Paintings of the Rhombi Chronicle: Shamanic Journeys Between the Worlds. Draft 4

Rhombi Chronicle:

M. E. Gill

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Category: Social Philosophy/Psychology/ Consciousness/ Emotional Intelligence

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Table ofcontents

Acknowledgements CNvArtist’s Statement CNviiWhen I was Born 1The Spaceship 3Memories of Spaceship 6The Warnings 8Faces Appear 11Spaceship Recalled 12Shift was in the air 14A Ripple in Time 17To Dance 18Reaching These 7 Ancient Tribes 21Seated Woman 22Parasystole Dream 24The Light 26The Dark 28Journeys End 32Soul Family/Group Notes 34Rhombi Meets Fish Spirit 36The Journeys Prophecy 38Stillness of the Seer 27/40There You Are...Waiting For a Sign 43Testing the Spirits 45Sacred Geometry 47Map of Parasystole 48Sacred Tears 51Sister Warriors 54Race With Animus 58Ancient Red Tree 62Leaped 63Raising the Pearl 64Torso Interiors 66Fleshing Out the Bones Between Moons 68Gate 69

Eye of Throat/ Flounder 70Tall Dream at Sunrise 71Dreamer’s Journey 72Mother’s Song to her Daughters and Sons 76 Soul Songs 78Appendix 88Art Reference 89

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AcknowledgementsMy soul Family and soul Group who helped me receive and re-examine the blessing, the images and meanings in these journeys. My sister Edie for sharing her method of travel. My mother and father, for visiting and checking out my friends. My sister Caryn, for reminding me of the aliens in our yard, and for being brave enough to mention this as an adult.

Rhombi, Ra-An-Tu, Hannuktu, Makkar and all of the seven tribe’s members who came to greet me within these journeys. To all the other spirits of these extraterrestrial tribes who helped me understand what was painted through my hands.

My earth family, Paul, Bryce and Spencer, who put up with me while I found and held these meanings... and for their patience when I dived into them again in the Spring of 2013 in order to share these blessings. I could not have written this without your support.

Spirit guides: Shakti, the regal female alien, the gentle and efficient gardener with the pipe, the white-bearded wise man with the crystal eyes, the young boy wise beyond his years, the others who round out the team, one of whom may have been an author, “the” president.

Authors and Artists:“The secret of flying is love of the fall” —poet Frances PhillipsLouise Steinman, author of The Knowing Body: The Artist as Storyteller in Contemporary PerformanceSuzi Gablick, who wrote The Reinchantment of ArtKurt Vonnegut, for writing God Bless You, Dr. Kavorkian!Sydney and Tom, artist and author, respectively, for being YOU and being my friends who don’t sugarcoat anything.Peter Opack, author of I AM a Man, for bravery in 1979 to write about Mars and the Alpha Centaureans, and for “illigitimi non carbo rundum”Cedric, Janet, Marian and Mr. Baca, for your wonderful warm re-welcome to the North, your openness to meeting, and your wise words.Krishnamurti, for knowing what true silence is, and his unique views on relationships

My friend Carole, who read many of the original 13 chapters of The Rhombi Chronicles, for her encouragement during some of the hardest years of my life.

My friend and spiritualist teacher/partner, Toby, with whom discovery of self and blessing of other were examined, dissected and healed in each of our lifes over the 13 years since we met, and who never once shunned the work of me.

David, for being a true teacher. For taking notice of the truth and holding his tongue until the time was right to speak it.

Sevin, for the hard lessons. For his patience. For his tenderness when he let it be.

Jeff, for his uncanny way of letting me know I am not alone, and this is supposed to be fun! For telling me that the best way to run from something scary is to turn around and run to it. For being there, no matter what, and for saying one of the nicest things to me that I’ve ever heard this lifetime.

Evonne, for being the best friend in the hospital, probably saving my life.Gary, for everything, but especially for yoga in the hospital, and for dancing with me.

Synergy, for his consistency during training, even though I kept forgetting to call him “Synergy”

Stephen, for waiting calmly. For being calm, no matter what. For encouraging me to decide and prioritize, and reach out to the many loving people.

Roger C., the ex-NASA scientist who trained me in the Russian “timed” techniques, Superlearning® and hypnosis.

Kerry Cassidy and Bill Ryan, for pushing the envelope. Way-showers.

The other angels, who worked so hard to help me, even though I was so angry.

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Artist’sstatement

Inspired by journeys or lucid dreams of a culture long ago, or perhaps existing on another plane, through which symbolism and rituals spoke of their relevance in antiquity, I began to recognize my personal struggle with contemporary culture — the feeling “out-of-sync” with this society’s symbolism and rituals. This experience was not unlike a dissection of all that I had done, or be-come, in the context of this society. This turning inward held also the quality of its polar opposite: bursting outward — a parasystolic1 experience of being at a point of questioning the validity of my ego intentions vs. the raw energy flowing through me, informing me.

It is the point at which both consciousness and soul knowledge must join with the language and story of the body, which reads this energy. I do not think it matters whether we are astrally trav-eling or walking down a street in our solid body, it is reading energetic information that the soul and the ego miss. Therefore, I have written of these experiences in a similar state — that of emo-tional intelligence, which may require of the reader a suspension of a belief there is a quotable group of words here that can capture all that is shown here.

My art is the expression through cognizant allowance of soul-knowledge, body knowledge and a higher conscious awareness to include information from All-That-Is, to flow through me onto canvas, paper, film or other materials. It is also the intent and work of my soul, soul family and potentially other souls, having knowledge of this group of extraterrestrial tribes. Finally, it is the resistance to editing of the parts of this work that my ego does not understand. I have accepted that these works are also for others — speaking to their own level of being — and I cannot possibly know what these art works mean for them.

I am often enlightened by this. The very act of drawing and painting, and listening to others as they experience these works, is the allowance of this flow of information simultaneously outward and inward. The fact that I learn so much more after a painting is finished, and then, oftentimes years later, being shown by another an image representing that knowledge within these brush strokes is testament to this process.

1 See Appendix for definition of Parasystole

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When I was born

hen I was born, my mother told the nurses “please don’t take my baby from me, I just want to hold her.” She continued in prayer, “With all my heart, with all my mind, with all my senses, I want to know who this is. I swear to you, Jesus, with the patience of a saint I will love this child.”

She and my dad named me after their mothers. I was going to be the last child. No. 8.I was born at 7:55 PM.

On the second morning at feeding time, the nurses brought another woman’s baby to my mother. After a moment, my mother called the nurses back in and told them, “This is not my baby.” They insisted that she was wrong.

She was absolutely horrified at the thought of this. She insisted that she would know. The nurses had to match footprints to determine the answer, and checked blood types as well. The way my mother told it, the nurses later brought me in, claiming they had accidentally given me to another mother. So, before my second breakfast in my new life, I was lost, found, and returned to my mother.

My father was a good man. He worked very hard to provide for us. My mother worked equally hard to care for us. We lived in a medium sized city in Appleton, Wisconsin. Summertime with our large family held some of my fondest memories. With 11 sib-lings, we often made short roadtrips with a large number of us, and sometimes with all of us, in a Ford station wagon. Most often we went to my aunt and uncle’s farm or my mother’s best friend’s farm. But many times we went on fishing trips, staying with friends “up North” or vacationing in country cabins. Occasionally we would go to Milwaukee to see a museam, the Three Domes Botanical gardens or fairs. Sometimes we just went berry picking.

At home, we had plenty of room to run around, too. In the back yard was a huge apple tree that we would gather underneath with our friends and hang out or make plans for the day. Our property was a long narrow 3/4 acre plot that included a very large garden that we all tended for our sustenance.

Behind the wide stretch of similar properties on this street was a forest with dense trees in a hilly setting. This provided ample exploring room for us and the kids of several neighbors. We built forts, dug out the flloors and seating, and built campfires to roast apples. Occasionally we would scramble down to the creek in a heavy rainstorm to watch the gentle stream roil and froth up to whitewater tumbling over the roots of the oaks and pines of formerly serene banks.

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One fun memory was when our family would go to church, and we would file into the pew, taking up the entire length of it. The hardest part for me and my brother John was stifling our laughter, like the time we sat behind the man with the ill-fitting toupee that stuck out over the last bulge in his neck. I put my finger 1/2 inch from the bottom of it and just barely resisted flipping it forward. After my mom saw this she would usually be stern, but most of the time she didn’t mind if I just drew pictures of the people the entire time. I was always watching people.

My innocence was shattered one time when one of my dad’s army buddies and his wife came over for a visit in 1958. They all had a few beers and although I liked my dad’s friend, he said some things that seemed to puncture the room. I felt this inside. So a little while later when my dad went outside to start cooking on the grill, I went outside behind the house to the side of the garage. I told him that I “saw” the fear in this man, which made him cuss in order to appear stronger, but this didn’t really make him stronger. Dad grabbed me and brought his face right down to mine. He told me not to dare using this skill, especially never to tell what you “see” about adults. I was three years old.

This terrified me. I often wondered what it did to him knowing that I could do it.

On the gentler end of the scale that same year. I began to sense the presence of someone nearby me, comforting me. It was a male that seemed very familiar, but I could not see him. He would come around sometimes when I took afternoon naps, or just as I was ready to fall asleep at night. I remember developing a regulating habit of focusing my closed eyes toward my forehead (3rd eye) and anticipating a familiar glowing ball of white light, and then a very gentle feeling of safety would slowly shower down, enveloping me.

The glowing ball would begin to glow brighter, larger and increased the feeling of happi-ness. Then inevitably the ball would begin to grow dim. I was always disappointed when the white glowing began to change colors to a dark red color, and usually looked like it had folds in it like a brain. Nonetheless, shortly thereafter I was still able to fall asleep.

The summer after I turned four, I learned a lesson on discerning truth for myself, some-thing along the lines of what my father wanted me to do, except I just honed my percep-tions through honoring something within me, informing me, rather than listen to what everybody else said. There was a woman in our neighborhood who looked very strange and angular to us neighborhood kids. She and her husband worked at the Institute of Pa-per Chemistry. The neighborhood kids started telling stories about how afraid they were of her, and what they thought she would do if she caught them in her yard.

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The spaceship

The scary lady’s name was Julia. I had only seen her working in her garden alone, or else pruning perfect cone shaped or globes of her landscape shrubs. She never seemed to smile, or even look up from her work. Our friends, the Ormans, lived two lots from her, with a field of tall grass in-between them. This was another fun place to explore things with several of the kids from that neighborhood, as long as she was gone from the house, or at least inside it. When I turned 40 years old, I heard birds singing in the icy cold rain of a Saturday morning. At left, the poem I wrote that day came from the memories of a cold rain during the summer of my fourth year. ______________________________

Two years later, during the late summer of 1961, my younger sister Caryn and I saw a UFO out the window. I had woken up that night and looked out the window of my bed-room. There were lights blinking from the right to left, on a low fling disc shape coming over the treetops from the Northwest.The object started beaming a soft light down into the forest and surprisingly started turning and shining the light toward our yard behind rows of corn in our garden.

Caryn started coming down the hallway from her room. I came out and took her hand. I showed her the beam of light out the window.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she ran downstairs into the bathroom. Even so, I knew she was excited and held a sense of familiarity as I did. We were not frightened! I watched as the disk shape came over the woods behind our house. Then I went outside. I was walking in the cool wet grass in the center of the back yard lawn.

There was a quiet humming sound. The clouds were greenish and whispy above. No crickets or birds made any sounds. It was as though all the sounds were being squeezed away from the area. The lower parts of my legs felt like the grass was icy cold but warm waves were being pulled backwards to frontwards, and from the ground forward at my knees. Caryn came outside. We both stood in different spots watching. I may have been 50 feet or less from the shed. It came over the 1/2 acre garden to the near edge of the rows of corn; hovering there, and suddenly beam an intense white light down to the ground near the shed.The size of the round disk was much larger than first perceived, and the edge was much closer than I thought! That’s the last thing I remembered clearly about that night, until 1997.

By early 1997 I was married and had two children, life was good. Up until that point, I had

Black Bird (and Julia1)

I had watched her all summerFrom the fieldWhere I playedHer starkness frightening meTo the boneSo exacting, her gardens,She made me fear adulthood

Her black hair, so fine in tight bunBared brow... strengthened her jawlineWhich I knew bestFrom behind,Where I stood

I cushioned a frail black birdWith field grass in a boxSo...alike...they seemedAnd with heart echoing through ribsRan up the broad stairsKnocked three timesThen flight backWhere I hid

Door creaked, then She stoodLooking down...And black bird should have flown in fear, tooBut it lay

She must have stroked the poor thing ten timesBefore looking up, to my surpriseDirectly into my eyes

And there, in her tearful gazeMet I, her heart...Amazed. — M. E. Gill

1 Julia K was our neighborhood scary lady when I was age four. That autumn I learned who she was.

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always thought that I would live a long life. But I had suddenly hit a brick wall with a very odd feeling of being in a tunnel, and thinking I would die soon. So I began searching at a new business called Crescent Springs Healing Center for a solution. I had been feeling as though my soul was only attached to life here on earth by a single thread. Some New Age documents called this phenomena “phantom death”. The proprietor, Linn, told me the same, and discussed some articles describing others’ symptoms. A mutual friend of ours had a husband going through this with much worse affectation, since he clearly remem-bered dying in a past life as a warrior at age 28. He had just turned 28 when his symptoms began. Linn was working intensely with him by using Reiki, and he was making great progress. So I had her do two sessions with me.

After the second Reiki session, I had a feeling of brightening and suddenly a door opened revealing a subtle memory of being inside a spaceship. It was very large inside and I saw curved panels upon a 2-story curved wall. Those panels had some beautiful images mov-ing across screens. It was very fluid and enticing to see. Just as suddenly, a few seconds later, the door closed! I told Linn about the abrupt but deep sensation of having had a transport back to that time and place. Sponge-like, I had absorbed intensely the richness of the experience.

I cannot write these memories in sequence... our recollections of UFO events are spurred by combina-tions of events which we have little, if any, control over. It is all

The clouds were greenish and whispy above...

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Linn wondered what sort of programming or mechanism they used on the craft to move those images that way. We were standing at the glass counter at her shop and my lower arms were resting on the countertop. Without blinking an eye, I said, “That’s my mind changing them.” I had no idea where that “knowing” came from, but it felt as though it was yesterday.

