ABetterOne

"Have a better one."

This line, a social expression from Blade Runner, is an example of the genius of the genre. In case you weren't around in the 80s, it had by then become the post-post-modern cliche to part company with the phrase "Have a Nice Day." Both sincere and meaningless in its over-use, easy off-the-cuff parting-shot. What literally appears as an intention to bid pleasantries upon person becomes a signifier that culture had slipped into dystopia. Optimism IS pessimism, the double-think of Orwell's 1984 (now in 2017 thanks to Trumps inauguration as President has rapidly become the American best selling book of all time). Everybody has ended up hating 'nice'. What exactly does that word mean anyway? While on the topic, how significant is the suffix '-ration' in augers?*

"Have a better one" sums up that we are now in the post-nicety world, retaining the original nicety of intention by admitting to the shit we live in daily. The general common understanding, 'the level' as Masons describe it,  is now the wry cynical irony which is not quite yet bitchy satire. Perhaps it is but even so we have shifted over: yesterdays bitch is today's common sense practicality simply because of Normalization. Nice and Normal. 

In the distraction of escapist fiction we identify with the dystopian situations of the Protagonist because it helps us to come to terms with our own. We find solace in familiarity and there is a bitter-sweet brutal-soft comfort in that. Because our generation had it hard. 

Technology was the stained glass window citadel promising A Better Tomorrow if we can only get through today. Better than facing up to the depression of futility. 

It changes, inevitably. In the 80s "cyberpunk" was all about integration with the machine through cosmetic consumer cyber-augmentation. In the 80s most people did not own what we now call 'computers'. The media told us we needed strap-on digital watches. People owned pocket calculators. A thing which can do what your desktop can do would occupy a whole floor of an office block. The word 'tablet' had not been invented yet. The memory size of desktop computers was measured in kilobytes. Virtual Reality was the promise of tomorrow.

It was about synthesis, replacement, although (outside of the pharmacology and petro-chemical industries which now monopolize lifestyle) that theme did not truly emerge as its own stronghold until the 90s. By the late 90s enough people had desktop computers that you knew someone who had one, or had one yourself. Their memory size was measured in megabytes. Most kids had game consoles the memory size of which measured in kilobytes. Augmented reality was the promise of tomorrow.

Linden Labs opened the worlds premier Virtual Reality platform SecondLife on June 23, 2003. By 2013 Second Life had approximately 1 million regular users.** It was 2015 before Virtual Reality Headsets became a viable consumer commodity. The Oculus Rift headsets sold out just 14 minutes after being made available.***

* https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/augur

** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Life

***http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/ces/12085175/Oculus-Rift-to-go-on-sale-in-March-for-599.html

So here we are almost in the 2020s and it is a long way from Cyberpunk2020. What cyberpunk did not foresee is that enough thought, energy and finances would be invested into cleaning up the shit left by generations of 20th century industrial consumerism that despite the oil and nuclear spills, our energy needs will be provided by ecological sources. The transition out of 80s cyberpunk and into post-millennial solarpunk (eco-punk) is occurring. Elon Musk's cost effective solar-panel roof-tiles will guarantee this even if the drive toward free energy technology is not occurring on a corporate scale because humanity has not yet proved itself responsible enough to deal with that.

Are we yet at that stage? No not quite. The oceans are full of plastic which has irreparably destroyed large parts of aquatic ecologies. The oceans are contaminated with nuclear fallout from the Fukishima disaster which has still not been plugged and is worse now than when I began writing this blog. Technologies are being (slowly, too damn slowly) developed to fix radiation by genius scientists such as John Hutchinson and his pioneering work into Scalar physics. 

We are still living within "have a better one" because there is still a lot of work to do. Yet we can now see a light at the end of the tunnel, something which did not exist previously within the classic Cyberpunk milieu. The despair is lifting. We are aiming to achieve our grandkids regularly saying "Having a good one."

Cyberpunk as a genre is retro at its default setting. When it drops the dystopian outlook it becomes something else. Post-cyberpunk which is currently being described as Solarpunk due the focus on free energy technologies and ecological sustainability. The 1990s/2000s millennial rising awareness that permaculture is necessary for sustainability has two facets. That we are self responsible pioneers and do it for ourselves is made almost impossible because of state control, land ownership and poverty. That mass-produced consumerism is, because of the overriding rule of 'convenience culture' is mainstream Human lifestyle by default setting' going to be how it happens for most people. The new wave of eco-corporations will be instituting ecological sufficiency for us in such a way as to make it easy. It didn't happen overnight which "the hippies and crusties" have been trying to do since the 70s. Transition takes generations. The transition of attitude is no exception.

