My Son, the Reincarnated King of Lemuria!

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.

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 ain't 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.

A message to the world from Occupy Wall Street...

Two major happenings are going on at the moment. While the #Occupy movement is emerging all over the planet, the Galactic Federation is shutting down underground bases of the Dark Cabal. In other words: the people on Earth are rising up, and our galactic friends are coming down. It's just a matter of time before they come together! [Source: Galactic Channelings]

Happy 95th, Aunt M.Y. ~ Meet some of my friends!

Last photo taken with my Aunt M.Y. in Singapore @  February 2008

Sometimes it takes a while to register that somebody you dearly love is no longer around - at least not physically.

My Aunt M.Y. - better known to her friends and fellow Wesleyans as Grace Lee - was born Dai Moong Yang on 18 October 1916. She spent her final years at the Lentor Residence nursing home in Singapore, gradually succumbing to senescence, and died sometime in February 2009 a few months after her 92nd birthday.

Those are but the barest facts of her life. What does it mean when you see the figures "1916 ~ 2009" engraved on a commemorative plaque in some airconditioned columbarium? Nothing much, really. Every human existence is essentially a multi-layered jigsaw of memory fragments stored in a multitude of contemporary minds. It takes a storyteller to assemble and reconstitute each life that has come and gone. To me that is what resurrection means. Each of us is a story unfolding in time and space and when we no longer inhabit our physical forms, all that remains are anecdotes.

I have only a tiny fragment of M.Y.'s story. I'm sure there are a couple of faded sepia photos of Aunt M.Y. tucked away somewhere in the appalling clutter of my study, salvaged from silverfish-eaten photo albums that survived a series of floods and stuffed in a manila envelope or two, but I have yet to locate them.

Fortunately, M.Y. was a compulsive storyteller and took pains to record a bunch of anecdotes typewritten on double-spaced foolscap sheets. She handed me a collection of her stories sometime in 1991 and asked if I could edit them for publication. I spent weeks hunched over a manual typewriter retyping her manuscripts, tweaking her syntax here and there for ease of reading - and, occasionally, adding a few literary effects to make her enchanting stories more vivid. I suggested she commission my then 19-year-old daughter Belle to come up with a few cartoons to spice up her stories.

She liked the cosmetic changes I had included and subsequently passed the material to her granddaughter, also named Grace, who owned a word processor and knew about preparing text for publication. Finally, in 1995, a thousand copies of a slim, self-published volume titled In Those Days... were printed and distributed to her friends, colleagues and relatives.

On one of my last visits to Aunt M.Y. in her Singapore nursing home, I was pleased to hear that a new edition of In Those Days... was in the works. M.Y. had just celebrated her 90th birthday and I thought it would be wonderful for a spruced-up version of her one and only book to appear as a celebration of her seemingly ordinary - yet in many ways extraordinary - life. I offered to proofread and help with the book design, as I had plenty of time on my hands and had since acquired some facility with computers.

However, as with so many good intentions, nothing transpired in the end. With my aunt's passing in early 2009, only a tiny handful knew of her humble collection of short stories. Family members are funny that way. I remember asking my own mother, M.Y.'s middle sister, whether she had finished reading In Those Days... and what she thought of it. "Oh, you know your Aunt M.Y. She loves telling tall stories!" That was all I could get out of mum.

Years later I realized how fortunate I was to have at least one storyteller in the family. Nobody else seemed interested in recording the everyday occurrences of their lives or of their ancestors - though my mother religiously kept a diary for many years. But after she died in July 1995 and I finally had access to her diaries (she had agreed to bequeath them to me after I pestered her), what I found in them read like a series of Facebook status updates: "Bad cold since Monday. Took some Aspirins but that didn't help much." Mundane stuff like that, apart from a few more intense entries whenever there was a bit of domestic drama. Truth be told, I still haven't read all my dear mother's diaries (there were at least half-a-dozen leather-bound volumes). She wasn't a natural-born storyteller like her big sister M.Y., who had a gift for narrating juicy sagas with genteel discretion.