Although I tried to recall more of this experience, my awareness of it suddenly dissi-pated. I was much more concerned about past lives on earth, and why I had the tunnel feeling and why I sensed the need to get off this planet and go “home.” The sadness and longing was overwhelming, like I was missing someone terribly. I had finally had a breakthrough regarding past lives in late ‘93 with some of the paintings I was working on, and realized there were deeply buried memories that I was painting from different lifetimes that were connected to doing those tough parts of two or three paintings.

From that point, I recall being more attentive to potential other lifetimes I might access in order to clear the issues of those persons connected to me now, who may have had same or similar issues from many many years ago. My guess in 1997 was that I, too, had recalled the anniversary of one of my deaths.

connected to others concerned and how these memories relate to the lives of all those who have experi-enced them. Disclosure is also timed by the aliens’ direction.

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memories of spaceship____________________________________________________________________A BRIEF SYNOPSIS OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ART FROM FLASH MEMORIES OF EXTRATERRESTRIAL ENCOUNTERS:

The first time I drew an alien female was in 1972. I had no idea of her name, or why she came into my mind’s eye, so I finally drew her. Just once. To me, this was like Owen Meany1 knowing something from the future, but not knowing how to explain how he knows. He just kept practicing and perfecting his knowledge of what he needed to do to save those people’s lives. I would later learn that her name was Rhombi.

In 1980 at UW-Superior, I painted two huge canvases using Jackson Pollack style splashes and drips. I rolled them up and put them away. The pervasive idea they represented was transition. I knew these paintings had something to do with unusual imagery during my dream time, seeming to be of a far away place and time. Often we were climbing stairs to a marble pyramid structure, and a temple hidden within that had a domed ceiling through which we could see the stars and planets after meditating. There were ships visible in these meditations, and it seemed we were communicating with those onboard these spacecraft, imposed over a map on the translucent domed ceiling. The exterior of this dome looked like marble with very slowly moving energy in its veins.

I often worked in the various University studios until 11PM or so. It was in painting class that I met Sydney W. and later, her boyfriend Peter Opack, a poet/writer. She and I were the only two students working in the studios late into the night at the University. We would go and meet Peter afterwards for coffee and maybe bagels. Nighthawks at the Diner2 comes to mind, especially given the nature of our discussions being con-sciousness and the multi-dimensional nature of existence. Wonderful!

In 1982 I moved to Kansas City to attend the KC Art Institute. It was awhile before I met anyone to talk to about spiritual matters, or the dreams I was having. One history professor was very tuned in to the fact I had already seen some profound insights. An-other professor was teaching performance and we sat together in early morning in his studio, talking about some of these insights. As soon he left the next semester to teach

1 From the book, “A Prayer for Owen Meany”, by John Irving2 Edward Hopper painting

the memory that we had seen a real UFO in our own back yard got buried beneath the surface.

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at the Chicago Art Institute, I felt I no longer had a reason to stay at the school.

I took off for 6 months and worked at an oriental rug place, where I learned more about the politics of the Middle East from Iranians who visited in our Tea Room, and the US Govt. actions there than I ever heard on the news. Also, I met a NASA scientist, Dr. Roger C., who frequently came in for conversations with the owner and another diplomat from Afghanistan. For some reason, he taught me about avoiding the four-second pulse and rest subliminal sound techniques of hypnosis developed in Russia (called Superlearning in the USA). He taught me how to hypnotize others, which we practiced on some of the Iranian visitors to the tea room — nothing seri-ous, just fun to see them do things under hypnosis that they may be inhibited to do in fully alpha state. I worked with him for another four months on hypnosis, making tapes for use in his business. My voice was altered slightly.

I continued undergrad studies in fine art with Bill Crist, and learning more about sound from Jim Moberley, and its affects on the mood and well-being of people, with Roger. I worked collaboratively with three other artists doing performance art in the Kansas City met-ro region. I became involved with musicians from the Conservatory of music at UMKC and worked on an old MOOG synthesizer to create music for my performances. After having my final musical composition aired at the 14th Annual Electronic Music Plus Festival, I also had a small improvisational dance part in Gilbert Trythall’s Little Marrowbone Repair Company performance. The following year, I collaborated with a student at the KCAI school and a musician from UMKC and a local dance company to perform in the 15th Annual Electronic Music Plus Festival.

Later, three of us artists, Bill Crist, Gerri Wolff and I, and one musician, Patricia Johnson, received an IAFP grant from the Rockefeller Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts in 1986 for interdisciplinary art. These were performed in Missouri and Oklaho-ma, and photographed by Frank Siraguso.

Throughout these studies and performances, I was doing journals of dreaming, and occasionally drawings/partial paintings related to a journey experience I had not yet had (the 1988 Shamanic3 journeys). It was a theme of flipping society to understand, finally, the an-cient secrets of our innate abilities as humans, and the things we can create, in an environment that is socially responsible and in which we were spiritually highly responsive to the highest order possible for the greatest number of sentient beings in all of existence.

Strangely in 1987, I and a female friend from our circle of friends had both just happened upon the newspaper articles about the Har-monic Convergence. It was in the religion section of the Sunday paper, which neither of us normally even open up. The events held in Kansas City started very early in the morning of August 17th. I was separating from my boyfrriend (whom I ended up marrying) because I was preparing for graduate studies in Brighton, England, and planning to go alone. I did not know it at the time, but I was pregnant by a few weeks. I could not make myself have an abortion. I thought of giving up this child to my friend who was barren, and wanted children. My boyriend and I married instead, and postponed the year of study in England until the following year.

3 Please see definitions of Shamanism in the Appendix

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This baby was born on the morning of April 5th, 1988. Four nights after he was born, I experienced two astounding shamanic journeys clearly deliniated by a timeframe start-ing point difference of many centuries. The woman in these dreams had been drawn by me in 1972!

I called these the Parasystole4 Journeys, about which I chronicled many events that I re-called over the years. Always, I had trouble integrating the reality of the beauty in these journeys with the events that occurred in my life. These Parasystole journeys were far beyond the norm within this bible belt region. I will describe these journeys in a few more pages after I relay the sequence of memories and effects of ambiance and events that spurred recalling these details. I had already poured through numerous anthro-pology and archaeology sources trying to locate who these people were. Nothing quite matched the journey material.

_____________________________In 1989, both my sister Caryn and I received warnings. Caryn had a visit by inter-dimensional beings in her bedroom in 1989. She clearly perceived this was not the delightful feeling that she’d had from the aliens in 1961 inside the ship. She assessed the foreboding feeling of ill-will in them; that this was “other than” the ETs we met in our back yard, enough to say coursely and firmly to them, “Leave me the F___ alone!”

In 1988, my husband and I had moved to Brighton England for my graduate studies at Brighton Polytechnic. I had received a Rotary Foundation Graduate Scholarship for full tuition, room and board. It was wonderful! I was proceeding as per the written plan of my studies, when in 1989, I could no longer continue to ignore the Parasystole Jour-neys flashbacks and many subsequent lucid dreams.

There was even one moment at King’s Crossing or Trafalger Square tube stations when I was climbing the concrete steps, and I was hit with a profound sense of recognition of someone I would swear was my soul mate. I nearly stopped on those steps to turn around and shout out that I was here finally! Come to me! But the thought of proclaim-

4 Parasystole: Please see the explanation in the Appendix

The warnings

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ing to the teeming London crowds that I was here to meet my soul mate revealed my true cowardice. I could not do it. What a mess that would be to divorce and split custo-dy, etc. I have often pondered “what if.”

After working on some drawings and a painting on this subject of the ancient tribes in the Parasystole Journeys, I decided to research the ley lines instead, in order to incor-porate the Parasystole story into my graduate work. I was still thinking that this was perhaps a society somewhere on earth that I just had not discovered in our antiquity.

In 1989, shortly after making my request of the Polytechnic to change the course of my graduate studies, there was a sudden meeting of a few Rotary members and elder professors from the Polytechnic, myself and my Rotary sponsor. This was held in the basement of the main University building. The rules about this were laid out clearly in very subtle language, however the energy of all those present was palpable at this meeting — reading loud and clear. Under no uncertain terms was I to write about or create artwork beyond anything that had already been published about the ley lines in England. Nor was I to suggest that we are capable of understanding the language of animals; nor was I to suggest that aliens are here now on earth assisting us.

Consequently, I made my work of performance and visual art in Brighton from a personal angle and one of questioning consciousness, rather than any physical “place.” The theme of the work was whether humanity in our current societies upon earth could withstand the sort of dissection necessary to obtain the ancient wisdom of oneness with the male/female creator that had been covered and locked away.

During my process of developing the fine art, I tested those spirits I had accessed in the two Journeys. Using photography to capture images of dangling, moving, gold chains that I had seen in the tower of light in the Parasystole dreams, I received an answer from the spirit world, again they were using visual clues rather than words. This photo-graph is shown under the heading, “Testing the Spirits”.

Back in the states, in 1990, I had shown only a few pieces from these journeys, which I had created in Brighton, England. Several pieces were lost there for over six months.

I do recall that the very first time my soul had painted two faces into a color field of brush strokes —one angelic, one with a demonic grin— it frightened me so much that I nearly passed out during my painting critique with Biganess Livingstone when she pointed these out. That was in 1979.

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This first showing was at Union Hill Gal-lery, owned by Martha McDermott. Those pieces were direct from the first and second journeys of 1988. Shortly after, I began working full-time managing graph-ic design production. One of my favorite creative people, Sam, worked there and we became friends. He lived in my neighbor-hood and encouraged me in fine art. Be-fore he passed away in 1993, he had been ill for some time. He painted the most incredible images of death as the monster in those months, and only near the end of his life did he paint the love in the eyes of the death monster, as it gazed closely into his own eyes.

Between 1991 and 1993 in Brookside, Missouri, I painted the strongest of dream memory flashes in oil paintings and many sketches in pencil, chalk and/or mixed media paintings on paper, most of which were sold. I journeyed and meditated often. I also wrote memories of my dreams into journals, and dabbled in a number of past-life regression techniques.

Another significant person in my own neighborhood was a gallery owner. Martha Mac Dermott introduced me to Jerry S. Vegder, owner of Gallery V. Jerry loved my work. He was a gem. He brought in a collector and introduced us. I had some large works and a few studies for paintings there until 1994. I’d been working full-time and raising two boys. These were the years of my husband working 2-10 PM and seeing very little of the boys. Rough years.

But I was fortunate after my second son was about 1-1/2, to leave work full time. I would have three years to paint images I was remembering from these shamanic jour-neys and lucid dreams. Thus, fortunately, there is a record of these to 1996.

Detail of Raising the Pearl, simulating the actual image that appeared after scribbling out different drawings of the same subject in 1993

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________________________

So... what were these memories and why has it taken so long

to understand them?________________________

I could not have done these paintings if I had not also discovered that these memories are locked into the tissue along energy meridian lines in our bodies. Concurrently, quantum physicists had discovered that although adjacent cells perform identical functions, they are each individually capable of storing separate memories. It was in 1999 that I read an article of these “cellular memory” findings. By this time, of course, other quantum scien-tists were working on effects of thought on particles within a vacuum, based on the theory that “thought creates.”

Many of my deepest memories of former lives and my current life were uncovered after having deep tissue massage at Lisa H’s chiropractic office, or other types of massage: Reiki, Shiatsu. Some of Rhombi’s tribal information was revealed in imagery from deep tissue massage of back and rib injuries after a car accident in 1990. It involved an injury to my left collar bone when I was 4 years old.

After I remembered this event, I also remembered details of living in Rhombi’s world.Although I did not intend to conjure the facial features of those I had loved in my past lives, it became clear after one year of painting or drawing almost every day, that these fac-es were part of my soul’s memories. They began to be seen by my consciousness only after somebody else pointed out the facial features.

In 1995, I had the good fortune of being the featured artist in a group show, allowing me my own exhibit space adjacent to the group exhibition at the Muse Gallery. This was locat-ed within the popular contemporary neighborhood of Westport in Kansas City, Missouri. My show was called, “Body Wisdom: A Journey” and was up from Nov 3, 1995 to January 27,1996. Reception of this show was surprisingly good, given the strong presence of the alternative spiritual view of reincarnation written into the narrative of the Rhombi visits, presented alongside the paintings.

This was my soul drawing through a body that knew this face, while the ego was scrub-bing away the images, one after another, that the ego had drawn.

Facesappear

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In 1997 I met with Linn, who owned the Crescent Springs Healing Center. She invited me to show my works in her central room. “The Bodyspeak Exhibit: Healing Journeys” opened February 6, 1998 and ran through March 7th. This exhibit included more of the subconscious or “soul-paintings” of familiar faces than any thus far.

During the opening of this show, a woman was standing in front of Transformation, with tears streaking down her face. This piece contains the memories of the tribe depicted in Rhombi’s Visit II. This story is locked into the cross-hatch created for this piece, at least, that was my intent. I had seen others cry before this piece, while it hung in my home. Deborah Dickson Campbell, an art critic for the Pitch Weekly newspaper, reviewed this show in the February 26-March 4, 1998 issue. She has a keen eye, and saw many of these faces, and she wrote, “Few artists today recognize the power of art to educate and heal, but UMKC and KCAI alumna [M.E.] Gill does just this.”

One of these memories, initially accessed in 1997 after Reiki sessions with Linn, was accessed in greater detail, again spurred by interaction with Linn. She called me on the phone while I was working on my computer. She was taking a web development course at University. I had been working in Photoshop®, and got frustrated at the laborious na-ture of needing to select each individual tool to affect such a tiny portion of the image.

Somehow, here it was in late 1998 and I suddenly accessed the details of me going in-side that spaceship that came to our house in Appleton, Wisconsin in 1961:

I went in with someone holding my hand. The room was very large, with the left side having a taller wall made up of many monitor screens, possibly 40 in all. There were several people standing in a group conversing together on the far left side. These people had narrow jaws. At least one of them had elbows that seemed very pointed, while his wrists were held in a near prayer position with long fingers extending upward. One of the men was much shorter than the others. After meeting them, this shorter man — whose clothing worn on the ship indicated he was of a higher rank, running this operation— asked me most of the questions about myself, joking around a little bit, but I could tell this was a group of scientists. This man eventually asked me, using my mind, to make the image move on one screen. I did.

He asked me to try a few at a time, and I did this, too.He asked me to do other things. Eventually all the screens were activated by my mind, at 100% accuracy and they seemed to write notes about it, or else were

One must also consider the scientific research that is concurrent with strange events. I acknowledge that all of my encounters on ships may have been the constructs of researchers of mind-control programs. Although I do not recall any pulsing sounds1 at age 6, the following description is po-tentially the reason my sister Caryn and I awoke to see the spaceship: 1 SYNTHETIC TELEPATHY & EARLY MIND WARS

http://mankindresearchunlimited.iwarp.com/whats_new_14.html

Spaceship recalled

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punching slyluses onto a flat thing in their other hand.The taller man with pointed elbows and chin was in the background nearby.I may have spoken to him, too. I remember seeing his face close up and feeling a sense of warmth and wisdom about him.They were all very kind.They all enjoyed my creativity with these images.

