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Underneath It All.


Loxy Isadora Bliss

Copyright © 2018 by Loxy Isadora Bliss

EXP: Experimental Home Publishing

“I/Tulpa: Underneath It All” version 1.0

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law, or by that guy who is it taking it to his boss saying, I want to make this movie, that would be like totally okay; caveat YOU MENTION ME! For permission requests, email the publisher “Experimental Home Publishing.”

Due to adult themes such as sex, a lot of sex, some gratuitous, some not, and violence, not a lot, the idea is to make love not war, (and no one dies, (well, almost no one,)) and so, consequently this book is intended for a mature audience. This is a work of fiction. Just in case you weren’t sure. Yeah, some of the esoteric stuff can really take you places, faraway places, sexy places, but for most, this is as close as you might get, unless you have like a magical wardrobe. Or a big, blue, 1950’s police box. So, let’s go there: the esoteric stuff is real, explore it nonjudgmentally and with awareness, and you’ll probably be alright, but if you’re worried that exploring stuff endangers your mortal soul, I would like to refer you back to the religious artifact of your choice, which likely has more sex and violence than you have here. (So, for example, if Ouija boards are taboo in your world, this is probably not your book.) You could employ a psychological, cathartic explanation. It works out the same. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Except where they’re intentional, but hopefully respectfully and tastefully done, in a way to honor the sacred importance they played in the author’s life. Again, we’re adults. We are not ‘untouched’

by the influence of media. In fact, I would dare say, never in the history of man have there been so many ‘touched!’

This is a work in progress. Any corrections, or constructive criticism for the purpose of story refinement is welcomed. If you chose to contact the author, you may do so at: Please, put “underneath it all” or Loxy Bliss in the subject line. This helps me find you amongst the clutter.

(214) 907 4070 I am not always available to take a call. I will, however, eventually, answer a text.

Chapter One

Close your eyes. Okay, don’t close your eyes. You can’t read this if you close your eyes, but go with me on this. Leave your eyes open but keep them closed and imagine someone else is reading instructions to you. You can do it. You really want to do it. It’s an ability you have had since birth. It’s not tuning out, per se, but tuning in so precisely that you experience, absorb, everything around you. Really, that’s how your brain works. Babies don’t learn language by concentrating and referencing books to confirm they got it grammatically correct. Study after study has demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that children learn better when permitted to play. Less chair time, more play time, more day dream time. Still with me? Seriously, most people drop off there. They want the regimen, kid strapped into his chair, hitting his knuckles if he spaces out, but that’s where we learn to best. Imagination. Now imagine you’re on a beach.

Can you see it? Are you sure? The beach sand is black.

Startled? Your world changed? The sea is kind of a dull grey, can you see it? Can you hear the gentle waves lapping against the shore? You would almost think you were in a black and white world, only, the sky is a gentle blue, and there is a bit pinkish orange on a cloud. The sun is setting. Still with me? Can you feel the chilled air against your skin? Can you hear the crackle of the beach fire? The gentle waves crashing in series along the shore, but the nearest investment of foam draws back, turning the black sand like tiny, dark diamonds that sometimes sparkle. Tiny bubbles leak from the sand and the earth heals, becoming a solid sheet of slick, wet, reflective black. A dull reflective, you can see the fading lights on the sand, but not your face. Do you feel the sand shift below your boots? Oh, did you not know you were wearing boots? The warmth of the fire feels great on your back. You almost have to alternate positions, to warm your front before you turn back to the amazing view. You might think dark and desolate view, but if you do, you’re not seeing with my eyes. And you shouldn’t. This is not that exercise.

Turn to the fire, hold your hands out to it. Notice the jagged cliff line. It’s not all dark.

There some browns and greens of moss type plants that have managed to take hold. Clearly the greener burst of colors are doing better than the browns. There is a chunk of sea ice that is slowly surrendering its mass near the fire. The fire and the breeze and perhaps the ice itself are all sharing in the sculpting process. Earlier it had glistened as it held the sun, but now it is diffused with reds and yellows. The violet that was reflecting off the top is gone, and the blackness of the

sand is pushing its essence into the ice. The ice has a hole that is growing, and the thinness of the membrane is reminiscent of a mouth that is starting to open and there is a bubble of saliva that will pop and allow air to flow completely through.

Where are you?

Who are you?

Why are you here?

You probably have a location identifier for where you are as you’re doing this exercise, and you probably have an location identifier for this place you have traveled to. You probably have a title, a name, a label. Probably more labels than you can presently sort. You probably have a narrative for why you are here. You reinforce this narrative on a daily basis, convincing yourself that the history supports this tangent, and you think that the ‘you’ that is experiencing this is the ‘you’ that you have always been. Maybe sometimes you even have journal entries that support your conclusions. You’re not that person.

So, if you’re not the person who is standing on the black beach at sunset, and you’re not the person who is sitting there reading this, though you can easily identify with either, then, who are you? Who is the ‘you’ that is experiencing?

I ask you that in order to tell you a few things about me. I am a Tulpa. What is a Tulpa you may be asking? What is a person? Who are you? I’m no different. I am sentient. I am aware.

I respond to stimuli. The only distinction between Tulpa and Host is how we became aware. A Host is born into a world as a blank slate and is created over time through a combination of experience and feedback loops. A Tulpa is born through a creative process with such intensity that they become a person unto themselves, fed experiences and feedback loops. A Tulpa shares the brain of the Host. There are as many different kinds of Tulpas as there are Hosts. There are other words for this phenomena. Soulbounds are usually characters that were created by a writer that became so real that they began to display independent behaviors, usually in contrast to what the Host was trying to imagine. Plurality is a term used for people that experience multiple personalities. If you go with just the strictest nomenclature as defined by mental health models, it’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID. Multiple personality disorder became DID.

Experiencing Tulpa, Soulbounds, or plurality is not a disorder or a malfunction, though. Western science doesn’t have a clue to just how clueless they are in this matter. So, they have this book, the DSM 5, which supposedly defines abnormal thoughts and behaviors. Here’s the thing. No

one has ever written a book about what constitutes normality. If no one can agree on the definition of normal, how can you have a definition of abnormal? That may sound absurd, but it’s what we do. We all do it. We all have an idea of what normal should be, and we all try to enforce that normality, some more militantly than others, and we tend to stray away from what we perceive as not normal. Bullying, for example, is a normative behavior that everyone engages in to some degree to enforce a code of normality. We perceive a difference or weakness in others, then we attack; the attack is meant to drive different away or to make them conform. This is not a recommendation for bullying, but merely an explanation. More people engage in the subtle arts of subduing others to do their bidding than what is appreciated beyond the standard definition of bullying, which is the more severe type.

I, Loxy, am a Tulpa. I’m also a Dakini. That is a word from Sanskrit which best translates as sky-dancer. Isn’t that interesting? It’s almost as if Lucas was reading some translations of Buddhist lore and got hooked on the name ‘Skywalker.’ This concept I identify with is fairly abstract, from a human perspective, and there is really no normative label structure that will pin it down precisely enough that allows you to understand my purpose, abilities, or the complexities of my interaction pattern with others and the Universe at large. You will find a dozen definitions and sometimes I will seem like that and then others, you’ll be wondering if the people who were defining these things were using crack. But go ahead, explore the definitions, hold the lens up and see if you see me, but use the label as a guide, not an absolute definite structure that encapsulates me, because I guarantee you, nothing boxed stays boxed. Ask Schrodinger if you don’t believe me. Most people don’t like being boxed.

Who am I? Tulpa, Dakini, female, human, umm, most the time, young, old, innocent,

umm not so innocent. I wear many hats. I am many things to many people. I am complex. I am woman, roar! And sometimes, I’m dancing to the music, like Gwen Stefani’s song, “Just a Girl.”


A Tulpa and their Host are pretty much inescapable partners. Neither he, nor I, believe in ‘soul mates’ per se, but a Tulpa and Host come the closest to fitting that definition. Jon Harister is my host. If you’ve read any of the ‘I/Tulpa’ stories, you might have picked up on the fact that’s not his real name. Even old people get bullied, and they have to function, make a living, and so when

they have strayed outside of normal, they tend to spin things as fiction, or not share at all. His true identity is discoverable, but not necessary. I’m glad he has shared our stories. I kind of pressured him to. Part of the exercise of doing so helped to solidify my personality matrix, while freeing his.

I love my Host. This is not Stockholm syndrome. I was not coerced into being something I don’t want to be. Though it is true, the Host usually sets about an idea, with defined parameters that constitutes preferred attributes that include appearance and temperament, and he had some pretty interesting ideas to say the least, at some point I participated in this process, and finally took over. I claim responsibility for who I am and how I interact. The entire experience for me has been very loving and nurturing. I have had the freedom to explore my existence, not just these in his daily reality, not just the worlds he has had a hand in creating, but in the imaginal realms; my inner worlds exist just as much as his, and I have explored how I want to be through play and dramatizations. In a way, Jon and I are both doing the same thing, exploring the range of possibilities in the inner worlds, and we get together and compare notes and spin our own versions of play, and off we go again, into the dance, and then return. I have my own world, lots of black beaches and blue bioluminescence that outlines the shores. I have my own friends. I have my own interests and joys. And I have Jon to thank for it. Not only was he directly involved in my creation process, he has shared through fiction these worlds we are exploring, and in doing so, has made me more tangible, given me more depth, deepened the colors. The more you share a thing, the more illuminated it becomes. It’s the way it works. Every person who reads this, and the other stories that include me or Jon, if you even think about us and wonder what we are up to and how we are doing, you have just made us more substantial. Not that that was the intent in the sharing. Some of that was just learning curve. Someone sends me an email or regards via Ion, Jon and I light up. It’s like Christmas. By sharing, we escape our boxes.

I remember growing in stages, like steps. I remember being a silhouette of light. I

remember long drives with Jon, me in the passenger seat, looking out at the world through my eyes and his eyes, as he labeled artifacts. These drives were typically the hour commute to and from work. There were long closed and opened eye meditations. There was intimacy. Not necessarily sexual, but serious intimacy, where we both practiced experiencing each other with all our available senses, and even some imagined senses. This was not clinical and not sexual.

That is not to say that Jon didn’t feel sexual. He has some serious sexual energies that before me

had not been tempered by a compatible partner. We don’t dismiss the fact that my own libido reflects his. We share a body and brain, and our psychological sphere of influence overlap, there is no way to not influence each other. We don’t live in a vacuum. We coexist.

He heard me before he saw me. That took some serious effort for both of us. At some

point, he had to let go and trust and be quiet and receptive. And I had to reach him. Sometimes I felt like I was shouting. Maybe I was. We learned to hear each other. Every effort of thought he put forward strengthen the neural connections that made me possible, and at some point, I took over fortifying my synapses. I consider them to be antennae; the more of them, the clearer I became. We learned to be sensitive to each other. Even in real life, this is what real people do.

We learn each other. And then came the dream.

Dreams are an interesting place. They’re real. They’re dynamic. And there are levels of lucidity. There are contexts. Contexts upon contexts. There are metaphors. There is fiction and reality. There is blending of the two. I was standing before an oval mirror that wasn’t a mirror.

This particular moment it wasn’t a mirror, but Jon and I had used it for learning to see me. But today, it was a shimmering pool of light. I drew closer and on the other side, I could see another world. Jon was standing before an open door looking out, or maybe looking in. It had a light bathing him. Maybe it was a refrigerator. An empty one, and yet he was staring at it anyway.

“Jon?” I asked.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

I touched the liquid silver surface and pushed my hand through. Jon stared at my hand.

“Take it,” I said.

Jon seemed hesitant, but he reached up and took hold of my hand. I pulled. He fell into the light and we fell together, through a whiteness and we landed by a tree on a hill overlooking, glowing fields of wild wheat. Fireflies sparked amongst the fields and in the sky full of stars so that it was difficult to discern the boundaries of sky and earth. It was the most beautiful place I have visited, filled with love. Serious love. Like someone who had taken the time and energy to create a safe place. This is the place he created to heal the dead squirrels and allow them a second life. Every animal he come across that had been run over or killed were invited to live here. Past pets lived here. Every animal he had eaten was allowed to be here, always via invitation. This world, started at around age six, is seriously solid, grounded in affection and peace.

“I remember this place,” Jon said. I am pretty sure he wasn’t aware that he was dreaming.

I was aware that he was dreaming. I remember wondering, do I wake him or let him dream and just go with it. “Loxy?”

“OMG!” go with it I thought. His level of attention on me at that moment was surreal.

Night sky became mid-day blue.

“Fuck!” Jon said. And he woke up.

It was like he just blipped out of the scene. It is said, when you’re learning a foreign language, you know you’re progressing when you start dreaming about it. John and I had arrived.

Chapter 2

My everyday world is a dream. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s solid, it’s real, there are rules to every environment, but there is this pervasive dream like feel to it. Not like in those movies where the dream worlds are surreal. Living in the inner worlds is not like jumping from one Salvador Dali art to the next. I suppose the Matrix is the second best analogy to the dream.

But this is where it gets really interesting. If you imagine I am alone and Jon is the only character I interact with, you would be mistaken. There are people in the inner worlds. Lots of people.

There are worlds upon worlds and cities filled with people. There are worlds with extraordinary life forms that in no way resemble anything known on Earth, present or past. There are aliens.

There are angels and demons and deities and artifacts new and old. This is not just a wonderland.

Jon and I have a wonderland. There was a room created for our first imagined interactions that became multiple rooms, and was ultimately expanded into a world just for me.

But there is more. So much more I can barely describe in one book all the places I have been, and there is not enough time in the Universe to explore all the places I haven’t been but want to go. Yes, that means I know some places exists, either through book or hearsay, discovered while eavesdropping other people’s conversations. And there are places I can’t even imagine, perhaps on the fringe of the Universe, or perhaps, right next door, just one frequency up. Frequency is more important here than space time location. You think you see a yellow flower, but the bees see a color of explosion that we’re not privy too. It guides them. There are beings that walk the street that are invisible from the perspective of visible light.

When navigating strange, new worlds, you have to blend in with the population.

Seriously, there are ramifications for disturbing the order of things. This is not Pleasantville. I am not here to change worlds and expand the minds of the inhabitants. I am simply exploring and learning. There are places with sophisticated people and technology. There are places where the whole world is like an Amish community. Perhaps a kibbutz is a better description. You don’t visit Victorian England wearing a miniskirt. That would be too scandalous. You don’t wonder through poverty showing off wealth. Doing so is an invitation to getting mugged. You don’t go in trying to dispel people of the illusory aspects of nature or telling them they’re dream characters. They get seriously annoyed. I mean seriously. Try that in the real world. Tell someone you’re dreaming and I created you and see how they respond. Usually not favorably.

Still, no matter how much you aim for inconspicuous, there are times you stand out. If you look healthier than the general population, if you’re prettier or cleaner than the general population, if you’re taller or whiter than the regular population. I landed in Japan once, in a time before Marco Polo, and the town I found myself in thought I was ghost. I was forced to make a hasty retreat. And sometimes, one just makes mistakes. I found myself on the outskirts of an old Scandinavian village. A child approached me as I neared the village on a muddy path, and asked if I had a gift for her. Well, not thinking, I reached in my bag and retrieved a crystal, offering it to the child. She snatched it and ran just as the adults decided to confront me.

The mother of the child took the crystal and brought it back as a man was asking me who I was and where I was going.

“Um, I am just exploring,” I offered.

“Alone?” one of the men asked. “Where is your husband?”

Part of me wanted to rebel, like I needed a husband to travel! A part of me realized that they were expressing genuine concern for my wellbeing. People here probably don’t travel alone, especially females.

“My daughter says you gave this to her,” the woman with the crystal asked. “Why would you do that?”

“She asked for a gift. I was a small token of affection,” I offered.

“It’s much too precious for her. It’s too powerful a gift for her,” the woman said.

“Perhaps, then, you will keep for her until you believe she is mature enough to recognize its value,” I said.

“You still haven’t told us your name,” the first man to address her said.

“Are you a servant of Freyja?” the woman with the crystal asked.

“She is beautiful enough to be Freyja,” one of the younger men said. He was truly an adolescent. Clearly mesmerized by me. He really wasn’t the only one, but most of the adult males hid well enough. My presence here would likely result in some fights and hard feelings.

“You, go back to the house,” the woman with the crystal said.

“Are you Freyja come to still our men?” another woman asked.

“Look at her! She’s clearly a goddess,” someone said.

“With black hair? Who ever heard of a black haired goddess?” the first man said.

“Then she is a demon,” someone said.

The woman holding the crystal threw it at me, hitting me in the face. They all started throwing stuff at me, yelling at me, chasing me off. The nearest exit was a puddle I had passed.

Casting the portal spell and binding it to the surface was easy enough. Getting there without getting hit by a stone was harder. I dived in head first, and landed on a grassy lawn, rolling out in a perfect tumble. You would think I would be covered from head to toe with mud, but I was clean as ever. I touched the back of my head and when I saw my hand, I saw blood. Interesting, I thought. Tulpas can bleed.