When my affable and jocular Uncle Kong Beng (affectionately known as K.B.) died unexpectedly of a heart attack, leaving his beloved M.Y. an attractive widow in her late 40s or early 50s, a few tongues began to wag, just because she began spending a lot of time in the company of Uncle Ho - who had been best man at their wedding. In 1970 I got a job in an ad agency and moved in with Aunt M.Y. She kindly let me sleep in a curtained-off portion of her kitchen and often cooked wholesome meals for me.

Uncle Ho would drop by almost every day and that's how I got to know and like the man. He had worked and lived in Singapore for years and had raised a family there. Now he was estranged from his wife and found M.Y.'s company far more appealing. In turn M.Y. found Ho mentally stimulating because he was a well-read man who enjoyed discussing politics, philosophy and literature with her. I thought they were a perfect match for each other and was delighted when Aunt M.Y. bought a house in Bangsar and invited Ho to move in with her.

I often visited M.Y. in her cozy Bangsar home. She invariably insisted that I have something to eat and would busy herself in the tiny kitchen preparing a good old-fashioned meal while I tinkled on her antique upright or discussed current affairs with Uncle Ho. He struck me as essentially a pragmatist, torn between socialist ideals and a conviction borne from bitter experience that a great divide would forever exist between theory and practice because of the damnable recalcitrance of "human nature."

On one of these visits I learned from M.Y. that not everyone "approved" of her cohabiting with Ho, who was still legally married to his Singaporean wife. I didn't wish to poke my nose into other people's affairs, so I never asked Ho why he didn't obtain a formal divorce - and in any case it has never once occurred to me that couples who opt to share space must first apply for a licence from any government or seek approval from some priest.

Ever since I found out about these artificial constraints imposed on human behavior I have felt nothing but contempt for those who actually believe God personally laid down those rigid rules and regulations. As a kid I had come to my own conclusion that if a God truly existed, he or she or it would most certainly be completely free of the mental shackles of society's Caucasian chalk circle taboos.

Aunt M.Y. had been a dedicated Methodist all her life. Indeed, she told me her grandfather had been among the pioneer Foochows who migrated to Sarawak at the turn of the 20th century and established the first Methodist church in Sibu. Yet she never once presented herself as a prude, and always showed a profound empathy for human frailty. To me, if one insisted on professing Christianity, the ultimate exemplar would be my Aunt M.Y., who was well-known as Mrs Grace Lee to all Wesleyans in Kuala Lumpur because of her vigorous efforts in community service. Indeed, she was perfectly comfortable sharing her modest home and her widowed life with her old buddy Ho, a lifelong atheist and pragmatist.

My Aunt M.Y. and I were, in many ways, kindred spirits, despite our generational differences. She told me about her adventures in the astral realms, revealing how she often found herself floating out of her body and moving around with utmost freedom and facility. For months after her husband K.B. died, M.Y. would encounter him in the astral. He apparently missed her greatly and she him. The last time she visited her departed husband in the astral zone, she saw him happily remarried. He was now a simple farmer, working his fields in an idyllic valley, where life flowed in harmony with natural rhythms. She was finally able to put closure to their previous life together.

Quite often she was asked to clear stagnant ectoplasm and poltergeists from haunted houses. She described how she would get goose pimples upon entering certain areas and that would indicate the presence of discarnate entities or lost souls. Often she would be accompanied by a clairvoyant friend or two and they would simply acknowledge the cobwebs of psychic distress and pray for the release of the unhappy souls. The simple fact that she entrusted the ritual cleansing to Jesus and the Archangels made her unquestionably a disciple of the Christ.

Before she moved to Bangsar, M.Y. underwent surgery for a thyroid disorder. She reported to me, a wee bit regretfully, that she no longer astral projected after her thyroidectomy. Instead, she caught the physical travel bug and relished her speaking tours of the United States, representing Southeast Asian women at Methodist World Conferences. Back home, she devoted a great deal of time to serving in various church committees and providing free counseling to all and sundry.

Many a time when I visited M.Y., she would be dispensing sage advice and spiritual succor to distraught young women or friends undergoing domestic crises. She also began to upgrade her mastery of Mandarin and try her hand at writing articles and short stories.