Later, somebody led me out again. I remember leaving a room and walking down a hall with some shorter beings, very sweet. I don’t remember going outside the ship, or going down to the ground, or back to my yard or into my house. I did not even connect it to the event in 1961, because I thought I was at least 10 inside the spaceship.

[NOTE: This was disclosed in 2012 at a different “Journey” point, by the same short man on this ship that I was 6 years old at the time, and it was 1961.]

When I have these memories, the image of myself curled up while I’m dreaming of an an-cient time flashes across my visualization field. See page 10 for the detail of how this looked. I carried this image several years before finally painting it. It has to do with the develop-ment of self in relation to all of one’s history, making the connections and changes through time, and carrying forward all of the relationships that were involved with the lesson.

Unlike those former surprises of finding a face within a color field of brushstrokes, only this painting manifests a different process. My intent was to paint myself as a girl-child amidst the dream of Rhombi’s world. This is in Raising the Pearl. I had sketched a girl-child with vine charcoal numerous times within that space, always dissatisfied with my drawing and rubbing it out with a cloth. Then I tried using Burnt Umber to paint it instead. Same thing happened —it just didn’t look right, so I rubbed it out with turpentine. After talking to my friend, Brenda, about this frustration of evasive memory capture of this image, she came over that night. She saw the girl-child instantly upon entering my studio. It was beautifully shaded as well as having just enough contour and accent lines to de-scribe her, and her arms were crossed in front of her. All I needed was to add color. This was my soul drawing through a body that knew this face, while the ego was scrub-bing away the images, one after another, that the ego had drawn. The intent was also known by the soul and the body. It was only my ego making the mistakes.

“ In 1961, Allan Frey, a freelance biophysicist and engineering psychologist, reported that hu-mans could hear microwaves. Most United States scientists dismissed this discovery as the result of outside noise.

James C. Linn offered a more technical description of the ex-periment.“Frey found that human sub-jects exposed to 1310 MHz and 2982 MHz microwaves at av-erage power densities of 0.4 to 2 mW/cm2 perceived auditory sensations described as buzzing or knocking sounds. The sensation occurred instan-taneously at average incident power densities well below that necessary for known biological damage and appeared to orig-inate from within or near the back of the head.”

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The earth has shifted, and a window has opened, allowing artist [M.E.] Gill to enunciate a vision.

Her works of art are more than lyrical enigmas. These demanding windows she strives to interpret impart wisdom, uncanny narratives of a time

Shift was in the air

Torso Interiors contains another level of awareness of these faces. Most of these were realized by the time I had this exhibition at Linn’s shop in 1998. It wasn’t until 2012 that I realized the identity of the very faint, centrally located boy face, but it was several years after the show before I first saw his face in my painting. Since then, I always thought it was a younger brother during the lifetime of the first Rhombi visit. He was the one making a musical instrument before we travelled up the mountain.

Then in 2012, the main writer of the fo-rum for which I used to write articles had told me that this face was my soul brother, currently living in Germany. He shared a link showing this person in a very popular music competition TV show. I got big rushes of energy up the back of my legs, gradually working up my spine to the shoulders. This told me “same stomp-ing grounds.” I do not know if that man was correct, but I still believe the boy is my soul brother, not just in one lifetime.

In 1999, I met a young man, Kerry God-win, at an event in my town. He had been looking for me. Someone had told him about my paintings at the last exhibition. He was interested in this “Transmutation-al Shift” to the 5th dimension, in which humans are not supposed to have to go through death to ascend up to the next level of existence. It has apparently never happened before, but according to the May-ans, this had been prophesied to occur at the alignment of the Galactic core with our solar core and many of our planets.

Detail of Torso Interiors, showing the boy’s face that I saw approximately 5 years after painting this.

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that has passed, and a time that is coming... the series of work since the dream are disquiet-ing but beautiful depictions of the human spirit. The dual natures of the works embody layers of images that quickly convince the viewer of the perils of ignoring what we can’t see with our eyes.

We were already seeing a staggering increase in the appearance of crop circles with geo-metric and serpentine shapes that were interpreted similarly, and created by the alien races that are the ancestors of humans. We are already within this alignment period as of 12-21-2012, the beginning of this “Awakening”. Kerry wrote in the Shawnee Journal Herald, on August 5th, 1999, the message in the inset text at left.

___________________________________________

The next consecutive memory that I recalled was in August of 2001, six months after our mother had died from a brain tumor. We were at our sister’s cabin to celebrate our Dad’s birthday.

Quite late at night, Caryn and I walked away from the partying crowd, down the dark country road and sat right in the middle of it, under a startlingly bright canopy of huddled stars. She described that the craft had moved Southwest after it had hovered over the near edge of our garden with the bright light shining down. After moving away, it hovered very low to the ground in the field behind Julia K’s house, four hous-es down the street. Caryn said the spaceship’s light then shown down over our garage, very close to the house where she stood. I do not remember seeing that, or anything else after I went outside. She does not remember where I went.

I vaguely recall our mom poking her head outside after seeing us huddled under the apple tree near her bedroom. I don’t remember going back into our house, or back in bed or anything that night. Caryn doesn’t remember that part either, except that our mom held us both under her arms when she walked towards the house. But we both re-membered the next day when the news came on and they said it was a weather balloon!

Caryn and I knew it wasn’t. Our mom knew we didn’t believe them. We had all just heard the anchorman state that numerous sightings had been called into the police station and to other authorities. I just turned my head, incredulously, to see my mom’s response. In the kitchen she was opening the oven door and her shoulders sank as she exhaled. She looked straight at me into my eyes, she just pursed her lips in a frown and shook her head “no” after the news anchor lied. At that moment we realized she was very dismayed and disappointed in our authorities. I never forgot that look. But the memory that we had seen a real UFO in our own back yard got buried beneath the surface.

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By January, 2003, I worked as a graphic designer in a major agency in Kansas City, and was not doing many paintings or drawings. But I started writing the stories about Rhombi’s tribes that I’d uncovered through massage and subsequent dreams. Then something happened, affecting me deeply.

I remote-viewed the Columbia shuttle disaster 4 days prior to the explosion of Febru-ary1st. Here is how this unfolded:I was in the orthodontist’s office, reading a TIME magazine while waiting for my son. In my remote view, the Columbia shuttle story was about the cause of the explosion. The crew had “found” a mind-boggling energy source and tried to enter the atmo-sphere with this little thing, which caused the explosion.

Four days later, after the actual explosion, I was stunned and confused. I drove back to the office to find the magazine. No pages were missing, and of course the story wasn’t in there, but the cover was the same. I did a little research back then, but never found that exact story in print.

In January 2010, I remote-viewed the Haiti earthquake on MSNBC 4 days prior to it happening. I was fully awake, just busy with a graduate paper, so I’d taken a break midday for 10 minutes and turned on the TV. Chris Matthews was on, describing the horrors of the crumbled city. I felt very sad for those people, and said a little prayer to their souls, then went back to writing my paper. I vowed to stick to my work and not watch or read any news until I was finished.

My husband returned home from a video shoot out of town 5 days later. He settled down in front of the fireplace with the newspaper while I was getting a snack. He mentioned something about the Haiti quake. I replied that I was surprised NBC hadn’t called him to cover that story. He replied, “Well, they might...after all, it just happened yesterday” he said. 

I actually accused him of being out-of-the-loop if he thought that it happened yester-day. “Are you crazy? That happened last week!” I replied. He had to get up and prove to me that it had happened only the day before. I watched MSNBC, but it didn’t come out quite the same way as in my viewing. Close enough though.

In any case, it was obvious to me there was some sort of rip-ple in the time-line which al-lowed me to see these things four days prior to the actual tragic events.

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In the same 4-day manner, I’ve remote-viewed the news of deaths of Kurt VonneguJr., Charles Schulz and many others. I’m an artist, so these guys were important to me. There is just no way to check every thought or experience. I felt so bad about Haiti that I called a woman who is known for seeing future events. I asked her which authorities you should call when you see something like this, but it’s not yet happened. She told me it was no use. They would just tell me they had no seismic activity to indicate there is any need to begin necessary evacuation efforts. Either that or outright exclamations of wasting their time with another nutcase.

I get her point. So what exactly is the use of seeing something before it happens if nobody believes you? In any case, it was obvious to me there was some sort of ripple in the timeline which allowed me to see these things four days prior to these actual tragic events.

Back to the writing of the Rhombi chronicles:because I had struggled with my ability to see events 4 days prior to them happening, I went to Stephen Rother for a reading. This turned out to be a corroboration of his skills. Although I had not asked about my deceased mother, he happened upon her through wondering about that relationship, and then suddenly he saw /heard from her. She was thanking me for having been at her side at the moment of her passing. She had been hoping someone would do what she had wanted regarding another sister, and I had shown her how to let go of her guilt about this unre-solved issue, urgig her to work with her on a spiritual level. She let go at once. I t wasn’t her fault. My hand was on the top of her head and the other hand was on her heart. She let go of the pain. I felt it. Never before had I felt such pain.

Stephen then encouraged me to recognize that I have a huge beam of creative light going into my crown. I only need to learn of what is blocking me from accessing it in order to write the book and finally get this book of paintings out.

From that point in 2003 to 2006 I wrote13 chapters on the Rhombi chronicles. Most of this was her tribe, and her journeys and meetings with other tribes. In 2010, I did a few more paintings, but these are illustrations rather than oil paintings.During those four years of the majority of writing, as more and more words were set to paper, less and less sure I was of the direction this was going. I had allowed my ego to take over this project. It’s natural to want to fit into the society in which one lives, but this cost me the heart of Rhombi’s story.

A ripplein time

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To Dance

To D

ance

(trip

tych)

mixe

d med

ia

29.5’

x 21

” 15

.5” x

5.5”

21.5”

x34”

Jan

uary,

1982

Prior to 4-8-’88 there is one piece that did not involve journeying, but had faces: To Dance, from 1982. I did not see faces until I photographed the art, and I promptly scribbled over these faces with graphite, still afraid of this phenome-non. In the lower right piece, between the two bodies are several faces still evident. One is an alien hybrid baby boy. Dance became the vehicle to remembrance of past lives, details of journeys to ancient tribes, and healing.

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Alien hybrid baby boy has a large forehead and wide set eyes. They are closed. His nose is very flat and short, and it has ridges on it. His mouth is wide, more like a human mouth than the aliens I saw in 1961. The upper lip has a prominent point at the center.

The gems that still exist within those writings are the prophecies. Secondary to that are the vignettes of the ancestors and some very clear insights into the structure of their soci-eties among these seven ancient tribes. Finally, there were also the soul songs of the four Seers, and how their mothers came to hear them. There were times that I would write and then later read these parts, suddenly feeling as though this had come from deep within my soul, or had been brought in through my body’s remembrance. Still at other times it felt as though there was a “partner” doing the writing. Perhaps Rhombi herself was helping me write at times.

In my attempts to hook this story into a semblance of earth’s reality, I had been trying to find out if this story happened on earth in Central America, then in Africa, but much did not fit. Then I started researching mythic lands: Mu, Lemuria, Atlantis. There was some of Rhombi’s story in each of these, but the clear judgement about the direction these chroni-cles had gone finally came about in 2012.

I needed to journey again. I needed to get better acquainted with my soul, talk to her, find out more of my own history and resolve some things before we journeyed. This is appar-ently what we are supposed to be doing— gathering the aspects of ourselves and resolving the issues that clouded perceptions at death, carrying these lower vibrations over, some-how sticking to our souls as we entered the next incarnation.

In this August 2012 journey, I went to a pristine earth. Supposedly this land we are liv-ing upon is a mirror-earth, full of dark manipulations affecting our minds, psyches and wrought within timeloops keeping us here in a never-ending recycling of lives under the rules of karma payback over lifetimes— not within the same lifetime. The man who wrote this theory thinks this original earth is 180° from the earth we are on, opposite side of our orbit. I do not agree that is real. Surely the astronauts or NASA satellites would have photographed this orb by now. But shamanic journeying is real. Astral travel is real. The purity of the original earth without manipulations to our perceptions exists right here. It is a matter of clearing the veil of deception.Out of this journeying came the day I was introduced to my soul mate. My journey took me to a seaside beach at a property with a stone wall. The same man who had stood with the taller race upon the UFO ship sat quietly upon this wall, quite a bit older, chatting with

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me. Suddenly he looked over his shoulder and said, “Ahhh, look who’s here... hello my friend!” They shook hands and hugged. We were introduced, and then hung out with our mutual friend.

I have been in communication with him since then. Together we journeyed back to Rhombi’s homeland. It is not on earth. We needed to flatten our bodies to the floor to make these journeys. It is like the wormholes shown in “Contact” the movie, except that the pressure is so great that you cannot sit up. You cannot even hold your head up. You best not eat anything for 6 hours prior to making these journeys to this land. It condens-es everything in your intestines. We were there sometimes for 5-6 hours, and at least once for 12 hours, and kept water handy.

When we arrived, there were always many beings to greet us. My soul would talk through my body. I always got the gist of what was said. We would travel to a different location corresponding to an area depicted in one or more of my paintings. In this way I have cross-references regarding each of the seven tribes. An unexpected outcome: We found out that there would not be permissions to tell the entire story on earth. It is far too dangerous. Even though I know this artwork and writing is not for everyman, I must communicate this to those beings who will hear.

Because of the raw details we received on these 2013 journeys, I also shelved the 13-chapter Rhombi Chronicles story. My ego had mashed it to fit Lemuria. African mountains, hot springs areas and other major landmarks were named in it, making it unpalatably false to me in the face of these new journeys. I was set straight on where these pyramids are, and how they built them without written language, where the hot springs are, where the red soil is, among other details as depicted in the “Soul Notes” of each painting.

Some very fine details that I had initially found during those Rhombi journeys long ago are still the gems that made 2013 journeys worth the risk in the first place. For that reason, I must thank my teacher, Shadow Hawk of Kansas City, for providing me with the training in shamanic journeying in the early 90’s, inclusive of the warnings for each level.

Just because it’s a higher dimension we are traveling, does not mean that everyone is nicer.Quite the contrary.

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Reaching these 7 ancient tribes

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Just because it’s a higher dimension we are traveling, does not mean that everyone is nicer. Quite the contrary. There are some real dangers out there. But I will include some of those gem stories of the seven tribes in this writing.