80s CyberPunk

What makes it cyberpunk?

With retrospect, cyberpunk changed in the 90s when the promised land chrome of post industrial deiselpunk got clean away from fossil fuels and became solarpunk in the 00’s. This zero generation has optimism and wealth whereas the zero generation it replaced had pessimism and poverty. That is the difference in the millennials and the millennial approach to cyberpunk.

The 80s were street life, the 10s had got rid of that as part of the cohesive corporate cover-up. Making the world a better place through eugenics and extermination. Police state brutality forces whats left of the aging drug, gun and 16-bit cyberdeck generation indoors. Have another nicer day. 

For me the question is:

What makes it 80s cyberpunk?

The cable guts are hanging out of buildings as an add-on to concrete cheaply erected without anticipation of electric taking over so fast. Everywhere has metal starting to rust, fans to vent air around an airless overcrowded maze of hi-rise cells and streets which stink of shit, trash, monoxide fumes and cooking of rodents and fish.

Even the concrete is 4-bit down here. You can caste a person by the functioning of their brainwave rhythms: 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, 256. We had to keep up with the kids of the morning growing up on sunshine instead of whiskey, moonshine instead of neon. They have wifi so no cables are needed, our cranial datajack are obsolete and even the backstreet pain-docs are quitting or in jail, regulations caught up hard with the new-wave hardware. They are the Giga-corp generation, byting down on us just like we knew it was coming.

Even they are going to be obsolete when the next wave hits, our grandkids have tetra-tattoo’s skinbedded into their cult so far advanced we become dinosaurs or vampires depending on how far we made it, nothing but memories of what life was in the physical world because now we hide away and build our harmless entertainment behind laser doors or so far out into the reserves there ain’t no electric nor cops anyway, earthships and nature, survival lifestyle far away from the cities which spawned technopunk people.

Those western urban wilderness ain’t the first world no more because city life has also been obsoleted. Just such a pity most people still live there. But we loved it for what it was, it was our time, up above the world riding our youthful drive to be something alive.

So cyberpunk has gone retro, and mutated to cope with how things have turned out. This is the era of solarpunk, a return to natural balance, living with ecology. 3D printers making tools out of mud and in the foreign hi-tech labs there are atomic printers making tools out of protons. Meat grown in vats so it has no mind or central nervous system capable of detecting pleasure or pain. Hybrid designer species for surgical, pleasure and amusement purposes. Not so long before they are given human minds. Clones already a reality.

Cyberpunk of the future is a very different thing to its dirty root origins. After a splash fascination with Victoriana so it could pick up on the age of exploration and enterprise, leather and wood, bakerlite brass and glass, the steampunk movement, it is eventually going to merge into mythpunk were supernature and creatures of dream will walk openly amongst us. Something like Shadowrun promised, the Mayan fifth and sixth ages of “urban ways” and “living myth” respectively will happen.

That’s where I’m going next, through the promise of age into sleep and rebirth. I am going to do it the good old fashioned organic way, bypassing digitally copied minds and the delusion of electronic immortality quite simply because my generation learned the hard way, metal rusts, concrete crumbles, even the new nano-brane materials sold to you as lasting forever will not outlive the immortality of transcendental spirit. Who would want to be trapped in flesh anyway or the cruel coldness of passionless machinery? Forever is only a long time when time is involved, and beyond here - beyond here is the dream and the dreamworlds.

The shaman knew all along. We fused it into electronic tools, the sword in the stone, the fire in the cloud. We made our illusions strong. But that is all they are, distractions and delusions. No cold comfort there when you face the harshness of reality. Cyberpunk was. And something new remains. My generation were before the time of the digital pheonix.

UnicornHuntersE4

Preface
Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven   
The Unicorn Hunters

Chapter Four

Meadow tames me with spring softness into an autumn comfort. Directs my skills to positivity. I need her. I cannot tell you who or how many who's i have been used against my will to kill by remote. I cannot tell you what other depravity I was involved in. When i began healing instead of harming, as my will and awareness grew stronger, when i began riding higher and with more positive light, the back of my heart erupted with light and i began to become invisible to the ones who were stealing me from my sleep and forcing dreamings upon me. These dreamings are not fantasy, they are really real in the really real real. It is far outside the bounds of Mental Health textbooks, what officially is known about it is classified military secrets. Meadow taught me a white light meditation, filling myself with white light as i breathe until my body glows with it. Inner tranquility.