In Those Days... has yet to be resurrected in print - and I can understand why, because publishing books involves not only money but an enormous expenditure of time and effort. Besides, very few publishers are prepared to invest in unknown quantities like a humble collection of personal stories written by a rank amateur, especially if there is absolutely no sensational content to be found - just a frank and sympathetic documentation of memorable episodes in a fairly ordinary human life.

After giving the matter considerable thought, I was convinced that if my Aunt M.Y. had been introduced to digital technology while her faculties were still acute, she would inevitably have become an ardent blogger or at least a ubiquitous commentator on a variety of social-political forums. Indeed, I would go so far as to visualize M.Y. getting her first whiff of tear gas at the Bersih 2.0 rally for clean and fair elections on 9 July 2011.

So I created a blog on her behalf, called... In Those Days... and when better to go public with it than on what would have been her 95th solar orbit? I have had to retype every single page, beginning from the end, so that when I finally complete this labor of love, the blog will be an online version of her first and only book. I've only managed five chapters to date, but will shoot for at least one more after I upload this post.

To any member of the family who may be displeased with the liberty I have taken by making M.Y.'s stories accessible online, I humbly apologize for disagreeing with the notion that it's best to "keep it in the family." I sincerely feel that my Aunt M.Y.'s stories have a charm all their own and provide an invaluable record of what life was like if one happened to be the granddaughter of a Chinese immigrant in British Malaya, born just after the First World War. I feel a deep enough spiritual connection with my Aunt M.Y. to assert that nothing would please her more than for her modest contribution to literature to be preserved and shared with the world at large - the world she has left and which she so unconditionally loved.

The fact that my Aunt M.Y.'s stories will now be floating around in cyberspace may indeed catalyze a hard-copy reprint of her limited first edition - and I think that would be the most appropriate way to celebrate her 100th birthday!

BLOG-IN-PROGRESS!

Unpublished interview with a walk-in named Antares

Last week I was without home access to the internet. We are all creatures of habit and I continued sitting at my computer, sorting out the contents of my personal folders so I could save useful documents on a pen drive. This exercise yielded some interesting discoveries from the recent past - like this hitherto unpublished interview (dated 14 September 2003) conducted by Joeanne Foo, a mass communications student whose assignment was to write a magazine profile on any "colorful and unusual" personality. She began by sending me 13 questions...


1) Who is Antares?

A possible walk-in phenomenon, perhaps, wherein a multidimensional entity (from beyond the 3D Matrix) has effectively fused with the human personality known as "Kit Leee" - or else Antares is a temporary User ID for surfing the zuvuya (what the Maya call the intergalactic, interdimensional memory network). All names, all labels, are essentially part of the return journey to our original and ultimate Ineffability (meaning, the perfect state of Namelessness, or the Tao).

2) What would you consider the biggest achievement(s) in your life?

Remembering the Source of Life and reconnecting with It. On a more modest scale, getting my mother to spell my 3D name, Kit Leee, with 3 E's was exceptionally gratifying. She finally accepted my Third E only after seeing the name printed on the cover of my first book, ADOI!

3) You talked about having an awakening, what is that all about?

During the 13,000-year long Galactic Night when our Solar System was aligned in the opposite direction from the Milky Way Center, all life entered into a deep sleep and became more and more mechanical in its functions (this has been depicted in allegoric terms in popular folklore, e.g., the legend of the Sleeping Beauty). All through this period of reduced consciousness, which Hindu cosmogony calls Kali yuga or the Age of Darkness, individual souls have awoken to the true nature of their beings from time to time, but were often viewed as avatars (divine incarnations), messiahs or prophets (in effect, put on a pedestal and worshiped, but their message was ignored or misconstrued).

As we approach the dawn of a new Galactic Day, this process of Awakening will happen to more and more individuals until a critical mass is attained, at which point humanity as a whole will remember its true destiny and no longer be enslaved by fear, ignorance, and false beliefs. My individual awakening in 1969 continues to be the central motif of my life - and my determination to never again forget my reason for being has given me the inner resolve to persevere against all odds. (If you genuinely wish to explore this theme further, I suggest you read my long letter to a friend now accessible online.

4) Many people see you as a rather eccentric person, do you see yourself that way?

