Saturday, January 13, 2018

From the Planet.... GONG! (In loving memory of Daevid Allen)



The Origins of Gong
Gong came into being almost by accident in the late sixties when Daevid Allen was refused entry back into Britain following European dates with Soft Machine. Deciding to stay in Paris, Allen began working alongside Gilli Smyth and various musicians on what would eventually become the phenomenal Gong.

The first recognized recordings from the band were Magick Brother, Mystic Sister (1970), followed by albums such as Camembert Electrique, Flying Teapot, and You.

Various permutations of Gong have worked together over the years under various names including Mother Gong, Expresso Gong, Gongmaison, Planet Gong, and so on and so forth. They have all included an amazing array of musical talent moving through the ranks, to name but a few: Didier Malherbe aka Bloomdido Bad de Grasse, Steve Hillage, Pierre Moerlen, Mike Howlett, Steffi Sharpstrings, Tim Blake, Hugh Hopper, and Robert Wyatt.

Gongmaison came about in April 1989 after Daevid Allen's return to the UK and, more importantly, following a French gig with former Gong member Didier Malherbe (pictured left, the most amazing wind instrumentalist alive on Earth - but, alas, a fact known only to initiates of GAS - or the Gong Appreciation Society!).

The name "Gongmaison" alluded to the mixture of house/jazz that the band played at the time - which, in fact, was nearer to house music although it still contained all the relevant Gong elements of old. This video clip comes from the band's performance in the early nineties and was filmed at the Fridge in Brixton.

The line-up includes key members of Gong - Daevid Allen, Didier Malherbe and the wiccan poet Gilli Smyth aka Shakti Yoni (right) who developed her own vocal technique dubbed the Space Whisper. It was Shakti Yoni, in fact, who helped to craft Gong's elaborate cosmomythology through her inspired poetry and storytelling.




The impact of GONG on my life

In the early 1970s I was in the habit of shopping for LPs in Singapore. My favorite source was Sing & Co. on Hill Street because they always had some real finds in the cheap bin. On one such occasion I spotted three albums by an unknown band called Gong. Drawn to the cover art (which depicted Pot Head Pixies in their Flying Teapots), I bought two albums without a moment's hesitation - and I wasn't disappointed one bit! In fact, I couldn't wait to return a few weeks later for Angels Egg which I had been forced by budget constraints to leave behind :-)

In 1969 I had been subjected to electroshock therapy on account of the amazing "visions" I'd been experiencing - of contact with extraterrestrials and angels and an Earth reborn in rainbow splendor, gone the historical (and hysterical) nightmare of smelly politics, rotten economics, and perpetual war. Looking at the Gong album artwork and listening to their fantastic music enormously cheered me and reconnected me with my core being. In Gong I had found my own spiritual and musical family at last - indeed, I'd go as far as to say Gong helped me regain my cosmic equilibrium and PHP humor! [PHP in this instance refers, of course, to "Pot Head Pixie" - NOT "Hypertext Preprocessor"!]

Gong's music, I thought, was akin to dervish dancing in that it induced in the listener a beatific trance state, opening one's consciousness to the kaleidoscopic worlds awaiting our discovery within our own neurology. Through all the ensuing decades, Gong and everything they represent have served as trusty friends and soul-family.

I'm indeed overjoyed to learn that Gong is very much alive and well. Daevid Allen is now a still-spritely 69 and rumored to be living in Byron Bay, New South Wales. His latest project is the University of Errors and I recommend a leisurely tour for some exquisite mental stimulation and not a few hearty belly laughs.

OWLY SONG by Daevid Allen (animation by Merav Shacham aka Bananamoon)



Watch GONG live in Nottingham, 1990!

The entire 7-part concert is on YouTube but as I can't embed the videos here, just click on each segment (if you don't have the patience to sit through all of it, go for Part 5 where Didier goes wild on his Yamaha WX7!):

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4a | Part 4b | Part 5 | Part 6

Daevid Allen in 1975: Cozmik Mad Hatter, Wizard of the Keys, and Master of Fohat

[First posted 20 June 2007, reposted 13 March 2015]



DAEVID ALLEN DIED ON 13 MARCH 2015. BUT HIS SON ORLANDO MONDAY ALLEN (ALSO A BRILLIANT MUSICIAN & PRODUCER) IS KEEPING THE FLAME BURNING BRIGHT FOR HIS MAGICAL PARENTS DAEVID ALLEN & GILLI SMYTH! 

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

A Tribute to Rev. Mario Schoenmaker (18 November 1929 ~ 12 January 1997)



Soft drinks, hardheadedness, missionary aliens & funky ad campaigns that never saw the light of day...

1985 AD CAMPAIGN PROPOSAL FOR FRASER & NEAVE (MALAYA)

Concept & Copywriting - M. Eeel (Antares)
Artwork by Mohd Nor Khalid (Dato' Lat)

Story Outline

On a planet called Glug (where thirst is unknown) there are two intelligent species, viz., the Fun-loving Effs and the very Nice Enns.

The Effs and the Enns are highly evolved beings, sparkling of spirit and always joyful. Since there are no serious problems on Glug, young Gluglings are usually sent on special missions to more primitive worlds where through service and direct experience of hardship they acquire maturity.

Earth happens to be an important training ground for Glugling youths. This is one planet where Boredom, Thirst and General Nastiness abound: ideal conditions for the eager young Gluglings to learn through service to those less fortunate.

The main characteristic of the Effs is that they are Fun-loving. The Enns, on the other hand, make a life practice of being Nice. Working in close cooperation, the Effs and the Enns are dedicated to spreading Fun and Niceness throughout the Cosmos.

Our story is essentially set in the tropical zone of Planet Earth specifically a spot designated Station 17 – better known to Earthside cartographers as the Malay Archipelago. At the start of the Aquarian Cycle in Earth’s Solar System, the year 1883 by Gregorian reckoning, Project Waterbearer was launched. Taking human form in the persons of John Fraser and David Neave, two friendly Gluglings began a soda water bottling operation in the bustling port of Singapore.

The rest is F&N history.


