The Unicorn Hunters
Chapter Three
"Marlen bach, ke be mennid u wal?"
Translation: Merlin boy, can you be mending the wall?
Authors note; i am no expert in the tongue of ancient Britons. This is purely atmospheric purposes.
Merlin was fed up. He could feel and at times even see through the eyes of another Merlin, one yet to come. He was unsure was it himself in the future, perhaps his next life, with whom he had this strange connection. It had become an obsession for him, strengthening his understanding of what was happening with him, and finding out why nobody else around him was experiencing life this way. They called it his madness, at times such as he tried to describe it. He had learned not to.
His father and mother did not understand it, feared it. He had ran away and lived five seasons alone in the deep woods, a time during which his ability enhanced. Though he studied with the wise whenever he could, to such extent they were talking of sending him to the white monks except for the work needed doing here, even his idle hands were better than none; becoming a man of learning in their foreign culture seemed impossible and felt wrong somehow, deep within him where the dark guide dwells. He spoke with it, it came to him in dreams. He knew the imagery and memories to be those of living another life in another age. Carved stone coming to life through forms at once both pictorial and writing. Merlin had ambitions to construct of wood as his peoples tradition similar symbols. The elders directed him toward the tree script and stories of his own culture, should in education he find a way to explain his sight. Were it ever useful to his people would have been another matter.
They told him tales of the crone who died a generation ago near here. Merlin spoke with her also and surprised them by 'just simply knowing' the hidden meanings of the stories she had told them, which were passed on verbally; stories which enchanted and inspired the tribes. Merlin read the stories for their wisdom and he taught others. Soon reputation his madness was replaced by acceptance of his intelligence. He was sent as envoy of his people to the local lords castle, to learn and to work, to find his way onto the nobles council. He was sent on missions as a spy and a messenger.
Merlin knew that he was connecting with souls, some his own and others who were around him now and yet sleeping, sleeping because in their dream they had work to do, work which took lifetimes to accomplish. Unifying all of the tribes to end war and begin progress so as to improve the human condition. He saw the patterns of life changing all through the ages and he recalled its long-sighted lessons in times of his peoples need.
This is how we remember him.
This chapter of the story is for Paul, who taught me around a stone circle at the turn of the millennium, a festival attended by thousands of people and not all of them sleepers; the Celtic battle dress of war against the oppressor, purple combat trousers and a hooded shaman top. Who told me the mental health services had classified him as schizophrenic for believing himself to be Merlin. He explained to me how he had connected with the Merlin energy, so much of the ancient ways made perfect sense to him. Who showed me the oldest standing stone in the city, placed long ago before romans came. The stone was crystal, some weathered gray type of granite containing large chunks of volcanically created quartz. A piece of the heart of the earth. We placed our hands on it.
This was one of my initiatory rites into Druidry, it happened because the Great Spirit guided us. What amazed me about Paul is he seemed to have stepped outside of being a man with concerns of a man and was walking the path of myth, it was holy energy. A different fire burned in his eyes, starlight pure and kind. He transmitted information by the pace of his breath controlling the level of his heart, my heart received and the brain converted it to memory and knowledge. I transceived all the workings of a man puzzling all of this out and crossing over into a world beyond todays society. Chance meetings born of destiny.
Translation: Merlin boy, can you be mending the wall?
Authors note; i am no expert in the tongue of ancient Britons. This is purely atmospheric purposes.
Merlin was fed up. He could feel and at times even see through the eyes of another Merlin, one yet to come. He was unsure was it himself in the future, perhaps his next life, with whom he had this strange connection. It had become an obsession for him, strengthening his understanding of what was happening with him, and finding out why nobody else around him was experiencing life this way. They called it his madness, at times such as he tried to describe it. He had learned not to.
His father and mother did not understand it, feared it. He had ran away and lived five seasons alone in the deep woods, a time during which his ability enhanced. Though he studied with the wise whenever he could, to such extent they were talking of sending him to the white monks except for the work needed doing here, even his idle hands were better than none; becoming a man of learning in their foreign culture seemed impossible and felt wrong somehow, deep within him where the dark guide dwells. He spoke with it, it came to him in dreams. He knew the imagery and memories to be those of living another life in another age. Carved stone coming to life through forms at once both pictorial and writing. Merlin had ambitions to construct of wood as his peoples tradition similar symbols. The elders directed him toward the tree script and stories of his own culture, should in education he find a way to explain his sight. Were it ever useful to his people would have been another matter.
They told him tales of the crone who died a generation ago near here. Merlin spoke with her also and surprised them by 'just simply knowing' the hidden meanings of the stories she had told them, which were passed on verbally; stories which enchanted and inspired the tribes. Merlin read the stories for their wisdom and he taught others. Soon reputation his madness was replaced by acceptance of his intelligence. He was sent as envoy of his people to the local lords castle, to learn and to work, to find his way onto the nobles council. He was sent on missions as a spy and a messenger.