My understanding of the word "eccentric" is that it describes an orbital pattern that is "off-center" or differently aligned than others. In certain areas I behave just like everybody else, while in others I am completely unique. In short, if people enjoy describing my inclinations as "eccentric" they are free to do so, but their opinions have little impact on my inner reality. I certainly don't view myself as "eccentric" - if anything, I am "centric" or at least "concentric."

5) If you could turn back time somehow, would you choose to live your life differently?

Absolutely not. Well, maybe I'd change my mind about incarnating on this planet - but then I'd be missing all the fun. Who knows? I didn't plan a single day of my life - and thus far the results have been way beyond my wildest expectations.

6) Would you consider yourself a celebrity?

Anyone who even takes the word "celebrity" seriously needs to be reformatted! Why? There's no real meaning or value to being "famous" – the more people that "know of" you the fewer close friends you actually end up having. No doubt in my younger days I enjoyed being admired, recognized, praised for my work. I guess I still do, but I will no longer do something just to get my picture in the weeklies. Sometimes I can't help thinking it could be quite enjoyable to be completely anonymous and have access to a multibillion-dollar numbered account in Switzerland - but that's just on really bad-hair days.

7) Tell me more about your involvement with music.

Music is among the major sources of pleasure for me - whether making it or merely listening. The word derives from "Muse" (inspiration, being moved by Spirit) - which shows how crucial music is to raising our consciousness, lifting our spirits, sensitizing us to aesthetics (the appreciation of beauty, harmony, truth). Furthermore, music can only occur in real time - and is therefore the most elegant way to experience and enjoy Time. My musical taste is what you might call "eclectic" - I am attracted to the singer, not the song; in other words, if the musician/performer has integrity and originality of expression, I find it appealing. I am not particularly interested in musical genres, as such. If a piece of music inspires me, it matters little whether it is classified jazz or classics or pop or avant-garde.

8) You seem to be mentioning a lot about 'rainbow' in your website. Nelson Mandela used the word to describe a multiracial nation. Do you use it in the same context?

The rainbow is a universal symbol of perfect harmony - of the essential unity of all pluralities (the 12 colors of the spectrum are essentially a transcendental, colorless oneness, represented by Light). Darkness is not an entity unto itself, merely the absence of Light - which manifests in rainbow colors as many languages, many tribes, many forms, many approaches to self-knowledge. So, in response to your question, the rainbow means more than just multi-ethnicity to me - it encompasses a magical quality of awesome splendor, of innocence and openness to all manifestations of life in the entire spectrum of possibility. The rainbow carries the frequency of joy, celebration, divine ecstasy.

9) What are your future plans?

The future is how I feel at any moment. How can I plan the way I feel from one moment to the next? Life would cease to be spontaneous! In other words, I do not plan my life - although under specific circumstances, e.g., when I want to travel or manifest a public event, I have to do a certain amount of preparation, deciding what to pack, what form of transport to take, or where and when to stage the show and who to invite. Apart from that, I prefer to be fully present in the moment - and thus able to respond instantly and wholeheartedly to any given situation.

10) You have explored many religions, which one do you find the most fascinating and that you hold on to in life?

All religions have a certain fascination or they would have no followers at all. In general, I find the older belief systems a great deal more mature and acceptable - and a lot less divisive - than the younger ones. Although I have at various times experimented with pretending to be "hindu" or "buddhist" I have found myself gravitating towards the most ancient of belief systems, which some call paganism and others Gnosticism. But even so I do not consider myself a practitioner of any specific belief system, not even scientific pantheism (which closely describes my basic attitude towards existence). As John C. Lilly (a pioneer researcher of altered states of human consciousness) once said: "Belief systems are like clothes. The harsher the climate, the more clothes one wears. But in paradise, under ideal conditions, one doesn't need clothes." In other words, if you want to live in heaven, befriend the naked truth!

11) Do you feel like you have total control over yourself and what you believe in or do you find yourself sometimes lost in your own eccentricity?

Total control? I certainly don't have that - and doubt I would want it. If you mean, do I have total control over my thoughts and feelings - the answer is "no way!" A certain degree of control, of course, is necessary or else one couldn't master anything, especially oneself. But I don't view self-mastery as being equal to self-control. Self-mastery means no longer seeking outside approval for one's being or behavior. Self-control means not desperately seeking to always impose one's preferences or truths on others, to shut up when no one wants your opinion - a mental state not at all easy to sustain.