Sub-Elements

Conditions on Earth at the inauguration of Project Waterbearer are hideous, to say the least. The sluggish atmosphere makes it easy to become hot-tempered and nasty which results in constant quarreling among a large proportion of Earthlings. The natives are hostile and suspicious and will not accept any kind of Fun and Niceness – unless appealingly packaged and appropriately price-tagged.

Working through the agency of Fraser & Neave, the Effs and Enns discover that trying to dispense Fun & Niceness on Earth brings with it many pitfalls and paradoxes. They learn that helping Earthlings have Fun is very hard work; and that promoting Niceness entails a certain amount of aggression. (These philosophical sub-elements can be drawn upon whenever the plot thins out and needs heavier ballast.)

The F&N strategy revolves around the idea that most Earthlings have developed hard heads as a result of constant knocking against artificial barriers (also known as Walls). Perhaps if they acquired a fondness for SOFT DRINKS, they would feel more relaxed and kindly towards each other.

Another factor is the initial resistance put up by avid believers in Hard Drinks. An interesting tale can be told about how F&N eventually solve the problem and bring about a planetary reconciliation. (The introduction of F&N cordials and mixers – and the acquisition of a brewery.)

Exobiological Notes

Effs and Enns are fluid existences and airy spirits. As such they do not have a fixed form or shape. When they travel they usually occupy canister or bottle type craft. In short, Glugling vessels can look like anything from a barrel to an ice-cream cone.

On Glug, the Effs and the Enns live in beautiful colonies of bubbles, floating freely over the friendly seas of this remarkable jug-shaped planet.


EPISODE ONE

[Illustration: Paradise on Glug]

On the planet Glug there are no serious problems. The Gluglings found out a long time ago that life is Fun – and that the best way to live is to be Nice to everyone. But you can only learn these things through hard experience. That’s why so many young Effs and Enns receive their further education on EARTH…

[Illustration: Glugling briefing session showing Earthlings confounded by walls]

Planet Earth: a popular training ground for young Gluglings. A planet where boredom, thirst and general nastiness abound. Why are so many Earthlings bored? Because from the time they’re very small their enthusiasm is blocked by artificial barriers called “walls.” (Besides, they get very few good shows on TV.)

[Illustration: scene of typical Earthside mayhem]

Why do Earthlings get thirsty? Because their frustration makes them quarrel a lot and they become hot and bothered. Why are they so often nasty? Because they’re thirsty and bored – and always running into walls makes them extremely hardheaded (even when they’re not wearing helmets!)

And so, Project Waterbearer was launched by an enterprising bunch of young Effs and Enns…


EPISODE TWO

[Illustration: zodiacal image of Waterbearer with replica of Planet Glug]

The objectives of Project Waterbearer were: (i) to restore enthusiasm and a sense of Fun among the Earthlings; (ii) to moisten their throats, parched from useless bickering, and (iii) to make them feel Nice all over.

[Illustration: Effs and Enns put on their thinking caps]

What was needed was: (i) something BUBBLY; (ii) something WET, and (iii) something very PLEASANT…. Hmmmm.

[Illustration: The Soft Drink unveiled]

And so… Glug created the Soft Drink as the answer to Hardheadedness. (The Gluglings also invented the Bubble Bath… but that’s another story.)


EPILOG

We never heard back from Fraser & Neave, unfortunately! :(



Monday, January 1, 2018

New Year Special: Two of my favorite YouTube oracles in an hour-long freestyle chat!



Lionel Nation
Published on Dec 31, 2017

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Combing through the tangle of my thoughts as another Gregorian year rolls in


I don’t recall a time when the forces of polarization have been stronger on this earth. Nor do I recall a time in my life when I have felt more unsure of every idea I once held close to my heart as absolute truth.

Let me backtrack a little to the Solstice of 21 December 2012. The date itself had since the Harmonic Convergence of August 1987 become a planetary meme signifying the transition between two zodiacal ages, Pisces and Aquarius, and the beginning of a glorious new evolutionary spiral - even if some mistakenly interpreted it as another “end of the world” scenario (although it has certainly proved to be the end of the world as we knew it, at least for those of us born in the 20th century).

Well, on 21 December 2012 I was struck with a severe pain in my lower back (later diagnosed as a mild case of spondylitis) and found myself lying in bed, attended by three healing angels. Just being able to get out of bed and stand straight, not to mention walk around without my whole body twisting up in agony, was all I could focus on. Fortunately the pain eased up and within a couple of days I began to feel more myself.

Heiko & Selina Niedermeyer
On 30 December, I had a long conversation with two healer-counselor friends (Heiko and Selina Niedermeyer) who invited me to usher in 2013 with them. I booked them for a 2-hour healing session on 4 January 2013 and the rest of the year was dedicated to fixing my backache – first with acupuncture, then with a dozen chiropractic sessions, and finally with a series of structural reintegration manipulations (based on Ida Rolf’s deep tissue massage techniques) conducted by another healing angel named Michelle Ch’ng. All in all, I spent close to RM10,000 just so I could stand and walk properly.

That was the bad news. The good news was that I had the money to pay for healing myself physically as well as metaphysically – because my parents’ house was finally sold in late 2013 and my share of the proceeds, though modest by most standards, was more cash in the piggy than I had seen in my entire life. It was fantastic to feel financially comfortable, for the first time ever, and in a position to be generous with others. But four years down the line, less than half of that windfall remains, because it has been all outflow with hardly any cash income.

Chennai-based nadi leaf reader Mr Kumar
So here we are in December 2017 and there is a gnawing feeling that I shall have to consider finding ways of generating funds in 2018. True, a nadi leaf reader I saw in March 2014 informed me that owing to positive karma I will “never have financial problems, forever”… mind you, he didn’t say I’d be rich, just free from lack, which is good enough for me.

It has certainly been a crazy helter-skelter ride in the last five years. I call it the Time Compression Effect where everything can change in a heartbeat – what more from day to day or month to month.

Anwar hugs his wife before being hauled off
to Sungai Buloh Prison, 10 February 2015
For Malaysia the year 2015 started ominously with the imprisonment of Opposition Leader Anwar Ibrahim on 10 February. A few months later the RM52-billion 1MDB debacle – billed as the most audacious case of kleptocracy in history – erupted on the international news - and only the totally apathetic, completely blind or utterly corrupt could deny that we were saddled with a crooked finance minister who also conveniently happens to be the crime (not prime) minister. What is most startling, though, is that nobody has been forced to resign – except dissidents and whistleblowers – while outspoken Opposition leaders, commentators and journalists have been harassed, intimidated, arrested and dragged through the kangaroo courts.