Meadow is not on mental health henefits as she has avoided the system entirely throughout her whole life. For most of it she has lived in forests, on traveler sites, squats and her friends council houses, all across the country. What she needs comes to her and she goes where she is needed. She embodies freedom. Her journey has brought her to this place.

The garden centre has a converted barn extended by a corrugated metal shelter which we all hate despite it being useful, providing an outdoor place to sit in the dry and stare through the few plants left by its previous owners at the trees behind it from the road. After a few days here we had re-oriented our center away from coming in, into looking out. We discussed sky-places from where we project down our understanding of the place from the air, and decided to meet there tonight during dream.

My skill at astral travel, remote viewing and an ability to connect with others, riding hosts, to have persuasive powers as a voice in their head which many mistake for their own mind to be doing the talking because they cannot see; all this is why my role as facilitator. My focus. Its inner systems. Meadows gentleness takes us through into the dimensions we want to go. Her emotion. Its inner symbolism. Jake boosts my scope, we work together, with his ability to connect with frequencies which he hears as sounds. His harmony. Its rhythms. The music of our souls.

"When the others arrive shall we have a pentacle." Expresses Meadow. Her voice speaks the words not as a question, she talks backwards like that "from cider and origin." It sounds or feels like she says, festival rather than pentacle. She speaks on many levels and challenges us to accept. This is our riddle game. We all play it endlessly. What makes us the shamen is that we do so knowingly. Meadow most of all.

That night we dreamed intensely.

It took us a while to orientate; i was stuck in the forest until i remembered, upward! Meadow down by the river tho to her it appeared as a stream. Jake swooped in and two others, spirit guides or other travelers, perhaps but we don't like to think about that the shadow ones, lost guides turned nasty. We could all feel them and in the minds eye perhaps see them. United we function as one eye, usually we need time to orientate. We have done this a few times before but only once so powerfully, when we brought along the unicorn and vision-made this place into being. We do not all see each others spirit guides, though they are not always presenting themselves visibly anyway.

The presence of others took its effect as we mingled and accepted our relationship with the others at deeper soul level of understanding than is easy to write about in words. We settled into each other by making peace, sharing understanding, feeling their chakras insert into our own and adapting to the balance. In the balance often barter. Their powers became ours for the journey.

We flew over our landscape, seeing the ruins, a column of white so bright we could not look toward it, the stone circle, the spring. Fields and forests. Dreamers more conscious than human sleepers, animals in their burrows and nests, involved in their own Dreamings.

We saw deadlands beyond where industry, concrete and gaseous metal had closed areas off of the dream. We felt starlight like water upon us. We waited until the density above our heads had lifted, so we may rise. Waiting at the Gate until accepted, a natural sign will alert you to the opening of the second gate. To go through the first is to bring dust of your journeys with you. To go through the second is to enter cleansed that you may see the next crossing more purely as it truly is. A lighter frequency. And then to the next gate. A gate is a moment expanded through time. It can be depicted through symbol. We share common symbols, between us have a repertoire sufficient to deal with most crossings.

An awareness flows through us; it is because we said hello to the stones. The word for stones is also light. Crystal, but the emanation for which crystal is a conduit. It affects the light grid through which particles filter with such high refinement that sleepers cannot see it, only dreamers and the dead, and those of other realms who share this space for their passage or their home.

From the higher perception we did our work. When we awoke on a different wave of consciousness the next mid-late morning, we remembered as much as we can of it. Jake made voice recording, I wrote in my dream diary and Meadow told us what she had seen. We shared our information and extrapolated what we must do now. We had our mission for the time of us being here, tasks we must perform. It all works for the balance so that the paths of our lives and those around us can continue toward the highest frequencies possible. Gradually through centuries we are working toward a state of attaining higher and higher frequencies. This is the Ascent and it affects our consciousness. We awaken.

Except that night, for that dreaming, it did not go like that. The strangers were together, one like us a unicorn hunter and its spirit ally, although one could as easily call it the other way around, a spirit and the human with whom it travels. Often, so often it is human sleepers who are bound by spirits of the Otherworlds, we see this regularly.