Shadow Hawk’s tape is called, “Drumming For Journeying”. Side 1 is Shamanic Jour-neying: Instructions + 16” [minutes] drumming. Side 2 is Shamanic Journeying [infin-ity symbol] 25”. I am currently playing this tape as I type here, on October 2, 2013. My husband’s college roommate introduced me to David Shadow Hawk, and we took this class in 1991. After this class he would occasionally have a group drumming journey out at his house in the prairies of Kansas.

Prior to meeting Shadowhawk, the practice of yoga was the catalyst for “remembranc-es” through union of body, mind, and spirit, evolving into a form of dance — from an ancient time and place. I had studied dance in th early 1980s to try and access this in front of the mirrors, but this was stifled by something in me at the University. Study of Pilobolus coreography, of Europe’s “New Dance” genre, and Twyla Tharp’s coreography aided me greatly in my own performances as well as opening up my mind to alternative symbols/ways of expression through art in general. So I began to feel an authenticism in the moves felt with my body, without musical influence. I had no idea how I knew these moves. The first piece of the triptych To Dance, (page 18, see upper right), was of me intuiting that this form of dance would spur clearer memories. Then in January of ‘82 in Chicago, my friends and I got snowed in. Instead of helping Maryanne with an exhibit downtown, we all trekked the two blizzardy blocks to her studio. Though not my intention to tread upon the “secret dance anguish” that stifled my very soul, that is what came out in the two larger pieces.

There was something about these moves that did not fit with contemporary society’s version of dance study. There was message in the body that were decoded by perform-ing these moves. I journaled afterwards. David Shadowhawk’s techniques

Prior to the 1988 Shamanic Journeys, dance was the cata-lyst for the healing of self throughout histo-ry. It was along these tones and drumming that I found my way to these seven ancient tribes. The journeys since then are tracking the timelines back and forth to create healing of self and others in relation to these issues that the seven tribes sought to heal.

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Seated womanIn June of ‘82, I completed a plaster sculpture on this same theme, Seated Woman. This fear of what I would find out through releasing these memories locked in my body was natural ego protection, to be sure. But the soul has a way of presenting opportunities to reconsider what must come out.

By the time I arrived at the Kansas City Art Institute in the fall, I realized the dance studies may need to be postponed, in order to focus on the curriculum. My intent was to incorporate these dance moves into Performance Art. But in November of that year, I had a car accident. This required traction and chiropractic sessions. There were many times during these sessions that images came pouring forth, or memories of events in my childhood.

Eventually though, I do think I may have had another encounter with alien soul group around 1983, because my health improved so rapidly, and the energy running through me within a year’s time was astounding. I looked ten years younger. This carried through to 1988, the year that I journeyed to the seven tribes.

Seated Woman Plaster 10” x 14” x 7” January, 1982

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At right is another plaster sculpture done in 1982,Ode to Pilobolus.

I found their movements to be mesmerizing. They were also reminiscent of the type of moves, in their twisting practically inside out, that I had been using to remember.

I had initially called this sculpture, The Boat People. This may very well be a render-ing of the beings from Tribe 7, who were seafar-ing experts.

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Parasystole DreamFour nights after my first son’s birth, I had two lucid dreams or journeys. The first was about a glorious life filled with love, honor, compassion and cooperation. The second was about massive, violent death. These journeys brought a new perspective. They brought me to an understanding of the nature of existence, which, I knew then, must be guarded and shared carefully.

Prominent in these dreams was a beautiful petite woman with dark skin, strong in stature, and wise for her years. She was a Seer for seven tribes. I had subsequent dreams about her tribe and the six other tribes. At times I viewed her in the dreams as apart from me, but for brief moments I was able to sense her emotions and physical sensations as though they were my own. Her name was Rhombi.

When I sought understanding of these journeys/ dreams late in the following year, 1989, I went to a spiritual woman, Diane, whose reputation was stellar for her vision accuracy of current life issues that were steeped in past relationship residues. I had no idea whether Diane could help me find out who this dreamt woman represented, whether she existed at all, even though I fully believed she did, and where her planet orbited. I had thought for quite a few months, while in England, that Rhombi’s world existed in another dimension only.

Diane surprised me by first saying that I was this woman... that I had a multi-colored aura, having a peacock feather patina... and that these journeys were to a time and place long forgotten. I am certain Rhombi is somebody else.

Most importantly though was this message to me from Rhombi:

This is not a gift to you... you have earned it.

I will go ahead and tell you of the first two journeys, followed by the art that came after them. Then I will fill in the details scantily of each tribe as I and my soul family are allowed. This way all are represented in the readers’ minds as they gaze into these paintings. I did not use my drumming tape for these journeys, although I did hear drumming and a separate pulsing sound.

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VISIT I: Rhombi

Rhombi was living on a remote island that felt similar to eastern Africa, but the land was not in Africa. This land was far distant from earth. A protective energy shield seemed to radiate around all the people of our peaceful tribe. We tended a strange and beautiful creature, like a Llama with horns, but charged with the mystical spirit of a unicorn.

These beasts were valued by our tribe for their fur, for the milk they gave and for their horns which shed yearly. Horns were used for making tools, musical instruments and pipes for herbal smoke. “Caught” horns were used for shamanic journeying and other rituals. A few elder women used horn splinters to make small needles, used in healings.

The most peculiar product of this beast was its tears. Once harvested, the tears were used as medicine for many ailments. Tears were combined with herbs and plant juices as an elixir for youth and strength. When combined with plant oils and a milky sap from dense forest trees, the tears quickened healing of skin in a lotion mixture for these small, brown, beautiful people.

It was early morning on the island. It appeared that all the tribal men and women were bustling about, carrying out their shared tasks intently. One man, very close to me, mentioned that he would take Masa, one of the lead beasts — and his favor-ite — and was ready to begin the journey. Another young man, either Rhombi’s or my brother or son, sat nearby engaging a small group of children in putting the final touches on a musical instrument carved from bone. A woman and her girl-child rolled up woven reed cloths with special food for the occasion. Everything being done today was for an annual journey.

As we began herding the docile beasts carefully up the mountain I noticed an overwhelming sense of joy exuding from all, human and animal alike. Two days later, after reaching the plateau, the ceremonies began. At midnight, by the light of the

I will go ahead and tell you of the first two journeys, followed by the art that came after them. Then I will fill in the details scantily of each tribe as I and my soul family are allowed. This way all are represented in the readers’ minds as they gaze into these paintings. I did not use my drumming tape for these journeys, although I did hear drumming and a separate pulsing sound.

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moon on the eleventh day, the tear harvest commenced. The beasts’ tears were collected into small flasks by women and their students, then gathered by others. Many nights later the ceremony would be given to express gratitude to the beasts for this harvest.

The people were patient in fulfilling their duties, always mindful of the beasts’ well-being. The horns would soon fall, but their mystical properties dissipated at the touch of hand prior to their shedding. This was known by every member of our tribe through stories of “catchings”. If an attentive or intuitive member caught a shed horn prior to its fall to the earth, much laughter and glee emitted from others working nearby, for the harvesting of these “caught” horns was considered a sign of very good will from the feminine and masculine powers of the Creators.

Awkward leaping methods employed by the catchers sent other tribe members into a frenzy of anecdotes, animation and gut-splitting laughter. Witnessing these sporadic, festive “catchings” across the entire plateau was music to my soul.

While some people gathered and sorted the horns, others combed the beasts, gathering the tawny fur speckled with gold and silver strands into their wraps. The beasts were delighted by this ritual, lighter for the giving and afterwards jumped playfully about.

During thanks-giving at moon’s end, the catchers were honored in a parade through the tribe, so the children could touch them, while the singers, pipe players and drummers played the heart rhythm of the tribe. Through the fingertips, it was believed, the God’s and Goddess’ great energy that was bestowed upon the catchers could be shared and, thus, multiplied through the tribe. Most importantly, since the elderly had also climbed up the mountain yet another year, they considered themselves worthy and honored to be called children, still. In this manner, the result was that EVERY finger of EVERY person on the plateau touched the catchers. The intense energy multiplied to rise at the outer rim of the crowds around the catchers, enticing spirits of the dead to join in these festivities. Animals and birds came in closer to see the catchers and to enjoy, take part, and witness the sharing.

Music from the lips of our singers and fingers of our drummers married in the autumn air above and around us all, swirling the tribe’s heart-pulse in spirals that reached the proper stars. This music was sung through the body — not from it. It came up through our feet, through every layer of our bodies and every level of existence and traveled into the galaxy, touching the hopes and hearts of all that could hear and feel it. We were all thoroughly, intensely, ever grateful to be alive, just then.

The Light

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Stillness of the SeerAcrylic on Board

13-1/2” x 10”2004

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The Dark

VISIT II: Parasystole

I traveled deeper into the memories of this tribe, while hearing a pulsing beat in my ears that welled up from all around me, traveling through my body. When I began to see this land, this planet, this home to Rhombi’s people again, the colors around this planet were subdued in brilliance compared to the first journey. Gradually I started seeing the difference in the angles of the geometric forms swirling in the outer reaches of the planet’s atmosphere and orbital space. These were angled sharp-er and swifter in movement, undulating as forms transitioned through the series of platonic solids interspersed with other serpentine forms. These were interrupted by a third type of wave made heavy by the dragging interstices, like sludge ether or dark matter from unfinished thoughts. Pulses of chaos.

Everything had changed. The tribe was gone.

The island itself had been assaulted. It seemed that all growth was bent, broken or stifled for a time. The beasts had been shaved. Their horns were cropped to within half an inch of their heads. They had been beaten and stampeded to force them onto the ships. Many had fallen and were being butchered on the spot.

The fury within me welled to unfathomable proportions at my inability to stop this slaughter. I was not in human form during this part of the journeying. I was much larger than the beasts and hovering as near to the planet’s surface as possible, yet aware of perceptions from a multitude of perspectives upon every scene.

An army of men in drab clothing zealously herded the remaining beasts onto waiting cargo ships along the coast. The beasts were nothing but shells, for with their tears drained their souls.

The vitality of the beasts’ tears diminished until they became as poison — staining the skin black below their eyes. As they wept, they made no sound of their own. Their mourning and desperation was instead manifested in all other life forms that witnessed their imminent transport.

A barely perceptible stir rippled across all life forms as the ghostly ships left the island. Though intending the beasts for trade, some of these strange men grew faint at heart in fulfilling the beasts’ fated doom. The imminent slaughter was spoken through the vigorous swimming of the fish alongside the ships, in the undulating blackness of birds hovering above, and in the distance, thick weeping of the primates. In the ships’ wakes, and spreading outward to surround this armada of death

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ships, thousands of dolphins were screaming of the horror.

“Was the sea more fierce today?” the men wondered.

When the ships reached the harbor of the mainland, the hum of horror crept slowly under the traders’ skin, festering there by stares from the inland people, from the gathering blackness in the clouds above and the incessant whistling of the wind.

With a tsunami’s force, word was carried to the fenced stock. Beasts of burden, sheep and goats burst through the barriers, trampling and scattering wares in every direction — an explosion of chaos as the energy spread. That energy vibrated through the tiniest of insects, birds, animals, trees, rocks and the inland people in a shockwave that was visible as it struck each particle of life. It oozed from every cell. Like drops of lava it burned into the traders’ conscience.

I became aware that this energy was countered by a palpable, deeply vibrating, humming tone entering my spine at the base. As I watched the chaos on the mainland, I was aware that the people of Rhombi’s tribe had faced their deaths bravely. Some in this tribe whom I had known had chosen to hold their lover’s hand as they leapt off the mountain cliffs to escape, with a promise to find each other in the next life if they died. Others had attempted to flee the invaders, yet others were fighting bravely to preserve the lives of children they had hidden.

The low vibration became a deep chant, coming up through Rhombi’s planet, traveling to earth to my sleeping body and entering into my feet. It traveled through my 3D body, becoming a roaring in my ears. As though in doubt, I denied its meaning. In utter confusion of its source, yet aware of recognizing it, I noticed that the energy of the chant within the journey meant more than my current understanding of dreams, and, determined, I began to search for the vortex.

Back into the dream. Back to the planet via the sensation of a severe compression of bodies... until I could become like a wisp of smoke. Back to the time of the waiting cargo ships in the harbor.A sea eagle heard my query and called out to me. From the cargo ship, I entered into flight after him, toward the island home from which the ships had traveled. Onshore, in the sky, the branches swaying directed me onward, left, right, right, left, left. Then a bird, barely visible in the foliage of the canopy above, flying quickly through forest, led me through tunnels and dark-ness with mist sliced by my racing bodies, intermittently a single, solid form, and a series of flowing prismatic undulations of color and clouds swirling forward.

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I entered a foliated passage through brush and fog. Suddenly, I was in the form of my solid body, standing in a clearing of soft, lush, green grass, swayed by soft breezes, and dappled by occasional beams of sunlight through the forest trees.

Out of nowhere a door appeared. My body was in the form of my current incarnation. But there was something different about the life in this clearing. I felt as though the grass, trees and soil were of the same life as my body and I sensed the feel-ing of the sunlight on my leaves... my blades of grass surrounding me and the door. The door itself was alive, and of the same vibrations of energy as the air I breathed in, my lungs panting from the exertion of this flight from the harbor. My breath eased gradually to match the energy all around me. The vibrations stopped. The door opened.

Down a long dimly lit corridor I walked hesitantly until at the threshold of an awesome columnar room. In the center, suspended from beyond the clouds and shining deep into the earth, were thousands of gold, silver and leather strands. Loops of carved wood hung from some of these, and all swayed gently around a huge beam of yellow-white light.

I puzzled over the familiarity of the humming sounds which emanated from the light. It resonated through the fibers as the volume increased. With piqued curiosity I walked slowly around this temple of light numerous times, listening for meaning in the chant. Each time around, it became louder, and clearer. Louder and louder it rang in my body, while the gentle swaying of the strands inside the temple of light gradually became thrashing, much like trees’ limbs in a violent storm as you watch from below.

All at once, instantly, I found myself in the center of light. The chant was deafening. The temple had become a tower of whirling fury until...I began to feel the meaning, I began to remember. My bodies were calmed. I began to shrink as time passed while focusing on the meaning of the chants. I became a tiny resonating fiber in one of the strands. The chant became my own breath which welled up from the core of my being and struck the tine of memory from 28 centuries before this massacre...and I knew them again. These beings were the descendants of Rhombi’s original tribe, invaded by a foreign species.