Merlin knew that he was connecting with souls, some his own and others who were around him now and yet sleeping, sleeping because in their dream they had work to do, work which took lifetimes to accomplish. Unifying all of the tribes to end war and begin progress so as to improve the human condition. He saw the patterns of life changing all through the ages and he recalled its long-sighted lessons in times of his peoples need.
This is how we remember him.
This chapter of the story is for Paul, who taught me around a stone circle at the turn of the millennium, a festival attended by thousands of people and not all of them sleepers; the Celtic battle dress of war against the oppressor, purple combat trousers and a hooded shaman top. Who told me the mental health services had classified him as schizophrenic for believing himself to be Merlin. He explained to me how he had connected with the Merlin energy, so much of the ancient ways made perfect sense to him. Who showed me the oldest standing stone in the city, placed long ago before romans came. The stone was crystal, some weathered gray type of granite containing large chunks of volcanically created quartz. A piece of the heart of the earth. We placed our hands on it.
This was one of my initiatory rites into Druidry, it happened because the Great Spirit guided us. What amazed me about Paul is he seemed to have stepped outside of being a man with concerns of a man and was walking the path of myth, it was holy energy. A different fire burned in his eyes, starlight pure and kind. He transmitted information by the pace of his breath controlling the level of his heart, my heart received and the brain converted it to memory and knowledge. I transceived all the workings of a man puzzling all of this out and crossing over into a world beyond todays society. Chance meetings born of destiny.
Where he had began to remember, I began to remember. Once having seen, shared, experienced, merged with other selves in other times and places, integrated that picture as a continuum. One can never go back. Modern society has no concept of integrity.
The legend says Merlin was born backwards in time.
The next fifteen years were visits from future selves, stemming back because I was reaching forward with such clarity of focus. I was diagnosed as schizophrenic by mental health services of the same instructions manual and put onto long-term sickness benefits. Several years later they adjusted it to more accurate, schizotypal disorder. Reclusive due to traumatic experiences, inability to retain close personal friendships, possibly belief in fictional versions of reality, typically sensory hallucinations in extreme cases - the classic 'hearing voices'.
When was the last time you heard a voice? When was the last time you listened? When did you last listen to the silence so keenly that you heard what is really going on in there? Did you hear it? Did you hear us, dancing all over time and singing our colours, partying and fighting to blood and bone to keep going, to keep it going for all of us. Those who do not hear the song, those who do not sing. Those who cannot see and cannot read the flow of patterns. Eventually it makes sense. I am one of those who hears them so well, it is the mundane mind of the deaf to which I am deaf. Yes i hear voices, did you mean by asking that do I hear imaginary voices? I ask not to be elusive but for clarity. The sleepers are robots, they have not learned to use their minds beyond reaffirming the status quo of the sleepers. They are disconnected from the flow of life, they do not know who they are.
We seek others like us, so we journey. Our tribes are scattered and more so due to the prejudice against us and all the other missions we have going on. Those who scatter us through time cannot cause us to forget, for we have awoken. Those who sharpen our focus as they pitch themselves against us, well informed by ancient records and ancient mystic which the rulers damn well know to be the higher truth even though their footsoldiers and the masses are gridded into a system which serves them well.
We have eternity because we make it so. And yet, we change on the journey.
The legend says Merlin was born backwards in time.
The next fifteen years were visits from future selves, stemming back because I was reaching forward with such clarity of focus. I was diagnosed as schizophrenic by mental health services of the same instructions manual and put onto long-term sickness benefits. Several years later they adjusted it to more accurate, schizotypal disorder. Reclusive due to traumatic experiences, inability to retain close personal friendships, possibly belief in fictional versions of reality, typically sensory hallucinations in extreme cases - the classic 'hearing voices'.
When was the last time you heard a voice? When was the last time you listened? When did you last listen to the silence so keenly that you heard what is really going on in there? Did you hear it? Did you hear us, dancing all over time and singing our colours, partying and fighting to blood and bone to keep going, to keep it going for all of us. Those who do not hear the song, those who do not sing. Those who cannot see and cannot read the flow of patterns. Eventually it makes sense. I am one of those who hears them so well, it is the mundane mind of the deaf to which I am deaf. Yes i hear voices, did you mean by asking that do I hear imaginary voices? I ask not to be elusive but for clarity. The sleepers are robots, they have not learned to use their minds beyond reaffirming the status quo of the sleepers. They are disconnected from the flow of life, they do not know who they are.