The year before, on 8 March 2014, Anwar’s January 2012 acquittal by a high court judge had been overturned by the Court of Appeal. There would likely have been massive street protests – but for the mysterious disappearance of Flight MH370 just six hours after the judges pronounced Anwar guilty. Instead of mammoth rallies demanding justice for the Opposition Leader, Malaysians were glued to laptop and TV screens, waiting for a breakthrough in the fruitless search for the missing Boeing 777 with 239 on board (many are convinced its autopilot system was remotely taken over and the plane hijacked to Diego Garcia; while some psychics maintain that Flight MH370 went through a portal into a different dimension). A few months later, another horrendous “accident” involving the national airline MAS – when Flight MH17 from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur was blown out of the sky as collateral damage in the murkiest of spy-versus-spy maneuvers.

Aftermath of the Halloween 2017 Massacre in Las Vegas
So instead of a planet-wide epiphany, we are witnessing bewildering events of an apocalyptic nature, orchestrated by hidden hands. And it has been so since 11 September 2001 – relentlessly so – as reported by the establishment media.

A few glimpses of light do issue from alternative media via the internet - and are immediately dismissed as “fake news” by those who have traditionally scripted events on the world stage. It’s almost as if humans are now divided into Bluepillers and Redpillers - not just Leftwingers and Rightwingers as we used to be, or Liberals and Conservatives.

Indeed, the last five years since 2012 appear to be a single continuum of dramatic, often abrupt and violent, change. I can’t even confine myself to writing about what transpired in 2017 without referencing 2016 and the tumultuous preceding years. 2016 certainly stands out on so many levels: apart from being the hottest year recorded in recent memory, when a whole slew of celebrities checked out, it was also the year of Brexit (UK’s referendum on whether to stay or leave the EU) and Trump’s unexpected electoral victory.

In 2016 I found myself diverging from the views of almost everyone I know on a broad spectrum of issues - from political correctness and vaccinations to tolerating virulent belief systems disguised as religion. I was secretly pleased about the way the Brexit vote went, even though I knew it would create massive confusion and distress for a great many who were happy to be able to live and work freely all over the European Union. Brexit was a spanner in the works for the globalist totalitarian vision of the New World Order cabal; it paved the way for further fragmentation and decentralized power - very good news indeed when those who would wield absolute power over others are hideously disconnected from their own hearts and feel nothing but contempt for Mother Earth.

Anti-Monsanto poster by Benjamin Karis-Nix
All my adult life I have seen myself as essentially a liberal person with progressive ideas about everything. Although not a US citizen, I have long favored the Democrats over the Republicans. In hindsight my views were influenced by the Zionist-Khazarian-owned “liberal” media (including Hollywood) and the “well-educated” company I kept. I had been impressed by Bill Clinton’s easy charm and intelligence as a presidential figure and saw Hillary as a tenacious street-savvy politician (but that was during the early days of the internet and few of us had access to alternative journalism, so we really had no idea what public figures got up to in private).

Barack Obama’s entry into the White House seemed to be a harbinger of a happier new era – but it didn’t take long for me to notice he was really just a fabulous orator who got the job because he looked suave and urbane in a custom-tailored suit. Long before his term ended it was obvious that Obama was a hardcore status-quoist with no intentions to rock the neoliberal crony-capitalist boat or turn on his deep state sponsors. For a start, Obama failed to launch a proper enquiry into the outrageous 9/11 black ops (which launched the spurious and perpetual “war on terror”). He promised to shut down Guantanamo Bay but didn’t. Then he allowed state secretary Hillary Clinton to launch a massive black op against the Gaddafi regime in Libya and authorized countless drone attacks on civilians in Afghanistan. He allowed the CIA and Mossad to fund, arm and train mercenaries under the Daesh-Islamic Caliphate flag in an insidious attempt to destabilize the Assad regime in Syria, resulting in horrendous atrocities and the death of countless thousands. He even closed an eye to a cocaine syndicate operated by Hezbollah. The last straw was his active participation in the staged assassination of CIA operative Osama bin Laden. In retrospect the only laudable act of Obama’s entire presidency was his pardoning of army whistleblower Chelsea Manning just before he left the White House.


As the US presidential race heated up and everyone’s favorite candidate Bernie Sanders quickly got nudged out by Hillary Rodham Clinton, amid reports of electoral rigging in the primaries, I began to pay more attention to narratives that were deliberately being omitted by the mainstream media. Dozens of YouTube channels were sprouting overnight, featuring young and plugged-in citizen journalists and political commentators who seemed to have their fingers on the post-2012 pulse of things. They were discussing important issues – such as endemic corruption within the machinery of government, congressmen and senators on the payroll of banks and giant corporations that influenced policies through professional lobbyists, rogue elements in the CIA and FBI, involved in a long list of black ops  - from the assassinations of the Kennedy brothers (JFK and RFK), Martin Luther King, and John Lennon to false flag events like the Oklahoma City bombing and 9/11, not to mention apparently random acts of senseless violence involving demented (or mind-controlled) shooters, suicide bombers and jihadi drivers mowing down pedestrians.

On 8 November 2016, much to my own surprise, I found myself rooting for Donald J. Trump who represents a wild card, a political amateur – as opposed to Hillary Clinton who stands for the deeply-entrenched cynicism, corruption, hypocrisy and bloodthirsty cruelty that has long been associated with the traditional power structure. All the well-known political pundits were convinced HRC would be a shoo-in. When Trump was sworn in as the 45th US president, I knew the geopolitical world had shattered into fragments and would never be the same again.