This chant was the collective spirits of the missing tribe. They had been massacred for their piety, for their belief that there was no separation between themselves and God/ Goddess/ Creators; that they were co-creators and that everything — plant, animal, rock, planets, stars, universes, and every being within them, and the very air they breathed was this same energy source speaking to all that is.

“We must begin to understand the universal language” — Rhombi

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Rhombi’s tribe’s spirits moved and learned through use of these bodies, migrating to a distant land. Some of these were re-born again as similar beings to the massacred tribe, many centuries later. Some of these migrated a great distance. Some of these found caverns beneath the surface of our planet and lived there in a separate world. But all remembered their history.

I also began to examine the deeds of this foreign species, and the issues over which they organized their existence. Deep at the core was darkness... there was only a tiny glowing ember of the promise of life... but there were no threads of light con-necting their hearts. Gradually I saw that in their angry, guileful faces over-hardened by use there existed fissure cracks that were letting very faint red-orange light emanate through.

The skin was thinning between these two worlds.

The chant became a trickle of light that crept through obstructions in my body, through eons of apathy and ambivalence, until it lodged in my throat. My consciousness, a tangled, gnarled mass of barbed wire straining against the force of history, would not allow this energy to move. I began to resonate violently in the gold, silver, leather and wood as it swirled furiously, faster and faster, louder and louder until the parasystolic map carved its way through my body, mind and soul, through the history of all that ever was, yet stopping at my throat instantly with my fear of letting go the old paradigm. Like a single blood cell blocking the passage of life through the constricted vein, my consciousness locked down. Is this what fear does? Nothing moved. Nothing breathed.Then, one liquid tone... at the eye of my throat, oscillated through a cell wall and broke into the cell, instantly crystallizing it with a pure azure blue light. It continued and another followed behind it, one by one, dismantling these old paradigm walls that separated physical cells in my throat from the energy of spiritual communication — and crystallizing each cell of my body forever, the colors changing according to its use in communicating body wisdom. And as the growing throng of voices rose up through my body and sang through my throat, the dissected parts of my consciousness fell away to reveal the expo-nentially expanding awareness of it ALL — All darkness and fury, pain and hatred; all love and beauty, innocence and light; ALL language of tongue and without chanted its memory through me.

The chant became my own words, spoken through the union of wisdom with my soul and my body. At first just a whisper, “my house” and again, recognition, “is your house”...of spinning in the vibration and light as I struggled for a separate self. I

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thought of finding a way to stop this process and climb out of this thing... this gigantic column of light... I frantically thought perhaps I could just run down the corridor and find my way back through the forest to my bed where I was sleeping... go back to my small life and forget about this.

But the whispers became strong voices, repeating “my house” in EVERY language, “is your house” speaking through me…and my ego realized that this energy is mine, it is my spirit, my essence, not just the tribe I knew, or the beasts, just like the dolphins were screaming for them, or other lives I’ve lived...they are coming through from all points of earth and beyond... from all points of my existence with Rhombi’s tribe and planet...and from all that EVER was...and though we are individuals with unique histories — manifestations of our own choices,we have never made a choice that did NOT affect every other BEING in existence...we are all connected, and share as one “MY HOUSE”…and this is my home planet, and my earth “IS YOUR HOUSE” screaming through meMY HOUSE IS YOUR HOUSE... MY HOUSE IS YOUR HOUSE...MY HOUSE IS YOUR HOUSE!!! End Of Journeys —

If one who lives here cannot or will not see that what we do to others we do to self, that what we do to one, we do to ALL, then they haven’t yet awoken. The act of doing cannot ever be erased. Even the contemplation of an act has spread its energy to all that is. Making the choice to do it returns this energy to its maker. This is the Breath of Life.

Knowing this is at the very base of an emotionless mind — the first lesson of our survival.How it is used by most determines nothing for eternity.How many have been affected determines everything, positive and negative.How we measure what has been determined affects policies,unless we wisely use all of our knowledge — body mind and soul.

Journeysend

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Transformation was inspired by the tribal dream, Visit II, in which the vibrational frequency resonating through my body informed me of transformations that must be made within for humankind to survive this ascension alive. It began the dissection of all that I knew, filling me with information from billions of voices in all languages, distilling to the idea that we are — body, mind and soul — as ONE.

Transformation (Diptych) Conte Crayon and Charcoal on Paper 72” x 70.5” 1988

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Soul Family/Groupnotes

The undertone to the steady pulsating beat during this jour-ney was a spiraling sound undulating around the main tone. This correlated to pulsating images — snapshots of human history lived wrongly — based on the deceptions that humans had all come to accept as reality — separation of self from Father/Mother creator.

When I drew these lines in Transformation, I thought of all the arms and legs of all that ever lived, and what they were doing, what they were learning and teaching. Tribe 4, Ari’s, is in the mountains. They are the pyramid builders. They did not need written language to do this. They are the body knowledge beings. The marble in their buildings is alive, pulsing in the veins.

One of the seven tribes are the first to have tamed these horned beasts to have symbi-otic relationship with our kind. Tribes 4 and 5 got their starting herd from them, and learned their language/ways.

To the right are the notes from my soul and my soul family, from the journeys back to our homeland to correlate the reading of these paintings. The crosshatched edges of both the head and foreleg depict the limits of this tribal portion of the story being told currently to our kind incarnated on earth. As we begin to connect in our incarnated bodies, more of this history will be revealed here on earth as well as other planets we currently heal.

If one of us views these drawigs, they may notice the sensations around their nape of neck toward the left shoulder especially. This is followed by the tingling from the ground upward into the lower legs. After this is a pulsating rhythym emanating from around the heart in waves that seem to reach crescendo and move up the spine in a bright flash upward through the crown. A message to all beings on earth:

We1 ask that all those from [Ari’s]Pyramid tribe and the Pious tribe 5 of the mountain range try to find each other to heal.

Not all the lessons for working with these beasts had been taught.Not all was as it seemed.Nor was it possible to foresee all that was to happen there, or on earth.

Some may feel the pull of a dual coriolis spinning energetically within their bodies. This appears to be proper healing movement of energy.Expect some jerking movemments through the mid-back, followed by flashes of visualization from those days. Assist each other through the unfoldment of those memories. We will establish connecting points for sharing the knowledge directly, as more and more awaken.

1 soul family elder and others helping to write this story)

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Rhombi had visited tribe 5 with me in the first parasys-tole journey. They were in the mountain plateau region, performing tasks meta-phorical for the work between the dimensions for healing and preparing for this dimen-sional shift upward.

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Rhombi meetsfish spirit

Rhombi was a Seer for all seven tribes and had spent much of her life traveling, to serve the needs of everyone. Rhombi had just traveled from Tribe 1. They lived near the sea on land that had steep cliffs near the water’s edge. Generally quiet beings, they held knowl-edge of subtle energies. They were also very attuned to the natural world, whales and other sea creatures. She had spent considerable time with them as a young girl to learn the structure of existence and subtle energy uses and laws.

Please see Dreamer’s Journey for the most comprehensive coded visual information on this tribe. Look closely at the lower left quadrant for Tribe 1 energy rising in rectangle shapes which hold monolithic code, currents of the underwa-ter dwellings, and blue and brown dolphins.

Also please check Map of Parasystole and Race with Animus clouds for more information. If you are of Tribe 1, you will know it by looking and being with these images in medita-tion. I am also assuming that Torso Interiors will have infor-mation and Transformation, as these both are more general information for all tribes had traveled to both places, and/or come from those planets. I do not have permission to share more about Tribe 1 at this time.

Rhombi traveled to Tribe 2 — The Forest/ Fish Beings — for learning from their elders, and interpreting their visions. Most of the medicine that came from these foothills, deep forest trees and plants, was very important — it was shared at gatherings of all seven tribes.

Occasionally, the travelers for education in various disciplines brought medicine to the tribe being visited. Methods were taught by at least one of the medicine students that traveled with each group.

Tribe 2 were also excellent fishers, knowing well the lakes of this region and were blessed by Makkar’s understanding of fish ways — having been taught to all in his tribe and shared at meetings of all seven tribes. Ma

kkar

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When Rhombi met Makkar, known as Fish Spirit, the energy in both of them opened up sto-ries buried in their souls’ blood. In the South, many generations earlier, the Rhot-Huran birds living high in the trees had spoken to an elder of Tribe 7 — on the prophecy of four special beings born in the same year of Simsi-ki/Hushtaa1. Here were two of them meeting for the first time, both having developed their body knowledge.

1 Every 144 years, the predominant currents

brought Simsiki, a solid year of gentleness. More

births happened during those years than during

any other time. This was usually followed by 10-

12 years of bountiful harvest.

Hushtaa was their name for the 39-year cycle:

loud, roaring winds; low, black clouds and green

sky; thrashing currents and rip tides that wiped

life from the sea. Rhom

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The Journey’sprophesy

Simsiki/Hushtaa cycles were very rare and special, happening only every [5,616] years. It is the year of perfectly balanced opposing forces. The tribes had expected something amazing to happen in that year of perfection, as it had always been. It so happened that during one of these cycles the Rhot-huran had spoken of four possible Seers amongst the newborn of various tribes that would be born centuries later in the same year of a Simsiki/Hushtaa.

The Rhot-Huran birds had also brought news of an impending journey out of necessity, from a series of natural disasters for a Northern tribe, and the elders prophesied from signs that this journey would be led by one of the four Seers.

The elders used signs to calculate the year. Over the centuries, sign-tellers continued to corroborate the year, and shared this prophecy at gatherings of the tribes. Very rarely would the sign-teller need to consult the Seer, “the chosen one” who would channel the spirits and speak their voice. It was thought to be a duty by every person to de-velop their ability to read signs and intuit the truth. They understood that sometimes their minds, for want of something, would block the truth. Only the Seer, who prac-ticed their given gift for walking between the worlds could see the path needed for the sign-teller to rebalance the winds of their mind.

Often, truth is like the life of a tree beginning with a seed, growing roots and a trunk, branching out, out, out to a wide canopy of leaves. The wind pitches the leaves and smaller twigs easily; the large branches with considerable effort, and very seldom actu-ally moving the trunk as well. But the roots stay still. This is what the Seer was to the tribes: its stillness.

When the Simsiki/Hushtaa year finally came, the entire mountain range, savannah and forests were abuzz with this news. As the bellies of the pregnant women would grow, so would the tribes’ interest in their dreams, their babies’ soul songs, their animal signs and their health. Naturally, these women were glowing, each one believing she carried one of the four special children.

These are the four: Hannuktu, Rhombi and her twin Ra-An-Tu, and Makkar.

Elder With Rhot-Huran: A Prophecy of Journeys 13.5” x 10” Acrylic February, 2004

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Rhombi was the strongest of the four Seers. While all the four Seers trav-eled to the other tribes, Rhombi traveled one-third of her adulthood.

Makkar was a sweetheart, a very empathic being, and quick to bring laughter with his prankster ways. He was the fourth-born Seer. His strength came from the core knowledge of their planet, healing methods for the animals, and the structural information of this existence from the ancient fish. His parents knew he had discovered this from age three.

Tribe 2 lived in an area of the foothills where large veins of minerals and crystals striated through precipices of sharply angled rock near the base. The soil striped in this region near the mineral veins was dark pink in hue, between dark olive-green. Tree species of this region included Pine, Elm and Sycamore — sources of strong medicine, and blue trunked trees.

The “windows” shown in both of these art works, Rhombi Meets Fish Spirit and Woman with Fish Spirit indicate an indefinite period of specific events for transformation and self-evolution that would become instru-mental for this tribe and the other tribal members’ spiritual development.These triggers were dependant upon series of events which were at times delayed or expedited by the successes and failures of other human-like species. At that time and dimension, these surreptitious evolving events were known to cross timelines in the future, setting in motion that which are still unfolding today along all timelines. As they are now converging, it is propitious to use this knowledge of love frequency to resolve issues from past lives and all aspects of the soul in all dimensions of existence.

Communication between us was silent of words, but pulsated through bio-photons of love frequency. These “windows” into the soul’s history can be seen by those resonating at the same frequency . The greater the number of people engaged in clearing these relationship issues responsi-bly, the more accepted this occupation of one’s time and effort becomes.

Rhombi and Makkar’s meeting affected the fabric of their souls by the information shared through these windows. Both beings carried with honour these access points to the coded body knowledge information, so they could share with their tribes when it was propitious for tribe mem-bers to learn it, and they were both also metamorphosized by knowing it all those years. Patience was one of the messages that came in the codes. There would be influences of verisimilitude that could cost many lives if these four beings did not hold fast to the truth. Communication between them was finely tuned, anchored deeply in the source of energy that ema-nates throughout All-That-Is. Nothing could be betrayed between them.

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Stillnessof the Seer

As prophesied, the journeys came to be. The seed of truth was given by the creator, witnessed by the spirits of all who had lived before on this land, and by all the unborn yet to share a place in this family.

It was at once germinated by the Seer, who stills themself to the state of equal receptivi-ty and creativity, becoming a vibration with the truth. It is this vibration which reaches past all thought back to the origin of the cre-ator’s thought and simultaneously resonates forth through him/her to manifest as some-thing known by feel uniformly in the people.

It came to life through the roots and fed every leaf and branch. The tribes, living as a tree, came to understand which branch-es, leaves and fruit were to be pruned and transplanted to the Isles of Hopha in the Seers’ visions.

This part was known from the prophecy: the journey would split apart one tribe into two. Centuries later, it was clear why two of the Seers were born as twins.

Rhombi’s special skills were needed to deliv-er Tribe 3 to the island location to call home.They would travel together until needing to turn South. When the tribe needed to split, Rhombi’s sister Ra-An-Tu, also a Seer, led the remaining tribe for the Western Journey to a new home. The area this portion of the tribe moved to was known also by an older Seer from Tribe 7. Communication was by visual telepathy between the Seers, when it was possible to do so safely.

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At one point of the jour-ney to the new home, Tribe 3 was faring poorly for lack of food, not being familiar with this land. They trav-eled along a river that had nearly dried up. While still on the trail, Rhombi felt something messaging her through her feet and up her low-er legs. She waded into the muddy water of the dying river. There in the very narrowest and deepest parts of the muddy river were thousands of fish. From this wondrous finding of food, Rhombi was called “Woman with Fish Spirit, for this she had learned from Makkar.”

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There You Are... Waiting For a SignIn this image is Tribe 5. Living in the high mountains, they had built their homes using available materials, and sparingly using the subtle energies for major projects. They were a nature-caring tribe, in simbiotic relation-ship with all of their food and building and maintenance supplies, and trees for air.

