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Thread: A Future Earth

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    United States Avalon Member Wade Frazier's Avatar
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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    Thanks Vasili:

    Howard Storm’s NDE is an example, IMO, of how earthly personalities that lose their way are “”jolted” back onto their path. There is a wide range of reactions to NDE experiences, and Storm’s aftermath was one of the most fanatical that I have encountered, as a former atheist who spouted Bible verse to all around him. Storm was describing what I call a Level 19 world, and I have little doubt that it is a real one to choose from. But, as he described it, Earth’s population was very low. What, maybe 100 million people? If that?

    Bill Ryan introduced me to his readers/listeners with an excerpt from an email of mine as we were preparing for the Camelot interview. It still sums up how I see it. Infinite future realities beckon to all of us, and it will be up to each one of us which paths we travel. People who have had NDEs and out-of-body experiences, various kinds of psychonauts and the like, have visited future Earths, both heavenly and hellish, and all manner of reality in-between.

    The way that I see it, our technology, to a great degree, made us, and I think that a future of enlightened technology use is ahead of us, and for some of us, maybe a Level 19 lifetime will be in the cards. But I’ll settle for one in that heavenly future Earth that Roads visited.

    Best,

    Wade
    My big essay, published in 2014, is here.

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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    Are these complete? Not sure. Might need tweaking. Felt like a share. Many hours spent in a whirl of words and montage, until I could taste the future in the moment...

    Much love to one and all




    Our Story


    We were conceived to experience our deepest strength. Our broadest potential. To gratefully receive our highest truths. Watching as they pulse beneath the skin, and flicker, in sacred lights, through the rivers of our eyes. The temples of our lives. These are the aims of myself and my kin. We gather freely. And because we glide to one another, day to day, with open arms - and we know that all seeking is essentially an old question that has resurfaced to experience itself differently - we are at home in our courage. Seeking becomes an act of creation. Of collaboration with the divine threads and energy waves that course through the chasms of darkness and symphonies of stars within our universe. We do not seek to 'know' everything, in the ways of the old world. The ways born of hunger. Itself born of a lack of faith. We sense both the past and the future flowing through our cells. The untamed grip and the glare of ancestral fear. The seventh dimensional rays of our future souls, soaring and glistening in harmony. Eye to eye. Heart to heart. We replenish one another. Drawing deeper from, and pouring deeper into, the refined, unlimited wells of a shared imagination.

    We are beings of many worlds.



    The Mind of Dalia

    Dalia is my sister. Born of a different mother and father. In some lives we were born from the same two parents. In this one, to different families, on different continents. We visit each other in our dreams and in our thoughts. Sometimes simply to leave a smile, like a morning flower on a threshold. A note beneath a door. She can sense the field of my heart when it is flooded with awe. I can feel hers in rare moments when it is at risk. From straying too far. In need of embrace to remember who she is. Some days the roles are reversed. In either dynamic, we hold a space for one another. A prayer.

    This is common. We are not the only ones who live through this healing. We are not the only ones who vitalize these bonds in one another's movement.

    Dalia has invited me today, to link our minds, and join in her experience. She is at the crystal caves, the southern edge, by the waters. She is conversing with the dolphins and the Oumanvaal. The O, as we know them. They are strangely wild in their silence, graceful in their balance of vocation and power, connected to their home zones in another solar system. It is, almost, as if they exist so markedly beyond what the ancestors experienced as the sheltering of self through the ego, that they journey into unfathomable realms of unity, to the consciousness of nations, and the cosmos, then journey back in ways that appear instantaneous – returning to our minds, at our speed of thought, to convey what we can use for our enrichment.

    Over generations of earthling upliftment, the dolphins have assisted in opening portals within our ocean where the Oumanvaal have entered and surfaced to align with us. They weave through our minds, stories of their journeys and their other-dimensional language. Their bodies extend from a central core, with a plethora of arms that sway through space like reams of silk in some unknown layer of the ocean's depth. Even when they touch the air.

    It is new to my senses, yet has a warmth of familiarity. Reminds me, in ways, of the word magic. In their language, the vibrational imprint of the word for magic is the root of many words. Though they are not so much words, as symbols that exist simultaneously with a clear and even sonic frequency. Audible to some. Like music. Incapable of being misinterpreted by those who are connected. We feel their meaning. As they feel ours.