The unicorn hunter was not from our time although in the astral and especially so close to a shrine, matters of time ceased to matter. We learn an alternate system of physics. Spirit sciences. Time is mass and mass is time. In the realm of conscious dreaming it is the self who creates an ephemeral version of mass, it is our lucidity and focus by which we create time. Our group enhances this, our balance unique and its own flow. The unicorn hunter and his ally were harmonic to our own flow, by desire.

He was excited to meet us. I visualized him as a short fat man dressed in steampunk attire, leather straps and breeches. His ally was deflecting the shrine light from behind him so that he did not cast a shadow, by this he was difficult to read, to know, to see. His presence was strong and assertive, we did not shift or scatter, we held with him. It felt important to do so.

Around the shrine, countless other dimensions shifted, a spine of kaliedescopic spokes rotating, through which energy rises. As other energy threads flow around the core, gates open through which other dreamers find their levels.

"How did you find us?"

"Unicorn."

We knew this meant it wants rescuing, obviously another unicorn hunter would have some sort of ability to hear its call for help, he would after all have been listening for such things.

His gesture, interpret that however you will, the symbol image of a ghostly smokey unicorn head in the space between us momentarily at chest height, his desire to capture one revealing his quest and beyond that his true nature, murderous black of his eyes, sureness of such volume and gravity it made dense of the particles around us, held up only by the hope of his aspiration.

We were at once accused, revered, and requested that he may invite himself upon us, through us to meet our unicorn, a wild power which we had enslaved for our mastery. The dreaming unicorn swept up through us.

"Who is this guy?"

His power was immense. He released the unicorn from our bond, using our guilt reaction and pride as a lever. Had he intended to do so was irrelevant; the will of the unicorn was far beyond ours. We were swept up with it. I felt Meadow beside me gripping it by its mane. Jake gripping its tail. Something dark flew up past us, travelling faster than the unicorn only by a degree and within its flow. The elation of that freedom and the fierce drive of the unicorns desire to escape its tether and run fast and far, we felt that too in its entirety. As the unicorn shed its attachments to that place, it shed us, as a snake sheds its skin. It shed us so powerfully that we also shed ourselves. And yet we fripped, sending one another bursts of energy to strengthen our bond. If one of us had fallen, we all would. It was a challenge we did not intend to face.

The unicorn slowed.

The spirit ally of our encounter was now projecting a shield to shadow all three of us from the awareness of the unicorn. It did not know we were there! It was relaxing, we all were. Shaking its mane and trodding its new ground. Its heart hardwired to its brain and beyond, it had gone home to a safe place. Around us... green haven.

We had to be quiet incase the unicorn heard us thinking. We knew that we had to capture the unicorn again: in case we got stuck here, even if not for our original purpose. And then the scene changed.

We were in a large luxury stable. The colours of the stable are the same as those on the ring which the cunning spirit ally had placed over the unicorns horn; a tether! Brown, tan and silver. The steampunk guy was waiting for us.

We were exhilarated, we met him with laughter despite we acknowledged him as thief.

"There are those who would not go to the liberty of preserving the animal; taking simply the tusk. Cutting it off. Killing the beast."

We climbed off the unicorn. It was standing still, listening, observing. Its heart flared out in reach to analyze the surroundings. Its tusk flared out for same purpose and to project its will into the particles from which the realm was constructed, to re-shape them. The projection failed, they remained as they were.

"It is a strong chain. Specially made."

He would have attacked us if he were hostile. He was confident. A thief bothering to open up conversation with the people from whom he had stolen, directly following the theft.

"Yet truly, the unicorn is not yours to keep. It having become property is now appropriated. Thus sealing the bond upon it. It escaped from you, its first gate. There are three with your binding and this is the second. It binds you also into its service. In course, I shall no longer be its master. What I do is a necessity, and a consequence of the path which yourselves started."

"Who are you?"

"You still seek to possess it. You have done your bit and may do so again in the full circle of time. This is the bind I have worked into my... it's tether. Already you have learned much, already you are experts at this chase. Welcome. There are some of us who have been doing this for some time."

"Are you Victorian?"

"We should find the third. The unicorn knows already what must befall it and what path it will shape."

The unicorn was looking pissed off.

"Worry not, we are a step closer toward capturing a unicorn."

"We had already caught it." Sarcastically.