They were excelllent hunters, but focused mainly on the slightly domesticated oryx-type beast. Their tribe’s feminine/masculine balance was the helm of that society.

They had experienced horrific tragedies by a foreign race, possibly one from another di-mension and traveling back through time to foment war on Tribe 5. Apparently there was something in the future that Tribe 5 had suc-ceeeded in achieving, which upset the goals of this race, so they “corrected this error”.

Although all seven tribes had access to phenomenal technical advancements, we treated this knowledge as sacred. It was used sparingly, for major projects. The invading race, however, used this same technology to foment massacre upon a pious tribe.

It was the first time we recognized that the things we had begun could develop along a timeline beyond our wildest imaginings of the erosion of the principles of creation. The use of time travel to take so much life away was a warning that we wished did not need being presented.

Perhaps the absence of silence in our cur-rent lives is the only reason the warnings are voiced at all. But it is always visible in the “other” when the signs are missed. The idea of it is worn like a mantle on their auras — almost as though this idea prevents their clear vision of what they will truly leave behind in their wake.

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There You Are... waiting for a sign

There You Are...Waiting For a Sign, at left, was inspired by tribal dreams I had in England after the initial Parasystole Jour-neys. This male figure spoke to me of the importance in abandoning other plans, in order to make art that addressed my dream/journey experiences. The prerequisite was to begin diving headlong into deep-seated fears, as posed by the owl who spoke to Mak-kar’s mother when he taught her the soul song of this child.

Although I resisted zealously at first, heading to England for graduate studies and all that would entail, this figure and his “familiar”, the stag oryx, presented themselves in the most unexpected of places — in shadows of performances in England, in light refrac-tions of photos of other subjects, in the folds of drapery, etc. Finally I made this piece in February, 1989.

This piece was lost in England for two years, then repaired and reworked in 1994, when signs pointed to showing it.

Three months after initially creating this drawing, I tested the spirit world. I gathered gold chains and hung them on a board along one plane, then intended to photograph these while swinging them back and forth, while asking spirits to show me that this male figure’s request was real. The photo is shown at right. Although I have not met anyone on earth that resembles this person, finding this image repeated made me feel terrible for doubting his existence.

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Testing the spirits

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At left is the art work with notes from my soul and soul family. This is from sometime between February and April, 2013, after we journeyed back to recapture and check information that was read in the original drawing.

Tribe 5 are the Mountain Range Tribe. Their lives were depicted in the Parasystole Journeys. Their history was important, especially for Tribe 7, as they prepared to set out in search of a new land to call home.

Indicated below “at eye” or “at mouth” are the highly concen-trated energy areas that my soul and soul family read the stories of Tribe 5 in this drawing. Tribe 7 information was in the bottom portion of this diptych. Imme-diately after a 5-minute reading of this smaller drawing, my soul and soul family went to read the story within Torso Interiors.

Tribe 7 were seafarers with mag-nificent ships. They had suffered attacks, some of which is indicat-ed in Torso Interiors. See page 52. Their journey was also discov-ered by soul group in the paint-ing Raising the Pearl, page 50. During this discovery, I saw the canopy of dense forest overhead as the ships weaved through nar-row passages in dense mists.

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Sacredgeometry

Shortly after returning to the states from England, I had begun work on the phi ratio studied in classical architecture and Renaissance Master paintings. A visit to the Louvre and architecture in Paris proved these elements abundantly worth the trip.

I do not recall whether I had another journey, however, I was suddenly aware that I had seen a “Map” of Parasystole, full of coded, holographic, geometric images seen in the light temple. So this initial sketch is included in case some information was not conveyed in the final piece.

These voices I had heard in the humming and pulsing while I had become a tiny particle in the beam of light. They spoke of the most poignant events moving the tribe along its collective evolutionary path of enlightenment. Beginning with phi, geometric forms in brilliant colors started to solidify in the air around me. These suddenly began to unfold, flipping open the sides of forms to become part of tetra-hedrons or simplify to loose rectangle shapes or cubes. Some were very large, then showing tight rows of tiny lights representing a flat facet on the form.

I began to understand these forms to represent time periods of evolutionary break-throughs in thought and increasing transparency in the energetic exchange of in-formation. With that were others that stagnated and congested, slowing the energy to a crawl pace, and eventually beginning to flow again. This piece is a map: coded keys of shapes and colors representing necessary shifts and awareness required for ascension from 1989 to the shift event. Each part locked and unlocked in its meta-morphosis to becoming the coded key. While this is just a 2-dimensional drawing, it is instilled with these processes for others to read and benefit.

Following is the final art work and the image with notes written in the spring of 2013, by my soul and soul family interpreting the drawing. An investigation into the creative process reveals the workings of left and right hemispheres of the brain through fMRI’s. The new synapses are the “creative process”.

Acceptance of these unknown, dark voids that must be traversed to seek truth involves the will. It is original experience in the methods used by the higher self to assuage the ego’s fears, and to involve the will to let go, thereby traveling forth via new synaptic connections of creative process.

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Map ofparasystole

In this society, too often, women receive messages that they are only capable of biological cre-ation; that there is no need for them to attempt non-biological creation. It is particularly alarm-ing to see the development of the “New Right”, devaluing creative expression, resulting in creativity separated as a vestigial sector of this society.

This makes me wonder why. Is this because visual language is a facet of body knowledge, and without body knowledge it is eas-ier to manipulate those who use only their consciousness (ego) as intelligence?

What happens on earth, especially at this “Event” window beginning in 2012, affects many similar planets in this entire existence. It is the Andromedan scientists that found evidence of severe manip-ulation by certain species involved with the earth humans, through contracts with the military-indus-trial complex.

These were investigated among the Galactic communities. They found the foundational struc-tures for mind manipulation and other controlling strategies extant throughout. The projected date for these manipulations to lock Ma

p of P

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in and take complete effect of con-trol was 357 years. The focal point of effort was earth. It is why there are now contracts with other alien species to allow intervention on this planet. Without this, the manipula-tions would not be able to be stud-ied and dismantled throughout our known existence.

www. Exopolitics.org has archived one of these contracts. They have also recorded comprehensive documenta-tion of real vs. unsubstantiated UFO contacts and abductions. Most in-teresting is a document called “Iden-tifying the Motivations & Activities of Extraterrestrial Races. In this are two lists of alien species, based upon whether they are directly involved with the Military-Industrial-Extra-terrestrial Complex.

It begs the question: are people like me, and others who work toward helping humans, the property of our governments? How do we find out the parameters? It seems very appar-ent to me now, after 50 years here.

It is very clear that this creative process is and must be, by design for control, the main focal point to target. Just don’t draw outside the lines TOO FAR. As indicated at right, same as all these images, very little information was written about tribes 1 & 2 in my soul & family’s notes.

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Sacred Tears 51” x 47” Oil on Tygerrag March 1990

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Sacred tears

At left, in Sacred Tears and Harvest (see next page), an energy field is indicated: see the horn in The Harvest; and in Sacred Tears it begins at the eye of the beast, at which the soul of the woman is already preparing the beast for extraction of its tears.

Energy runs along the spine to back legs and down to the ground. These were the areas my soul and soul family studied and discussed with me.

At the right are these notes on tribes, written in the spring of 2013. My soul family spent several hours around the eye of the oryx and the chest of the woman. Au-tomatic drumming ensued after reading the energy field.

This painting was inspired by the mountain trek story of the first journey. At left, I am including this initial sketch of Sacred Tears since there appear to be elements not used in the final piece which may be necessary to communicate a code. My soul and soul family spent considerable time around the eye of the oryx. The final piece does not have any of those markings. There are also markings in what appear to be dwellings.

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The Harvest Oil on Canvas 30” x 40” 1990

In The Harvest, above, the female figure is a depiction of a “catcher”, imbued with the good will of the Mother-Father Creator for her attentiveness, propitiousness and care of the beast amidst a dashing move to capture the falling horn.

The catchers of this tradition would later parade through the crowd at thanks-giving, being touched by everyone in the tribe. In this manner the tribe outwardly displayed to children the sharing of energy used throughout all areas of their lives, from survival by sharing the meat of the kill, to spiritual rites that spoke to inhabitants of planets in other star systems, other species and the creators.

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The image of Wound, at right, came from a short lucid dream about Rhombi’s sister Ra-An-Tu. She was creeping forward stealthily, ready to spring. Grandmother energies surrounded her. Suddenly she was hit in the gut. I witnessed the giving of life. Then I saw this energy visibly rip through her body.

Moments later, I felt what it was to die this way. Like a black hole suddenly at the center of the will — the life force being exploded throughout my entire body.

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Sisterwarriors

Sister Warriors is an extension of Wound, after I found more of the details about Ra-An-Tu, a very cou-rageous hunter. If I have room I will include the legend of courage on her first hunt.

This piece commemorates the sheer power of her will. Information of this battle and others fought by her grandmothers and their women-kind was told and encoded into the holo-gram depicted in the lower right.

Egyptians used this symbol, condens-ing it to create their Ankh, although much had been lost in translating it. I had initially seen this symbol in a dream on June 5, 1991: I was at an antique sale of modern day, and found a large pendant with this exact design. It had silver, Lapis Lazuli and unknown red stones in it, which were not coral, but a brighter crimson to burnt sienna color range.

The smaller circular design was not embedded, but floated on the sur-face as I examined the pendant. It appears to have been either a precur-sor to this larger design, or perhaps representing a different stage in a transition of spiritual connection to All-That-Is.

Siste

r War

riors

Oil P

astel

& C

harco

al on

Pap

er

50” x

60”

Sep

tembe

r 199

1

55

The central Black & White figure represents Tribe 6. They were living at, or fighting a battle at, the base of a mountain range near Tribe 5. They had discovered the medicinal quali-ties of the oryx tears. When the tribes gathered together for “naming” of the adolescents’ talents, this medical information was also shared. Its tech-niques, recipes and processes were taught to the other tribes.

The Red figure is from Tribe 3. Due to natural catastrophes affected their homeland, they needed to seek new land to call “home”. This was prophesied by a Tribe 7 elder with a Rhot-Huran bird (bottom left), about connecting with this tribe.

Tribe 3 brought rituals of gathering tears and other medicines from Tribe 6, to a new homeland chosen for the same plateaus on mountains, and easy to climb. Mineral springs and waterfalls were plentiful throughout the new homeland. Mineral-rich red soil was also found. This new home was the Isle of Hopha surrounded by other smaller islands.

Blue Figure is Tribe 7: The Boat Be-ings. They lived on the southern rim of this planet. Natural catastrophic events also forced them to seek a new home. They traversed the Southern Rim, entering the central Western

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side, near the savannahs of the splintered group from Tribe 3, that had jour-neyed to this new home. After this migration, these two tribes influenced each other greatly, advancing the tribes’ spiritual and energy work as a whole. Both tribes had formerly been isolated, but this synergistic relationship between these tribes benefitted both.

The journeys and minor migrations of other tribes was read and communicated to me from the painting, “Raising the Pearl”, by my soul, my soul family, and the larger soul group members representing the tribes involved. Other paintings that depicted parts of this legend were Map of Parasystole, Sacred Tears, Torso Interiors, Race With Animus, and Arc of Animus.

While it was truly wonderful to learn the information in these paintings — holding the key events that led to the seven tribes’ transformation and evolution — there were certainly some harsh realities and deaths that I remembered. My as-sumption is that the download of information in the undulat-ing geometric forms during a subsequent journey contained the details of such tribal journeys and trials. Certainly there were also flash memories of things humans have done to each other, from the end of the second Shamanic journey, which are affecting me now as well.

As I print the high-resolution images of these paintings and drawings, more of these memories surface and hit my heart with great force. I am able to to sit with these for awhile, and transmute to joy through my body, upward from my heart through my crown, and downward to my feet, anchoring this in earth. It is all about growth, enlightenment, and a broader awareness.

Now it appears that others have painted from dreams and journeys, with similar themes. I have met some of these art-ists. I believe there are some who have memories from their dreams/journeys of the same history as the Rhombi journeys, so I am interested in gathering with these people in order to corroborate these historical events.

Ghos

t of th

e Ring

Dan

ce II

& III

16” x

12”

M

ixed M

edia

on P

aper

19

93

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In Ghost of the Ring Dance studies at left, the inspiration was a shamanic journey for myself to connect with fragmented parts from past lives re-garding a soul mate and soul family. For the first time, these dog images came up, representing my spirit help-ers, holding me together. At times they may seem antagonistic, yet their insights are needed when I am stubborn with my ego’s perceptions or intents.

Parisystole Amongst Burials, at right, depicts heartrest, and the circles represent various people whom I had the fortune to know before they died. The year prior to this painting had been the joyful birth and welcoming of my second son, after having mis-carried a girl-child. This year of ‘92 was extremely tough on me. Perhaps a year of just sorting things out.

The fact is, that some of these life events are deeply scarring, from which we don’t recover quickly. Sometimes we do not recover to a satisfactory state of mind and peace within. But no matter what, if this is buried, it will rise again to be exam-ined, giving us the opportunity to fully heal and go forward as a more whole being. In my case, it is exactly what is happening now, by examin-ing and healing myself from those events of 1991 and 1992. Pa

risys

tole A

mong

st Bu

rials

66” x

48”

Pa

stel o

n Pap

er

1992

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Race withanimus

Race

With

Anim

us

49.5”

x 54

”

Oi

l on C

anva

s

Nov

embe

r 199

3

59

Jungian influence made me re-exam-ine the concept of ascension without death. Just how conscious are earth’s inhabitants, of the impending ascen-sion energy shifts in this galaxy?

The Animus spurs me to create. But I have a body that’s sensitive to many on this planet. So it is time-consum-ing to sort through which of these sensations are mine for transition/ transmutation from 3D to 5D and which are the others’.

Events involving this “shift” caused necessary measure of earth inhabi-tants’ readiness for this, beginning between 12-12-12 and 12-21-12.

In Race With Animus, at left, my soul and soul family were alarmed by the reading of the clouds in this paint-ing. Very few earth inhabitants had acknowledged the upcoming event as anything other than another Y2K false alarm. Much had been hidden, manipulated, or distorted to appease the masses, while other events had been stalled by “darks”.

However, upon reading the 1996 painting, Arc of Animus1, and the Red Trees2 triptych, they discovered that where I live has similar trees that are gathering the data. These sycamore, maple, pines and spruce had all

1 see next page.2 see two pages after this page.

originated on our planet. The data read from the live trees in Spring of 2013 indicated that con-sciousness of earth’s inhabitants is catching up with their souls’ and bodies’ knowledge of the shift to 5th Dimensional existence. Obviously, I have no scientific data gathered to corroborate this. Perhaps somebody else has taken the temperature by polling.