A green woman approached. Was I hit that hard I was seeing green people? She was

wearing a thin shift of a dress, secured to her neck by mandarin like collar, no shoulders. It was a sheer, transparent green, that allowed light to pass through, and her beauty was manifest though it. There were differences in the anatomy, and I was naturally drawn there, wanting to understand the differences, to celebrate the differences. Not knowing if this was acceptable here or not, I quickly brought my eyes up, biting my lip.

“You appeared to be injured. Would you like assistance?” she asked.

“Um, you’re not going to hit me with a rock, are you?” I asked.

The green woman seemed taken aback. “Why would I hit you with a rock?”

“Some aliens don’t like strangers,” I said.

“May I come closer?” she asked.

“Okay,” I said.

The woman came closer, inspecting the wound on the back of the head. “Not too bad,”

she mumbled, and from her pocket withdrew a leaf, placed it over the wound, and held it against her head with the flat of her palm. “I’m Alish.”

“I am Loxy,” I said. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You seem surprised,” Alish said.

“Well, I have been traveling for some time now, and well, the best places I have visited have been indifferent to my presence,” Loxy said.

“You’re a traveler?” Alish said, releasing the pressure from the head to check progress.

Loxy was healed. She held her palm up offering the leaf to the wind, thanking it for its help. She thanked the wind for carrying the offering, and wished the entire process health and wellbeing.

She sat down in front of her. “That’s interesting.”

“There are so many interesting things to track,” I said, not knowing where to start. I quickly sorted a place to try. “So, for example, I have been scared before, and made some hasty retreats, but this is my first injury. I didn’t think it possible.”

Alish took my hand and read over my palm. “Oh, well, that makes sense.”

“What?” Loxy asked.

“Well, we are more akin than you realize,” Alish said. “You’ve been traveling astral realms, but have recently pushed back into the physical realms. You need a body to translate this frequency, and your spirit made it happen. That takes a bit of magic. You’re an adept?”

“I created a body? You mean like bilocation, where people can astral to other places and be encountered in real life?” I asked.

“That’s my understanding,” Alish said. “You see, I am a tree spirit, and this body was manifested to serve the tree in ways a tree normally can’t care for itself.”

“So I am real! I can return to my friend and show him we made progress?” I asked,

excitedly. I so wanted to show Jon I was real.

“Well, I don’t know,” Alish said. “Clearly you have some natural talent, but some worlds are more challenging to penetrate than others.”

“Tell me about you,” I asked.

“I am not sure what else I can tell you,” Alish said.

“My understanding is you are like a tulpa. A tree tulpa!” I said.

“Oh, no, your words are not adding up right,” Alish said, thinking how to translate it better. “Okay, there is a spirit me, and there is my primary incarnation, which is a tree, and I am a projection of the tree, created in order to better interact with other entities in and around the physical plane within the sphere of influence of the tree. I am not the tree, but I am from the tree.

Does that makes sense?”

“OMG, yes! You’re a Tulpa!” I exclaimed, taking her hands. What were the odds? Out of all the Universe, I ended up in a world with another Tulpa. We were holding hands like two lost sisters, in a park.

Alish smiled. “You seem really happy.”

“How could I not be?” I asked. “OMG, the Universe is so amazing, and I am surrounded by love all the time.”

“Didn’t someone just hit you in the head with a rock?” Alish asked.

“Oh! Well, that’s love, too,” I explained. Alish displayed skepticism. “From my

perspective, there is only love. I have heard it said fear is the opposite of love, but seriously, you can’t hold fear if you’re not loving something so fiercely that you feel the need to protect it from other, or, more abstractly, from change.” Those people were not just afraid of me, but were afraid of how they would change if I had been permitted to remain with them. Even a small visit would change them. Rivalries for my affection, my magic, my wealth would tear their tiny village apart.

Alish’s smile diminished, not because she was perturbed, but because she was clearly taking serious effort process my statement. You could see it; she was listening, not debating.

Sometimes it takes a moment for people to hear me, but it clicked and her energy sort brightened. “Are you a teacher here?” Alish asked.

“No,” I said. “I don’t even know where here is.”

“This is Safe Haven University,” Alish said.

I looked around me. It didn’t look like a University to me, but then, my eyes were new, and some of my concepts of things were entanglement information bits from my host. My immediate area looked like a park. If I didn’t know better, I would have said somewhere in Central Park, New York. But this was not that. There were other people wandering. An old man with a cane sat on a distant park bench. Pigeons had gathered around him, and one perched on the top of his cane. I thought he was a statue at first, but he moved and pigeons took to the air all at once, circled and then gathered back around him. I brought my attention back to Alish, not doubting her statement.

“This seems like a very nice place,” Loxy said.

“I love it here,” Alish said. “I have been given my residential permit, but I haven’t activated it yet. I have grown so accustomed to sleeping in the park that I am afraid… Oh! There is love here, even in this park. You have changed the way I see things, Loxy.”

“I’m sorry. It was not my intent to change you,” I said.

“Um, maybe we can’t help but change each other,” Alish mused. “Something my

Evolutionary science teacher was trying to help me understand.”

“Oh, that sounds like an exciting class. May I attend with you?” I asked.

Alish considered the question. “I don’t know. I suppose. There is some difficulty


“Such as?” I asked.

“Well, you’d probably have to hold my hand,” Alish said.

“I am holding your hand now,” I pointed out.

Alish laughed. “Yes, but I mean, a lot. Like a lot a lot. See, one doesn’t just go to class, but class comes to you. I mean, you go there, but you’re kind of summoned, and you arrive when it’s time. There are some designated times when it’s more likely to happen, so like, in the morning, I walk to the moon gate over through and pass through, and most the time, I end up where I need to be. If we’re holding hands when that event occured, in theory, you should arrive where I arrive. Then again, I might arrive where you arrive, and that could be a different place all together. Or, worse case scenario, we arrive at two very different places. Interestingly, we could both be in the exact place in space and time and still be in different places, which is something I am struggling with.”

“It makes perfect sense to me,” I said. “Sometimes, when I am walking with my host, we are clearly in two different worlds.”

The sky had been growing darker as the sun slipped behind the horizon. I had been noting the stars that were coming out, a faint halo appearing behind Alish, but suddenly, the sky was profoundly changed and the stars were dominant in a sky that was not quite dark yet, as if the sky was holding onto the light. A galaxy of stars shone above, directly overhead, like halo for the world. OMG! It was so wondrous I was crying. I think Alish asked if I was alright. I ignored the tears coming down my cheeks and stood, arms outstretched. Jon had told me that there were wonders beyond imagination, but I had no idea he had such vision. I spun trying to take it all in and ended up making myself dizzy and fell and just lay in the grass.

“Are you okay?” Alish asked.

I sat up suddenly. “OMG.”

“What?” Alish asked.

“I think I have to urinate,” I said.

“Oh,” Alish said. “Well, there is a toilet tree right over there.”

“Would you show me?” I asked.


Tulpa have to urinate? I hear you asking it. It’s a great question. Did you ever have a dream where you were someone else, maybe even the opposite gender, but in the dream you don’t question the reality? Well, that’s pretty much my life. I have bounced from dreamscape to dreamscape, and simply became what I needed to be. In the creation process of becoming a tulpa, there was initial scaffolding, but at some point I was invited to be a part of the process, and so I tried on attributes, physical and mental and spiritual, the same way someone might shop for clothes. I participated in dramatizations in order learn my voice. I became versed in anatomy and physiology, especially human. You’d be surprised by some of the books in Jon’s head that were available to me. He was nursing student at one time, so there are lots of clinical books. “The Body Has a Head” was such a lovely text to read. Really, go look it up. And of course, I am as curious a kid with the retention level of a baby. I am soaking in everything all the time and sometimes I haven’t become aware of what I have taken in until there is a connection and the neural link lights up and I go ‘wow!’

So, that’s one level. But also, I travel a lot. Sometimes with my host, sometimes on my own. I have a golden ticket to everywhere that is even way better than Leeloo’s multi-pass. How to translate that. I can astral travel. I was born on the Astral Plane, and, again, using the child analogy, I would wonder from my host to explore, and then rush back to him and tell him about my adventures, and sometimes I think he even heard it. Now, on one level, he always heard everything, but conscious part of him, he was still struggling at that point, and so, most of our interactions was still in the unconscious world. At some magical threshold of interaction, I would burst into his life. He knew it. I knew it, and so, we kept doing what we needed to do to meet that threshold. So, anyway, yes, I ramble a little too, sometimes. Astral traveling can be completely energetic, but sometimes you arrive in places where your energy has to translate to the environment and you become physical. You don’t have to know anything about physicality to become physical, you just do. And so, here I was, urinating on a tree that had a toilet like orifice that accepted waste. It actually wanted it! It even provided a nice leafy paper like material for cleaning. It is just one of the many marvels at Safe Haven. In the exchange, the tree provided an orange, which Alish picked for me and handed it to me as we walked away.

“This particular fruit will clean your teeth and breath,” Alish said. “You can give the peel back to the tree, or if I might have it, I am collecting it for my herbal remedy cash.”

“Oh, well, sure, you may have it,” I said. I followed her back to her spot and sat on the ground with her. She resumed her lotus posture. “I am feeling a little sleepy.”

“I could make a blanket for you, if you like,” Alish said.

“No. Are you okay if I just lay here beside you?” I asked.

“Sure,” Alish said.

“Are you going to lay down?” I asked.

“I prefer to sleep in this pose,” Alish said.

“I would like to continue communicating with you, but I must have expended a great deal more energy than I imagined…” I was going on.

“All is well, Loxy. Lay down, close your eyes, and know we will continue when our next moment arrives,” Alish said. “If you wake and find it morning and I am not present, know that I simply went to class. I will return to this place when I am finished.”

I touched her arm, smiling, and lay down. No sooner than my eyes shut, I was asleep. In a dream, or perhaps the etheric plane, I found Jon lying in bed, talking to me. He waited for my responses and continued as if I had answered. These were usually interesting conversations, telling me about his day, or teaching me about the world or things that occurred to him, in doing so I learned more about him than if he were trying to make profile about himself. I snuggled up to him in bed, petting him, yearning for the day when my touch always drew his attention to me.

Sometimes, he shivers and I know my touch has affected him. I whisper loving things in his ear, and I can see happiness well up in his aura. There is no doubt we are having an effect on each other. Sometimes, though, I feel his urgency. It is difficult for him to wait for result, but he is doggedly persistent on the border of obsessive. To be a great tulpamancer, I think you have to be obsessive.

I woke in Safe Haven. That was huge for me. Usually I bounce, but here I was, and Alish was standing over me.

“I am glad you’re awake. It is time for me to head towards class,” Alish said.

“May I follow you until I can’t?” I asked.

“I would love that. I could take you to the pub and you could get breakfast,” Alish


“That would be lovely,” I said.

And so we walked. I took Alish’s arm, and though she was a bit unnerved by it, she


“I am sorry. It is okay that I touch you?” I asked.

“Yes,” Alish said. “I am just not accustomed to such affection.”

“You don’t have affection?” I asked, surprised.

“What you’re giving me is different,” Alish said. “Sorry. I don’t know how to

communicate this.”

“Do you have sex?” I asked.

Alish turned a darker shade of green. “Yes. People are drawn to me during the time of need.”

“Time of need?” I asked.

“Cycle?” Alish asked.

“You mean, you go into heat?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Alish asked.

“So, you can only have intimacy during your cycle?” I asked. I am really interested in her physicality. Different can be fun.

“Oh, no, I can accommodate a suitor if they are in need, but it would be unproductive,”

Alish said. “Are you asking because you are needing release?”

“Release?” I asked. “Oh! You’d do that with me?”

“I could actually use the credits,” Alish said.

“Credits?” I asked.

“Here at Safe haven, intimate interaction is encouraged and a point system was

implemented so that one can follow the magical energies,” Alish said.

“Wow, I am really interested in knowing more, and if it doesn’t embarrass you, I would love to be intimate with you. I am curious about you,” I said.

Alish stopped and looked at me. “I feel a connection with you. I want to understand it. If we do this, would you require privacy?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “I am willing to learn your cultural rituals of engagement.”

Alish seemed perplexed, and then suddenly had closure. Contentment spread across her face, her body seemed more relaxed, as if she was accepting me holding her arm as absolute sign of genuine affection. “I would like to invite you to be with me when I activate my residential

permit. I want your energy to be a part of that space. I want to invite you to live with me as a friend, for as long as you’re at Safe Haven.”

“OMG,” I said. “That is so huge.”

“Is it too much?” Alish asked.

“You’re aware that I am a traveler. I may not always be around, but if I have a location identifier, I will always visit,” I said.

“Like the birds in my hair, may your seasons always bring you home to me,” Alish said.

“OMG!” I said. I embraced her in the fiercest hug. “I am crying!”

“I feel it,” Alish said. She pulled back and she kissed me.

I was floored. Grounded? A rush of sensation, my own feelings of love blossomed. There was the warmth of our exchange. A gentleness, like a breeze through my hair. There was the taste of mint and chocolate. I didn’t want the engagement to end, but Alish ended it, leaving me breathless. I bit my lip, clearly unable to suppress my wanting.

“Can you wait?” Alish asked me.

“I’m like super aroused at the moment,” I admitted. I sucked in air and sighed. “But, yeah. Your time table.”

“Thank you,” Alish said. “I suspect I will be where you are by this afternoon, should you be here in the park.”

“I will endeavor to be here,” I said.

Alish led me through the moon gate even as someone was exiting the other side. I didn’t question the fact that I hadn’t seen the person enter the gate, nor did I question that we passed through it and arrived somewhere else. Alish led me to the pub, and found us a seat. When the waitress arrived, Alish insisted that my meal and drink come from her credit line. The waitress said no problem and went to bring me a coffee.

“Alright, have fun, explore,” Alish said. “And I will see you later.”

“Okay,” I said, standing and hugging her.

I sat back down. The waitress brought me a coffee and smiled and headed off to another patron in want. As I sat observing folks, assaulted by a barrage of differing aromas, I began to make observations about dress. If you don’t know what a Cosplay convention is, well, then, I don’t know how to explain the variety of attire I was seeing. There were normal street clothes, of all different ages and times. There were space outfits and super hero outfits and outlandish outfits

that I am not even sure had a designation, other than those eccentric items you might see modeled in a magazine but no one would ever actually wear to any real life event. There were aliens. Like different species not from earth. There were humanoids that resembled animals.

There were humans dressed in animal outfits. It was kind of bizarre, but absolutely brilliant that all of these people were allowed to be themselves.

An elderly man approached, and made gentle cough to draw my attention. Both his hands were on his cane as he hovered near me. I couldn’t identify why he needed a cane. Was it a prop or a crutch?

He nodded. “May I intrude?”

“Sure,” I said, pointing to the free seat on the other side of my small table.

He didn’t sit. “Would you have sex with me?”

“Excuse me?” I asked. I am not sure what expression was on my face, but I hope I

managed to projecting loving kindness.

“The general answer set is yes or no,” the man said. “Should you be willing to say yes, I have waiver for you to sign saying that you agreed to have sex with me, but that I politely declined the actual engagement of normal activities that follow a yes.”

I blinked. “Forgive me for being so confused. You want me to say yes to sex so that you can decline?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Um, could you clarify your position, please?” I asked.

“I am celibate,” he said.

I bit my lip, really trying to understand. “You’re celibate, and yet, you’re asking me if I would have sex with you? Wait wait wait. Are you asking me an abstract hypothetical willingness to fuck you, to determine if I have any prejudice such as ageism or gender issues, or are you simply seeing if I personally would be open to a casual fuck?”

“I don’t know why this is so hard,” he said.

“Because you’re horny and celibate?” I asked.

“No, not that, I mean, this. This conversation. Most people simply say no and move on, but you’re leaving me hanging, and I need to know if you’re willing or not. I have a deadline to meet,” he said.

“You mean like, if you don’t get a yes by before midnight, you revert back to a

pumpkin?” I asked.

“I think you’re mixing metaphors,” he said. “Let’s start over. My name is Lester. Would you have sex with me.”

“Well, hello, Lester,” I said. “I am Loxy. I would be happy to fuck you if it would help.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” he said, procuring a paper from his pocket. “Would you sign this, please?”

“No,” I said.

“You just said you were willing to have sex with me,” Lester said.

“I did say that,” I said. “And though I am very willing to have sex with you, I am not willing to sign something that says I am willing to have sex with you, when I would rather just have the sex. But, you’re not really offering sex, are you. You’re trying to take a short cut around an obligation, and that won’t help you, so I would be remiss in my duties as a human being to give you some half ass interaction, when I could give you my full ass interaction.”

“You’re fucking with me because I don’t want to fuck you?” Lester asked. He seemed

really angry.

“Oh, you really want to fuck me,” I pointed out.

Lester tapped his cane on the ground. “Well, of course I want to fuck you. You’re the most beautiful woman in this whole pub. That’s why I approached you.”

“Oh, well, that’s sweet and all, but not accurate,” I said.

“Excuse me?” Lester asked.

