Life, the temporal illusory holographic Matrix. We return to human form, to the plane of the earth because here in each body of man and woman is the microcosm of the All. Here we have the opportunity to Become, to Know, and Realize the many as the One.





Clearly are my first days in this female body imprinted in my memory. I am a pretty baby with dark curls and big brown eyes, lying in a crib looking over  cream-green wooden bars. I am gazing up at the light from the window above me, the light is shining through curtains that frame the window - white organdy. There is silence. I study the soft folds and the transparency of the starched white flowing material. I am alone. Alone.


I feel untouched, alone, waiting. Waiting for someone to come, to hold me, to make me feel connected to this new and foreign place - but there is only that white organdy, starched and translucent, veiling the rays of the sun in the silence of the room.


I am crawling on the floor. My mother is far above me seated in a large chair, soft with green cushions. She is distracted, as if she does not notice me, as if I am not there. I want. I need. I am compelled. I try in my helpless baby way to crawl up to her, to reach her warmth, the womb I came from. I want her to hold me, to embrace me in her love, to connect me to this world she had brought me into - but she remains distracted, distant, aloof.


Again I try. My need drives me, impels me, forces me in my smallness, my ineffective form to reach up for her, to find warmth in her lap, the safety of her arms, to feel her song, to feel. She pushes me away. She pushes me away with that sour distasteful look on her lovely face. She is beautiful, her eyes are blue filled with watery fire, her eyes are filled with anguish. She is my mother - but she does not want me. She remains separate sitting up there in the big soft chair, a prisoner to her pain. I am isolated.


As the years pass the others will tell me that she was ill, she was very ill before I was conceived. While she carried me, she carried a small tumor that threatened her very life. After my birth she was taken away to hospitals for treatments, for surgery, the surgery that would change her forever, leave her tired and in pain, leave her without the womb that had formed me. Isolation was my destiny.


So the years went by and I grew into my loneliness, like so many others. I walked through my life with the memory of those white organdy curtains and the waiting, always waiting, waiting for someone anyone to come, to connect me, to hold me. That feeling never left me, never changed. I remained waiting.


I was the stranger in the strange land. My isolation grew and gave me a perspective, a view of life that was detached, unique, different from the others. I was always different from the others. I went through the motions of growing up, of playing, and being with the group, the family, the world - but I never was. I was always somehow alone.


This state was painful, there was a constant ache in my heart that compelled me, forced me to always be seeking love. The sore in my heart that was an emptiness that drove me to find some understanding, a reason, any explanation of my condition, my desperation, my isolation. All of my life I was seeking. Even in moments of respite, I could not rest for long and was ever on the move again to fill the emptiness inside - the desolation that finally impelled me with vehemence and even violence into the Truth, into the One, into God.





Return to Index