"No, indeed you have not. There are planes and depths you do not know of, places where unicorns go, we can barely imagine."

"Where are we?"

"Within the ring, of course."

"What will you do with it?"

He smiled.

Back in the normal world:

"I can't believe we lost a fucking unicorn."


continues at: Chapter Five

UnicornHuntersE3

Preface
Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven   

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.

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.

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

UnicornHuntersE2

Preface
Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven   

Unicorn Hunters

Chapter 2


We explored all of the frequencies of light; she and I, using our bodies and chakras as both conduit and catalyst. As we shared our insights we changed the focus of the group. Expanding into one another as with ourselves, we together broke through the same veils which had seen mystery schools form, study and lose cohesion and focus.

We encountered what the Mayans call the 6th Age; a perception best described in its fictional form as Mythpunk, that one will come into better focus as people begin to comprehend how the dimensions work. When we see more truly by acting more purely to our own unique spirits, the environment and its people all become equally alive and enchanted by an essence not to be found in the lower dimensions. We see spirit come alive in our environments; elementals, and in our arts and crafts; totems. Everything is living and obeys only its own natural laws of physics. People look closer to their true nature, everything does. 

This is the realm into which the unicorn hunters had been attempting by their nefarious methods to achieve access. To see everything as it truly is, without the filters imprisoning the human mind. Souls who the guardian collective had imprisoned lest they unleash their wild without refined appreciation enough to use such powers wisely, or at least harmlessly. This is what the higher dimensional extra-terrestials are talking about when they say humans are a species with a lot of power and a lot yet to learn.

Outside of the grid of physics imposed upon the ignorant by collective consciousness, a mainstream which was as yet incapable of comprehending much less yielding such power as is unleashed by integrating awareness more fully, the unicorn hunters as so many other magi before them discovered realms of raw potential, ephemeral realms of dream, ever shifting, populated by denizens more fabulous than we could ever have imagined. Most glorious yet, that we are they; that the dimension in which all walk openly comes as a perceptual shift rather than as a physical relocation. Matter conforms to will. This phrase is a scientific law in the 6th age.

Some places have power and we needed a base, a high energy location to enrich and harness our abilities.The unicorn provided this easily; it opened into our lives the very next day.

The Garden Center has polytunnels, a paddock and high brick walls backing onto a forest which rolled down a steep slope to a narrow river precisely where it met the apex of its curve. Meadow found it while looking for a site for her hand carved caravan. The business was up for sale and between us we could cash all our assets and establish a start-up loan sufficient to meet our needs.

We up-scaled the trap and gave the unicorn a field in which to roam. It stood at forests edge dejected, forlorn, losing its lustre. As we came to know our new surroundings, we felt the energy surging up from the ground. Somewhere below our feet was some type of crystalline mineral, tonal harmonics. The plants, Life, thrives on it. 

The trap is a tether; Meadow calls it a mantel. A twysted cord constructed of materials of rumour, ancient tomes and insight born of experience.

As we got to know the locals in the farm shop and traditional British pub, we were introduced to a legend of the hillside upon which our ranch is situated. In the old days there was a standing stone circle on the site, its quarry is said to be in the forest but nobody can quite ever find it, overgrown as it is. The stones now form a large proportion of the nearby church situated on an ancient spring. The church was bought from the church a century ago by a committee of the local farmers; there are two although there used to be more, three empty farm-houses falling down and four if you count the one down in the valley which is mostly forest now.

I sat in my new room and drew pictures, free-form imagery of urban environments being left to nature, reverting toward forest, as habitation patterns and lifestyle changes take hold during the next centuries, toward a more ecologically sustainable balance with the planet; petroleum and plastic based products replaced with eco-electric, compressed sawdust and bio-plastic. Custom 3D-printed goods replacing productivity infrastructure. Delivery by sky-drone courier companies direct from factory. 

The door knocked. It was Jake.

“Hey man, wanna come up and jam? I got the system set up.” He is an accomplished musician although he believes himself to be crap.

Jake got into unicorn hunting after a revelation that some bits of musical equipment genuinely do have some sort of mystical power and it goes far beyond fetishism in the spiritual sense of objects into conscious entities, demons with whom we can communicate. Jake discovered that group psyche about a type of object can be harnessed when you enter a transcendental state of unity with the flow of the music and the instruments making it. He began experimenting with reading by feeling the collective consciousness and tapping into it by playing. He discovered that he could easily project into it.