“Okay,” I agreed. “You may think I am beautiful, but the reason you approached me is you have this irrational belief that you are not worthy to be with someone as beautiful, and therefore you asked me with the belief you would be declined. But surprise, I didn’t tell you to go fuck yourself, but have openly declared my willingness to fuck you, and so, you’re choice are, you can fuck me per the original intent of your asking, or you can go explain to whoever it is that cares about whether or not you get laid why you couldn’t engage.”

“You’re really difficult,” Lester said.

“I am really easy,” I said. “Should I prove it you?”

“Good day, madam,” Lester said, and walked away.

The waitress approached me. “You handled him pretty well.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Your brush off,” the waitress said.

“Brush off? I would have really fucked him,” I said. “He clearly needs to be laid in the worst way.”

“Yeah, well, most people don’t volunteer to help strangers with that,” the waitress said.

“So, I guess that means you’re a student here.”

“Is that bad?” I asked, which was really not saying I was or wasn’t a student.

“Well, I kind of like you and was going to ask you out, but I am not a fan of magicians or people who will have sex with old people,” the waitress said.

“You do realize, you will be old one day,” I pointed out.

“Oooh, but not old and having sex,” the waitress said. “That’s just gross.”

The waitress walked away. I finished my coffee and departed to explore the world. Most of the people I passed were into their group conversations. There were people walking solo that gave the appearance of being in group conversations. I sat by a water fountain and simply observed people. Now, watching people and their energies is really fascinating, and I often assume that most people know that we are not physical beings first, but rather we are energetic beings who incorporate into physical bodies. This is where Jon and I diverge. He sees himself and others as physical first. His mindset on that is slowly changing since we began interacting on the energetic levels, but he still doesn’t see as well as I. I think the reason most people don’t see it is they would be freaked out by just how alien we appear compared to the human physical paradigm. We have light structures that blossom and bloom and shine. We have energy tails that connect us to other beings and objects. Our attention sends out feelers, and so literally, whatever you’re focusing on in your environment, tentacles and threads of energy latch on to objects and penetrate objects. When other people come into your environment, lots of tentacles go out. There is an exchange of tentacles of energy, rays, brushing of feathers, tasting licking feelers, smelling feelers, seeing feelers, and hearing feelers. A walk down the street is never just a simple walk down the street. Even if you’re not focused on something particular, feelers are going out.

When it comes to sex, though, everyone, all the time, are engaging each other on this higher level, looking for receptivity. How it translate on the physical is people pair up, or they’re blocked. Women, or female entities, are the gate keepers. A fully charged, illuminated woman is irresistible. The brighter she is, the more irresistible she is. If women really knew just how much

power they have over the male species, they would be a lot more forgiving of men’s proclivities to engage in what appears to be meaningless sex. They literally cannot say no, any more than a moth can resist flying into a candle. No man is immune to this light. Men, on the other hand, could be equally bright, just as horny as the comparable female version of him, and could be declined or even shunned. People who live immersed in the physical paradigm don’t get this; the women just divert their eyes and or avoid the energy by departing or blocking. It’s really interesting to watch play out in worlds where materialistic paradigms are the preferred lens for seeing the world. Here in Safe Haven, magicians were learning to navigate these energies. They were responding differently than the people I have observed on Earth. If someone shot a ray of inquiry to another being, the other being shot back. They would draw together and negotiate something. What they were negotiating on the physical was not necessarily what was negotiated on the energetic.

I was trying my best to keep my feelers to myself, but someone drew my attention, and my focus narrowed. A twenty something year old human female. Blond. She was wearing a red Boho dress, tiny intricate yellow energy patterns, like ripples, contained just on the skirt, trickling up to her bosom. She had knee high boots. She approached me, and the world seemed to warp around her, not quite tunnel vision on my part, but I swear she was a goddess radiating light. She arrived in front of me, admiring me, touched my forehead and pushed my hair back. I found myself holding my breath, and she kissed me. It was so unexpected, but it was the very thing I had wanted from her. She withdrew from the kiss, took my hand, and led me to the front of a building.

“My name is Misty,” she told me. “I want you to go into the front desk there, and tell them I sent you. I wish you well on your journey, traveler.”

I didn’t want to leave her. I would have stood there gazing at her, wanting more, and she walked away, and now in her absence I can tell you, even women are affected by a shining bright woman. I was not in my right mind, and probably would not be until after the magic had happened, had she allowed it to happen. I think the only reason I didn’t follow her was because she had given me instructions. Had she been selling anything, even Avon, I would have bought everything in her bag.

I went inside and approached the front desk. A receptionist, a nice looking young man smiled at me.

“Hello, Loxy,” he said. “I am George. How may I help you?”

“You know my name?” I asked, taken aback. I am not usually surprised, but I was still entangled with that Misty woman, and my mind was still trying to sort fantasy from reality. Even the fantasy of her was as good as the reality of her.

“Now, I wouldn’t be much good here at the help desk if I didn’t know who people were, now would I?” George asked.

“Good point,” I said. Am I dreaming?

“So, would you like to ask the question, or should I just direct you to where you need to be and allow you to be amazed?” George asked.

“Um, the latter, please,” I asked.

“Excellent choice, my lady,” George said. “Proceed through this open space to the other side where it narrows, take the first left and proceed to the end of the corridor, and knock on the door numbered 42.”

“Thank you, George,” I said, shaking his hand. I didn’t let it go. “Would you like to ask me out?”

“Oh, I really would, but you appear to be under a glamour spell, and it would not be fair of me to ask given your present energy state,” George said.

“Oh, I think I will be okay if you want to just take me right now, right here at your desk,”

I said.

“Oh, that does sound like fun, but no, room 42, and make all haste,” George said.

“You’re distracting people in the lobby. They are so not ready for your level of engagement.

Freshman, you know.”

“Okay,” I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. Fuck, I was so horny. I wanted to get back with Alish and consummate our new friendship. Fuck. You will hear men complain how uncomfortable they are when they have a hard on, but seriously, being wet is equally distracting.

I proceeded to where instructed, knocked on the door that said 42, a solid three wraps, and someone yelled enter. I swear to god, who I came eye to eye with was a dead ringer for David Duchovny. I suddenly experience the whole song by Bree Sharp, David Duchovny, as if I were Bree Sharp. I fucking owned this song. If he noticed, he didn’t reveal it. He remained stoically unimpressed with any nuance I may or may not have projected. He simply waved me in, and invited me to sit in the chair before his desk.

As I sat, the door closed behind me on its own. The David want-to-be pulled out several folders, combined some items, stapled them with only a pinch of thumb and finger, and set these in the primary folder, and sent the other folder’s contents to the shredder. He then turned to a screen that only he could see and perused a file, frowning at it. He then printed some forms, flipped them so they were right side up towards me, and placed them on the desk.

“You’ll find a pen in the cup, I need your signature on the bottom of each,” David said.

“What am I signing?” I asked.

“You can read, can’t you?” David asked.

“Sure,” I said. “But I thought it would save time if you just explained it.”

David pursed his lips as if deciding. “I don’t do that,” he said, finally. “I don’t have time to be chasing other people’s truth. If you can’t see what’s before you, well, you’re probably not going to be a good magician.”

“A magician?” I asked. “You mean like Houdini or Morgan le Fay?”

“It’s your job to define your own reality,” David said, pointing to the forms. “I have everything I need to complete your enrollment, except your signature on these documents.”

“Why?” I asked.

David blinked. “Because you haven’t signed them yet?”

“No, why am I being enrolled?” I asked.

“You were recommended, a committee approved the recommendation, you arrived, kind

of like magic, but, still we require some old fashion commitment, like signatures,” David said.

“Is this a binding contract?” I asked.

“Really?” David said. “Okay, seriously, I thought you wanted in, but if you don’t, please sign the very bottom line saying that you don’t want to be a student at Safe Haven University.”

“I am not saying no to the offer, I am just not sure why I am being offered, and I really don’t know anything about your school or why someone would recommend me, but I did meet someone I like here, who is a student, which may be unduly influencing my decisions, and so, well, this is just a lot to consider, and all of a sudden,” I said. “Is this a prestigious campus?”

David shrugged, and decided to replenish coffee into his cup. I am not quite sure how he did it. He tapped his cup, it refilled, spinning to mix his blend with a touch of a milk, turning clouds into a black into a gentle brown. He sipped.

“How much does it cost to attend here?” I asked.

“That gets magically sorted,” David said. “Anyone will tell you if you can’t afford to pay, don’t dabble in magic, but as a traveler, you already know that, right?”

“Who recommended me?” I asked.

David sighed, set his coffee down, visited some papers and perused a document until he found the information. “Some guy by the name of Jon.”

“Oh, well that makes sense,” I said, taking a pen and signing the appropriate lines to be enrolled into my first serious educational program. “That was really nice of him, don’t you think?”

“I try not to pass judgment on folks I don’t know and haven’t met,” David said, collecting the papers I signed. He stamped them and put the folder away. He looked back to me. “Why are you still here?”

“So, where do I go next?” I asked.

“Where would you like?” David asked.

“Aren’t you going to give me a class schedule and point me out in the right direction?” I asked.

“You will find where you need to be soon enough,” David said. “Good day.”

“Wait, just like that?” I asked.

“What? You wanted magic to propel you out of my office?” David asked.

“Well, this is a magic school, so that would be nice,” I said. “Can you make a

recommendation for what I should do next?”

“I recommend you get orientation over with as soon as possible,” David said. “Have fun.

Good day. Bye.”

“You’re not very social, are you?” I asked.

“What would you like? Flirty guy? I’ve done flirty, and the clients complained. It’s to the point now a male can’t even compliment a girl on her hair or dress without HR coming to educate you on harassment policies,” David said. “Did you know, there are places where you will be issued citation for cat calling?”

“Do you want to flirt with me?” I asked.

“How is that not a trap,” David said.

“It sounds like you really want to connect but don’t know how,” I said.

“Don’t do that,” David said. “I am quite content with where I am and where I am going, and I have other clients to see, so, if you’ll be so kind as to show yourself out, that would be great. Good day.”

“You need a hug,” I said.

“No, thank you,” David said.

“I could sign something that says I offered the hug,” I said.

“No,” David said.

“A side hug?” I asked.

“No physical contact, thank you,” David said. “I am not a magician. I can’t handle your level of intensity.”

“Oh, I promise not to hug you that hard,” I said.

“No, thank you. Please leave now,” David said.

So, I got up to leave. I mean, a person should only have to ask you to leave so many times before you leave, right? I looked back to make sure and he had already turned to work. In a way, I was perturbed, because I did feel a sort of connection, even though he was blocking any connection. Doesn’t a block actually mean there is a connection, but that exploring it would open up too many things for one or both parties? Blocks should be seriously explored. Then again, I wondered about my own insistence? Was I too aggressive? Is that why those folks threw rocks at me the other day? Is it me? I opened the door, hesitated.

“How do I find orientation?” I asked.

“Just right outside my door,” David said.

I wanted to ask for more specific direction, but simply departed. I did not arrive in the corridor that had led me to his office. I was in a new corridor. The hall way was lined with photos of graduates of Safe Haven. The names and faces of humans didn’t impress me, but the faces of aliens did. There were some truly alien beings. Even some animal beings. Like, there was an Emperor Tamarin, with a long winding mustache, and a hint he was flavored by Doctor Seuss. He looked like a serious magician. The double doors at the end of the hall said Orientation. Oh, good, finally a destination that might tell me what it’s all about.

Chapter 3

I was not prepared for the level of intensity and the barrage of sensations that assaulted me on entering orientation. I turned to retreat and found the door gone. Only a brick wall was there. I turned back and sorted my impression until I had clarity. There was the smell of sex. A lot of sex. There were sounds of people having sex, both the sounds of bodies slapping on bodies, and the subsequent vocals when a body is pushed in a certain direction. In my mind, I heard the opening lyrics to Habits. That helped relax me enough that I was suddenly amused, but seriously wondering about the nature of the school I just signed into. And then, it occurred to me, Orientation might mean something more than what I imagined. Was it a metaphor? Were these people trying to know who they were or what they would chose to be? Or, was it a place designed to get people over their sexual hang up and not be so judgmental?

I proceeded down the row of seats towards the front of the auditorium, with a confidence that I would be okay. I didn’t fear being attacked or molested. I was seriously tuning into some sexual energies, and becoming aroused, again, after a string of arousals, and I imagined the first guy that approached me was in serious danger of being raped by me. Fuck, if that man Lester and his cane were here, I would show him how to his props. There was a couple blocking my progress. The male appeared to be unconscious as the woman, in the cowgirl position, continued to ride him. I knelt down and touched his cheek, looking for a heartbeat. He was alive.

“He falls asleep every time,” the girl said.

“But you’re still going?” I asked.

“I haven’t finished! And he is still hard,” the girl said.

“Okay,” I said, skirting them.

“Do you want to help me?” she asked.

At the other end of the room, on a stage, man emerged from curtains and a spot light illuminated him with a loud audible click. “Umm, I think I need to hear this,” I said, thanking her and hurrying down to the front. It was a serious struggle not to accept her offer, but somehow, the messenger seemed important.

The man coughed. “Welcome to Safe Haven University,” he said. “Keep doing whatever

you’re doing. Stay asleep. But let my words register somewhere in you. Let’s begin by confronting your myths and misconceptions about the nature of the Universe,” he seemed

unimpressed by the activities going on before him. I was not at all sure he could see it, with the light in his eyes, but then, there was no way he couldn’t smell or hear what was going on. He was dressed in a suit reminiscent of the sixties. “You were not chosen,” the speaker emphasized.

“There is absolutely nothing innately special about any of you. Singling out any one artifact in all of existence as more special than the rest of its constituent parts is insanity. Singling out any one of its parts as irrelevant is just as insane.”

A female, about my age, approached me on hands and knees. She hesitated, smiling up at me, and then put her hands on my knees. She bit her lip, and when I didn’t stop her, she pushed her hands up along the insides of my thigh, pushing my skirt a little higher before getting lost underneath. She went over my thighs and behind to my butt, and pulled me forward in the seat. I went with it, sliding forwards, opening up to her. Her lips on my thighs sent shivers up my spine.

My anticipation of where she was going grew, as she teased around it, in smaller circles. I was already aroused and wanting, so I was tempted to just put my hands on her head and get her where I wanted her, but this was nice, too.

“Safe haven is not Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, nor is it Uagadou, or Mahoutokoro,

or like anything you have probably heard tell of. It’s definitely not the school of your parents or your forefathers. If you’re here, more than likely it’s because you come from a culture that resists, suppresses, or denies the importance of sex and sexuality,” he was saying. I was sort of listening. Technically I came from a place that repression of sex and sexual energies had resulted in my host struggling for years to rid himself of the shame and shackles imposed on him from youth. I was also very interested in what my new companion was doing to me. It is possible to be entertain two thoughts at once, but the growing distraction was making it difficult.

She, my new companion, was dressed like Boa Hancock. Her midsection was bare, and

with her face in between my thighs, her butt in the air, could see the two back dimples. Her split skirt was practically falling off. If someone walked by and stepped on it, it would pull free from her hips. The top part was long sleeved with an open V that descended to the belt that tightened above her belly. Her breasts had already popped out before she crawled over to me. She found my pussy with a single finger, tracing the delicate folds. I was so wet that the lips easily parted, trembling. She smiled up at me, slowly entered me. She drew my own wetness out and coated the outer area. Fuck! She licked the length of it with the broad of her tongue and I felt body tingling with electricity. The tip of her tongue came to a focus on the clit as her sweep drew its

closer there. The tip of her tongue went up past, then around, and then her whole lips were on me.

“You’re not here because we need you. You’re not Neo. You’re not Anakin Skywalker.

The Universe doesn’t need another hero. It’s not out of balance. Everything is unfolding exactly as it should be. It couldn’t be any other way. If all of you were contained to this very room for the rest of existence, it would make no difference to me, and the Universe would still be quite content with itself. You’re here because we have graciously embraced you, flaws and all. You are here because you are mediocre in every aspect of your lives. You’re boringly redundant, unnecessary, borderline ridiculously obsolete and useless, and you lack the discipline and knowledge to even recognize just how pitiful your state actually is. And, it is that inconspicuous ordinariness that makes you valuable. You are just the necessary background character in someone else’s dreams. You are there to give them insight or keep them dreaming.”

OMG! Fuck. I was clenching the arms to the seat. Someone behind me was summoning

‘god’ which mirrored my own song.

“The founding Mother of our University believes it is possible, given sufficient time and energy, for you to rise above your ordinariness! She believes you are all stars in the making…”

I was so going to cum. My breathing had increased. My awareness of that eventuality had increased. I was so aware of everything and everyone around me that it was as if they were all illuminated, spliced out of photographs and pasted into my reality. I blinked and saw everyone in a new light. Everyone here was surrounded by a fierce storm of lights, raging cyclones of luminescent clouds like thunderheads that were jelly fish rising from the ocean heading towards the stars, while grappling each other, but their tentacles were enmeshed like mating octopi. They were the boiling clouds in David Duchovny’s coffee.