But was The Donald really going to “drain the swamp” (with a little bit of help from the Marines and the “White Hat Alliance”) as he promised, and put the Bush and Clinton crime families in jail? Would he really reopen the 9/11 investigation and let the truth finally see the light of day? It seemed an impossible undertaking – the rot had set in so deep at all levels. Most folks continue to be distracted by trivia, judging by their posts on Instagram and Facebook, and when they do have a strong opinion about anything, it is more often than not influenced by leftwing neoliberal (read Khazarian mafia) media like the Huffington Post or the New York Times or any number of trendy online magazines like BuzzFeed which specialize in launching trendy memes into cyberspace via Facebook. To the “well-informed” and intelligent but unwittingly brainwashed majority, Donald Trump is a just hideous joke - and the Clintons and Obamas far more “reasonable” leadership choices. How little they know about what’s been going on right below their noses and under their feet!

I suppose if millions of humans over the last few thousand years have allowed their children to be indoctrinated by predator priests with questionable ideas like “virgin birth” and “72 virgins in paradise” (why this obsession with virginity, I wonder?)… believing that governments are in power “to serve the people”… religious and educational institutions exist “to serve God” and “impart knowledge” to the masses… and that royal bloodlines are actually “noble”… well, that explains why they have no problems at all with their own cognitive dissonance.

On a more personal level (I tend to be transpersonal by default), 2017 hasn’t been much fun, despite many magical encounters, unforgettable moments, minor miracles, and a great deal for which to be thankful. The year began with a massive shock when my only begotten son Ahau Ben stood up, blacked out, and fell with a loud splat on the floor, breaking his humerus. I assure you, it wasn’t at all funny to spend New Year’s Day taking him to the district hospital where there is no orthopedic unit. Long story short, it was a wake-up call for me as well as Mary Maguire (Ahau’s surrogate mum and our next-door neighbor since 2008). We spent the greater part of 2017 fretting about Ahau’s erratic brain chemistry which seemed to trigger absence seizures (resembling epileptic fits) and seeing him in a cast month after month after month.

In mid-January we took Ahau to see a neurologist at Universiti Malaya Specialist Center (UMSC) who prescribed 200-mg carpamezapine daily, to which Ahau responded instantly and favorably. He has been fine since – although in July he gave us another fright when he went into convulsions for a good 20 minutes, running a high fever. Mary brought his temperature down with an ice-pack and, to our relief, he broke out in chicken pox the next morning. So it was brought on by the onset of chicken pox – not another seizure!

Rehman Rashid (1955-2017)
2017 was also a year I lost a few friends – whether through physical or emotional death. Most prominent among these was my old friend the celebrated author Rehman Rashid who suffered a heart attack in Rawang while out on his titanium bicycle and ended up in a 4-month coma (because it took two whole hours to get him to the Coronary Care Unit of Selayang Hospital, which resulted in brain damage from oxygen deprivation, even though Rawang is technically only 15 minutes from the hospital).

Rehman and I had since the new millennium drifted apart and were reduced to exchanging pleasantries at supermarket checkout counters, even though we lived in the same small town. I saw him as a great soul and a brilliant mind whose patriarchal ego, alas, all-too-often undermined his own need for emotional intimacy and warm friendship. Finally his heart gave way around dawn on 3 June 2017 and it must have been a tremendous release and a relief for him, as well as for his mother Rosna and brother Rafique who had been commuting daily to the hospital since January 26th. Rehman’s passing felt like the loss of a brother, albeit an estranged one, but at least it left no bitter aftertaste – only a poignant sense that it was a death mourned by an entire nation, for Rehman Rashid was a brilliant thinker, storyteller and patriot of the first magnitude.

Far more painful and distressing losses occurred in 2017 when two witchy goddess embodiments I had long loved and cherished succumbed to possession by parasitic entities, turned paranoid, and abruptly disconnected from me, hurling noxious abuse. The first psychic attack occurred during the Hari Raya period; the second before the year ended. Emotional aftershocks are still being felt that undermine my faith in the reliability and permanency of love itself.

Well, this overview could go on another thousand words or more – but I’m beginning to realize I haven’t quite managed to comb through the chaotic tangle of my thoughts despite my best efforts. I’m left with the feeling that I have outgrown all belief systems and let go of most personal expectations. I shall accept and process whatever comes my way with minimal fuss and performance anxiety – because in 2018 I have no pre-established standards to live up to, and no self-image I must defend or protect.

Bring on the tidal wave of change!

1 January 2018


Thursday, December 28, 2017

SKEPTICISM REVISITED



American columnist Russell Baker has a theory that most people do not really know how to respond to good news. They can tolerate a certain amount of bad news - which gives them a sense of relief that it did not happen to them - but GOOD NEWS is too hard to take without a measure of disbelief.

It is a bit like meeting a beautiful person and feeling that this could turn out to be the greatest love story of all time - but suddenly a shrill voice inside says, “Be careful, don’t get swept away. It might only last a week and then… POOF!”

Having had our hopes dashed against the rocks over and over again, we have acquired a sort of psychological armor against disappointment. In effect we have become victims of our own protective skepticism.

But there is healthy skepticism and there is unhealthy skepticism. If a huge banking corporation advertises that it has streamlined its operations “to serve you better,” it is healthy to wonder whether that really means it has just retrenched 15 per cent of its counter staff and installed more automated tellers to serve itself, and not necessarily you, better. In such a situation the exercise of healthy skepticism helps immunize us against exploitative propaganda.

Now if someone announces that his Uncle Harry, who was dying of cancer, was miraculously cured after a vision, the unhealthy skeptic might react in one of several possible ways: he might say it was pure coincidence, a freak event, a chance in a million; or maybe Uncle Harry never really had cancer, he just imagined he did; or so what if he is cured, Uncle Harry is already 68 and does not have that much time left anyway.


So when the Berlin Wall crumbled on 9 November 1989, the unhealthy skeptic could only shake his head like an expert and say: “Don’t be naive, things will never change.” And he blames ‘human nature’ - which he sees as basically deceitful, even treacherous.

Therein lies the problem. Perhaps human nature should not be given such a bad name. After all, it is not a concrete substance - it is just a whole set of beliefs and prejudices and fears. Yes, it is all ‘software’: alter the programming and the entire game changes.

The Wall divided Berlin for 28 years. It was the symbol of the conflict between ‘yin’ and ‘yang,’ between our left brain and our right, between East and West. It was the wall that proclaimed: “Never the twain shall meet!”