Above are the notes from soul and soul family written on tissue over the print. I knew this painting was potent. My intent was strong. This time it felt like I was truly aware of setting aside my ego while painting. All of these notes reflect similar findings in other paintings as noted.3

3 Sister Warriors p. 40, Sacred Tears p.37. see reference page to locate other images.

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Arc o

f Anim

us

56” x

48”

oil

paint

on ca

nvas

19

96

61

Arc of Animus notes at right were dis-covered immediately after reading the red tree paintings, with similar words given to me. It was confusing because the word “food!” was stated while scanning over the upper limbs of the third painting, then the first painting, The darker wine color on the limbs was indicated.

Next, they jumped to the upper wine area above the arc in this painting.My soul mate stated very excitedly, “It is food! story from our home to here.”

In the reading of earth’s inhabitants regarding readiness for the shift into 5th dimensional consciousness begin-ning in 2012, this was vastly different to Race with Animus. The reading continued into the projected area of 2012 in Map of Parasystole (lower cen-ter area).Rechecked Red Tree again.

I do not understand how this energy is read, but the excitement over these projections depicted in this painting are my words. Whether they are pro-jected or they are a live reading of the colors/materials/energy with which the painting was done is not my aim. I was able to feel the rush of chi/ kun-dilini/ sudden bliss/ ecstasy and body knowledge that then seeps into con-sciousness upon the souls’ realization of truth, which becomes fuel for the soul, and direction for our actions.

Arc ofanimus

62

On an overcast day, I was walking home from class at University in the Fall. I was looking at the ground while thinking. All at once I noticed the brilliant red leaves of a red maple tree on the dark green grass next to the leaf-covered sidewalk. I looked up and was hit with the most pervasive presence of the huge maple tree in all its splendid redness — in the crown and blanketing the drip zone of its canopy — against the backdrop of three oriental spruces.

I painted several pieces trying to capture the essence of that feeling. Nothing worked.Finally one day I just made theses canvases and started painting. I may have dreamed about flying.

Ancient red tree

Red Trees Oil on Canvas triptych 30” x 74” 1980

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Leaped

“The secret of flying is love of the fall” — poet Frances Phillips

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Raisingthe pearl

This painting was Solar Plexus and Creativity/Sexuality chakra work. Solar Plexus is “one’s will” —get-ting your work out into the world. The Sexuality/Creativity chakra is female/ male balance within, required for non-biological creativity.

As I was stunted in these areas by being taught that the intuitive voice was superfluous, having lost a girl-child was a stimulus to focus on this. It was necessary to regress back via shamanic journeys and crystal healings to that point in my life and then reteach my inner girl-child of her worth.

My name means, “The Pearl”. Originally, I thought these roots around the oyster shell represent both the energy that bleeds imper-ceptibly out to others when one cannot impose boundaries in or-der to create; and it represents the slow growth of roots (as we grow into full self) and their penetrating quality. New meaning was learned last spring.

As the girl-child within relearns and grows, with her boundaries intact, this enables the woman to give out energy to others with-out depletion. Woman must feed herself first.

Raisi

ng th

e Pea

rl

37” x

32”

Oil o

n Can

vas

199

3

65

When my soul and the soul group read this painting in early April of 2013, I was very surprised to hear their reading. This was the first major realization that there was more than meets the eye in these paintings.

After this, we began deep inves-tigation of all my paintings since 1988. This piece was the sec-ond-most-studied painting.

At this time, there were references to a healing ship, since I had suffered some damage to my emotional stor-age. There was a loud crack sound, and I fell to the floor, exhausted. This was different from shamanic jour-neying... there were long periods of literally having my body pressed to the floor by the pressure. At right are the Spring 2013 notes.

This painting was described earlier as having a figure painted by my soul, since I had requested assistance for the “dreamer” figure. My ego’s idea of this image was quite different than the dreamer figure that appeared through the scrubbed-out burnt um-ber of previous attempts.

This was being painted concurrently with Race With Animus, and numer-ous studies for that, so the finish date is unclear. Possibly, it was finished before November 1993.

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Torsointeriors

Images in Torso Interiors began emerging after a series of pains in the torso and upper thighs manifested very quickly, trig-gered by meeting someone with whom I sensed many past lives. Our initial attraction to each other was overwhelming, but we did not succumb to the sex-ual urges, or compromise my marriage to my husband.

Beneath the veneer of interests in quartz crystals, becoming stronger as time lapsed, was the desire to know why we had met at this time. Due to the pains that surfaced, I realized I needed to face specific issues/memories stored in my body. The impetus to continue searching was the realiza-tion that this soul connection occurred many lifetimes over similar issues of love, desire and my betrayal of another female soul.

Ultimately this was about set-ting the heart free by speaking the truth — without expecta-tions, unconditionally — on the question of whether or not we were soul mates. We talked at length about this specific lifetime in Rhombi’s story, from Journey I. Although this was a

Torso

Inter

iors

60

” x 52

”

Oi

l on C

anva

s

1

994

67

difficult experience, we both eventually agreed that we were not meant to be together this lifetime. He called it agapé love.

In spring of 2013, my soul and soul family read this painting, finding that this was about Tribe #7, and at least one being from another Tribe. See notes at right.Evident in this piece are a number of faces from the Rhombi Journey.

There are also “familiars” that had been with me during my past lives. These familiars appear during the act of paint-ing without my intent to paint them:

Ancient bird

Lion

Panther

Gorilla

Horses

Wolf

Snake

Tortoise

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Fleshing Out the Bones Between Moons.

The April 8, 1988 Rhombi Journey I seasonal trek up the mountain is de-picted in this painting. Strong over-tones of the feminine ritual-building drive by the timing of the moons may be an influence from this peri-od. There is importance in ritual as a basis upon which individuality rests; from which it develops in harmony with others: family and friends, com-munity, animals, plants, planets and elements of this existence.

The underworld and mirrored moons of the upper world are repre-sented here also. The timelessness of attending to things of these worlds in comparison to the linear timeline of the solid body world creates joy and extreme satisfaction of experiences.

Yet we are not to yearn for leaping to these worlds. Earth inhabitants do not know what the work is, or how it is accomplished once we are no lon-ger of the solid body. Perhaps some things are not so easy to work once we leave it.

But this 5th dimensional shift we are currently making allows some skills we once dreamed of using. There is much to learn. On the way, to be in joy, we must bring ourselves fully to the “NOW” moment, rather than the past or the future.

Flesh

ing O

ut Bo

nes B

etwee

n Moo

ns

44” x

29” O

il on C

anva

s

19

94 (F

emini

ne H

erita

ge)

69

From Parasystole Journey II, this painting at right, Gate, depicts the moment that I transitioned from a spirit body into my own solid body of this in-carnation. I had flown behind a sea eagle from the deck of the ship, and traveled through the forest following another bird.

At the point of finding the grassy meadow, I was clearly at mid-level journeying. This painting shows my recognition of vibrant energy while ap-proaching the door. I was realizing that the blades of grass began teeming with life...the same life that ran through grains of wood in the door, the veins of my feet, the veins in marble at my homeland and even the sounds I heard.

Gate is also record of 3rd Eye and Solar Plexus work, according to channeled information via my friend Stephen M. This has to do with trusting one’s vision as truth, and acting upon it to further the beauty of truth. This is a journey to the under-world as instructed by the map of parasystole.

I was to convert the fear of change into joy by looking into the deepest, darkest hidden doors within and connect to the vibrational frequency of the fears. This while holding on — keeping still — even though all of me wanted desperately to run away, until I could feel that this frequency was exactly the same as joy. 1. “The secret of flying is love of the fall”—Francis Phillips 2. Fear’s power is to use it —anonymous

The fears surrounded having to explain the tribal journey experiences, which may make me appear insane to peers. I am the gate to bring forth this reflection of my consciousness, soul and soul group’s experience by painting.

Gate

Gat

e

3

1” x

20”

G

old

Leaf

and

Oil

on C

anva

s

1995

70

throatchakra

In 1993 Eye of Throat was a painting done on throat chakra work. It was from a journey to meet the soul of a person so feared as they crossed my spiritual path that I nearly aban-doned it. My throat was painful and the issue feared was voice, its power, its rendering of vulnerability. By voice is meant expression and its power through both art and words. Summoned from the very depths of one’s experience, the paradox is the vulnerability of the jugular vein and the very sap of life being so near the surface. This is juxtapo-sitioned with the power of voice being the main method of self-actualization.

It is about relationship. But there are times when sharing information about specific relationships must be tempered with grace and honor. Eye of Throat is a deeply personal expression of this concept.

Flounder at left, exudes these same themes in a more obvious application of relationship.The expression of self at a very deep level of trust of other is the bravest sort of self-ac-tualization. It is not something that we can describe fully and market through words and elements of art in a known manner. It is not something that resides within one person alone, and taught to another, but is trusted in two people to be held in the highest place of honor somewhere between them, at the very moment this level of trust is shared. Its realization may not be known integrally by both persons involved, until they have lived and blossomed from this point, like two eyes of one face, recognizing it.

Floun

der

17”

x 13

” pa

stel o

n han

dmad

e pap

er

19

94

71

Tall Dreamat sunrise

At the time I had journeyed with Shadow Hawk, I had an uneasy feel-ing that my spirit guides had chosen the wrong being for these tasks. But I am including these images of self as Dreamer/ Jour-neyer, since there were phenomenal amounts of infor-mation from this dream. Galvanized Dreamer, at left, and Tall Dream at Sun-rise, bottom right, were from a dream in December 1993, about these ancient lands.

In a later painting, Dreamer’s Journey 1995, the figure is in almost identical position. It was that painting which contains some of the geometrical content from this dream. Please compare this to Dreamer’s Journey on the following page.

It was in June of 2013 that I finally saw the third painting, Tall Dream of the Other, at top right. This series was a stretching of perceptions, from 3D to 4D in the second painting, stretching next to, and higher than, the 3D of Galvanized Dreamer. Finally the “Other” manifested the second mirroring of reality above 4D, but multidimen-sional with increasing energy layers above and outward from the 3D one.

Each layer enhanced the one before it. This unfolding of layers appears to reflect qualities of geometric forms I had seen in the original Rhombi Journey II Tower of Light, or during the journey following the death of a friend, in which he appeared as a white-tailed deer.

Tall D

ream

Gro

up

Mi

xed M

edia

on P

aper

Dece

mber

1993

, July

2013

72

Dreamer’sjourney

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Dreamer’s Journey 48” x 96” Oil on Canvas December 1995

Notes from soul and soul family 2013:

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Originally, this canvas background paint was a Pollack-like painting called “Dance of Transition”, an expression of initiation, painted in 1982. It had relevance to healing, based on awareness of pain being emotional or physical trauma locked in the body. At that time, dance helped me uncover it.

These images came forth in dreams, journeys or visualization flashes after massage over several years. The un-derstanding of transformation came as if in the wake of the energy flow-ing through me during those dreams/ journeys, once those obstructions were cleared. In this way, I arranged images according to body location where these memories were stored.

The circular image on the right came to me in a dream from June 5, 1991. It spoke to me then of ancient knowl-edge predating Egypt. This knowl-edge is useful now as well as for the future of man.

In spring of 2013, my soul and soul family located areas of this painting that stored information on the seven tribes. Notes are below. See also the large print at the end of this section.

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Mother’s songto her daughters and sons

Above is a sketch from early June 1989, inspired by the Rhombi Journeys. These are the figure of the fallen oryx/antelope type beast from the Parasystole Journey II, at the center of the painting, Dreamer’s Journey. In this is the chalice of woman for biological creation, and the ember of creativity, for all other types of creations being birthed. It is empathy and courage and dreaming at the core of self, both feminine and masculine sides in balance — receiving from the source, and making it known in the world.

The Reincarnation of Oryx 11” x 8.5” graphite on paper 1989

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At right is Mother’s Song To Her Sons. She is singing– “Come hhome Ssoon.”

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As infants, like all children born during Simsiki/Hushtaa, the four Seers born were well-loved by all in the tribes. All babies were well-loved by their tribes, no matter when they were born, but those born during this cycle were also well-watched to determine which were the four prophecied Seers. As a result, these children were never lonely. It was in this way that all the children born during this paricular Simsiki/Hushtaa had great knowledge of all in their clan village, their tribe, and it spread to other tribes through multi-tribe-meetings and travelers to and from the other six tribes, through their shared stories.

Likewise, the soul songs of these four Seer children were learned by every living person in their tribe, and many from other tribes, after they were born. For only these people had the knowledge that the sitting under trees was considered a vision quest event: any could do it, but only until the women could quiet themselves enough to hear the souls of ancestors and the spirits from future time, they would hear no song. What good was a spirit that did not sing? So the women would sit alone, for hours and days, eating alone, sleeping alone and waiting. The lighting of song upon her ears was considered a sacred moment: a request by the child to be heard from the purity of their spirit; a request by the whole of that spirit to be welcomed. From the moment their mothers first heard their song, the mother would teach it to the Grandparents, to a few favorite older women and the midwives, who would sing this song during the mother’s labor and the miracle of the child’s birth so he or she would KNOW a true welcome to the planet. Throughout each person’s life, whether during childhood illness or great achievement, and during rites, this song would be sung. Lastly, whenever possible, at the very last moment before stepping back into the spirit world, their last memory would be their soul’s song, welcoming them home again.