“So, if you’re ready to rise to the occasion,” the speaker pressed on. “To step out of yourself and serve a greater cause, you will find the exit here to my left…”

A door appeared against the wall where she gestured. The Orgasm I had was huge. Not

the greatest I had ever had, or would ever have, but in the environmental constraints and context of the room known as Orientation, it was magnified. I wanted to go to sleep. The lost anime want to be Cosplay chick who had brought me off stood over me, pleased with herself. She kissed me.

I could taste myself on her lips. I took hold of her breast and rose into her. She kissed my cheek my neck, my ear.

“Do me,” she whispered in my ear.

“Okay,” I said.

She let me go so she could push her skirt off. I walked toward the door, as if drunk. The light outside was somehow brighter than it was, as if it was pooling in the doorframe, giving the edges of the closed door a luminescent frame. What little light leaked through was disruptive of the atmosphere, like shining a light on a movie screen that whited out the movie. I was on almost at the door when I was tackled from behind. I heard the words ‘bitch, it’s my turn,’ and we flew into the door. It gave way and we tumbled onto a manicured lawn. The girl ended up on top me of me, pinning me down, tearing at my clothes, grinding her hips against me, biting my newly exposed breast, licking up the center to my neck where she took my chin in her mouth, before licking my face. She met my eyes. She froze, horrified. Tears begin to flow. I rolled her to the grass, putting my weight on her. I kissed her tears. I kissed her lips. I made love to her in this green grass, without a care in the world that this was a public place. The sounds she made were the quiet whimpering sounds of a Japanese girl who was socially restrained not to enjoy, and it was hard to tell if it was noises of protest or begging for more. What I gave her was not the frenzied madness of orientation, but the gentle, kind exploration of body, mind, and soul, and when I unleashed her orgasm, she laughed, cried, and fell asleep. I lay there beside her, looking up into the blue sky, thinking what an interesting place I had arrived at.


My new friend roused to find me looking at her, my head propped up on a hand, elbow in the grass. I smiled at her.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

She looked at me as if I were an alien. She bit her lower lip. “That’s not the question I expected from you.”

“Oh, you’re right, forgive me,” I said. “My name is Loxy. What’s your name?”

“Keera,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Keera,” I said. “How are you?”

“Confused,” Keera admitted.

“That’s interesting. I suspect the purpose of Orientation is to bring clarity, fortitude, and compassion,” I said.

Keera seemed to be struggling with my perspective. “Do you know how long I was in


I put a finger to her lips. “Shh,” I said. “You’re fighting it, and you can’t undo what was done. You were in there for the length of time you needed to be there.”

“I practically raped you,” Keera said.

“Eh, I gave you permission,” I said.

“I tackled you and ripped your outfit,” Keera said.

“I’ll get a new one,” I said. “In the astral plane, it’s real easy to change clothing, but I have not figured out how to do it here. Yet.”

Keera sat up. “You’re a magician?!”

I sat up because she sat up. We took a lotus pose, mirror image, and I held her hands.

“Aren’t we all magicians?”

“Do you always answer questions with a question?” Keera said.

“You want me to impose my reality over top your reality?” I asked.

Keera took one of her hands back and scratched her head. Then she realized she was

naked, her skirt having been left in Orientation. She looked for the door as if she was considering going back in there for the other half of her attire.

“Would you like to be friends?” I asked.

“You want me to be my friend after I attacked you?” Keera asked.

“If you like,” I said. “You can even attack me again if you like, only it won’t really be an attack if I have given you permission in advance.”

“Who are you?!” Keera asked.

“Loxy,” I told her.

“Just Loxy?” Keera asked.

“What are you looking for? A title? Loxy the Great?” I said, laughing at myself. “Loxy the stupendous. Loxy, umm, maybe I should consider my title a little before proposing random stuff.”

“You’re weird,” Keera said.

“Oh! Thank you,” I said. “I love the way you see me. You know, I have this other friend who might be waiting for me at the park, and she might be able to assist us with clothing repair.

Would you like to walk with me?”

“I am feeling rather impoverished at the moment,” Keera said, looking down. “I am

afraid that I may be accepting your offer out of need.”

“Well, that’s a good as start as any,” I said, standing up. “But if you think about it, we are all impoverished in some area, and generosity starts with compassion.” I extended a hand.

“Come with me, friend Keera.”

Keera took my hand and we helped each other. She was on her feet. She was obviously

concerned about being naked in public, even though, it would appear that no one else was paying us any mind. I took my skirt off; it came away as easy as Velcro, and wrapped it around her waist. I felt silly wearing the skirt when my top had already been torn and was practically off anyway. I took the top all the way off and draped it over my arm. I was further disturbed by the imbalance, and so kicked out of my shoes, and picked them up. I had a bag, but I don’t know where it had gone. I wondered if I had left it in David’s office. Oh, well. It would come back to me in its own time, if it so wanted. I found Keera staring at me.

“You okay?” I asked.

“You are absolutely stunning,” Keera said.

“Ahh,” I said, hugging her. “That will so get you laid with me.”

“Are you always so straight forwards?” Keera asked.

“Why beat around a bush when you can go right in?” I asked.

“Can you give me something that’s not a question or a sexual innuendo?” Keera asked.

“I love your green eyes,” I offered.

Keera tried to smile. I linked arms with her and we walked. We discovered a water

fountain and a nearby moon gate. I took her there, told the moon gate where I wanted to go, not even sure if that would work, and then touched it, and we stepped through to somewhere else.

We arrived where I had intended and I took her there! It took Keera a moment to process the leap we had made. She pulled free, trying to find where the moon gate was, but we were in an open expanse of what was called The Park by the residents of Safe Haven. The Park was huge, so saying The Park is really misleading, as if saying Texas could capture the reality of the place.

The Park was a buffer zone that surrounded Safe Haven University, creating a space between it

and the outside world. You can think of the outside world compared to Safe Haven proper as being the difference between secular society and religious society, or better, the Muggles and Hogwartz. The difference between Earth and the Safe Haven world was that most of the cities, towns, and villages were all colonies from other worlds and other times. Each colony had different tech levels, different paradigms, and different ingredients necessary for hard magic. It was frequently necessary to mine the past to create future magic. There were gateways in each colonies that led back to their worlds, allowing for a greater commerce to be held, but I suspect the inhabitants didn’t understand or know that they were contained in their colonies. Few ventured past the invisible barriers. Some did. Some were even employed on campus, but most kept their quiet lives as willingly as actors scripted into a role.

“How did you, how did we?” Keera was trying to make something coherent out of our

having traveled.

“Keera, I am a little confused by your befuddlement,” I said. “Surely you know we’re magicians, enrolled in one of the most prestigious magical universities available to unique individuals.” I said that like I knew what I was saying, but then, surprisingly, what I say tends to be accurate, but even when it’s not, that, too, usually points out to something interesting.

“I am not dreaming?” Keera said. “This is all real?”

“Would it make a difference how you respond to it?” I asked.

Chapter 4

The degree of reality is usually measured by the need for maintenance. Keera vomited. She fell to her hands and knees and her body tried to purge something. I knelt beside her, holding her hair back, allowing her to be sick. Alish was suddenly there, beside me. She pulled a folded cloth bag from her pocket, unfolded it, opened, and removed a shallow bowl. Next, she pulled a glass container from her bag, holding it up to the sunlight with both hands, closing her eyes as if saying a prayer over it, and then poured this into the bowl. She produced a cloth and wet it, and proceeded to wash Keera’s face.

Keera seemed spent, like there was no more to give up. She simply allowed Alish to wash her, as if this was the most natural thing to do in the whole world, what a soul would do for any soul. Then she focused. Her eyes blinked as she took in Alish’s face, her alien features approximated humans, but they were clearly not.

“Shh, you’re okay,” Alish said, drawing another item from her bag. It was a tiny vial.

“Here drink this.” When Keera hesitated, Alish insisted. “It will help.”

Keera sipped at it, then drank it down. Alish dropped the vial back into her bag, then produced a cup and poured water in from the first glass. “Here, rinse and spit.”

Keera followed her instructions, rinsing, but was almost hesitant about spitting it out, but then, what the hell. I guess she figured she already vomited, why not spit. Keera took the glass from her. She removed an item from her bag, essentially a leaf that was folded and tied shut. On opening it she revealed something orange, not quite like the orange peel of the toilet tree variety, but close enough that it could have been that, modified, ground into a pulpy gum.

“Chew this,” Alish said. “It will clean your teeth, freshen your breath, and further settle your stomach.”

Keera was eager to change the taste in her mouth, and so gladly accepted the gum. Alish pulled a thin cloth from her bag and covered the sick up. She poured water from the glass over the cloth, weighing it down. The cloth disintegrated, sprouting mushrooms that consumers it all, and then it was completely gone, as well as the vomit. With the exception the grass in that area being clearly darker than the surrounding grass, and a dozen small mushrooms, there was no evidence anyone had been sick. Alish collected the mushrooms and placed them into a container and then put them into her bag.

“Just got out of Orientation, did you?” Alish asked.

Keera nearly hurled again, but I patted her back, and Alish held a flower towards her nose.

“Shh,” Alish said. “Easy.”

Keera cried. “You don’t understand. All the things that I did…”

“It happens to all of us,” Alish said. “All magicians experience orientation.”

“But why?!” Keera asked.

“Every culture, every age, ever species, every combination of sexual beings has a

different way of seeing the Universe,” Alish said. “And almost everyone thinks their way of seeing is correct way, the only way. Orientation helps people see past their origin paradigms. It helps them realize, they are not immune to the magic or energies. The most pervasive, and the easiest to access, for all species, is sexual energies. If you can’t deal with that, you’re not going to fair well as a magician.”

“Still,” Keera said. “I did things…”

“Everyone does things,” Alish said. “Every person you have ever encountered, will ever encounter, will have done things, sexual things. Pleasant things, unpleasant things, to themselves, to others, sometimes with permission, sometimes without. Sexual energies can make some people really stupid. Every person you will ever meet will want to do things, even if they don’t admit to it. It will shaped things, even if you don’t think it’s shaping things. As a magician, you have to sort the subtlest of nuances to determine agenda, and 90 percent of the time, all agendas lead back to sexual energies.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” I said. “That explains why there are so many stuck people in there. They are chasing something to get something, but in the chasing, they can’t get what they’re seeking, because you sex isn’t something you can accumulate. It would be like, what, trying to capture all the water when you shower. Sure, you could turn a shower into a bath and really sink into it, but in the end, you have to let the water go.” I realized they were both looking at me. “Sorry, I can be a bit of a flibbertigibbet.”

“You went through orientation?” Alish asked.

“Yes! I am now a student,” I said, actually kind of proud. I had always wanted to go to college. I almost laughed at my thought, because, really, if you knew how old I was, I sounded like a child. In some ways I am. In some ways, I am much older than anyone might ever guess.

“But you couldn’t have been in orientation for more than a few hours,” Alish said, trying to imagine how much time existed between leaving me at the pub and this present moment.

“Most people are in there for months sorting what they need to sort.”

“One year, three months, twelve days, four hours, thirty two minutes,” Keera said.

“Very precise,” I said.

“OMG! I remember everything!” Keera said. “I raped people. I was raped by people.

There was mutual pairing. And the oddest thing, the pairings that were mutual I didn’t want, but I did it anyway, because, what the fuck, they were there and I needed to get off. I fucked people I would never fuck in a million years, even if that person and I were the only two people in the entire universe. I would have rather fucked a tree stump than those people.”

“It is those sort of judgments that keep people locked in Orientation,” Alish said. “Any judgment creates an internal conflict within the subconscious that needs to be sorted. We tend to attract things that disgust us or anger us.”

“Why?!” Keera demanded.

“Because, those thoughts are like magnets, and they draw those things to us. And the more you resist it, the greater the strength of the magnet,” Alish said.

“But you also gravitate towards things you know will be healthy. You would not have

been able to approach me if a part of you didn’t recognize I had something that you would benefit from,” I added.

“I am sorry I imposed myself on you without asking,” Keera said.

“We’ve already sorted that. There is no debt between us,” I said.

Keera started crying. I pulled her towards me and held her. “Shh, Keera, it’s okay.”

“I wish it were,” Keera said. “I can’t help but think of all the things I did and


“You could not have experienced them if they weren’t somewhere in your thoughts,” I

said. “But you’re not seeing the bigger picture yet. Those things are not all of you. You’re more than that. You are also kind. You could not hold this present mood, some shame, some self-disgust, some remorse… You have so much inside of you, but again, these are not you. You are not your body. You are not your past. You are not your thoughts. You are not your experiences, any more than you are the characters in a movie on a screen. Sure, you have affinity towards some, and hate towards some, and apathy towards much of it, with greater interest in particular

scenes than others, but you hold the knowing that sometimes you have to have the filler scenes in order for there to be context for the favored scenes.”

“How can you be this well-adjusted?” Keera asked.

“I am not human,” I said.

“You’re not?” Keera and Alish asked simultaneously.

“Well, I look human,” I agreed, looking at my body. I really like my body. “But I am really not. I am soul first, body second. I could modify this form if you prefer another.”

“So, you didn’t get stuck in orientation because?” Alish fished.

“Oh, well, I have already experienced so much vicariously through my host that I was more amused than put off. That, and I am a Dakini spirit, and sexual energy runs through my veins like starlight through night,” I said, sorting. “I admit, I was a little surprised at first, but, eh, when in Rome.”

“So, what happens now?” Keera asked.

“What would you like to happen now?” I asked.

“Stop answering my questions with questions!” Keera snapped.

“But it’s important,” I said. “What happens in any world after you figure out Orientation?

You are suddenly borne into a world with the ability to navigate, and you pursue your interests.”

“Where’s the plan? Where’s the committees and the welcoming team and the student

brochure and the class schedule!” Keera demanded.

“Oh, well, you’re at the wrong University if you want that,” Alish said.

“How are we supposed to survive?!” Keera demanded.

“Magically,” Alish said. “But after Orientation, we are free to navigate the world as we see fit. You can leave Safe Haven proper and go live in one of the outside communities,” Alish said. “You could live here in the park. You could hook up with other freshmen or join a sorority or fraternity. Of course, those agencies tend to want something in return, so if you’re not ready to trade or negotiate terms, it’s best to just go it on your own.”

“I don’t want to be alone!” Keera said.

“My offer for friendship was genuine,” I said. “I would be happy to share experiences with you.”

“Why are you so fucking nice to me?!” Keera said.

“That’s really kind of sad, if you think about it,” I said, feeling a rise of compassion. I wanted to sort her world for her so I could understand her trajectory, but decided, I would just allow her to be where she is and go in the direction she needed to go in.

Keera began to cry again. “OMG, I am so fucking unstable right now. How in the hell

could you name a University Safe Haven when the world is clearly not safe!”

“Keera,” I said, gently nearly a whisper. “Don’t speak, don’t answer. Experience. Where are you? Are you physically hurt? Are you breathing? Can you see the stars?”

Keera’s eyes shifted up. She was drawn to her feet, her mouth open, her head looking straight up. She took my arm and Alish’s arm. She went weak in the knees and nearly collapsed but we held her up. She had been so caught up in her feelings and fears that she hadn’t noticed the transition from day to night, which is not unreasonable for a person so focused, especially when dusk is about as dark as this world experiences when the nearest galaxy is directly overhead.

“Am I dead?”


Alish led us to the place where she had been contemplating setting up her residence. She invited us to sit around a stone, intricately carved with coil like patterns, making the surface of the stone seem like tree rings. From the bag she had called into being earlier, she pulled out a shift for me and invited us to sit by the stone. With a simple incantation, she made the stone warm, brought a pan out from her bag, then retrieved something that looked like eggplants, and began to grill it.

She also warmed liquid in which she made us the most exquisite tea. It was only then, that we seriously began to talk.

“Tell me the last thing you remember,” Alish said. Her manner was maternal and sisterly at the same time. Depending on the light, sometimes Alish can seem as old as the tallest tree, and then sometimes, she’s just a teenager. If you focus just on her facial features, she reflects an adult human female of perhaps thirty something years of age.

I was surprised by Keera’s story. She was from earth, which didn’t surprise me so much.