Every time a wall is erected we feel a sense of oppression. Every time we see a bridge being built we feel a sense of anticipation. Walls represent our fear, our hate, our sense of isolation. And this has little to do with our need for privacy: for that a friendly hedge or bamboo screen is enough. But the Wall of Walls went, setting free the tears of incredulous joy and a tidal wave of HOPE.

January 1990

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

THE BEGINNING NEVER ENDS (revisited)



It was definitely worth the wait.

26,000 years... was that how long it took? Then... ZAP! Nightmare over. The Dream Come True. Dripping wet.

Got to get rid of the old skepticism. Survival mechanism. No need for that anymore. Well, maybe a hint of irony now and again won't hurt. Call me a sentimental old fool. I still have a calendar from the Old Reality. It's in a rusty filing cabinet along with ancient letters, photographs, yellowed newspaper articles from the 1980s; personal memorabilia from the days when I was still a "person."

There it is: the last United World College Global Concerns Calendar, marked 2023. Whew, what a year THAT was...

Noia, ink'ala ne hav'la vo ki'a. Vek'ila ya nei'a, a'vo?

Aion gazed at his young wife and smiled.

She looked up from the VR monitor and winked at him. Fascinating stuff, the early history of the Pleiades. I was just starting on Merope.

Aion had been wedded to Noia long enough to receive her thought signals with almost full resolution. She'd never really been into speech all that much though when she felt particularly cheerful she was known to babble like a mountain brook.

Watch out! You've inspired another poem, Aion flashed back at his mate. He kissed her smooth brown shoulder and rested his hand on her belly. "I'm hungry, how about you?" he asked, vocally.

Noia cocked her head and then nodded enthusiastically, hitting the pause control on her Virtual Reality console. They strolled out into the palace gardens, hand in hand, clucking to the cockatoos who were, as usual, clowning around with Saint Peter the pangolin.

"Eh Pedro, getting more than a little cocky, aren't you?" Aion quipped, bending to tickle the scaly anteater under his furry snout. The gentle creature licked Aion's hand with lazy flicks of its sticky tongue and gazed affectionately at the humans. Noia giggled and flung off her pareo, enjoying the perfect sunshine on this truest of blue-sky days.

"And to think you used to keep your sarong on in the shower," Aion laughed and followed suit - only he wasn't wearing a pareo but his favorite Chinese silk loon pants.

Aion and Noia had met and married back in the mid-Nineties, just before the Old Reality phased itself out. She had been a mere 22 Earth years and he already a well-preserved 44. Age was a major concern in the Age of Death, Disease, and Decay.

Incredible, really, to have witnessed and participated in the Transition. Never before in the entire history of Creation had such a phenomenon been experienced. Linear Time quantum-jumping the Spiral of Galactic Synchronization and bursting forth into Spherical Time. Science fantasy, sword and sorcery, fairy tale and News of the World all rolled into one. Real estate, insurance, politics, banks, and bureaucracy all a thing of the so-called Past... ha, remember when there were lawyers all over this planet? There were even humans who played the role of Judges. They sometimes sentenced other humans to death. Unbelievable... but it wasn't all that long ago, to use an old-fashioned and now totally meaningless phrase.

"Let's see... what shall we eat?" Aion said, more to himself than to Noia, who was already keying in her order at the dining pavilion. He scanned the day's menu on the smoky quartz screen built into the oval table of polished stone. Broccoli with cheese sauce? Chee cheong fun with cordyceps? Ghee rice with pumpkin curry? Macaroni soup and asparagus spears? Wild honey on buttered toast? How about some good old yong tow foo?

Noia was grinning impishly when Aion glanced up at her. On the grail table sat two tempting plates of Hainanese chicken rice, two steaming bowls of leek soup, and a side serving of juicy bean sprouts. Feeling a touch nostalgic for the vanished ways, after all that history! "What's your drink? Preserved kumquat and honey?"

Aion had to smile. "Why not?" Back in the old 3-dimensional reality, humans ate a fantastic amount of chicken. Billions of birds were slaughtered each day to feed the "dominant species." Incubator-hatched from eggs and raised in "scientifically designed” batteries, the poor fowls never once got to peck at real dirt in a farmyard. The same foul treatment was meted out to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and even plant species.

And if you consider that inhuman, you won't believe some of the ways humans treated other humans - especially those deemed inferior or a potential threat to their excessive lifestyles.

As they tucked into the totally delicious, molecularly reconstituted meal, Aion slipped briefly into a meditative retroscan of the amazing breakthrough in +2018 O.R. (Old Reality) when a critical mass of humans, determined to stop exploiting other lifeforms, began expressing their collective will. This resulted in a switch to the trinary code (IAO) which made it possible to obtain holographically perfect digital samples of all bio-matter on the planet and store it permanently in the crystalline hard memory of the Earth - dubbed the Diamond Sutra - and retrieve the information at will for high-speed organic reconstitution and 3D printing.

For instance, we were able to extract a complete hologram sample of the healthiest, happiest hen that ever ranged freely on a well-kept farm - and use the basic data to generate an infinite supply of chicken to every finger-lickin' chicken-lover in the universe - without ever having to catch a live specimen and kill it and boil the feathers off and so on. The same technique was applied to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and every edible plant species on the planet.

This was how we ushered in the Age of Abundance, which instantly rendered all previous notions of strategic survival behavior irrelevant and obsolete. The Quest for the Grail was finally over: the sacred vessel that sustained all life, the proverbial cornucopia, the fountain of eternal renewal had been discovered - and her name was Gaia-Sophia, also known as planet Earth.

People still planted vegetables and flowers and kept poultry and other animals around their yards; and sheep and cattle continued to graze on green pastures. And fish continued to swim in streams and lakes and oceans. Everything carried on more or less as before. But now no lifeform existed merely to play a part in the endless food chain. Now they existed for the sheer pleasure of it.

And when that wore thin, each could seek out a Transmutation Vortex where its vital force could release itself into new adventures, while the organic structures were destructured and recycled into the energy-matter continuum ad infinitum.

It wasn't till +2033 that humans embarked on the process of translating themselves into pure trinary encodings and immersing themselves wholly in the Diamond Sutra, thus freeing themselves of their dense hydrocarbon-protein spacesuits - which could be swiftly reconstituted and worn anytime they felt like an excursion into the lower frequency zones.