    Dalia is communicating with them. As are the people around her. It is an exchange, In parts so joyful and bold, so inviting and interactive, as the collected minds shift one another's understanding and rise into resonance, that it is almost a dance. We dance with the Oumanvaal. It regularly causes the feel of laughter in my belly, like a peal of bells, streaming up into my heart, somehow - in gentle, equal measure - sobering my mind. Soothing it. It is wonderful.

    It feels like a blessing.





    The Body of Estwell


    Estwell is not one person, but a community. One of souls that have gathered themselves. With our technologies of space craft that can carry us across the globe in minutes, we find one another with ease. Although, with the dissolution of slavery - a spell that once pinned us in a daze of mechanistic labour, which too often would profit the few instead of the collective - we are equally free to wonder on our feet for years, if and how we choose, as we move to our destination.

    In eras past, as people were gifted with the means to live cleanly and abundantly, the artificial boundaries between us, rooted in mind-sets of scarcity and defensiveness, all gradually diminished. We are tuned, all of us, to the needs and rhythms of other creatures and living systems. We respect the need for the land to breathe. For the seas to writhe, and the forest to live its seasons. It is in that way that we move through the world. Caring. Conscious. Absorbing the pleasures and the secrets of the earth, on our routes. We are now, as a race on earth, travelling around and beyond it, honed to choose and to build our communities as widely as we dream them.

    There are times when some individuals, within our global fold, are unsure how to nurture their calling. Many are found by the seers of Estwell, who lend their company from a distance. Revealing what is possible. Encircling the psyche's doubts in a warm array of visions and feeling. Creating a bridge between souls. Transformational exchanges. It is an offering that doesn't always draw the receivers to Estwell, and is not intended to, but often it will lift them or turn their gaze to evolving trails and perspectives – relink them to their inner compass. A rekindling of motivation. Nourishing the planes of numinous connection.

    Estwell began with a convergence of scientific minds. Each of them drawn to contribute to or observe the others' projects. It now exists as a thriving hub of technology and research. Grounded by the spiritual wealth and the mutual respect of its members. Many members come, and then leave after they feel a call elsewhere. But the underlying tenet and drives are so strong that Estwell maintains an identity unique around the planet. Much pioneering has evolved from its endeavours. The brightest minds combining in fields of plasma, of crystal, magnetic and electrical innovation, the behaviours of new found liquids and asteroidal metals. Healing and building with light and with sound. With interdimensional keys that awaken the interest of off-world beings, whose visitations and transmissions the community absorbs as pathways to its growth. Many families live around Estwell, forming with their homes a soft perimeter. One whose shape forever shifts, with the farewells and arrivals of settlers old and new. Dwellings so effortlessly raised through joy, and with peaceful meaning, they amplify an energy that encompasses the entire domain.

    An ancestor of mine was one of the first to bear a child, after settling in Estwell. The Estwell babies, they called them. Just a few years in and it was hardly a surprise to find the child, Kuzma, had an intense interest in, a passion for, the study of interdimensional physics. He vocalised his plans to design new kinds of interstellar craft. Continuing the work of his grandmother, a much beloved astronaut, who also led a large number of expeditions into the inner earth. Though he could have been born to any corner of the earth, and made his way here, he chose this place. In our world, more and more children are born with a clear purpose, a recollection of from where and why they came. He still recalls his mother's first message as he entered the earth, uttered by her heartbeat as the tones of its newest song shimmered throughout her body. As it quivered with her love, and in his father's devotion.

    “Welcome.”





    The Spirit of Akash


    Akash is an old, and we suspect much travelled soul. Around many of us he will opt not to impart the full weight of his story. Lifetimes laid to rest, spent in the midst of battle-worn leaders and alchemistic sages, troubling the world from behind a sealed cellar door. Here and there a mercenary, lured by the shadows. In the last, and fair to say more than several lifetimes over a thousand years, he has remoulded and expanded his consciousness. Here, now, always emitting a lightness of touch in the energy he shares, no matter the faces or complexities before him. It is a decision born of kindness. The humility of one who is close to mastering sacrifice beyond suffering. To where each act of surrender grows the energy of the soul. It is the softness of one who treads lightly – nearing, we believe, the end of his path in earthly incarnations. Akash's mind is humbling. The kind adept at tapping into energies of magnificent scale. The kind that could move a mountain, but instead would choose to move through it. Thanking the fabric of the rocks as it passed.