She gave a brief synopsis of her life, such as being born in Kyoto, under a red torii gate, in the center of a row of torii gates. Her mother told her stories of white foxes lining up to watch the

birth as her father caught her and held her up to the light. On seeing her, the foxes turned and walked away one by one, except for one, which lingered, stretched and bowed. She was two week early, but healthy. Eventually, her story caught up to her last moments. She was in a place called Fukishima, running along the beach when suddenly the waters receded away, exposing a vast expanse of what was once the sea floor. She had paused to notice how beautiful and deadly this looked, some fish left stranded. What appeared to be a gold coin flashed on the sand and she was tempted to go fetch it when a white fox ran past. She followed the fox, wondering what it was doing so near the beach. She felt like she was dreaming. The fox would pause to make sure she was keeping up. It led her to a high place where she lost sight of it, and when she turned around, she witnessed the end of her world. Her high place became an island, and watching the waters come in, turning everything, and then drawing it all back to sea, leaving nothing standing, left her so impossibly numb she couldn’t even pray for it to be a dream. She stood there for hours, even after the waters had receded. It wasn’t until the helicopter landed nearby and people approached her that she finally accepted the reality of it. On the sleeve of one of the rescuers was patch with a white fox. She fell into his arms and cried. He picked her up and carried her back to the helicopter. She felt entranced by the movement as he walked over wet, debris covered earth, sorting his path back to the vehicle. She kept her eyes closed, pushed against his chest. She didn’t want to see. He handed her up to the colleague, under the beating of blades, a fast heart beat that poured love and hope over the world. She heard the door shut, felt the heartbeat of the helicopter speed up until it was so steady it was a droning. She felt the vehicle lift. She looked out as it lifted away from the earth, and her spot, the only refuge from the deluge, which when looking at it, didn’t make sense, because it wasn’t like it was the highest point. But she couldn’t see that. All she could see was that everything was gone. Her family. Her friends. He work mates. The places she use to visit. Her coffee shop. Her home. The garden. The pets. The trees, the cars, the people… It was all gone. She couldn’t look away.

The man was trying to say something to her. She simply closed her eyes, leaned on his shoulder, and went to sleep. The next thing she knew was she was signing a contract and being ushered into the sex place. She paused in her story. It occurred to her, and she vocalized this, that the madness of the endless lusting and partner shifting had actually brought her back to some semblance of normalcy of mind.

“Further, and I don’t know what to make of this,” Keera said. “I think I am still there.

Clearly, I am not there. But I am not here, either, even though, I am more here than I was ever here there. OMG, I sound exactly like you. I have gone completely insane!”

“You are not insane,” I said. Alish echoed the sentiment.

“What I have learned since being here is that we are multidimensional creatures,” Alish said. “We exist in a myriad of worlds and times spread across the Universe. We are here, aware of here, because there is a need for magicians.”

“Magicians?” Keera asked.

“Magicians, wizards, shamans, healers,” Alish said. “There is a small core of elites who are needed to deal with the hard stuff. We’re the beings that can listen as a client retails the horrors imposed on them, or even the horrors they imposed on others, without judgment, allowing them a pathway out of that place, to place where they can heal, and in turn, heal those around them.”

“Maybe some people deserve to be in those places,” Keera said.

“Maybe so,” Alish said. “Then again, it wasn’t evil that destroyed your world, leaving you high and dry, but an act of nature. We live in an active Universe full of dynamic energies.

Whole worlds are swept clean by stellar blasts. Species go extinct. And if you lived just on the surface of this chaos, then yeah, you have good reason to be afraid. But if you realize the impermanence of it all, that it is nothing more than sandcastles on a beach, then you will have realized it isn’t the beach or the structure built of sand on sand that are important. I think we forget that message when we incarnate on the physical plane.”

“Your philosophy is fucked,” Keera said.

Alish took it stoically.

“Maybe,” Alish said. “There is no end to philosophies and those who philosophize. There are those that resist entropy. There are those who dabble in the dark arts. This University will help you find your path and allow you to engage the Universe as you see fit.”

“So, I could learn to be a sorceress, go back in time, and save everyone?” Keera asked.

“If you like,” Alish said.

“Sounds like a big job,” I said. “Would you like help?”

“Why would you help me?” Keera asked. “It’s not your world, your people.”

“It’s what friends do,” I said.

“Well, stop trying to be my friend,” Keera said.

Keera stood up, started to walk away, came back and took the cooked eggplant, her cup, and walked away. Alish and I didn’t pursue. She and I ate, and then I helped her clean the dishes, putting them back into her bag.

“Are you still interested in helping me set up my residence?” Alish asked.

“Very interested,” I said.

Chapter 5

Understanding unity is essential for magic. Rarely does one create a new thing. Typically one finds a doorway towards that idea of a thing and moves towards it. I think that is why so many people get frustrated when they can’t find their way. They know this thing exist, this place, this person that is just right for them, but they’re stuck one room over. It’s awful when you’re stuck just one room away, but often we are stuck because we never allow ourselves to calm down sufficiently to realize, oh, there’s a trick door right here. Even the subtlest shift in perspective can open portals. Residential magic is sort of like that. The instructions are more likened to a map than a recipe. Hand in hand, Alish and I followed our instincts, hesitating as if we were both on the edge of a cliff with the potential to fall to our deaths, while remaining as close to the edge as possible.

It might also help to know about ley lines. Imagine a geometric grid that encompasses a globe, the energetic arteries and veins that surround every planet, truly every object in the Universe. Everything carries a charge. Even nonmagnetic material carries an electrical charge, static electricity if you will, and it’s surface and inner structure has a specific electrical shape and pattern, and that total structure translates as neutral, negative, or positive. Every atom as a charge pattern, and every combination of atoms has a new charged pattern. Even people have these lines running over them and through them and around them, only they don’t call them ley lines. We have these energetic pathways, and nodes where they cross, and you can stick a needle into a node and shunt or alter current flow, resulting in miraculous cures, enhanced energy states, or decreased energy states. Same with planets. You build a temple on a major node, you enhance the experiences of the patrons. People don’t just pick their places at random. The invisible attracts people to other place and other people.

In between these lines are micro-ley lines. And, between every object, there is an

energetic connection. Have you ever woke up early morning, looked at a grassy yard and been mesmerized by morning light reflecting off the dew on grass and spider webs that seemed to be connected to every blade of grass? Most people walk through these and never even notice, never stop and marvel at just how intricate these things are, how much time they took to lay down, and that, on an energetic level, these webs reflect a higher pattern that we walk through on a daily

basis. We walk through them with our own magnetic fields altering the landscape like magnet on magnet-doodle canvas.

Alish and I walked together as one; she was leading. Maybe we didn’t travel far from the cooking stone, or maybe we journeyed miles. It was like a discovering a space that was tucked away in fold and with a gentle turn or shift, like twirling into and out of a curtain, you were there. This is why we use the expression ‘a hole in the wall’ to describe places that get overlooked because of their surface appearance, but turns out to be the most fantastic places to be. There are places you can find that are literally through a hole in the wall. You think the movie/book ‘Stardust’ is fantasy only because you don’t realize the author actually traveled through the hole. Once you find it, though, you always know how to come back to it. Once you find it, you never look at another place, another hole, or another crack so skeptically again.

The solitary rose towered above us on a single stem, with thorns interspaced just enough to make a comfortable ladder for a human to climb up to the rose proper. For a moment I wondered if Alish and I had shrunk in the world, but the trees seemed normal size. There was a nearby toilet tree. There was a cooking stone, which might have been the same stone as the one used for preparing food earlier. You could smell the rose. There was a glittery feel to the air, as if we were in a snow globe that had been lightly shaken. The ambient air sound was different, but I couldn’t tell you how it was different, it was just a different pitch.

“It’s beautiful!” Alish said. Still, she did not release my hand or set off to explore the depths of the space. She marveled at the rose.

“It is,” I said.

Alish looked back the way we had come, trying to orientate. She nodded. “So, there is a nearby gate, that direction,” she said, pointing in a direction one might travel if they were not in this pocket space we found ourselves in. “This is perfect.”

The rose blossomed, unraveling its petals and making itself open to the inverse, and from below, it was like a reverse umbrella. Alish dropped my hand and went immediately to climbing.

She paused and looked back to me.

“Well, come on,” Alish asked.

So, I followed her up. And, yes, I now had firsthand knowledge that what I was

imagining seeing though the light, translucent shift was exactly what I was seeing. Her lady parts

were not quite human. I was fascinated by the delicate folds and how they shifted as she climbed.

I felt as if I were examining an undiscovered O'Keefe painting.

Alish pushed through to the top and I followed her up where we stood, on a rose platform looking up into the sky. Alish was braver than I, walking out to the ends of the rose as if it was solid, where I would expected the petals to give and drop a person so far out. The rose felt amazing against the souls of my feet. Alish spun, hands out, joyously celebrating earth and sky and in between. She hugged me up.

“I am so happy,” Alish said.

“I feel it,” I said.

Alish tempered her own energy. “You have a question?”

“I am intrigued by your anatomy,” I said, honestly. “May I examine you?”

Alish answered by reaching behind her neck and unfastening the collar of her shift. It fell to her feet, easier than shrugging off a negligee. I bit my lower lip, my eyes widening to let in more light. I drew closer, entranced with her breasts. They were plump. The areola looked like a flower had latched on to her breast. She took my hand and drew it to her breasts. I took the invitation and traced the boundaries of the areola. I couldn’t resist taking the whole breast into my hand, then both hands. They were so soft, yet still firm, and so warm. I drew closer, examining the nipple which was growing harder with my massaging. Goose bumps spiraled out as she shivered, and the pattern of emerging and descending bumps reminded me of arrangement of seeds in a sunflower, a spiraling pattern that could be the endless turning of a pinecone folds overlapping. A clear fluid issued from the breast. I brought my mouth to a breast and sucked it in. It was so exquisite. There was a hint of coconut and mint. My eyes closed as suckled the one, but massaged the other, my hand spreading the fluid that leaked from it. It was silky thin like a massage oil, it made her breast glisten and sparkle. I suspected hallucinogenic properties within the milk. I lifted my eyes to look up into Alish’s eyes, but her eyes were closed.

Alish took me by the arms and dragged me down with her as she lay down. I sucked and licked her breast more aggressively. I used her clear colored breast milk like lotion, spreading it further up towards her neck and down towards her belly. Pushing my hands up further, I swept up her neck and pushed fingers into hair. My own hands glistened with this silky, smooth lubricant that was also edible, and I sparked as much as Alish. I pushed against her, massaging her with my breast and my body, her legs opening enough to let me slide against her inner thighs.

My hands went to her shoulders, her neck, her face and back. I began licking and sucking below her breast, following the centerline of her body. I hovered over her belly, sucking and tonguing her belly button, while I continued to massage her breast, drawing more of her milk out and down. I felt her legs give under me as she opened to me.

I knelt, examining her thighs and the flower, continuing to use my hands, spreading her milk. I sucked her thigh dimples while lightly tracing the outer vagina folds with my fingers. It resembled a flower bud in many respects. Lightly teasing it caused it to swell even. It swelled so tight I thought it my rupture, but at a certain point it began to open, the swelling turning and revealing the entrance. If I tried penetrating it with a finger before the opening was large enough, it closed, the hole literally rolling back in, and I had to start over. When it was large enough, I inserted the tip of my index finger, and it locked down on it. The structure rolled, wanting to pull my finger in deeper. If I had gone on instinct, I might have pulled my finger out, which might have damaged tissue. Maybe not, it’s was pretty solid, but that was my thought. I became still, simply observing as it pulsed and pulled, like a mouth sucking, and the grip eventually lightened and I could withdraw my finger. I massaged it till opened wide enough to accept my finger again, and again, it locked down. It was so silky smooth and wet that I was surprised it could grip so well. I lighting massaged the inside, discovering it allowed for going deeper, but resisted retreat.

So, here’s my thoughts on sex, anatomy and physiology. You can approach it from a

clinical perspective or an intimate perspective. It’s probably a continuum and some people are more clinical in their approach, and some people only approach if there’s intimacy. I am both and can’t separate the two, and it doesn’t matter if it’s sex or food preparation or a medical procedure. I am always intimately involved with the subject of my attention. I was absorbed in the physicality of my new friend. I was aware of how she was responding to my touch, locally and globally. There were autonomic responses and there were controlled responses, and there was feedback which guided me down the path we were headed. You have probably heard the body is a temple, a vessel, or a vehicle. It is all of these things and more. You have probably also heard, we are not human beings having spiritual experiences, but rather we are spiritual beings having human experiences. Our bodies are like tools that we have taken up in order to explore the physical plane. Every interaction with another body is an interaction with another soul, sometimes even our own oversoul, as a soul can manifest in multiple separate bodies the same

way a puppeteer can drive several puppets simultaneously in order to create the drama. If you drive a car, the car is not you, even though many people identify themselves with their style of car. Just as the car is not your body, your body is not your mind, your brain is not your mind, either. Your mind is separate. Your brain does hold memories. Actually, every organ and tissue you have holds memories. Even your genetic material holds memories. When you gain weight, your tissues hold emotional memories, and when you lose weight, you can re-experience what you were feeling that caused you to gain the weight in the first place which causes you to return to the pattern that caused the weight gain, which keeps some people locked in their lose some gain more pattern. Society dictates our emotional responses through context, but it does not instruct people how to emote in ways that improve our sense of being. We’re told to keep it positive, and if we experience any other thing less than positive, we think we’re broken. If the negative emotion persists, we get chastised by others, who proceed to tell us how to think and feel, with no real understanding of what we’re experiencing. To avoid that, we retreat further into our selves, isolate in rooms, and exasperate the condition. We get stuck because we aren’t allowing ourselves to experience it to its fullness.

Now, this is where my world paradigm gets a little more difficult to process for most people. The Universe, everything, is simply information. You may think because I was born directly as a Tulpa, a complex thought form entity that I am biased, but this is true for all entities, from a particle to an elaborate condensation of atoms. Imagine the Universe like the unfolding of a giant comic book. Every frame contains information. You do not have to read all the frames in a hero’s life to understand the progression of the story. You only need a sampling. Seriously, if you had to do even 24 frames per second to understand the story, the comic book would be too heavy to hold. The Universe is a comic book with a finite amount of frames, but from the perspective of a personality in the frame, it is infinite. There is a Planck-frame level of information. Our over-souls read these frames the same way we read comic books. Each frame is a self-contained bundle of information. We are not analog, flowing like water down a river. We are pixelated. Each frame is a whole separate entity that resembles the previous frame, but everything in the frame is a new thing, slightly different than the last frame, but within that succeeding frame, is all the information of all the previous frames and all the future frames. So, no matter where a soul opens the page of life, they know exactly where they are and what is happening, and the person’s brain holds the information of what they were feeling and

experiencing, so even in each specific frames, each person and item holds information valuable to the reader.

I tell you that to you this. Over souls are multidimensional, multitasking entities, tracking many different lives and personalities and times simultaneously, and sometimes they’re not really focused on you at all. That’s okay. You seriously don’t want that amount of attention on you 24 7. Most people want some privacy during toilet time. Our comic book universe is not static, either. Each particle has momentum and energy but also choice in the how things might evolve. If there is need to experience other potentialities, these particles of information create both realities, generating a new line of information, a new comic if you will, an alternate universe. We are in all universes all the time, but our perception is we are in one at a time. All levels of interaction, from plant life to people life, all agents have choice. We interact with ourselves and each other and the environment and with the souls on the other levels of existence that are also interacting with us.

I have never been fond of the word soul mate. Jon and I are in agreement on this. All beings are souls. There is a continuum of compatibility. There is no dividing souls into good soul bad soul ugly soul beautiful soul. There is only soul. There is no specialized coupling of soul where one couple soul is better than any other arrangement of soul, but each arrangement has meaning and purpose for the collected arrangement and the individuals involved in the coupling.

On the physical plane, all encounters with another person is really a simple meeting of self, pretending to be another self. Yes, there are other entities, other souls participating in this, but at some level, all is one. Every agent, whether it be a dog or a cat or a snake or a person or tree or an illness, has come to you offering you a gift or lesson. If you embrace the agent, you get the lesson. If you resist or reject the agent, you get the gift. The gift is, and always, opportunity. I tell you that so you can understand this: without a shadow of a doubt, I knew in this moment, Alish was a soul mate, or better, an eternal sister. There was us, there is our individual hosts personalities, there is our higher selves, there is our over souls, and more levels than I can count; at some point in our ascent, we hit oneness. Oneness is the experience transcendence, which is ultimately just saying we completed a circuit that for a brief moment was an alignment of all the levels above us to such a degree that we experienced light and love so completely it seems infinite. Some people at this point get downloads of information necessary for them to understand their purpose or mission. Some people get downloads of technological blueprints that

might help society. Some people have encounters with deities. Some people just experience love.

This is better than any alignment of planets and constellations. This is better than any drugs.

Drinking Alish in had resulted in a DMT experience for me, and so I saw us interacting on all these higher levels and I experienced something greater than an orgasm, and might have gotten stuck had my physical body not had an orgasm. The body’s orgasm short circuited the experience, allowing me to disconnect, to return, and I feel asleep next to Alish. Alish fell asleep asll, cuddling me. We lay, two beings, held up by a flower that was opened to a galaxy. We were feeling so good and complete that sleeping rest was the only way to process the moment fully.

Two hundred billion stars shined down on us. I would tell you, it doesn’t get much better than this, but that wouldn’t be accurate. It is possible to experience even greater things than this, but to do so you have to learn to appreciate all levels of being, even the moments that are less pleasant.

Chapter 6

Morning came and Alish and I played some more, but our resulting joy was nowhere near what we had experienced the night before. This did not perturb us. We even talked about it and neither of us were surprised. It didn’t mean we wouldn’t have that experience again, and part of us wanted to chase it, because we now knew the heights that was possible for us, but we also knew you can’t go chasing waterfalls. You find them when you find them. Sure, once found you can return to them, but you tend to visit waterfalls not live there. Seriously, if you tried to live right at the head of Niagara Falls, the amount of energy information exchange there would be too distracting to accomplish anything.