Just for "old time's sake," Aion lit a reconstituted cigarette and leaned back contentedly. Noia cleared the grail table with a few deft movements of her right index finger on the recessed keyboard. DELETE LUNCH? OK. Done. Then she burst into an expression of radiant joy. "Oy, tengok siapa datang!" she broke out in her ancient mother tongue. Look who's here!

"Chuen!" Aion leapt to his feet and hugged his 29-year-old son, who had reconstituted his physical form in the garden. Noia lost no time joining the embrace: One again! Divine bliss rippled through the dimensions, causing some single-celled organisms somewhere in a different universe to divide and reproduce prolifically.

Chuen had just returned from his latest mission in some remote Hypoallergenic Zone of the galaxy where diehard divisionists with chronic dystopia were insistent on living by the deadly laws of Duality. Even the Corpus Christi had to endure the occasional breakout of moral scabies.

At 29 Chuen was the youngest Star Commander of the ICYF (Intergalactic Confederation Youth Fleet). He grinned, impish just like his mother, and wrinkled his nose at his father's tobacco smoke. "Long time since I indulged," he said in English (one of 17 languages at his command) and accepted a nicotine stick from his never-aging Old Man. Chuen took a long drag and exhaled like some retro French movie star. "Hey, how about a nice cup of tea to go with this?"

"Susu mau?" Aion looked up from the grail keyboard. Milky tea for everyone? Noia and Chuen nodded, and plonked themselves into a giant hammock under the mango trees.

Knew I'd find you both frolicking in your favorite paradise program. Chuen generally communicated telepathically with his mother. Noia kissed her son on his nose. You know we're comfortable here, but it would be great to have you with us more often.

Aion came over with three mugs of tea and placed two on the mossy turf below the hammock. "Room for one more?"

Noia gave Chuen a wet kiss and wriggled out of the hammock. "You can take my place, darling. I promised to meet Sembo, Hani, Maye, Halus and Titit at the waterfall. Women's splashabout, but you two are most welcome. I'm sure the girls would be surprised and delighted to see Chuen."

"Give me a few moments with Daddy," Chuen said. "I have information for him to download. Metaphysical stuff, Mum. Hey, don't tell the girls I'm here. I want to play a little trick on them."

You were well named, Chuen the monkey!
Noia tweaked both their noses affectionately and danced off towards the river, singing.

Aion snuggled into the hammock beside Chuen, sipped his tea, and sighed. "Okay, I'm ready." Chuen put down his mug of tea and placed his right hand on Aion's upturned left palm. He waited till his father's breathing rhythm was in perfect synchronization with his own, and then began downloading.

Soon Aion could feel a tingle in his forebrain as Chuen locked frequencies with him. A huge videoscreen lit up in Aion's mind's eye. Chuen was in his Sananda aspect, the one he favored when transmitting factual information. It was a sort of pharaonic face: gentle, wise, and bearded like the archaic Jesus icons. Chuen chose his Sananda image because he knew Aion's deep memory would be more receptive to inputs from an archetypally recognizable source.

The dreamtime documentary was in 5th dimensional hypertext and cybernetically compressed. Only certain fragments of it can be stepped down into linear language.

All that pain and suffering and seemingly endless horror was necessary, though not inevitable. The experiment could have taken a very different turn. Which it did, in another time track, now flowing concurrently with the present.

What people called "the stony path" - the pilgrimage through the Valley of Death - provided valuable tactile experience which has enriched all realities everywhere. Especially now that it is accessible in mesonic code and no longer virulent to nascent intelligence.

In the separation of inner from outer lies the origins of the self-exploratory game of Us vs Them. Each camp locked in perpetual conflict with its illusory opposite, its Nemesis, each struggling for dominance over the other, the outcome always doomed from the outset - since each would transform into the other at the height of its hostility or fear.

However, the bi-polar combustion was the engine for the Earth's emotional evolution. As she awoke to her true nature, she was able to transmute the fission energy into fusion force, and project her inner crystalline form outward into the heliocosm.

Thus did the Earth attain radiant illumination and initiation into the stellar community via the higher intelligence network within her mineral core and upon the semi-elastic surface of her Dream Body. As she emerged from the Density Beam that marked "recorded history" (i.e., the period from -3113 to +2023 O.R.) the Cosmic Context was reinstated in her consciousness.

Every sentient being on the planet that was receptive to the surge of expanded frequencies was able to ride the crest of that electromagnetic tidal wave into the subtle dimensions beyond the third. The rigid structures upholding economic and political systems rapidly buckled as the electromagnetic grid realigned itself with the Galactic Core and sociocultural control mechanisms immediately broke down. Artificial barriers evaporated like mirages and ancient taboos turned on their heels and died of shock.

You have a question: what became of the tinpot despots, the trigger-happy generalissimos, the secret policemen, and the brigand chiefs? Yes... just a moment. Well, the ones working consciously as anchor points were easily debriefed and transferred to the harmonic heavens on Level Eleven. The ones operating in total unconsciousness are still shadow-boxing in their sleep, safe in their own Quarantine Area, along with others unwilling to let go of their predator programming.

What was the casualty rate? As far as we know, only one-seventh of the human population chose to remain in the Old Reality. For them nothing has happened. The illusion of linear time and history continues to bind them in oscillating melodrama for another 26,000-year Evolutionary Cycle. Or at least till they realize what the Game Plan is all about and release their fearful deathgrip on their inner beings.

Incredible revelations had been accumulating since the final years of the 19th century and by +2018 there was no longer any excuse for any human being anywhere on Earth to plead ignorance. News of clandestine genetic experiments conducted on human and animal specimens by deluded aliens and sanctioned by a secret government had broken. The fantastic origins of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid Complex at Giza had been disclosed and discussed with excitement around the planet. The mysterious designs on the Nazca plains, the magical calibrations on Mayan monuments, the universal resonance of aboriginal myths and legends had been pointed out and publicly disseminated.

T'he last of the media moguls had converted to the truth - and had committed themselves wholeheartedly to alerting the entire human population to the gigantic electromagnetic tidal wave rippling out from the Alpha and Omega points of the Galactic Core, as our Sun began to merge with its etheric double to form a Greater Central Sun.