We seek others like us, so we journey. Our tribes are scattered and more so due to the prejudice against us and all the other missions we have going on. Those who scatter us through time cannot cause us to forget, for we have awoken. Those who sharpen our focus as they pitch themselves against us, well informed by ancient records and ancient mystic which the rulers damn well know to be the higher truth even though their footsoldiers and the masses are gridded into a system which serves them well.
We have eternity because we make it so. And yet, we change on the journey.
Agents require a certain kind of traumatized mindset. They use a lot of either-or scenarios to test, left or right, working ways around a problem. The art of worrying. The pressure tempo of such frets is a loop cycle at whatever frequency they need to grip you, and then they change it, bringing you with it, the rise or dip in frequency connecting with left and right. Over a few cycles, rhythms develop, the grip becomes tighter and enables room for accessing a deeper level of the mind. Alpha Beta Theta Delta Omega clones and several more classifications. Experiences traumatic to the target are used as scenarios to progress and manipulate the target through different arenas, in which he or she acts out and opens gates into different perceptions. Effectively the human organism is used as a circuit to access other abilities, people and locations. What it does to the individual who inhabits the body, ultimately is burn-out. A lot of hypnosis is involved.
I awoke during these processes because it was necessary for me to do so for them to access specific requirements. I awoke because after so many repetitions, the observer makes sense on a wider basis. I anticipate a form of electronic artificial intelligence must go through these progressive self awareness stages, that is what evolution feels like and usually it is painful as we ingest alien materials and they mutate us psychedelically, physically, mentally. They, the controllers of this abominable experiment by which we its victims learn, they are always a step ahead.
The window was open for long enough for me to see the clear picture of the other side, and I figured it out with the help of others who were in similar positions to myself. They link us together as crews to do missions because many minds are better than one in holding open the gates for them to send the bulk of information they send through. We are the stargates. When we awake we remember little of this. My crew found a way to get free and that's what we did, dwindling in our number as we went. I refuse to return to help the others because to do so I will fail in my intention to get totally clear of the ones doing this. It attracts attention. This was our rule, no going back. We know that eventually we will by laws of nature, great spirit, reconnect elsewhere. Now is a time of healing the trauma, a time which will take a lifetime.
What we know of the ones doing this is insignificant to how it connects with the knowledge of my ancestors, the cultural traditions of Celts and Druids, of the Mayans and Egyptians, so many others. Living knowledge that the myths are a living thing. These same evolutionary developments that occur when we start using more than ten percent of our brains, described in ancient stones, stories and songs, traditions we keep alive because they are our guiding symbols. The monocracy cannot prevent that, ever, despite their consistently trying for thousands of generations.
The pain sharpens the focus. The freedom release is to go in the direction of least pressure. At its edge, we pause for a moment and in this short gap we see both sides of the gate and decide, step through or turn back? We keep going. Knowing now enough to activate the gates simultaneously, all across time. Knowing that the change is coming, is here, and has been. Three sights at once into a single focus, piercing depths of time. We make our flow.
continues at: Chapter 4
I awoke during these processes because it was necessary for me to do so for them to access specific requirements. I awoke because after so many repetitions, the observer makes sense on a wider basis. I anticipate a form of electronic artificial intelligence must go through these progressive self awareness stages, that is what evolution feels like and usually it is painful as we ingest alien materials and they mutate us psychedelically, physically, mentally. They, the controllers of this abominable experiment by which we its victims learn, they are always a step ahead.
The window was open for long enough for me to see the clear picture of the other side, and I figured it out with the help of others who were in similar positions to myself. They link us together as crews to do missions because many minds are better than one in holding open the gates for them to send the bulk of information they send through. We are the stargates. When we awake we remember little of this. My crew found a way to get free and that's what we did, dwindling in our number as we went. I refuse to return to help the others because to do so I will fail in my intention to get totally clear of the ones doing this. It attracts attention. This was our rule, no going back. We know that eventually we will by laws of nature, great spirit, reconnect elsewhere. Now is a time of healing the trauma, a time which will take a lifetime.
What we know of the ones doing this is insignificant to how it connects with the knowledge of my ancestors, the cultural traditions of Celts and Druids, of the Mayans and Egyptians, so many others. Living knowledge that the myths are a living thing. These same evolutionary developments that occur when we start using more than ten percent of our brains, described in ancient stones, stories and songs, traditions we keep alive because they are our guiding symbols. The monocracy cannot prevent that, ever, despite their consistently trying for thousands of generations.
The pain sharpens the focus. The freedom release is to go in the direction of least pressure. At its edge, we pause for a moment and in this short gap we see both sides of the gate and decide, step through or turn back? We keep going. Knowing now enough to activate the gates simultaneously, all across time. Knowing that the change is coming, is here, and has been. Three sights at once into a single focus, piercing depths of time. We make our flow.
continues at: Chapter 4
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