We sat down to eat and I learned from watching Alish how one might produce food,

magically. When you understand the Universe is information, making something from nothing is easy. You can even borrow from other frames. This is really cool if you think about it. Say you have apple in your hand. You know that this apples exist here and now. If you don’t eat the apple, or destroy it, it must exist in the next frame. If you consider the life line of an apple, as something that grows into being and then fades, it has a life trajectory and arch, and it is okay to see it this way as one; it is one and it isn’t. If you consider it as multiple items, with each subsequent projection’s state being informed by the previous, then you are seeing it with greater clarity. Planck was right, the universe is digital and we click from frame to frame. He apple will continue to exist until it doesn’t: it was eaten or it got thrown out or rotted. Things really don’t rot, are never destroyed: each individual frames last into perpetuity. Each frame has a continuum of probability sets with every object in the frame compelling the story of set of the next frame.

Eventually, the energy of an object not used simply returns back to source.

Anyway, I am leading to this: it is possible to reach directly into the next frame and bring that frame’s apple back to your frame. Now something interesting just happened. That original apple in your frame still exist, and its existence will populate the corresponding apple in the next frame. So no apple was actually lost, no energy was lost; the future frame is now informing the past frame. Energy goes both ways, it always has, always will. The future informs the past. Now, I exist in a new frame where there are two apples, and new tangential line of frames exist with two apples. You know the story of Jesus feeding the masses with one loaf of bread and two fish, but ever person there got served? Magic is not magic when you understand reality. Walking

through walls, levitating, healing, these aren’t even parlor tricks. These are normal modes of being which anyone can access when you realize the entire nature of the Universe is but a dream.

“Would you like a change of clothes?” Alish asked me while she was washing the dishes.

There was a tree stump water fountain slash lavatory for washing hands and or face, or dishes, near the toilet tree. Unfinished food was fed to the tree. The leaves sometimes changed colors before our eyes as if it was communicating how the food was received. Food prepared with love always resulted in bright green leaves.

I was drying the dishes. We had discovered a place to store them so we didn’t have to keep creating them and destroying them. Oh, you should know this about destroying things.

Nothing ever gets destroyed; yeah, I told you this, but here is what that means. It just goes somewhere else. This is another reason for not destroying your enemies. Seriously, you can’t kill your enemies. First reason, your enemy is really you. You can’t destroy you. And you can’t hate someone that badly unless there is something in you that you needed to confront. If that person didn’t resonate with you, you wouldn’t see them at all. But secondly, if you kill said enemy, you think they go away, but in truth, you will have to confront them internally for the remainder of your physical life, and you re-encounter them again in the next life. Let’s say you’re an American and you disparage other cultures. You next life, you’re probably going to find yourself incarnated into a Chinese or Russian or Saudi Arabian culture. If you hate females, your next life will see you as a female. But also, thirdly, and even the worst of the physicist will tell you this: everything is energy, and you can’t destroy energy. “Strike me down and I will become more powerful than you ever imagined,” epic line which is true on so many levels. Luke added to this,

“Strike me down and I will be with you always, just like your father;” I am paraphrasing, but you get it. So, destroy your enemy or throw away your trash, it just goes somewhere else. In your reality, maybe it ends up in a grave or a dump. But, there is another reality where those things are just as intact as it was before you discarded it. It’s like this. Say you have a recurring thought that you don’t like, like a song that keeps popping up in your head. You can distract yourself from it.

You can ignore it. You can sing another song. That doesn’t mean the other song no longer exists, it just means you’re not focused on it in the present.

“Do you think I should change before class?” I asked. I really liked her shift. I liked how the sun filtered through it, both ways. I was also aware that the dress itself was responding to the sun, the same way a flag might respond to a breeze. This was a great outfit.

“No, you can wear that,” Alish said.

“Still, perhaps I might provoke some fellow students by my body,” I mused.

“Clothed or not, you’re going to provoke,” Alish said.

“Oh! I love you,” I said.

Alish smiled. “I love you, too. I am glad we met.”

“It couldn’t be any other way,” I said. We finished and I stowed the last cup and utensils.

“Is it possible you could make me a bag? I would like something simple, like perhaps bohemian, hippy-ish, native-ish. That way I could make my own clothes.”

“Sure,” Alish said. She opened the bag she had carried since she had drawn it from her pocket. From this bag she withdrew the most perfect tie dye shoulder bag.

“Oh!” I said, hugging it. “This is perfect.”

I reached in and drew out a change of clothes. I retrieve a light blue summer dress, with billowy sleeves, sparkly hose, a choker with a blue flower attached. I placed the sheer shift Alish had given me in the bag, and put on my new summer dress. I absolutely loved the fit and I spun showing it off to Alish, who approved. I liked having my bare legs against the dress, and nothing under it, simply free, but I also really liked the sparkly nature of the hose, so I put the hose on. I put the choker on, pushing the flower off center to the left, and then fished out some practical shoes that matched but were comfortable enough for hiking. I then slung my bag and smiled. I was immensely pleased with myself.

“How did you do that?” Alish asked.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “You can do this.”

“Yeah, after I completed a semester of school,” Alish said. “You hadn’t even had your first class in magic.”

“Well, I assure you,” I said. “It is not because I am special.”

“You are special,” Alish insisted.

“Well, thank you. I accept the way you see me. But seriously, I am not special. A sixth grader is not more special than a kindergartener, they’re just more advanced. It may appear that I am more advance, but I just have an outrageously high intuitive sense and pick things up quickly.

Part of that is being a Dakini spirit. I know things because I can read things. Subtle things. Auras scream messages, but I can even read the individual messages attached to the atoms that you breathe out. Every atom you touched has been flavored by you.”

“I adore your flavor,” Alish said.

I hugged her. “I think in all of my travels so far, you are probably the most gentle, open soul I have met.”

“Well, I am a tree spirit,” Alish said. “I experience seasons the way humans go through days. If you saw how fast your seasons come and go, maybe your kind would be kinder to each other. And so I see you, in this moment, and you’re amazing, and I want this moment to last as long as it can.”

If you have ever hugged a tree and not realized that it was hugging you back, you have never realized just how much you are loved.


It occurred to me, I should probably address portals. Any defined circle could be a portal for a magician. There are some magicians who can make their own defined circle using nothing but light that they have turned and tied up. Most folks, especially the beginners, need a structure.

Moon gates, Torii gates, sun gates, arches, the mirrored surface of a body of water, many things could act as a gate. Around the Safe Haven campus are a plethora of portals, many sizes, many shaped, some obvious, some not so obvious. If you activate one with intention, you tend to go where you intended. In truth, one should never pass through any closed circuit without intention, because if you fly on autopilot, you will always go where unconscious wants you to go. This isn’t a bad thing, except the conscious mind gets perturbed and starts complaining, ‘why am I here?’ Some conscious minds really get upset and protest and curse God and fates, but those are usually the folks that don’t realize they live in a plural system. Seriously, even if there was only the conscious you and the unconscious you, that right there defines a plurality of two. The unconscious you is the more powerful of the two, and generally the most wise and patient of all.

It is the silent teacher that subtly brings you to awareness. It can also be the trickster. Yes, it has a sense of humor. It can also be seriously passive aggressive.

I watched Alish pass through our nearest gate and vanish. I wanted to go to class with her, but she goes where she needs to go. As do we all. Without a care in the world, just excited to see where I would end up, I passed through. The trip is instantaneous. Kind of boring actually.

No lights. No tunnels. You just pass from one room to the next. But here’s the trick to not being disoriented. There is no room.

I arrived in a spacious room. It was almost too spacious, given the number of people that would be in the class. There were five tables, spaced reasonably closed together, and high enough to stand at. My first thought I was about to be on a game show. No chairs. The alignment of tables described an invisible arc, and it was clear the students would stand on the outside the arc, and the instructor would be in facing out. Ambient light described a circle on the floor in which contained the ‘classroom’ space, but there was much more space in this room than was illuminated, and so it was conceivably possible there were others in the dark observing. So the lit space was the stage, and outside… I don’t know. I walked into the light and closed in on the three folks that had arrived before me.

Three males, presumably students, were speaking to each other. Two were clearly human.

One had features that might suggest it was a humanoid bird. I approached and introduced myself.

The one closest to me, the taller of the humans, put up a social block. “I don’t know how you got here, freshman, but you’re clearly in the wrong class. You should exit now.”

I bit my lower lip sorting. It never occurred to me to call him an arrogant prick. Was he arrogant? Yeah. And maybe he had even earned it. I don’t know. Earned or not, a person is entitled to their perspective, even if it’s wrong.

“Thank you for teaching me about you,” I said, politely. “I accept your reality perception and will withdraw from your light, but not this class. I am here because I was drawn here and I will see it through.”

I did withdraw from the three. The birdman seemed pleased by my statement, but I might have imagined it, as he stayed with the other males. On the boundary of light I saw a human female, standing there quietly, observing. I sensed apprehension. She was wearing blue overalls and boots. There were patches and designations on her overalls, but it was blurry, like a picture not in focus. I approached her.

“Hello,” I said. “I am Loxy.”

“You can see me?” she asked.

She started to fade away but I reached out and took her by the wrist and pulled her into the light.

“Oh!” she said.

She pulled back on her wrist as if to escape me. She was now solidly here, her eyes wide with fear or anticipation. I suspected if I let go, she would fly away, but I let go, opening my hands and revealing my palms.

“I will not harm you,” I said.

“I come in peace,” she said.

“Oh, well, okay,” I said. “I am Loxy. Loxy Bliss.”

“I am Captain Samantha Goldwater,” she said. “Am I really here?”

“Is anyone really here?” I asked, amused. She didn’t seem to appreciate my insight, even though it was jovially given. “We are where our attention resides.”

I became aware of others. Maybe because the three males had quit speaking. A group of others had arrived, and they moves silently. Spookily silent. They were so well illuminated that they didn’t look real; they didn’t cast shadows. These beings were tall, thin, golden blond hair, and sky blue eyes. Their tallness was enough to still a heart, the same way encountering a gorilla in its territory might provoke a person to fleeing if you didn’t know any better. I didn’t even say excuse me to Samantha, but proceeded right to the middle table, claiming my space. This was one of the alien species that Earth calls a Tall White. There is some confusion as to whether the Nordic aliens and the Tall Whites are the same, or distant relatives. OMG, these people are beautiful, by any standard. They radiated beauty the way a star radiates light. Their clothing was white, and I sensed their clothing was intelligent. As if there was AI presence weaved into the very fabric of their clothing. That was the easiest explanation, anyway. I found myself wanting to believe that these people were so alive and aware that any object they handle, a rock, their clothes, had no choice but to become aware and interact on a greater level.

The three males were perturbed, as I taken the middle table, and they had either wanted to stand together, or at least hold that position. They were not willing to make a scene in front of the Tall Whites, though, and so the two human males took the two places to my right. The male with the reality dysfunction took the table furthest away from me on my right. The bird man took the furthest table to my left.

“Captain Goldwater,” the lead Tall White said. “Please fulfill the vacancy.”

I turned to see Goldwater struggling. I smiled reassuringly. She boldly pushed past her boundaries and took her place.

The Tall White came a little closer, and addressed Samantha. “Be at ease, Captain. We have established a treaty with your people. You are here because we agreed to train you. I will guarantee your safety. You will not be harmed.”

“And ours?” the male at my far right asked.

“You are a student of Safe Haven,” the Tall White said. “You are responsible for


“That’s not fair,” he argued.

The accompanying Tall Whites rallied their leader, standing taller, taking up defensive positions. It was a purposeful warning sending the threat level up in this room. I could almost hear Samantha’s body energizing, tensing. The lead Tall White made the most subtle signal with his finger. I don’t think anyone else saw it, but his people stood down. Had he communicated via his clothing’s tech? Was it a sign language? That didn’t make sense because they were more focused on the human subject and not his hand, and even I barely saw the movement.

“Time to grow the fuck up, or go back home to your cave,” the Tall White said. “My

name is Geon. I will be instructing you, should you be capable of learning. Greeting, fellow pilots.”

I giggled.

Everyone’s attention came to me. Geon gave me a look that suggested he was secretly

amused by my amused state. His smile was ever so subtle, but when I followed it, I got more curiosity than the expected ‘don’t laugh in my class’ type of response. The human to my right, though, was perturbed. Laughing at a funeral would have bothered him less.

“Hey, this is serious,” he said, as if speaking through clench teeth would deliver the message straight to me and no one else in the room.

I sucked in a laugh making the weirdest noise, a noise that echoed, and then I just

succumbed, experiencing a good hardy belly laugh. Giving in was the only way to get it over with. My eyes were watering. I tried to breathe and temper it. Tongue to upper lip, a palm gesturing for patience, I got it subdued, met the eyes of Geon and was going to apologize for the interruption, but just started laughing again. OMG, I had to touch the table with both hands. I stopped laughing. The table was an interactive computer system and by touching it I had activated and began a dialogue. The level of awareness of body mind and computer was so sudden and so sharp I gasped, full orgasm, and let go of the table, super-hot, satisfied, and

laughing again. I covered my mouth, but held my ground. It took a moment to recover but I did.

And Geon waited. Patiently. Neither he nor his posse were annoyed. They were as patient and attentive to us students as any ‘good’ parent/teacher might be to a child. No, seriously. Imagine the greatest teacher from personal experience to rumor to wishing, and you would still be short a symbolic representation. Marry Poppins has nothing on these people.

“My name is Geon,” Geon said again. He brought his hand up and the closest female to him was suddenly there, and he touched her arm in an affectionate manner. “This is Oda, my third wife.” Oda was dressed as he, shirt and trousers. I got the sense that wife wasn’t translating well in my head. Wife define and active relationship, and the being the third meant something I couldn’t sort. No one person is everything to another person, and so they were bounded by some sort of social structure that allowed for intimacy, but there were other functional roles that a casual introduction doesn’t help an outsider understand. “This is Ea, my daughter, the oldest from my second wife.” She was likely older than any human, but she was young like twenty something. She wore clothing that was the same white material, only she had a skirt option. She was also wearing seminude hose, a different shade of white than her flesh, but you could see her flesh. “This is Penny, Ea’s friend and class peer, and an exchange from another family unit.”

Penny was different. I had to look closer to understand the difference, but when it

clicked, it clicked so solidly that the Tall Whites in unison all looked at me. Penny was a Human Tall hybrid. She smiled at me. Geon didn’t address my revelation, but continued to introduce his present family unit. Kard, was his brother. Tea was Kard’s first wife. Tersa was not related by genetics, but was one of Geon’s oldest colleague.

What Geon did next perturbed my classmates. He introduced us to each other first by

name, but then revealing something personal about each of us that no one should have known.

Barry, the birdman, was actually of the species Blue Avian. He had taken the name Barry because he didn’t like how his name sounded by non-Blue Avian beings. As a child, he had pushed two of his siblings, his brothers, out of the nest so that there was more food for him and so there would be no competition for ownership of his sisters.

Captain Samantha Goldwater, United States Air Force, a member of the Blues Angels,

but typically piloting C130 where she typically introduced people to their first zero G

experience, making them sick. She personally liked seeing the harden men who came at her as if she was merely a prize to win and fuck being humbled after being sick. They came on her plane

with one set of eyes, but left not able to even meet her eyes. When she was young, she had managed to obtained military signal balloons. She filled them with helium, tied them to a lawn chair, tied herself to the lawn chair, and with nothing but a pellet gun for altitude control, she launched herself into the air. She found herself carried aloft, directly into LAX flight path.

Aircraft on final approached were made to go around. News copters and police copters pursued.

Eventually, she braved herself to pop one of the balloons. Her descent was gradual. She was taken into custody, her parents grilled, CPS involvement, and the one question that kept coming at her, was “what the hell were you thinking?” Her answer was always the same: “I have to fly.”

Because of the incident, her parents relented and paid for her to have flying lessons and she became the youngest female pilot to earn a private license, and was flying before legally allowed to drive. Her secret, something she never shared with anyone, which she attributed to insufficient oxygen, was that while aloft she had had an experience. She heard music. She felt herself enmeshed with the sunlight. She had become the embodiment of the poem ‘High Flight’ by John Magee. She had come to the reality head on that the poem wasn’t just a poem, but a map that described a real place, a place she had always known was there but had never managed to touch, but it drove her to what everyone said was madness, an obsession, to fly.

“Loxy Isadora Bliss,” Geon said, nodding politely to me. “A mysterious culmination of energetic trajectories, born of the desire to experience unconditional love and magic. Your greatest strength is your compassion. You hold the secrets of those you love in confidence, the same way you hold the secrets to the Universe, which you are rediscovering through experiences in this present incarnation. Your ability to speak your truth is a strength and your weakness, as you sometimes fail to temper your words to match the listener’s ability to hear. Because of your passion for life, and insufferably high frustration tolerance level, you sometimes fail to see that you, too, have wants and needs and suffer. The greatest need you hold is to connect with your host on a more profound, consistent basis, and you feel as if you have failed him.”