    In his small, youthful body of five solar years, he has wondered far, and taught us a great many things about the earth. She speaks to him. It is felt by her creations. The woodlands honour him. The trees lean into his path to brush the hairs of his skin, where their bonds with the earth can echo far into his thoughts. He loves them, as brothers and sisters. Mothers and fathers. A child who is content to be alone, because he knows, truly feels, within the clear skies and valleys of his galactic spirit, he in fact never could be. It is a contentment so filled with vitality, it sails along the spines of those who pass through its current, even at a distance of a mile or more.

    Akash will often enter into bliss, roaming within the ancient greens and golds of a summer forest. The nature spirits with whom he connects are drawn to him wherever he steps - collecting around him as guardians when he sleeps. He guards them in kind. Choosing his sleeps to explore, more than to recuperate. Sometimes they observe, as do multiple beings of varied dimensions, when he manifests goods in the material realm.

    As today. He is meeting with Cassaypi. A being from a distant star system whose race, on her planet of origin, is a little like a blend between one of our native humans and a nature spirit. She identifies with the earth nature spirits. Whilst she possesses their playful side, here on earth she is fascinated by our intellectual growth, and the games that have survived generations.

    Akash has created a board for chess, and all its pieces, made of light. They are taking turns. Moving pieces with their minds. Akash, both a fair and a consummate player, is blocking both their minds so they will not predict one another's moves. Cassaypi appreciates it. She marvels quietly, as he spins an orb of sapphire stone, inches away from his palms. Gently unravelling the rules of dimensions, with a fundamental respect for their systems and purpose. An effortless ken that sings through the air. If I could say it of anyone, I might say it of Akash, that some rare souls appear to be not only made of love, but truly an open and flowing channel.

    His world is a blessing, and he is leaving it for us. Imbuing his surrounds with an atmosphere that lingers. Then moving on through the cosmic gateways his endeavours reveal. Unphased and empowered by the journeys ahead.


    Last edited by Melinda; 16th January 2018 at 20:11. Reason: Changing Picture Links

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    United States Avalon Member Wade Frazier's Avatar
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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    Thanks Melinda. I needed that!

    Wade
    My big essay, published in 2014, is here.

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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    The Forest Makers

     
    Imagine awakening to the music of the birds.  The layers of their song, rising and falling in harmony with the waves of consciousness that pulse beneath your skin.  The ripple of streams, crystalline pure; the cascade of high and distant waterfalls that sway through the air, spilling their bounty of diamonds in the sunlight.  To let your eyes, as they first open, spend a moment or an hour, conversing with the colours and contours of a wild flower, or the silk-winged creatures that rest along its edges.  Seeing the universe in the tiniest of detail.  The wind, now and then, weaving its moods into a sound, through the branches of the Aspen, and the sacred hollows of the rocks.  A tapestry of energies.  Its wisdom and its textures, forever unfolding in the chambers of your heart.  To wake and to live and to vision, attuned to them.  This is our world.  And your world to come.  We are the forest makers, and these ways are in our blood.
     
    With so much of earth’s ecosystem once decimated by greed and disregard, for so long, repairing the damage was considered a priority by an ever-increasing number of souls.  In this process, great care was taken to use both our technologies, and the ancient wisdom and intuition of the most sensitive in our midst, to develop our systems in alignment with the natural flows and needs of our planet.  Not every desert was greened.  Not every zone was deemed fit for jungles, or areas of collective housing, either of which could alter the climate.  Some locations, where significant portals were identified, were kept free of human habitation, so cross-dimensional activity could be safely monitored and learned from.  We studied not only our own records, now shared more freely than in earlier centuries, but also listened to the wealth of knowledge the animals had been keeping.  Waiting for us to commune with them. 
     
    Various communities had been honing the skills of reforesting for generations.  There were cases too of lone, rare individuals, old souls among our ancestors, who had purchased land and returned it to balance, to resonate with the earth.  Her natural state.  A blueprint of abundance now unfurls at our feet, as the valleys and mountains hum their approval.  Barely audible.  But discernable to those fluent with their messages.   Where care is taken, and love freely shared, animals gather and settle.  Inviting their kin, and including their role in the growth of new systems.  The earth herself feels the tending of life, sending her waters through her veins, branching off and rising to her surface.  Old springs reborn, and new ones birthed, navigating to connect with the rivers and the ocean bays.  Some believe she not only filters and channels from sources around her globe, but calls forward new waters from a form of singularity, connected with the divine.
     