The two ways to do this are to create a perfect piece of music which others listen to, or to skilfully plug into it in realtime by playing guitar for example better than anyone else is doing at that time. When you refine your empathic perception into such a focus, any other world masterly players who are simultaneously playing, anywhere in the world, can feel each other, hear each other, they are the ones setting the rhythms by which other intuitive people are picking up on - they don’t even need to hear the music audibly. And then it goes into playing specific rhythms or frequencies anywhere throughout space-time, because music is about resonance.

Jake's playing techniques harness the energies of the world grid. He realized that there was a cause and effect in different areas of life, whatever he had been thinking and feeling at the time, translated by some method of connection he alone knows how to comprehend, the result of which being he thinks he can cause events to happen by manipulating sound. Thankfully he does most of this while wearing headphones. After he started researching the relationship between extra-sensory psychology with observing and interacting other dimensional dream universes, he was drawn into the focus of the unicorn hunters.

Jake’s room is a mattress surrounded by cables and boxes covered in buttons from which lights flash. He has transplanted it almost exactly as it was in his old flat, into his room here. His wardrobe consists of smart designer black clothes and loose baggy black clothes.

“Not right now, man. I’m exhausted and I was about to go to sleep. Tomorrow though definitely.”

“No worries. Have you seen Meadow?”

“She’s outside staring at the moon, probably.”

“Cool. Do you know when the others are arriving?”

Sandy is a banker and has both financially and bureaucratically invested more than any of us in securing this place. Because of her job she will be the one spending least amount of time actually occupying it. Sandy and I have been through a lot together, we were teenage sweethearts, both married and divorced other people, we have an on-off relationship which is currently in off mode due to us both having had a string of other partners since we got back together for a brief fling after the divorces. She doesn’t know about me and Meadow being together yet but she will the moment she arrives because she is super intelligent.

“Sand said she will try to make it down for this weekend. Matthew wants you to pick him up from the station when he calls.”

Matthew is split personality. Either he is placid and dopey, a friendly travel salesman who until now has been living at home with his christian parents for his whole life, or he is a reckless pirate who has never been caught for regarding the world as his own personal playground, life as a game and all property as public even if it is locked. I have never seen him actually shift between these states. We call him the werewolf behind his back. He also invested a lot of money into acquiring this place.

“And the others?”

“Haven’t heard.”

"Ok night man."

"G'nite."


continued at: Chapter Three

UnicornHuntersE1

Preface 
Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven   

The Unicorn Hunters

Chapter One

I truly cannot say whether this should best be described as a story or as a tale. It has strands, a horse-hair weave by which to play a celtic violin. These are not sad tales, although they are at times dark, as fairy-tales should be; and at other times mirthful, as befits the new wave of the avant-garde. They entangle and between them tell a story which requires patience and dedication to appreciate, skills sadly lacking in today's mainstream culture of digital immediacy.

The story of the unicorn hunters really begins long before I had learned the popular use of that title to mean a couple who seek a single male to share their bed.

Nevertheless it invokes a steampunk universe breaking forth into sunpunk. The former, a contrived and mechanical Victorian era penny dreadful, substance of swashbuckling romance and dastardly foes. Clockwork and powder powered pioneers of progressive autocratic reformulation. The latter a twenty-first century visionary movement fusing art nouveau aestheticism with ecology harmonious technologies; solar panelled insects. Give me genuine 80s cyberpunk, graffiti concrete ghettoblaster pounding hip-hop and industrial decay, anyday. And for the 90s Jeff Noon’s Vurt.

These are the roots and the subcultures as is, representing the twist. As the spiral progresses to its point. This phrase is a cliche and works on many planes. Phrases become codex to those in the know. It is a secret scene.

It begins in a dingy basement. We had yesterday tech and drugs safe for kids. We had imagination. We gamed, rolling dice and developing our sight. In later years this developed in myself to a perception from which I can remote view, not only into our own dimension but others also. Evidently I was useful to somebody and they took me on and used me. Psy-op training starts young. By my late twenties I had assimilated enough of what I had been through, into a training process and insight into what is going on in the world we live in at this time. Most of the people in this society dare not believe the truth of it; electronic mind control, a society constructed of agents. As I write, HAARP (High Altitude Aerial Research Program) is still in operation. The public story; weather control. This decade disclosure of military files has revealed that those weather balloons seen all over the world during the late twentieth century were ufo’s after all, and that aliens do really exist.