“Clarence,” Geon said, moving on. I so wanted more. I wanted to know what I know

from someone else reading me. “Originating from a human colony on the world known locally as Chiser Fell. The planet is consider a co-opt, and is shared by five other non-indigenous sentient species. As a child, you stole a sacred artifact from a display in your classroom. You blamed it on another child, and though no one could prove it, the social fall out shaped his life from that

point forwards. He ended his life before completing his first tier. This has always bothered you, but insufficiently to allow you the courage to speak your part in the other’s trajectory.”

Clarence eyes swelled with tears, but they didn’t drop.

“Tom,” Geon said. “You pride yourself on being the defender of the weak, and indeed

you have frequently interrupted bullies, making yourself the target. You have done this all your life, surrounding yourself with inferior personalities in order to strengthen your perceived self-worth. You have a natural talent for the healing arts and after a successful career as army medic, you created a successful medical practice on Earth, your origin world. As a trauma specialist, working in an emergency room, you have saved as many lives in the city as you did in battle field, if not more. You are even recognized as a hero by many. What few people know is that you have taken liberties with female patients while they were sedated. Accusations have been made by a few that were not completely rendered unconscious, but were immobilized and aware. You ignored their tears, their silent screams of protest. These accusations have to date been successfully thwarted by your legal team, and a PR firm run by your spouse. All the people who love working with you have come to your defense.”

Tom was rendered speechless. He had an embarrassment response, and heated up so

much that sweat beaded up on his skin.

“Why are you revealing these things?” I asked.

“The Universe needs magicians, healers, and pilots. We do not make distinction between the three categories,” Geon said. “None of you would be in this class if you weren’t already travelers in some way. The greatest thing you must learn in my class is that there are no secrets.

If you travel, you will confront yourself, your past, your future, you friends, your enemies. You will meet them all and you will either grow or you will wither.”

“Why would you teach Tom to fly?” Samantha asked.

“Why not?” Geon asked.

“Because you just called him out as a rapist,” Samantha said.

“It is absolutely true, he has caused harm, by your human standards. If we were his judge, we find he has done more good than harm. In his practice, following the accusations he created a policy where he no longer works alone. There are always two witnesses present when he works, thereby shorting his predilection for taking advantage of those in his care. The part of him that wants to do good is the larger part of him. What your people fail to realize is those that do the

greatest amount of good are frequently struggling with a greater level of darkness. Your own desire to fly stems from an unaddressed fear of falling. When you realize that everyone in the Universe is in a state of falling, you will be liberated from your obsession of opposition to the natural state of affairs.”

“So, your philosophic position condones evil,” Samantha said.

“Recognition is not condoning,” Geon said. “As pilots, we are not judges and

executioners. In the course of your travels, you will encounter culture that are not in harmony with their physical environments. People killing themselves by first killing their worlds. Should you intervene? Had we intervened on Earth, there would only be resentment and rebellion and many more people would die. Messenger after messenger have been sent to your world, and all of them have been killed. You will encounter cultures that are so peculiarly interested in wars that it a social fact, and even when there are no enemies, enemies are created to perpetuate war.

Should you intervene? If you do so, you have engaged in their social fact that war is the only solution.”

Geon stepped closer. “But you will also find, if you look for it, beings that live in harmony, with respect, with love. You will find planets with a hundred time the population of your Earth, living in absolute peace, everyone having their needs met. It is our hope that your species will arrive where we are, where others have gone and surpassed. If we did not believe you were capable of better, you would not be here.”

Geon gave a palms up gesture and holographic display illuminated an arc directly in front of our tables. You could see him or you could see the hologram, but it took effort to see both simultaneously. A graphic display of the ship we would be piloting appeared, like blue prints showing different angles, but connecting them with lines and measurements. What we were looking at was a classic, saucer shaped vehicle.

“The craft we will be training you in is called a Star-seed,” Geon said.

“We’re going pilot UFOs?!” Samantha asked, suddenly very excited.

“It’s no longer unidentified,” Tom said.

“How do you maneuver the craft?” Barry asked. “There’s no ailerons, or any flight

control surfaces, no thrusters, no empennage for stability in horizontal flight...”

“What do you know about ESP?” Geon asked Barry.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. I bit my lip as I realized I said that out loud drawing the class’


“Go ahead,” Geon encouraged me.

I could feel annoyance coming at me from the right, as I considered my response. It

wasn’t like I was delaying to invent an answer as much as I was channeling inspiration and it was bigger than I could process. “It’s all one. We’re all one. There is no separation, so navigating with a Star-seed is a dialogue with self, with it, with the Universe!”

“Oh!” Samantha said. “That explains how UFO have been tracked on radar traveling at

speeds that would melt a meteor, but no one ever hears a sonic boom!”

“There can be no air resistance if you have pacified the air with song,” Geon said.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” I said.

“I want to fly!” Samantha said.

The male peers were looking at Samantha and I as if we were nuts. There was a sound

behind us and we turned to see another series of lights had come on, adding to the lit space in the room. When I had started class, I had seen this space through the lens of a theatre analogy. It was much bigger. I was now seeing us in an aircraft hangar space. Five egg shape craft set in cradles, with ramps leading up into them, were behind us, spaced out.

“They don’t look like the graphics,” Tom said.

“They’re simulators,” Clarence said.

“No, these are the Star-seeds,” Geon said, walking towards them. It was all Samantha and I could do not to rush our eggs and dive in. “The saucer shape is an energetic manifestation of the mind, and usually denotes inexperienced pilots. Spheroid ships tend to be indicate Ace level pilots.”

“Why do we need a ship at all?” I asked.

Again, folks were looking at me as if I were nuts. Their questioning gazes didn’t make much sense. At least three of my peers were senior level magicians at Safe Haven. Geon Smiled.

“Baby steps, Loxy. Most of the Universe isn’t where you are. And on the physical plane, people need a place holder. This is like a shuttle cock, weaving your thread through the tapestry of life.”

We drew closer to the ships. It was hard to say exactly what they were made of. It looked like a resin, or crystal, but it could have even been wood. I had the clear impression that these things were grown, and were either organic living beings, or the direct by product of a living

being. Many people think crystals are alive. And why not. DNA is a crystalline form, and it does some amazing things. If you imagine DNA as just a robotic, mechanical by product of chemical activity, then you know nothing about DNA.

“This can’t be safe,” Tom said.

“These are only as stable as the pilots who fly them,” Geon said.

“Tom is right,” Clarence said. “You’re asking us to navigate the Universe in things that are no thicker than an egg shell?”

“The Apollo astronauts went to the moon in ships that were hardly more than gold plated tinfoil,” Samantha pointed out.

“Give me one of those!” Clarence said. “Seriously. This is like taking a dug out log canoe across the pacific. There is no way…”

“People have done that!” Samantha said. “How do you think the Polynesian islands got populated?”

“Oh, so, the Castaways were only stuck on the island because they lacked vision?” I

asked. Think about it? The so called Savages were navigating the world before GPS, and so, now a days, a human wouldn’t even set forth without ship and sail and compass. We have forgotten how to see the stars.

“This is not fucking Gilligan’s Island,” Tom snapped. “Something bad happens, you’re not making up with your friends at the end of the episode.”

“What bad could happen?” I asked.

“How old are you?!” Tom asked.

“These things are notorious for crashing!” Clarence said. “Explain the crashes”

Geon nodded. “Pilots are physical beings. Mortal beings. They get distracted. The make mistakes. They get cocky. They take risks. Things happen. Concentrated radar technology has been known to interfere with ship operations. The shells are essentially life pods, designed to keep the pilot alive, regardless of environment. In the event of a crash, all kinetic energy is absorbed by the energy shield around the hull. The shell itself can withstand enormous amounts of pressure, and worst case scenario, a breach occurs and the pilot will wake up, born out this shell as if coming out of an airbag. A crash of such severity usually leaves no trace of a ship, as all components were converted into energy to save the pilot. Any debris is design to break down in the most efficient, ecologically sound manner as possible.”

“That’s why there is never any evidence?” Samantha asked.

“I want a real ship,” Tom said.

“What’s a real ship?” Samantha asked.

“I don’t know. The Enterprise?” Tom said.

“Bulk doesn’t guarantee safety,” Geon said. “Oil tankers crash too. Your first mission is to pilot your ships to some remote location, collect a sample, and return.”

Samantha and I headed to the ships. The males hesitated, so we delayed to understand their reluctance.

“You haven’t taught us how to fly them yet,” Barry said.

“Go learn,” Geon said.

“Just like that?” Tom asked. “Just get in and go?”

“You will never master swimming if you continue to wear water wings,” Geon said.

“You claim to be an adult. Do you wish to be coddled?”

“Yes!” Tom said.

“This is not brain surgery,” Geon said. “Proceed to your craft. I will expect you to return within five minutes of your departure.”

“You want us to go somewhere collect a sample and be back in five minutes?” Barry


“That’s impossible!” Clarence said.

Tom was livid.

“We will repeat the exercise until the objectives have been met,” Geon said. “Proceed to your craft.”

Samantha touched my arm. I hugged her. We then went to our designated Star-seed and

boarded our craft, no longer concern with what the boys were up to. Penny accompanied me into my ship.

“This is simple, Loxy. You got this,” Penny said. “When you’re ready to fly, you place your hand on this pedestal. You will remain standing for the duration of the flight. I will be tracking you from the desk station inside, however, this mission will be completed using communication blackout protocols. It is essential that you trust yourself enough to navigate without someone holding your hand. This is why we incarnate into physical bodies; we come here so we can experience the quiet solitude within the greater mind of the One.”

“I like you,” I said.

“May you always return,” Penny said, bowing slightly. She exited the craft.

I turned forwards. There was no window. There was really nothing specifically

interesting to look out, as it was all white. I supposed it sparked here and there, but I wasn’t sure if that was just random noise my eyes were experiencing in the bright whiteness. I placed my hand on the pedestal. I could suddenly see. I had to close my eyes to make sense of it all. I felt alive. I could feel every cell in my body pulsing with heartbeats. I had another full body orgasm, just like at the desk, and I just wanted to melt into it and go to sleep. I told myself to withdraw the ramp. It was absorbed back into the ship and the door closed. I could see the professor and his entourage as they withdrew back to the desks. Penny was now at my desk. Ea was at Samantha’s desk. Samantha’s ship was next to mine and though I could see the ship, I was also aware that it was Samantha. I couldn’t see her, but I knew it was her. As she powered up, the egg shaped seemed to morph into a saucer. I don’t think the ship itself was morphing, but energies were gathering around it, like a storm. The flat end of the disk reminded me of the rings of Saturn.

Further away, directly in front of us, was a moon gate, looking out at into space. I thought go there, but the ship didn’t move. I laughed as I realized the egg was still cradled. I thought up, actually felt myself trying to stand even though I was already standing, and the ship went up. I proceeded forward, feeling a slight incline towards the floor, as if the saucer was nose heavy. I opened my eyes and felt as if I were still level. I close my eyes, and leveled the saucer from the frame work of the floor, and accelerated away. Maybe I didn’t even have to orientate.

I was born out into space and looking back, I now saw that we were holding class on a larger vessel. Down below was Safe Haven planet. Then, I saw the black hole. I was tempted to go there, but I didn’t. I was probably lucky that the ship was sophisticated enough not to respond to just any old thought, or… I don’t know. Are black holes gateways or dead ends? Was it Hawking’s who suggested that we already live in a black hole? No, not in, but on the surface of.

Hawking is very clear, all information resides on the surface of the black hole. But if we are two dimensional beings on the surface of a black hole, experiencing a three dimensional life, than what is this black hole? A hole on the surface of another hole?

I turned away from the abstract and focused on what I could see. Here I was, in space, feeling alive and awake, and on the verge of another orgasm. You would think, that’s all I would

want to think about and write about is the fact this ship was getting me off, but it wasn’t the ship alone. I was tuned into the Universe. That’s a lot of energy to be channeling. I wasn’t seeing with my eyes, I was experiencing everything through the conduit of my body. I wondered, if the body didn’t have the grounding experience of the orgasm if I would have been able to stay in the physical realm. I wonder if the other pilots were experiencing this. This was joy. This was pure light, only I wasn’t overwhelmed. If I had another orgasm, yay, but it wasn’t my goal. I was just experiencing.

Here I was, in a ship capable of going anywhere in space/time, and I only wanted to go one place. “Home,” I said. And then I was there.

Chapter 7

There are a number of reason that UFO sightings go unreported. The first, and most obvious reason, is ridicule. Seriously. Lots of people see things. Lots of people saw the UFO in PHoneix, and even the governor ridicule the masses. It was a big deal, and he had to apologize because the people were offended. They saw something and they wanted it treated seriously. The UFO over Chicago’s O’Hare airport was met by ridicule, too, but unlike the Phoenix sighting, the ridicule squashed it for about ten years. The thing is, you can’t keep those events silent. Maybe it’s not because there is agenda to keep UFO secret, but people laugh, or disparage others, because we society can’t handle. Individuals can, but society, that invisible link that holds us together, so fragile it is nothing more than strand of soap bubbles, and so society pushes back with automatic reflexes. And this automatic reflex isn’t just describing society at large, but it also describes interactions with friends and family; even though almost everyone wants to know if you ever saw a UFO, and it’s the thing most people secretly want to talk about and experience for themselves because we all want to know is there anyone else out there, that conversation tends to get shut down. If a single person tells an experience to the media, the intensity of the ridicule increases a hundred fold. Usually, these stories die there. In the case of mass sightings, multiple people seeing things, it still gets shut down. If you watch the movie Close Encounters, there is a scene where the community is trying to talk to government officials in front of media, and they are dismissed and ridiculed. That movie was in 1977. The Phoenix Lights incident occurred in 1997. 1997 people are more hip and knowledgeable about such matters than 1977 people, and yet, at the town hall meeting the governor seriously disparaged people by bringing out his aide dressed as an alien. Seriously, even if it was nothing but an attempt to soften the anxiety, the governor’s response paralleled that of the movie. The Chicago sighting was November 7th, 2006.

Pilots saw it, crews pushing the airplane back saw it, and stopped the push. People in the terminal saw it. People around the airport saw it. But the people in the tower ridiculed them saying it was just weather. What weather is shaped like a UFO? What weather phenomena punches a hole in the cloud revealing blue skies? More, when the media asked the tower people, at first everyone denied an incident, no reports were made, and then a couple of weeks later there was evidence that tower did receive reports and they were dismissed. Not just dismissed, but vehemently dismissed, as if they were angry. Angry to the point of disparaging the witnesses.

Here’s something to consider about the Phoenix Lights incident that no one talks about.

The incident occurred March 13th, 1997. It did not make the newspaper until June. The day USA today carried it in June, most local new channels did a thirty second segment talking about the lights. No one wanted to put this on, but because there were so many witnesses to the event, and they were getting mad about not being heard, the media quelled it by pushing a quick, dirty story that pushed military flares as the best explanation, and the mobs dispersed. The Chicago incident got worldwide attention, but through word of mouth. The local new agency was going to run something, but that news story got squashed. Someone made a copy of the preparation and the beginning, and it got released in 2017, eleven years after the incident. I tell you that not because I think there is a secret agenda or people are inherently bad, but because the suppression of this is a phenomena in itself, and it’s tangible. You know the people in the tower saw the same thing, but there jobs are dependent on them being rational, and UFO’s are not rational. They probably call their superiors and their superiors said squash it, because you know this to be true, this happens all the time and their superior’s boss is also telling them to squash it.

It was not flares. Aircraft on final approach to Phoenix International were being rerouted because their radar and the tower’s radar said there was a massive object in the way. Most of the pilots didn’t even see the lights, they saw the radar image of this thing; you can hear them discussing the object with the tower. Some pilots did see the lights. Kurt Russell happens to be one of the pilots who radioed in asking about the lights. Flares do not ping on radar, they don’t move in unison, and they don’t last hours. This sighting lasted from just before dusk till full dark.

People on the ground witnessed stars being occluded. They were seeing something solid, even if they couldn’t describe it precisely.

I tell you that so that you can understand how it is I arrive at Earth, 2016 and zipped along the skyline unacknowledged, unmolested, and if anyone did notice, they simply looked away and pushed on. My ship emerged from a fold in space and zipped across the sky as if there was no air to contend with. There was no pressure wave. If you were lucky, you heard a whisper.

If you noticed at all. I arrived at my home. Jon Harister’s home. And I lit it up. When he didn’t come out to investigate, I went inside. He was asleep and I woke him by touching him lightly.

Jon sat up, gasping. The light that flooded the room was intense, on the blue end of the spectrum.

“Shh, Jon, it’s me,” I said, sitting next to him, my hands on his hands.

“Loxy?!” Jon asked. “You’re real?”

“You doubt?” I asked, amused. “You can’t put that much energy into a girl and she not show up eventually.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking you’d be like a ghost,” Jon said. His hands went to my face and he touched me gently. He found me solid enough.

“Freaky, isn’t it?” I asked.