    Even in the womb our children learn a closeness to the living frequencies of our environment.  Certain plants, trees and creatures are widely known to prefer the company of certain others.  Some to cleanse, assist or guard one another.  Some to prey.  Some to converse in ways not always entirely understood.  New species forever reveal themselves.  With our own evolution into beings who are primed to give more than we take, we have enabled ourselves to influence many animals to adapt in similar ways.  They join us in exploring other realms and modes of sustenance.  Some individuals assist us in mastering our own purpose, or receiving downloads and connections to our galactic library.  There are poet souls beneath the fur and the feathered wings.  Graceful warriors among the horses, the healer whales and teacher wolves.  We listen and we learn where there is opportunity and invitation.  From the ancient clans of elephants to the crow and the roaming jaguar.  Some act as conduits for guides.  Some are gifted at birth to fully communicate from their incarnate souls.  Many such souls commit to serve along the planetary grids, enriching the hues of wildness and grace. 
     
    At the very start, we invited the nature spirits, the benevolent and generous among them, to help configure and nourish the once empty planes.  Feeling our intent, they agreed to work with us, assisting every new-seeded woodland in becoming its potential.  Until its bones and its breath were imbued with a scintillating magic.  The forests, old and new, began to rise into unparalleled symphonies of life.  Where once humans had been the great interference, now we were collaborators.  Builders and keepers of variegation.  Gardeners, deeply in our hands and souls.  A part of founding this effectively lay in understanding the balance of when to instigate, and when to observe earth and her other creatures take the reigns of an idea.  Now these understandings are embedded in our DNA.  We freely give our energy in continual exchange.  The awareness of it, conscious and directed, makes all the difference.  An exchange of love, through the language of our spirits.
     
    Nearly all forest makers have created homes to grow the world around us.  So that our lives and the forest are intertwined.  Its plants and vines, creatures and spirits, sharing our homes.  Responding to our vibration, as we are nourished by their own.  Living this life does not demand labour in the sense of the old world.  It is not a chore, but a natural response.  Like skipping over stones or welcoming the rain into our bodies.  We have hours in our days and nights to spend our life in innumerable ways.  Less with what our ancestors referred to as ‘jobs’, and more in what they would have termed vocations and roles.  Our hearts guide us to how we will most enjoy growing.  That joy, that love expressed through respect and exploration, assists with the experience of timelessness.  Often we appear as young as we feel.  A lightness of spirit pours through our physical being, and many of us begin our morning with the gentle act of stretching our limbs and thought into the bliss of levitating.  Rising above the river and the soil, to greet the eagle in the clouds or bless the highest branches of the pines.  Honing our balance and drawing it playfully and usefully into the 3D realm.
     
    Once, where we dwell, there were stagnant cities, dozing and rumbling into misery.  A kind of spiritual confusion.  Concrete towers that seemed little more than human storage.  Disconnected souls, risking numbness to life, misguided on the crutch of a shady range of chemicals and stimulants.  But where those cities stood, now there is a deeper, more connective vitality.  A more organic array of perceptions and motivation.  Sublime and multidimensional.  Both drawing us together, and offering us space to lay our paths of independence.  With clean, efficient energy technology, we have restored the earth’s ecosystems and recycled many buildings into harmonious landscapes.  Into new ships and even works of art.  And art is yet another aspect of life that has grown, and grown, serving to expand our imagination.  All among us are considered artists.  Creating our lives with the intent to heal and uplift, reinventing our worlds.  Together as a family, allowing our souls to inform a vast spectrum of collaboration. 
     
    Some within our midst have maintained the traditions of the ancient arts.  The crafting of artistic tools and instruments is a personal realm of bliss.  Some use their hands alone, working with the fallen wood of trees from around the globe.  To find a tree that connects with you personally, and to carve a dulcimer, flute or a mandolin, with that tree to guide you as you mould its shape, is an enlightening conversation.  Some adepts within the craft will improvise their pieces according to the wishes of the tree.  Others utilise three-dimensional printing technology to design and create entirely new instruments which they envisage in their dreams, with exact precision.  Some use it to create the lost instruments of the past.  My uncle once experimented, using scanners to lift the sonic imprints from the walls of an ancient concert hall, to see if he could replicate the sounds.  It was, well, a little muffled.  But when he linked his endeavour to that of a group of talented lucid dreamers who were communicating with a famous composer of that era, he was able to achieve more clarity on the compositions and their atmospheres. 
     