Rainbow warrior tribes which had been gathering for two generations were already anchored in their various bioregions, awaiting the signal to take over responsibility as members of the Earth Council for Solar-Planetary Affairs. Over many decades their concerted campaign for the Earth had successfully cushioned the impact of ecocidal destruction, keeping it to a survivable limit.

The Masters had coordinated one final mass illumination exercise in December +2022 when millions of incarnate stellar emissaries ascended amidst celestial displays of unimaginable beauty. Their missions accomplished, they were home free at last. You have only partial recall of that initiation because of your addiction to physical sensory data, but I am helping you to transmute gradually.


Remember when the Temples of Mammon were converted to Community Arts Centers wherein the aesthetically handicapped were able to rehabilitate their perceptions in a colossal celebration of the Creative Spirit? Well, all of this seemingly happened overnight, over a 23-hour period between one Frequency Zone and the next. There will be much deep memory diving to be performed for those of you who were caught in the thick of the action and experienced the Dimensional Shift in semi-trance states.

The final segment of the session required Aion and Chuen to connect breaths and fuse their etheric bodies into a disc-shaped ball of Light. By this means Chuen piloted his beloved father to a Midway Station where a lively conference was in progress.

Aion had attended a few of these celestial powwows before, even in the Old Reality. But the impressions had usually faded like fax images by the time he regained "normal" consciousness on the physical plane. On this occasion Aion was thrilled to return with the energy imprints intact. He felt euphoric and supercharged.

Noia had sneaked up and squeezed herself between Aion and Chuen on the hammock. She giggled like the child she still was in particularly happy moments, hair wet from the waterfall. "Liars! I waited an hour for you two to show up! It was getting too cold."

"Eeesh! You're cold and wet!" Aion yelled, biting her on the nape of her elegant neck. Chuen laughed and laid his curly-haired head on his mother's bosom, sighing with pleasure.

After dinner Noia went off with Chuen to the Sanctuary for some deep healing on her leg. It had been slightly deformed by infantile poliomyelitis - a common disease in the Old Reality - but was now rapidly regaining its proper form and function under Chuen's loving ministrations.

Aion decided to treat himself to some virtual 3D loveplay on the Bionet. Life's a ball, as they used to say, and forever may it be so.


...THE BEGINNING...

[Originally published in JOURNAL ONE, May 1996 © Antares. First posted 2 May 2007]

Thursday, December 21, 2017

My Son, the Reincarnated King of Mu! (updated)

Life with the Pertak Hillbillies ~ old photos, sweet memories

The High Hut aka Jabba @ 1996. Took about two months to build and cost me less than RM2,000. Our hillbilly fambly lived here without electricity... until a freak mudslide in October 1999 forced us to evacuate.

Best bathroom I ever had!
Thought I'd found the ideal location, about 30 yards from a gentle 200-foot waterfall called Lata Puntung (Blowpipe Falls), right below Bukit Suir - which I later learned was the abode of the dreaded langsuir (jungle sirens akin to harpies or vampires).

It was quite spooky when I first moved in around April 1994. Whenever I was away for a couple of days, I'd return to find the food left for my dogs untouched but putrefying and crawling with maggots. Didn't take me long to discover why my dogs and the local folk seemed so wary of the location. It was the scene of a tragedy that occurred around 1907 when a mining tunnel (the eerie entrance to which was scarcely 50 yards from my High Hut) collapsed, burying alive 200-300 workers. Nobody can say exactly how many died, as the mine owner made himself scarce, fearing bankruptcy from having to pay compensation to the miners' families.

Fortunately, I had quite a few visitors who were geomancers, healers, shamans and wizards - and their collective efforts to ritually cleanse the area eventually cleared the psychic murk and brought more vitality and cheer to the spot.

Star Commander Lee Ahau Ben Anoor-Antares in his Pleiadian scoutship.
Ahau, Antares & Anoora at the High Hut @ June 1996 (photo: Jesse Hang)
Father & Son, June 1996 (photo: Chief Jesse Hang)


Father & Son @ 2008 (photo: Gabriel Herbst)


When my son Ahau Ben was born (at 2:00 am, 21 March 1996, at the Kuala Lumpur Hospital) everyone noticed that his head was remarkably large. (The photo at right was taken on his 13th day on Earth.)

He had to be delivered by C-section as his mother's pelvis was a little out of whack due to childhood polio. So when I first saw him, his curly hair was neatly pasted in tiny beautiful ringlets around his enormous head. I greeted him in star language and welcomed him to this funky and exciting but pretty much messed-up planet.


Our jolly joy boy rarely cried and smiled most of the time, a beatific Buddha smile. Before his first month I was calling him Doctor Baby because he seemed to be healing his mother Anoora's wounded heart by gazing at her with pure adoration whenever he suckled at her breast. Initially she couldn't handle the emotional intensity and had to quickly pass the infant to somebody else.

Anoora was hydrocephalic at birth, a melon-head baby who looked so grotesque her mother immediately offered to sell her to a nurse. However, her father intervened and sent the infant to Pahang to be raised by relatives. When I first met Anoora, she had no grasp whatsoever of what love was all about. Now her own baby was tutoring her on a daily basis.


This came as no surprise to me as I had established contact with the incoming soul during Anoora's pregnancy, and it had "told" me its original home was the Great Central Sun and that its mission on earth was to demonstrate the power of love. So I chose to name him Ahau Ben - Mayan starglyphs meaning Sun God and Skywalker or Celestial Messenger. Later I read somewhere that the last king of Mu (a lost continent located in the area we now call the Pacific) was named Ahau. It now appears that Mu may have - in truth, if not in fact - referred to a vast bioregion encompassing East Asia and what is now known as Australia (see map below)!


Our Big Head Boy never learned to crawl. I guess his head was too heavy to be supported by his limbs. Instead, he inched along the floor on his bottom for a few months - until one day he decided his legs were strong enough to try walking. From early infancy, Ahau was exposed to many languages: English, Temuan, Cantonese, Tamil, star language... and he was always attentive to birdcalls and animal sounds. Ahau's great-aunt Mak Minah often sang Temuan lullabies to Ahau. Long after Mak Minah's death in 1999, Ahau still listens raptly to the entire Akar Umbi CD, occasionally singing along.