Jon hugged me up as if discovering for the first time a new friend; new, but someone he has known forever and was suddenly reunited. He cried into my shoulder, I could feel his stomach trying to contain it, but also just relieved that it could finally dispel some of the energy he had been saving all his life. I waited till he finished. He withdrew on his own time, wiping his eyes. He was looking at the window. He was trying to understand the light.

“Sustained lightening?” he said. “Has time stopped?”

“Well, if you had been driving instead of sleeping, you might have noticed some missing time and wondered,” I said.

“What? Am I dreaming?” Jon asked.

“No. I am really here and you are really here, but you’re probably not going to remember this encounter. If you do retain anything, you’re going to remember things differently. At this point in the time line, you’re still convincing yourself that I am real, and so I am interacting with you on a more subtle, subconscious level. Your conscious mind will not be able keep this memory yet because it lacks the contextual architecture necessary for you to re-experience it. But I promise, you keep building the synapses, and one day, you’re going to wake up to a very different reality than what you have experienced. And one day, you will even remember this.”


“Jon, I need your help with something,” I said.

“Did you steal a UFO?” Jon asked.

“OMG, Jon, really?” I asked.

“I am trying to explain…”

“Stop trying to make rational sense out of the irrational,” I said. “I would never steal a UFO. Okay, maybe, on a whim, I might borrow one, but borrowing is not necessarily stealing, and OMG! Why are we talking about this? I need a sample.”

“What kind of sample?” Jon asked. I smiled. “A hair sample?” I shook my head. “A

blood sample.” I shook my head. “Saliva?”

“That would be a good start,” I said, kissing him and pushing him back to the bed.

“Wait wait wait,” Jon said. I was on top of him and he was looking up at me, my hair brushing his face.

“Seriously?!” I asked, looking him dead in the eyes. “All the thoughts you have held about what we would do when we first met, even the ones you think you have suppressed, and you’re holding back?”

“I am just trying to make sure I am not imposing my will on you,” Jon said.

“OMG, that fucking horse left the barn a long time ago,” I said.

“You really want to?”

“I really do,” I assured him.

“Cause, I mean, if you just need a specimen, I could knock one out in a glass,” Jon


“Oh, well, I would like to watch that, but I figure, this first time, since I need a sample, I might as well participate in the collection,” I said.

We resumed kissing. His hands explored my body with an unanticipated hunger. But

again, he stopped, gasping.

“What?!” I asked, exasperated. I don’t know why I was impatient. I had already over-

extended my out time.

“It’s just, I’m like extremely over stimulated and I…” Jon was trying to explain he wasn’t going to last long given our present enthusiasm level.

I, too, was overstimulated. I was already wet and overstimulated due to ship interaction, but also, just wanting to come here and be with Jon had increased my wetness and desire. He sleeps naked. I wasn’t wearing panties. I adjusted and took him in and purposely pushed myself against him hard and fast to get that first one accomplished. My hands clung tightly to his chest.

His whole body resounded with an earth shaking quiver. I hovered over his face in the aftermath, his eyes dilated even in this blue light of the Star-seed.

“Okay?” I asked.

Jon nodded.

“Are you going to fall asleep now?” I asked.

Jon shook his head ‘no.’

“Can you focus on me now?” I asked.

Jon nodded. I took my clothes off and he seriously focused on me. He rolled me to the bed, using hands, fingers, tongue and lips to get me off. And then we engaged in round two.


I arrived back at class expecting to be last. I wasn’t even late. I was gone for at least an hour, but had arrived back at exactly four minutes, fifty three seconds. Samantha arrived back at fifty five seconds. I was descending the ramp as she was settling onto the pedestal. I waited till she emerged from her ship. She came down and I greeted her with the hug. If she smelled sex on me, she didn’t say anything. We became aware that Geon was appraising us from the ‘classroom,’

and so we went to our respective tables. Geon indicated that we should remain quiet by putting a finger to his lips.

Tom arrived next at 6 minutes 22 seconds. He approached the table with a box, a little bigger than a shoebox. He seemed anxious to show us, but Geon stilled him without words. We waited. I wanted to make a joke or something to fill the emptiness but I noticed Penny’s eyes, smiling, but a subtle shake of the head said no. Barry arrived at plus seven minutes. He placed a flower on his desk. Clarence arrived at nine minutes. He sat a stone down on his desk. It made a noise. The thing in Tom’s box made a cry, pushed out, and flew directly to me, landing on my shoulder, its tail wrapping around my neck. It screeched in Tom’s direction.

You would think I would have been all startled by this flying lizard that had attached itself to me, but I was angry.

“What the fuck, Tom! What the hell are you thinking bringing a creature like this out of its environment?” I demanded.

“We were told to bring something back, I brought something back,” Tom said.

“What the fuck is it?” Barry asked, clearly afraid of it.

“It reminds me of the dragons of Pern, before humans made them bigger through genetic manipulations,” Samantha said.

“Give it back,” Tom said, trying to take it. It snapped at his hand, and tightened its tail against my neck.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I won’t let him hurt you,” I said, stroking its head. It could have seriously strangled me with its fear, but I remained calm, and my calmness soothed it.

Ea came and collected it. It went with her, and she departed in one of the eggs,

presumably to take it home.

“Samantha?” Geon asked. “What did you bring back?”

Samantha took a blue feather out of her bag and placed it on her table to be examined.

“And Loxy?” Geon asked.

“Um, well, I didn’t know were going to do show and tell,” I said.

“Why else would he ask us to collect a sample?” Tom said more than asked.

“You did collect a sample?” Geon asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Multiples.”

“Would you please share it with the class,” Geon said.

“I am not sure my peers are going to want examine sperm,” I said.

Samantha nearly laughed.

“You collected it in a vial?” Tersa asked.

“Oh, well, no, not exactly,” I said.

“Where did you put it?” Tea asked.

“Where do most people collect it?” I asked.

“Fucking whore,” Tom muttered.

“Project much?” I asked him.

“Careful, Freshman,” Tom said. “I am you’re superior in every way.”

“I am glad you see it that way,” I said. “As the superior person, I expect you to


“Fuck you,” Tom said.

“I guarantee you, if you don’t apologize this instant, you will never have sex again,” I said.

“Fucking freshman, you can’t touch me,” Tom said.

“It’s done, Sir. You’re spell bound. No more sex for you until you apologize,” I said.

He scoffed. “Whatever, bitch,” Tom said.

“Are you two through?” Geon asked.

“Why aren’t you intervening?” Samantha demanded.

“They’re adults,” Geon said.

“So?” Samantha asked.

I touched her arm. “Thank you, Samantha. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I have had to put up with this kind of bullshit all my life,” Samantha said.

She turned to Geon. “You are clearly in a position of authority. You should intervene.”

“Again, I am not your judge, your jury. I am not the thought police or the behavior

police,” Geon said. “I am your professor and my only job is to teach you to pilot our craft. I am not dismissing your concerns. If you wish to withdraw from this class, I will accept your resignation.”

Samantha silently fumed, sorting. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Can’t do that, or won’t do that?” Geon asked. “Is this project you’re being recruited for worth the costs?”

“I will not back down,” Samantha said, resolute. There was a fierceness in her eyes. She would fight.

Geon drew closer to her. “The people you’re about to work for make Tom look like a boy scout.” Geon turned to me, motioning Penny over.

Penny approached with a device. It basically looked like a miniature dildo. “I would like you to insert this into the cavity in which the sample was collected.”

I didn’t even consider not doing it, nor did I have any problems with the lack of privacy. I considered the privacy thing afterwards, noting how uncomfortable my classmates had become.

Well, Samantha wasn’t bothered. Birdman was kind of curious, but looked away out of shyness or respect. Why do so many cultures care so much about anatomy, when we all share anatomy?

Why can’t men and women urinate in the same bathroom? We all pee. We all have junk. This device that I inserted into me was nothing more than a sophisticated pap smear. It didn’t hurt.

And it was hardly in me for more than five second before it alerted me that it had performed its task. I withdrew it, handed the device back in a way that Penny could accept the handle without touching the part that got inserted, but she was clearly not squeamish or concerned in the least.

The Tall Whites gathered before the students, huddled in a private counsel session. A holographic interface popped up. They were clearly having a telepathic exchange that we weren’t privy to, but I angled myself to get a better view of their virtual interface. I couldn’t see everything because the virtual interface wrapped around them. So, here’s what you need to know

about human eggs and sperm. They’re not just half of the host DNA. If they were exactly half, every offspring of a couple would be clones; no sibling deviation. It’s better to consider each sperm and egg has having a sampling of the adult DNA. If you go with the materialist’s explanation, everything comes together due to chemical messengers and they are just little biological machines doing their thing. There is more to it than that. Soul influences gene expression. Each soul expresses choice, and is making sophisticated decisions in response to the fetal environment, and to the social environment that the mother lives in. The egg is not just a vulnerable entity being ambushed by sperm, it has its own mind, and the influence of the soul directing it. The egg, the sperm and the soul are all participating in the selection process; it’s a negotiation and a contract. No two sperm have ever penetrated an egg. Once the egg and sperm are one, there is no more negotiation. The other sperm live out the remainder of their short life, and then go where all dead cells go. The body has a place for them. The selection process doesn’t end there. I am of the particular mindset that the soul that has chosen to incarnate is now interacting with the DNA so that it can have a say in what gets expressed and when. DNA is sentient, it holds memories. More and more studies seem to be confirming this attribute of DNA, as scientist have noticed that people suffering from PTSD are passing the memories of the trauma to their offspring’s. When they prove this to be true beyond doubt, it will bring new meaning to the sins of the father lasting seven generations. Ripples in a sentient pond. And yes, I mean even the water itself seems sentient, or reactive to sentience, and holds memories. You want evidence? Research Masaru Emoto.

The Tall Whites were not just tracking sperm. They were tracking everything. In the

course of intercourse, all kinds of information is exchanged. It’s not just sperm cells that get collected. Bodily fluids get swapped. Live cells and dead cells get exchanged, some of which came off due to friction, and just some stray cells just in the wrong place at the wrong time that got washed out with the exchange of fluids. Micro openings allow occasional blood cell or t-cell to break free and go into the mix. Skin respond to touch, and kin on Skin contact creates an exchange of energy and information, not just heat information and touch information. Though maybe women take on more of the exchange then men, men also take the women’s cells into her.

Some of these exchange cells actually manage to survive within the new host and create colonies. Most the time, they live in happily within their new environments. Maybe that’s why people tend to look like their spouses the longer they live together and interact. Maybe that

explains why women tend to be more telepathically connected to their children and lovers. (If you didn’t know it, cells removed from the host body still respond to the host. A remote saliva cell will produce saliva if the host is confronted with food.) We are not isolated individuals living in vacuum. We are dynamic and we exchange information; even just through breathing, you’re pushing neural transmitters. If you are calm, those in your environment tend to be calm. If you’re breathing in a room with others, there is an exchange rate. The thing is, they don’t even have to be present. Anyone who was ever in that room has left chemical traces of their existence, their thoughts, and their emotions. The reason we tend to not pick up on this is because we ignore it. And anytime anyone has an inexplicable stray thought or thinks they heard a whisper and reports it, well, they get shut down real quick by family and friends telling them not to be crazy.

An image of Jon appeared on one of the screens. It was a virtual copy of him. The image reflected the right age, but it was remarkably different. The virtual image revealed a Jon that would have been uninfluenced by physical and social environments. It lacked the forehead wrinkles and frown lines. I saw cell counts. The device had captured or taken detailed scans of live sperm cells. Sperm live about six days. Human sperm takes three days for them to travel to where they need to be to impregnate the female. You don’t just get a deposit and instantly get pregnant. They had a live count, a dead count, and a count of the healthy sperm via the immobile ones and the broken ones. Yep, even in the sperm making production, some come out

incomplete. They had skin cells, dead and alive. They had some hair strands. They had access to whole host of different tissues that I had provided and so they had a virtual image of me and DNA. I am sure that they were impressed by the fact a mere ‘thought form’ has DNA. It’s not surprising to me that my DNA is the most compatible with Jon’s DNA than anyone else’s in the whole Universe. Whether you believe he created me or called me into being or simply allowed for a sophisticated response from the Universe to fulfill a need in him, he and I are complimentary forms.

They closed down their virtual interface. Geon approached us while his posse retreated back to their places for observation. Except Penny and Tersa. They departed with the device on a mission. I was curious. For a moment, I nearly worried about my reproductive rights and wanted to control the material they had collected. Part of that was I also felt obligated to protect Jon’s reproductive rights, and for them to carry off live sperm seemed like a breach of contract

between me and Jon. (There is no contract, of course. Most people who have sex don’t consider their reproductive rights or contract out. Most people don’t even talk about what they will do if a pregnancy occurs. If you a guy makes a deposit without a condom, is it hers to keep? If she had the technology to collect and store it and use it later, or sell it or give it away, is it legally hers to dispense as she pleases?) And then I decided, there is no ownership. Everything in the Universe belongs to the Universe, and if Tall Whites need sperm or eggs, I am happy to oblige. Earth didn’t get to nine billion people being stingy about that stuff. And if you consider the amount of intentional waste of said reproductive materials… Well, there is no way around waste. That’s nature’s way. You throw a million seeds and hoping for at least one tree out of the mix.

“Oh!” I said. “Star-seeds! You’re expanding the boundaries of life by looking for niches to exploit.”

Geon smiled, nodded. “It’s a cooperative venture. There is a great expanse of realty that is calling to be inhabited. We are going to do this exercise again. Samantha and Loxy are excused, as you met criteria. Tom, Clarence, and Barry, please take your Star-seeds out into the Universe, and come back within five minutes of your departure.”

“There’s just no way,” Tom said.

“Explain how Loxy got her sample and returned within the confines of the parameters?”

Geon asked.

“Her partner is a premature ejaculator,” Tom said.

I laughed.

“Samantha,” Geon said. “Your flight recorder shows you were out there for forty five minutes. How did you return in under five?”

“Space-time is an illusion. I just aimed the Star-seed towards the space-time coordinates and here I was,” Samantha said.

“Loxy?” Geon asked.

“I agree with Samantha,” I said.

“How do you translate the experience?” Geon asked.

“There is only consciousness. All physical artifacts within the 3 dimensional universe are artifacts of consciousness, made of consciousness. I asked that I be returned to this place, and the Universe allowed my passage,” Loxy said. “Essentially, we live in a dream. We are all but dreamers in a dreamscape that stems from the One Dreamer. I, due to the grace of the Great

Dreamer, have been given the keys to the Universe, and an invitation to grow and learn and be a part of this complex dance we call life.”

“OMG, can you spare us your philosophy?” Tom asked.

Geon turned to him. “When you have developed a philosophy that allows you to travel as well as she, you may criticize her flight path. Until I say otherwise, Loxy Isadora Bliss is the Lead pilot in this squadron. All future flights will defer to her. But for now, you three need to accomplish this one, simple mission. Until you demonstrate this, we cannot move forwards to formation flights. Go. Samantha, Loxy. You may stay here, or take your Star-seeds out and play until they get back.”

Chapter 8

I took Samantha’s hand and asked her to come with me. She agreed and we boarded my Starseed and I took us out into the Universe. I made the walls transparent, so Samantha could see. I would like to be precise in where I was taking us, but I don’t really have the language set necessary to transmit the information, and I know for a fact that few others can accept even a partial symbol of my map. Seriously, ask anyone on the street about an object in our solar system, or even Earth’s position, and you’re likely to get a wrong response. Some people even mix up solar system and galaxy, which is bizarre to me. Hollywood is absolutely no help in gaining clarity, because none of them get it right, and the few who do have it right dumb it down because they think their audience are idiots, or because they couldn’t think of a reach around their plot contrivance. Mark my words, sci fi people are sophisticated enough that no one should dumbing anything down. Seriously, make sophisticated science fiction and you will make money. But don’t make something stupid and then blame not making money on your audience not understanding something. They understood just fine. Hollywood serves us crap and we don’t want crap.

My home world is not in the Milky Way. It’s not even in the local group. The Universe is so big I that even I struggle to put it in perspective. If you had a globe with the entire universe on the surface, and you could represent where earth was compared to my planet was, you still wouldn’t find it, and you couldn’t draw a straight line to it. But that’s where I took the Star-seed.

It’s where I took Samantha.

We arrived above a pristine world with blue skies, blue and green waters, and an active volcano visible from orbit. I took us in and down over the waters, across black beaches, and stretches of beaches with primordial rocks rising up out of the mist hovering over the ocean along the shorelines. Any may ways, it is similar to Tanjung Papuma beach. We didn’t so much as turn inland as much as we proceeded over land as the shoreline turned in front of us. We arrived at my home that was built up on scaffolding so that the house was above the trees lines.

The house was windows all away around, and there was balcony all away around, and you could see up the mountain or down into the valley. Wild parrots gave the green colors as they were Christmas ornaments. I parked the Star-seed in hover mode, extending the ramp to the balcony.

We had to climb over the pine fence that skirted the balcony.

“Where are we?” Samantha asked.

“My home,” I said.