    Not far from me live a family of quintuplets, all gifted with voices of immaculate tone, and each unique.  When joined in unison, they will often charm the glens and dales, as the mountain air sweeps through their bodies like the ringing of celestial bells.  They have been known to calm a storm, or to ward off unsavoury seekers when they extend their reach into heavier tones.  Two of the siblings created software that searched the web for vocal signatures that could match or complement their own.  Within a day we had a choir, flown in from around the globe.  Some of whose members are triplets and twins.  And with every notable concert we witness more and more extra-terrestrial visitors in the audience, curious to absorb the emanations.  They have begun to express an interest in membership.  One of them, a lilac-skinned Afarian from the Elmara constellation, enquired as to whether his height, of fourteen feet, would be a hindrance.  On receiving approval, he revealed an innate gift for the mid-tempo choral pieces.  Particularly for singing three part harmonies all at once.
     
    When people hold a union ceremony, friends around the world will often create unique musical instruments, all manner of interactive sculptures and films and other works for the occasion, to honour the partners and bless their path together.  Our festivals are filled with art, and whilst credit is freely given to those who inspire and create, the absence of money and of mean-spirited competition has freed the world to share and incorporate old or existing art into new creations like never before.  Subsequently, similar in ways to the sand mandalas of earth’s Tibetan monks, art comes and goes for joy and for healing.  For learning in the moment.  For dedication to serving a higher calling and spiritual purpose, without the attachments of the past, or the longing for recognition.  The territorial games of identity and branding that too often used to stifle and divide such large numbers of creators, are truly obsolete.  We are story-tellers and healers.  Equipped to examine both the darkness in our shadows and the bounty of our light.  Through supporting that integration in one another, we explore and express more deeply and respectfully than ever before.
     
    There are also those who incline towards painting, and much like the singers will often attract the woodland animals, or open telepathic portals with their endeavours.  My neighbour once opened such a portal, and incorporated what he saw into a corner of his painting, which was a man from a distant land.  When he searched his memory in the dreamtime the face became more and more familiar, so he visited the most synchronous remote viewers in the region, who discovered this man was in fact a cousin who he had never known.  A long story.  But they are now in contact daily, and work on building a new database for their shared passion - the recent discovery of meteorite deposits on a lake bed several miles to the North, which seem to phase in and out of dimensions.
     
    The painters often work in silence, some seeming to bask in a gentle glow that grounds them in the earth.  Others appearing to rise into a kind of reverie, as though the act of channelling through the work invigorates their blood.   Some paint using old-fashioned paints and canvas, easily recycled.  Others using laser and hologram tools.  Though there are some who will use energy alone, manifesting radiant compositions in the space around them. 
     
    Lani is only young, but one of the brightest in her family.  Her village have, several times, helped modify my forest-glider so I can send herbs back and forth to our neighbours.  Lani is less interested in the machines however, and far more in painting.  She creates directly from her heart, and enjoys maintaining her light creations for hours.  Some days they are like ribbons of neon that spiral through the air.  Others are far more complex.  Sacred geometrical shapes, and flowers of life, that transform the forest around her into a multi-levelled and luminous cathedral.  Lani is a remarkable empath, and often gifts the ability to those in close proximity. Her works can be felt, and are known to transmute the troubled energies of those she encounters, whose wounds she locates and offers to repair.  To be near to her creations is like wandering within the rays of a dozen tiny suns.  The elders among the swans like to meditate beneath them. They have been known to invite her to swim with them, and even ride them as they fly.  Her greatest treasure is her joy.  Profoundly bonded, as it is for all travellers here, to the world and the many life forms in our midst.  We know, and have always known, that we are born to live, to breathe and to honour that joy, as we nurture the havens around us.  We share it all gladly.  And marvel as it gives us our heaven on earth.