We are living at a time where people are so caught up in their own bubble that they find it difficult to cope with this level of information, and so they ignore it; the ostracise those of us who are aware. We think differently, about the world, about what humans are, about physics and spirituality. And so that is the background within which I write. The leap in paradigms from watching movies unrelated to your immediate experience, about a topic; and then to experience it first hand, requires suspension of disbelief beyond many peoples capability. People do not want to appear gullible, and cannot identify the difference between gullibility with the skill of suspension of disbelief. For, as this teaching continues; it is the ability to unplug your belief system at will from the particles of the environment around it into which it radiates; and to step instantaneously into an entirely different dimension.

The Unicorn Hunters come from all over space and time, from other dimensions and other worlds. They fell in love with the magick and knew deep to their core that they had it too. In them, it did not dry up enough to make them forget it entirely. For them, its dwindling came as a challenge to overcome, not as an inevitability to accept. Which is the core of what it is all about.

By observation alone, one may assume that a horse shakes its head not to loosen its mind but to loosen its mane. To the Horse, well, who knows what a Horse thinks?

And the Horse thinks; it should be free, and wild. The compromise of being looked after by humans, fed and manicured, at the cost of its liberty to roam; does this truly compensate for running with the herd through a landscape un-fenced?

We dream of such a landscape. Floating under the awning of our hover-sofa’s with a videogame joypad, travelling over landscapes cultivated but in so many places left to grow wild. We dream of a freedom beyond us and we figure out ways to get to that state as a lived reality. These are the dreams of a unicorn.

The unicorn is representative of the universe. It makes multiple versions, other dimensions, conform to its stream, to its journey, to its passage through. It teaches us this succinctly. When you have heard a unicorns song, sometime in childhood in the semi-starlit drift before sleep, from the quiet core of the - forest you can trust - then your soul is tainted forever by its dreaming. And when it dreams and you dream with it, that is when you learn; that is when you joy, when your spirit fires freely through the confusion of manifest night. Your soaring!

We had to catch one for ourselves. We banded together and set out on the path of bringing together knowledge and skills, insights and fragments of memories of times outside of the laughterless beyond. Each of us unique and yet each of us the same, for the necessary persona to achieve our goal was cultivated by the training methods we formed between us. Shamanic and astral, we soared.

Our trap was hardwired to our signal, a signal which only a unicorn could follow. We had assembled it from the produce of our quests and it worked. We had the beast in the cage, a cage designed that even a unicorn for all its power could never escape.

The unicorn needed healing. We intended fully to break it to our will, just such as a horse is broken to serve man and is at this time in history deemed a socially acceptable behaviour of the wealthy who can afford to own a horse. In the few short years of our dreaming, this will all change as humanitarian rights are positioned at the centre of global law and equality rights are extended to include all wildlife, flora and fauna, indigenous to this world.

A unicorn is not exactly indigenous to this world, is it?

We healed it with beak of phoenix and all the usual alchemagickal rites. It could reach into our minds, naturally, and in doing so for the extended periods with which it fought to get us to sympathise with it and let it go; we formed a powerful strong bond, a mental link. It took over Meadow first before any of us. A unicorn cannot stay linked to a human mind for very long before it must leave, for neither can fully sustain the other. For those brief outside-of-time moments while the connection lasts, a deep soul connection, a feeling of satori washes through, colourful information and knowledge compressed from multiple dimensions into the limited number a human imagination is able to sustain even when stretched to the fullest.

It is terrifying when somebody you know well abruptly has a complete personality change, becomes somebody else entirely, someone psychotic and wild, focussed on a particular sequence of actions and stopping at nothing to achieve some particular task. When sleepers awaken it tests the survivors and sends them for ever outside of a normal state of being. To know from experiencing it for yourself that humans do not function from the routines you feel safe enough with, that in some people a vampiric primal cortex urge is so close to the edge; overrides their mind and takes control of them wholesale.

What you learn from going through it both ways; seeing your mates freak out and from experiencing it from the inside, when it happens to you; trapped inside yourself while some spiritually toxic force seizes you; the only safe direction to go is to do what the programming is stimulating you to do, making you sick with a feel of wrongness, an adrenaline surge, fight-or-flight response masterfully controlled by its pre-patterend escape route being to perform whatever duty to which you have been assigned. People are not who they used to be.