When he was around six months, he enjoyed squatting by himself a short distance from our High Hut and I would observe as he smiled secretly to himself, as if conversing with invisible folk.


I had expected Ahau to learn human speech quickly but he did just the opposite. His vocal range was astonishing: he could produce extremely high-pitched squeals that reminded me of dolphins and sometimes he uttered distinct syllables in an unknown tongue. Certain phrases would be repeated consistently, but it sounded like no language known to any of us. One day he distinctly said: "Maniam!"

And from then on he began experimenting with endless variations on the theme. I began telling friends that Ahau spoke Maniamese - a language consisting of only one word expressed in countless ways. Subsequently he switched from Maniamese to Bunyip - a language spoken by only one person on earth, Ahau Ben, affectionately dubbed The Bunyip.


Close friends and family began to express concern about Ahau's inability or refusal to communicate in recognizable human languages. I teased him about being a non-English-speaking Bunyip and he would smile and go, "Ho ho ho!" in as low a register as he could muster (this was before his voice broke). He apparently understood just about everything people said to him - but only very rarely would he deign to communicate in English. 

When he was three, I went away for more than a week and when I returned, I distinctly heard Ahau say, "Welcome back, Daddy!" as he threw open his arms for me to lift him up.

One day a friend's 10-year-old son rushed out from the room where he had been tickling Ahau and excitedly reported that Ahau had said to him: "Okay, that's enough!"


Nevertheless, I finally succumbed to well-meaning advice and took Ahau to see a specialist at Tawakal Hospital. The Egyptian neurologist who examined him said the only way to ascertain if there was any problem would be to do a series of MRI scans. So Ahau was made to swallow some liquid anesthetic which knocked him out within 15 minutes. It was quite surreal to watch my unconscious boy being wheeled into the MRI chamber - it was like a scene out of a sci-fi movie. 

We waited anxiously as the neurologist studied the magnetic resonance images. Finally, he turned around and said: "Well, the good news is the scans show his brain is perfectly normal, no fluid in the cranium, apart from this bit of mucus in his sinus passages."

I enquired if there might be some medical explanation for Ahau's disinterest in acquiring the routine skills other kids his age find easy to master. The neurologist mulled over this for a few moments, then he said it could be due to any number of factors - from genetic to environmental, he couldn't really say for certain.

He remarked that Ahau had the largest brain of any kid he had ever encountered. "He could turn out to be a supergenius... or maybe he's really an alien," he added with a smile. His parting words were most reassuring: "My advice to you is to keep him away from doctors!"


Well, there are days when I wish Ahau was like other kids. It would be nice to hear from him the inside story on his mother - what it was like being in her womb for nine months. Every father relishes going on long walks with his son, doing a bit of male-bonding and stuff... but, then, I'll never forget the look on Ahau's face when he saw me being wheeled into an ambulance in December 2009. Without a moment's hesitation, he ran up the steps and plonked himself on the seat beside me, determined to accompany me wherever I was being taken. His surrogate mum Mary (above, right) had to forcibly drag him out, reassuring him that his Daddy would be fine and that he could visit me very soon...


When I emerged from a 5-day induced coma and regained my strength, I kept hearing Ahau singing to me from a few feet away. I was convinced that Sungai Buloh Hospital was only a short distance from Magick River... later I realized that my mind was operating in multiple dimensions and that Ahau was watching over me from the astral plane or dreamtime - perhaps his natural habitat.

I was shown a glimpse of an alternate universe where telepathy made human speech redundant and reminded that Ahau had chosen to incarnate through Anoora and me because it was the only way he might escape school - where his brain would be formatted and stuffed with useless information, rendering him incapable of completing his mission. He didn't travel all this way to conform to human expectations.


A few years ago, Ahau had met a Mayan clairvoyant named Carlos Palada and taken an instant shine to him. We looked on in amusement as Ahau plonked himself on Carlos's lap and began "talking" excitedly to him in a series of high-pitched squeals that sounded like some antique dial-up modem. After 10 minutes or so, I could no longer contain my curiosity. I asked Carlos if he could understand Ahau's language, and Carlos explained that Ahau was transmitting high-frequency packets of visual data, decodable only to somebody with an activated causal chakra.*

"Well... what's he telling you?" I asked, and Carlos said something I'll never forget:

"He was showing me video clips of what this place looked like about 80,000 years ago. There were dinosaurs around then. He's from a fifth-dimensional race that only appears on third-dimensional planets like Earth whenever we're undergoing a massive transition... their work is to stabilize the electromagnetic grids... his last visit here was sometime before Lemuria was destroyed."

Ahau's favorite spot in the whole wide universe!
Whenever Ahau's stubborn resistance to acquiring basic skills gets on my nerves, I have to remind myself that I actually heard this report from Carlos Palada - an amiable guy with emerald green eyes, working for a Japanese construction firm in Singapore, when I first met him in 1997 at a Flower of Life workshop. Carlos had absolutely no reason to make up such crazy stories.

I mean, even if Ahau's an alien... why can't he brush his own teeth, dress himself, open bottle caps, wipe his own bum?

Ahau, Anoora & my grandson Max at Soluntra's Rock
I can hear Ahau sending me a burst of high-pitched audio signals which might translate into something like: "Where I come from intelligent beings don't grow teeth, don't wear clothes, we drink directly from the clouds, and there are no assholes that require wiping, because we're smart enough to eat stuff that doesn't turn into shit!"

Okay, okay, okay, Ahau.... I'll cut you some slack.... for now.

__________________

* In May 2014 Ahau gave us a scare when he collapsed in fits and had to be hospitalized for 5 days. The doctor at KKB district hospital took a long time to intubate him and when I asked him why it was so difficult, he declared that Ahau's larynx was like no other he had ever seen. "Nothing wrong with it, just that it's not a normal human larynx." It was only then I understood why Ahau refused to speak human languages - his vocal cords are simply not designed for human speech.

In the wee hours of 21 December 2017 I found an Arabic-subtitled video on YouTube summarizing the Pleiadian involvement with Earth's evolution and did a screen capture of this unusual map:


[First posted 21 October 2011]