Life has an interesting way of manifesting.  I went through much of my life, unconscious of the connection between thought and reality, namely: my own thoughts, my personal reality.

The older, some say wiser, I got, the more this became obvious.  Many say that now is a great time of manifestation on our planet.  I believe this.  Of course, I imagine all times in history offered an opportunity to manifest; but perhaps we were not ready, nor understood the conscious and unconscious connection that we have to our reality.

I just published a novel. Interestingly, it follows parallels we are experiencing on our planet now.  The third book in a Trilogy, these stories come from my own experiences, and through channeling, or my muse (depending on how you view inspiration and knowing).

Being a seer of Mystical Realism is a form of art I only recently discovered was within me.  We all have art in some shape, or form, waiting to be unleashed.

As I read my Introduction today, I wondered how I have gotten to this place of understanding and storytelling.  I suppose by going deep within, where all beauty lies.

And so it starts:

Over 30,000 years ago we had evolved.  Because we had honored the land, and each other, we had transcended.

The foliage was thick; the land was cold. The foliage died; and the land was hot.

Through it all we persevered; we survived; we thrived.

Over 30,000 years ago we began to master the elements: the sorcery. Yet, through our evolution, we forgot our beginnings.

In love and light, we saw only the love: the purity of being, the oneness.  We arose to a place of lightness, to a vibration of peace and tranquility.  We were translucent in our form, and heavenly in our thoughts.

Thoughts were not what we knew them to be for—now—we were one, and were in the moment of all moments, of all times.  We lay in the cradle of bliss and loved in the openness of all.

In such a state, we opened ourselves to the planetary forces that descended; and in love we accepted their arrival with open arms. In our light, we saw no dark and, in seeing no dark, we opened ourselves up to falling back down, to starting over, to beginning again.  Not in a cave of rock, but in a cave of our own making.

Tonight, I sit on the beach in the darkness.  A fire smolders as a Hindu priest relays ancient wisdom to me through a translator.  In the darkness, I listen and I observe.  I have come so far on my journey.  Yet, here I sit alone, in the dark, with these two men whom I have asked for guidance.

Have I gone astray?  Is this real?  So much has come through to me and my friends from the Community.  What the priest is telling me is not what I had expected to hear.  I did not expect to go back before Sumeria for the answers to humanity’s salvation.  I had thought the efforts we had made in the Community would have helped with the evolution of man.  I had hoped that we would at least have made some strides in relaying the truths in a way that others would understand.

Perhaps the cycles of time are hard to fathom.  If Christ, Buddha, and all the saints and sages, had not been able to relay such a simple truth in a way that humans could understand, how could I expect that we would have been able to do so?

The history is.

The pattern is laughable.

After 30,000 years we—as light—could not comprehend the dark of our downfall, as we had forgotten our history in the name of only seeing the light. We fell.  Now, a mere 6,000 years after our most recent rise and fall, we are again falling deep into the dark, returning to our most ancient roots.

Perhaps, our earth mother feels our pain and assists in accelerating our plight.  For, even in an age of ice, we rose to our highest selves.

Perhaps, we have again forgotten.  In the depths of the isolation of our being, in the depths of our individual caves, and in this modern world, we grasp firmly to anything we can hold on to, trying not to drown in the chaos of separatism around us.

I had seen the handprints in the cave in Sulawesi, Indonesia, earlier this week. The prints date back some 37,000 to 44,000 years. I had felt in the energies of those ancient peoples the beginnings of our cycle to ascension.

Sitting on the beach with the priest, and the translator, I understood that the ramifications of what I now know are beyond anything the team expected.

Perhaps we did not fail.  Perhaps we were only beginning to unlock the answer: not an answer from the times of Christ; not an answer from the times of ancient Egypt, or Sumeria.  Those times held answers.  But these answers were closer to the end of our story, or the beginning of our current cycle into darkness.

No, the real answers lie in our beginnings: before we fell; before the ancient Starseed interventions and attacks.

Here in Indonesia, I feel safe.  My daughter is due to meet me tomorrow.  The world is literally exploding around me.  Yet here—on this beach, with this priest, in the dark— I feel safe.

The last ember of the fire dies.  The sky is magical, and the light from the stars and the moon lead me back to my hut on the seashore.  Sitting on my porch steps, I look up at the stars and ask for guidance.

I thought I was done.  I thought it was all too much.  I thought we had failed.  But how can I look away now, after seeing the handprints in the ancient cave, and knowing that there is in fact a way out?

The novel, The Women of the Rose, Beyond Light and Dark, asks the age old question: what is real, and what is reality?  This question, I dare say, is unavoidable at the moment.

The Women of The Rose, Beyond Light and Dark