THE FIRST CHILD: TALL BOY

THE SECOND CHILD: A SECRET

Mfindi had not yet had any children, though she was as beautiful and gentle as any child could want for a mother. Her light reddish-brown skin glowed with health, her hair shined in the light over a perfectly oval face with a nose chiseled to perfection, and her teeth were perfectly straight in a gleaming smile. When she heard the elders’ translation of the Rhot-Hurans’ message, she was mes-merized by the good news. Like many women in the tribes, she wanted a daughter, and thought often of the joys a daughter would bring, of what she could teach her and of the

Soul songs

At this time, I am requesting contact by any person who has had a shamanic journey or lucid dream about the alien race (tribe) whose “tall boy” is legendary, This was a prophecied event of four power-ful Seers, and I have Soul Song origin stories from three of these ancient alien people.. I would like to include the firstborn’s soul song— that of “tall boy”. Please write to <[email protected]>

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pride she would feel, especially if her daughter was one of the four gifted children. So, like other women, she took great care of herself, but especially made sure she had the time to be alone and quiet enough to hear the child’s song. For two months, whenever her work was done, she bathed alone in the river and soaked in the rays of warm sunshine while lying on a smooth boulder. Once, she traveled to the Sacred Meeting Tree with some friends, and sat under it for four days to calm her-self even more in hopes of having help from ancestral spirits to hear the girl-child’s song. Many times she thought she heard song, only to realize that it belonged to one recently born or to someone with a recent Zaaman1 event. For two moons she hoped and listened, and was disappointed. She knew that the coming of four special beings, even in the whole world was a magnificent undertaking for the Universe to achieve: so much to arrange, such a chaotic passing for the coming into form of not one, but four special beings! She knew that nothing she did could make the Universe give her one of these four children that she so longed for, except to wait and listen. She was not good at waiting. She was good at knowing what she wanted. By the end of two songless months of wishing, her shoulders became heavy with sorrow. Her husband began to worry. Her face bent toward the planet as tears welled in her eyes and trickled off her fine nose. Her foot-steps were heavy and she rarely smiled. That night, her husband sang a sweet song to her: it was her spirit song. She wept in his arms as she remembered her agreement with the Universe upon her request to be welcomed to planet. He rocked her in his arms until she slept peacefully. In the weeks that followed, she remembered how perfect and harmoniously her song drifted through her body, lulling her to comfort. At that point, it was all she needed to hear in her mind, and her daily tasks brightened. When she and her friends had traveled to the Meeting Tree, her friends had busied themselves with collecting its gourd-like fruit, leaves and mounds of bark for basket-weav-ing, rope-making or clothes. They were all busy once back home, preparing the seeds in roasting pouches and mashing the fruit’s pulp for a delicious milky drink that all the chil-dren loved. Mfindi was an expert weaver, so her work was meticulous and calming. So calming that she could close her eyes and still see her hands doing the work. While she was pre-paring strips and hanging them to dry on a rope, a sudden wind whipped across the wide river, blasting cooled air through the strips and past her ears with a continuous undulat-ing whistling from the vibrating strips. Above her, the wind howled through the majestic

1 [the unseen world of spirits once living, joined as one force, but changed in nature from known time to neither past nor future time]

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spreading branches of a Tower Tree and echoed on the rebound from the deep crevices of its wall-like roots in a harmony and beat — as though sung by two ever-loyal warriors yearning for home. She nearly wept at the sound of it. Her throat tightened. Tears welled in her eyes. Closing them, she began to see the sounds enveloping her, then lift her high above the trees to a vision of the magnificent land in which they lived. It carried her past the river, all the way to the Guruda Lake and waterfalls, beyond to the valley and the East Mountains, and then she traced in her vision a golden path to the Meeting Tree. Its branches were swaying sometimes to the East, then back again to the West. She followed the Westerly flight of a large blue crane back through the lush forests, the plateau, past the lake, over the river near her home and further West to the Mountains of the Moons. Her heart tore in her chest, her throat tightened even more. The whistling bark strips caught her attention again, then the harmonious bellowing of the tree, and suddenly it was as though she were quaking in the soundwaves as a song coursed its way through her body and out her throat. She wanted to weep, yet her body wouldn’t allow her to divert from warbling of the song.

THE SECRET: TWO AND THREE Words formed from the coolness of the river, the crane’s wings, Mountain’s moons, Valley’s purple-pinks and orange Sun, waters falling, falling, falling and the tickling grasses waving across the North. She sang her heart out, for she knew that the Universe had decided to give her not one daughter, but two. And both of them were of the prophesied four gifted children to come that year. Both of them would bring such joy to her and to the clan, the tribe and other tribes as well. She heard their songs simultaneously — all of it — and knew that both her daughters would leave her much too early and it would break her. But she agreed anyway. She welcomed them both in. So this was their birthday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE FOURTH CHILD

This strange boy was the fourth gifted child born during the year of Simsiki/Hushtaa, as foretold by the Rhot-huran, and the last one known by Rhombi’s tribe. His tribe were the mountain forest dwellers, living amongst the cliffs and caves. Their pattern was to move downward at harvest in the fall, but rarely as far down as the spring-fed lakes. Their drink-ing water came from the crisp, cold mountain streams, and they bathed in several well-hid-

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den hot springs on the West side of the mountain range. He was named, “Makkar”, meaning “wings’ music to the soul”, after a dream his mother had had before her pregnancy. It was a magical dream. She looked deeply into the eyes of a great gray owl, during which the owl slowed his vibration to hers. Gradually, she felt the synchronous beating of her heart with his, and felt the rushing of blood through the veins in her ears. Rushing sounds soon became a roaring wind sound which spoke of the lifting of the heart. When she began to understand this lifting, she suddenly became fearful that her own heart would succumb to the owl’s frequency and tear her heart mus-cles with its ferocity. The owl felt her break from the synchronous heartbeat in a panic so intense that he feared her heart would burst. Wisely, the owl supported her decision to fear, and synchronized his frequency to that of fear in humans while maintaining direct eye contact throughout this transition. Never moving a muscle, he eased her, in full sup-port, back to a relaxed state and told her to listen to that sound within her which made her fear instead of trust. He said following the sound within the body was the way to find the source of fear. When she listened, she could follow the sound of fear in her heart until it began to wane in strength. It was as though she were pulled along, still through her heart, to seek the strength of the sound as it moved through her veins. Though intermittent at first, she soon became accustomed to following the sound as though riding on a wave. She rode the wave all the way to the constricting muscles in her throat. She told this to the owl. The owl replied, “Your throat constricts only because it fears not being able to do that which it is meant to do…that is the source of your fear which travels down into your heart. Go further with this sound and find what it is that your throat fears. Do not worry, your heartbeat has not changed as you traveled there for I have adjusted mine to match yours, in order to support yours as you learn. If you wish to stop this lesson, all you need to do is wake up. When you want to continue the lesson, then summon me again before you sleep and I will return in your dreams.” Being known for her bravery, she recalled moments throughout her life when her heart was summoned to its own ferocity. She had become known in her tribe for her brav-ery in tasks. For those, it was clarity of purpose which held her focus through dangerous situations. This is where her skills strengthened over the years. There had been times she had traveled down the river with a team in narrow boats while on a gathering journey. But one time the river had earned a new tributary from the mountain and had become white-water froth and furious in speed after that point. She was in the third boat. The two leading boats slowed in an attempt to move to the side, but she could see that they were expending too much energy just trying to slow down and

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there was no time for that. She bravely shot ahead of the others and led the gathering team through the turbulent waters to a point of ease at the widening of the river. All had become aware of her bravery and knowledge of the water’s properties. “I was open to knowing the river” she thought, and remembered the tunnel of vision which guided her to the best places and positions for her boat to traverse the lathering waters. During another gathering journey, up into the mountains, she’d been brave when the team accidentally encroached the territory of a large family of gorillas. The alpha male came thundering down toward them, which made most of the team scramble away hurried-ly, dropping their baskets of fruit and nuts. She knew they’d earned this harvest AND the materials to make their baskets, and she was not about to give them up just because they’d trespassed. So she squatted down right where she’d stood, all the while the alpha male thun-dering down toward her noisily. She held eye contact with him the entire time, while slowly opening the basket at her feet. The giant male stopped abruptly within a few yards of her and the basket. True, he could have torn the limbs from her and cast them in the four directions as a symbol of the severity of their error, but he did not. When he saw the harvest in the basket, he knew this food had not been taken from his territory. Then he noticed how small she was, yet did not turn and run, and he realized she would only stay if she was right to have this food and defend it, whether he liked it or not. While still maintaining eye contact, he sat down facing her. She pulled a nut and an apparatus from the basket and cracked the shell between two stones that were tethered together. She ate the sweet nut-meat, barely able to swallow, for the tightness in her throat. Then she pulled another nut and cracked its shell, this time tossing it just in front of the giant ape. He started just a bit when she tossed it, then settled down in the same spot and picked up the nut. He sniffed it and nibbled. Not to his liking, he got up on all fours. She did the same, then slowly gathered and lifted the basket from the ground, raising it to her shoulder. Next, she went laterally to the nearest dropped basket and picked it up. Then she went to the next and did the same, all the while maintaining eye contact with the alpha male. The others slowly made their way up to their baskets and retrieved them after she’d waved them up. He stood on all fours the entire time, lest one of them should come any nearer his family than their own baskets lay. When she’d begun to tell the details of this event, her throat constricted at the moment that she doubted that others would believe her. She feared the doubt by her people more than she’s feared her own death. After she finished telling this to the owl, he was certain it was true, for she resonat-ed that same frequency of fear for the muscles of her heart as she did when she told of her

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throat constricting in fear of being doubted. “All is right, let’s continue with your journey.” This time, she followed as the owl reached her frequency of heart at rest. She began to hear the blood roaring past her ears. The owl sensed fully the synchronous presence of her being, then told her to listen. He turned his head and slowly raised his wings. The sound of the feathers unfurling to gather the air was akin to an announcement to the U niverse, that flight was about to commence. “Listen”, the owl reminded her. The frequency slowed to 1/16th the speed, so she could gather the notes of this song. The wings unfurled again — so slowly that she could see the beautiful rhythm in the aerodynamics of winged flight which sounded like this: WWwwwhhhHHOOOooooiiissshhhh…wwhhhoouuuh. As she listened to the sound of flight she realized there was a chorus of sounds in an underlayer. It was a softer announcement, emitting visions to her of pearly white feathers. “That is the lift of the heart, which must occur before flight can commence. It is the Universe’s response to our announcement of flight. It is the image of the dove — a symbol of purity of intent to use that which was gifted us by the Creator. She realized that she no longer sat facing the owl…that she was following the huge bird as it soared above the planet. She could hear the music of flight. She could feel the joy deep in her soul as she was flying. Flocks of many species joined, soaring above the green planet’s mountains in a hazy sky. The owl turned its head back to her once more. Resonating deep through her being came these words from the owl, “Remember the lift in your heart…this is the song of the child you will carry.” So, this was the fourth child’s birthday. He celebrated this non-annual cyclical anniversary in Spring of 2014.

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Appendix

Parasystole/ par’a sis’ taly:1. beside, at, near, alongside systole2. beyond systoleMeaning number 2 is used in this book.

Systole: The moment during the heartbeat at which the ventricles contract, creating the maximum pressure on the blood vessels.

Systolic: During blood pressure tests, this is the type of measure at the moment at which the heartbeat is first heard after the guage is released, al-lowing the first blood cells to begin moving through the constricted vessel while other blood cells bang against the walls of the vessel at the moment of each ventricular contraction.

Parasystole can have several meanings. In this case it is defined upon meaning number 2.It is a metaphor for the answer to “Life Out of Balance”, a Hopi phrase used to visually describe modern American society, in a film called, Koyaan-isqatsi: Life Out of Balance, from 1982. Its root ‘systole’ is the collective result of our society’s linear direction and its inertia, based on subsequent steps made during intense pressure and societal anguish. At these times the steps of ‘advancement and progress’ are made according to a mono-di-mensional logic following the same order and fitting within the same structure which produced, for the few, greater power and control, steeped in verisimilitude and still grossly out of balance.

However, at times these steps are made according to the unstructured, multi-dimensional thoughts of people in a rebellious act. The action bursts through the veils of compliance, and questions the dominant order of society, thereby instigating necessary change._________________________________________________________

Shamanism (SHAH-men or SHAY-men) is a practice that involves a practitioner reaching altered states of consciousness in order to encounter and in-teract with the spirit world and channel these transcendental energies into this world.[2] A shaman is a person regarded as having access to, and influ-ence in, the world of benevolent and malevolent spirits, who typically enters into a trance state during a ritual, and practices divination and healing.[3]Initiation and learning—Shamans are normally “called” by dreams or signs which require lengthy training. However, shamanic powers may be “inherited”.Turner and colleagues[16] mention a phenomenon called shamanistic initiatory crisis, a rite of passage for shamans-to-be, commonly involving physical illness and/or psychological crisis. The significant role of initiatory illnesses in the calling of a shaman can be found in the detailed case history of Chuonnasuan, the last master shaman among the Tungus peoples in Northeast China.[17]

The wounded healer is an archetype for a shamanic trail and journey. This process is important to the young shaman. S/he undergoes a type of sick-ness that pushes her or him to the brink of death. This happens for two reasons:1]The shaman crosses over to the underworld. This happens so the shaman can venture to its depths to bring back vital information for the sick, and the tribe.2] The shaman must become sick to understand sickness. When the shaman overcomes her or his own sickness s/he will hold the cure to heal all that suffer. This is the uncanny mark of the wounded healer.[18]• Wikipedia

Shamanism circa 30,000 B.C. and Sirius [alien] Contact [possibly mind manipulation techniques from Sirius B aliens] circa 4000 B.C.These dates are from the “Illuminati Chart showing how the “conspiracy” developed over the centuries” —• Wilson, Robert Anton: Cosmic Trigger: Final Secret of the Illuminati (Paperback) John Thompson (Illustrator), Page 188: New Falcon Publications, 1977.

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Artreference

Sister Warriors 54

Sister Warriors Soul Notes 55

Ghost of the Ring Dance Studies 56

Parisystole (Heartrest) Amongst Burials 57

Race With Animus 58

Race With Animus Soul Notes 59

Arc of Animus 60

Arc of Animus Soul Notes 61

Ancient Red Tree 62

Leaped 63

Raising the Pearl 64

Raising the Pearl Soul Notes 65

Torso Interiors 66

Torso Interiors Soul Notes 67

Fleshing Out the Bones Between Moons 68

Gate 69

Flounder 70

Tall Dream at Sunrise 71

Dreamer’s Journey 72-73

Dreamer’s Journey Soul Notes 74-75

The Reincarnation of Oryx 76

Mother’s Song to her Daughters and Sons 77

Flight (ghosted in background) 78-79

Detail of There You Are...Waiting For A Sign Back Cover

Detail of Dreamer’s Journey Front Cover

To Dance 18

Seated Woman 22

Stillness of the Seer 27

Transformation Diptych 33

Soul Family/Group Notes 34

Transformation Soul Notes 35

Makkar (Fish Spirit) 36

Rhombi Meets Fish Spirit 37

Elder With Rhot-Huran (Prophecy) 38

Woman With Fish Spirit 39

Stillness of the Seer 27/40

Rhombi Trail 41

There You Are...Waiting For A Sign 42

Testing the Spirits 45

There You Are...Waiting For A Sign Soul Notes 46

Sacred Geometry 47

Map of Parasystole 48

Map of Parasystole Soul Notes 49

Sacred Tears 50

Sacred Tears study 51 Sacred Tears Soul Notes 51

The Harvest 52

Wound 53

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