We had all been through it and we all wanted to get out, to get out of the control grid sufficiently enough that it could no longer affect us; to set ourselves free and the others around us. It was this which brought us to the conclusion that our only safety was to acquire a unicorn, with which to fight back against the seering fear of somebody else’s intention.

For me, it was better than to return to the life I had escaped, a sleeping agent corporate military psychic assassin, programmed by remote and through too many experiences, had become aware of it enough to establish my own escape plan from their game. And yet even so, I could never be sure. I wanted security. Using my training I dared hope there to be something in the legend; and I had found my way through dreamtime, acceptance and exploitation, to belong with the group.

Meadow was easy to subdue, her message had been integration, compassion, understanding, love, and she had done it feral and nurturing, womanly and girlish, taking control and yielding utterly all at the same moment. It was several weeks before we found out that she is pregnant. The first moment of the story when it switches into present tense.

Our child had been speaking through us for some time, through our actions, bringing us closer together into this moment. What blessings are bestowed upon our child of that moment we will discover joyfully through time. She thinks it’s twins.


continues at: Chapter Two

Scrawl/PrefaceTheUnicornHunters

Preface
Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven   
Preface of The Unicorn Hunters

Scrawl

She asked me, what is the worst thing i have ever done. I asked, the worst action i did, the worst experience i lived through, the least moral choice i made, what do you mean by that? She told me that i know what she means. I asked her if the war hero, the veteran with medals from the queen for honor in battle, for service to his country, is he a good man? She agreed, he is. I asked her if the blood of innocent children on his hands is a good deed, for he confessed to me that the enemy he fought are the child soldiers who are avenging the murder of their peasant families by western dictatorship. She agreed that is a crime. I question her morality system and on this basis i refuse to tell her the things i have done by which she will judge me. I asked her if judging someone from a position that is known to be twisted and hypocritical is a valid way of understanding a person. She could not answer, her mouth was so hard. Eventually she wiped away a tear and explained to me that she had been willing to forgive me anything because of her love for me. I told her that she may love me now but how could i, a survivor, know she would not twist it and use it against me some later time. She asked me why am i being too hard on her? And i told her, because if you dont harden up you cant cope with the experiences which i have been both punished and forgiven by myself and by the gods, for having been caught up in. She asked me again, what did i do?

This, really, is where the story begins.

What it takes to touch a unicorn is purity, and only once grounded to the world of substance can a unicorn be harmed. Their magick is their purity and their purity is fragile. The same is true of angels. I am neither a unicorn nor an angel though compared with many i am both. But i have something, something i won long ago, believing it would help me to become more pure than i was. And perhaps it has. I was one of the unicorn hunters, trained by them. Though i left and went my own way. What i have is a feather plucked from the wing of an angel. A real one; not one of these people who live such a way that others call them angels without really believing such a mighty thing could exist. Let me explain this to you and heed it well; angels are a pain in the arse. They are not good for humans, for the simple reason that their control the fabric of the world around them, much like a unicorn does with its heart hardwired to its mind. Angels hearts are wired to their wings.

You would think it to be white but it is not, it is golden in colour and glows only when the sunlight flows through it, just so. The angel did not drop the feather as they are reputed to, by way of a blessing. I plucked this one from it and it caused the creature pain. Angels claim to serve their god but they don't, or if they do, its not a god working for the best interests of humans. They think they do but they are incapable of offering us free choice and for humans, free choice is what gives us our power. Its not black vs white choices either, good vs evil. Its not even one vs the other. Simply to have choice in life rather than to be controlled by fates. The angels hardwire grid lines, make destinies which conform to their own selfish needs. And we humans fall into them, believing on the angels ego that to do so is better than to not do so.

On this basis angels are enemies of human evolution, and this is the justification by which i attracted one toward me, and took only one of its feathers before releasing it. The paradigm believed by the angel cannot accept my stance, my perception, i fall outside of the grid it projects onto the world to understand it by. It being a compassionate creature does not see me as an enemy. I could have killed it and still may yet do so, for with this feather i have a link directly back to the heart of the angel itself. 

I use it for several purposes. I have inserted a nib so that i can use dip ink and write with it in the ancient way, empowering the words. The feather heals itself after every time i pluck the nib from it, the feather cannot be muddied. 


continues at: Chapter One