12) Lightning, scary or fascinating? Mind explaining?

Lightning is always fascinating, even exciting, to me. It's a visible manifestation of electricity as it moves through the atmosphere - and to me electricity is my true father (and magnetism my true mother). We are, in truth, interesting byproducts of electromagnetic flux!

13) What's the difference between Antares and Kit Leee? Why emphasize on being Antares?

This question has been answered right from the start, but I'll answer it again, a bit differently. "Antares" is a name I "received" during a meditation, while in a lucid and mature state of mind (I had orbited the Sun 42 times). "Kit" was a name assigned to me at birth by my paternal grandfather (it means "hero" in Chinese, as in the Mandarin "Jet"). I like the name "Kit Leee" very much - but at a certain point it ceased to define my focus in life, which became less and less personal and more and more transpersonal. In effect the entity called "Kit Leee" was a human personality anxious about being liked or disliked, eager to become rich and famous (like everyone who lives under a tempurung is programmed to be). However, "Antares" serves to anchor my consciousness in concerns beyond the merely human, beyond the physical, egoic level where "survival" seems to be the central focus. "Antares" is a galactic tag which gives me access to galactic intelligence - very useful as we approach Galactic Alignment during the December solstice of 2012 (Gregorian Reckoning).

13 questions for you to attempt ;) Good luck...

Thank you. 13 is a powerful number indeed. It marks the end of an octave/cycle in which all preceding qualities are reconciled, integrated and harmonized!

Beautiful humans embodying the spirit of joy and freedom...

Thanks to Malaysiakini for documenting the Occupy Dataran event on 15 October 2011. I was there with you all... and have been since the beginning of time... and I shall be with you too at the end of linear time (on 28 October 2011 or 13 Ahau).

Playing For Change ~ Songs Around The World

As we made our way around the world we encountered love, hate, rich and poor, black and white, and many different religious groups and ideologies. It became very clear that as a human race we need to transcend from the darkness to the light and music is our weapon of the future. This song around the world features musicians who have seen and overcome conflict and hatred with love and perseverance. We dont need more trouble, what we need is love. The spirit of Bob Marley always lives on.

This is the fourth Song Around The World video released from the CD/DVD Playing For Change: Songs Around The World and the follow up to the classics "Stand By Me," "One Love" and "Don't Worry." This unforgettable track was performed by musicians around the world adding their part to the song as it traveled the globe.





From the award-winning documentary, Playing For Change: Peace Through Music, comes an incredible rendition of the legendary Bob Marley song "One Love" with Keb' Mo' and Manu Chao. This is the third video from the documentary and a follow up to the classic "Stand By Me" and the incredible "Don't Worry." Released in celebration of Bob Marley's birthday on February 6th, this tribute to the legend is performed by musicians around the world adding their part to the song as it traveled the globe.





"Gimme Shelter" is a track we have wanted to record for years and today we can finally share it with all of you. This song expresses the urgency we all face to unite together as a planet and offers us wisdom with the words, "War, children, it's just a shot away... Love, sister, it's just a kiss away". It really is that simple. We dedicate this song to all the lost, homeless and forgotten people in this world. It is in the shelter of each other that the people live.





We met Robert Bradley while shooting our first film, Playing for Change: A Cinematic Discovery of Street Music. Robert is originally from Detroit, Michigan, but we filmed this song in Los Angeles in front of a Playing For Change graffiti wall painted by a local artist. We had just finished a take of Robert singing "Playing For Change Blues," a song we created while filming across America, and were beginning to interview him. All of a sudden he started speaking the lyrics to this song... We immediately grabbed another mic for his guitar, plugged it directly into the camera and asked him to perform it for us. Enjoy!

Order the CD/DVD Playing For Change: Songs Around The World now at amazon.com!

[Thanks to Brigitte Neubacher for alerting me to these funky and uplifting videos, inspired no doubt by the celebrated 2001 CD/DVD project 1 Giant Leap by Duncan Bridgeman and Jamie Catto.]