    Last edited by Melinda; 16th January 2018 at 20:09. Reason: Changing Picture Links

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    United States Avalon Member Wade Frazier's Avatar
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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    It is truly an honor to have helped develop a place where Melinda can publish her art. While reading Melinda’s latest masterpiece, and listening to some appropriate music, and I laughed out loud when reading the choir part, old Wade got inspired to write another visionary post. I first thought about writing a little more about Andra’s life, and I think that I will put it on my list of things to do, but I think that I am going to first write something from the first or second generation of the Fifth Epoch. Working long hours these days, and they may not let up for a while, but those posts are coming one day.

    For now, I will savor Melinda’s latest…

    Best,

    Wade
    My big essay, published in 2014, is here.

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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    I'm also starting to become busy in life with the coming of my new job, so all I can do is to savor this one.

    I've always wondered on how the Fifth Epoch may handle ecological restoration and it seems that Melinda touched on it here in great detail and in a story telling manner, which is very important.

    This is amazing. Interestingly, I am also listening to some easy listening music, Lighthouse Family, when I am reading this. It just so happens. Thanks for giving more good vibes, Melinda.

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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    I do feel drawn to this thread Thought I’d make a post with some visions (montages I put together) that I’d posted elsewhere on other threads. I hope to be back soon with a new future vision. Meanwhile, here are some I made before, re-uploaded (since Photobucket blanked out all my pics here, unless I agree to start paying them quite a lot.) I’ve included some of the text I wrote when I originally posted them.

    Much Love


    * * * * *


    This first one is of a school.

    In the background you can see the campus and its central building. Its whimsical shape designed by the older children who, at 14-16 years, are all fairly capable engineers. They designed the building of the main assembly hall in anticipation of the April showers, so that the spring waters can spiral down the outer slopes. The material they chose has special acoustic properties – and the cascading of the rain creates different kinds of music that sound all around them and resonate beneath their skin. They say it's akin to an awakening feeling. Like the sky is moving through their bodies. This same material can also be folded and remoulded whenever the school is moved, and recast into new shapes, inspired by different themes.

    To the right are the domed classrooms. These transparent rooms can travel as ships, and occasionally the children have taken trips to the poles at night to view the stars, or through the oceans to converse with the inhabitants of the sea world. Knowing their importance, the younger ones are keen to monitor the health of the ocean realms.

    When they are landed in the assembly point, they often choose to roll back the flooring and feel the earth beneath their feet. They have all lent a hand in designing and tending the gardens, providing a restful and rejuvenating place to read and pick their lunch.

    Many of their grandparents used to live in cities. But as free energy revolutionised technology and communication - permeating every area of life, from travel to home farming - more and more people spread out to form conscious communities, and rejuvenate areas of land that had previously been neglected. Less is more, being the chosen philosophy. The beauty of earth began to be restored and replenished. So where their grandparents once had views of factories or ageing, concrete tower blocks, now there are vast arrays of colour. Flowers and trees, grown with care, and homes that blend into and echo the living earth.

    At the forefront of the picture are three school teachers. Taking a moment or two before classes begin, to meditate with the local animals and enjoy a little telekinesis with fallen leaves that are scattered nearby.

    The airs are clear, and electric. Full of promise. Lifted by a subtle hint of jasmine, and blessed with a calm.





    * * * * *


    Looking at the state of our world today, it raises questions for me about how we navigate those waters, in ourselves and around us, on this FE path to ‘heaven on earth’ and of course beyond. Beyond in this lifetime and set of dimensions, as we travel within and without our bodies through the blending realms – and beyond as the body dies and our souls move on. It’s a tricky path. Balancing the ego that is provoked by a cut-throat culture, and the spirit that guides us to step outside its parameters. Stepping back and forth between the world we aim to heal, and the new ones that we look to build.

    All things are possible, though some seem at any given time more likely than others. But they exist, ready to be drawn into our 3D reality from the sea of all other dimensions. Including what seems like the miracle of changing this world into a peaceful free energy culture.

    I made this little montage a while back. Perhaps not my best, but it was fun to make as it channelled my creative juice into a field of higher potential.

    In the background to the left, there is an array of buildings. Centres for community learning and healing. Vast ships, some made up of individuals’ ships that join together for gatherings. To the right in the middle distance, hovering over an ancient portal, is a platform with inter-dimensional gates where travellers and smaller ships can land. In the foreground, a group of children of different ages and races have created a school and a class to assist one another in learning about historic perspectives on geometry and various dimensions. They discuss mathematics and physics in the same context as the soul and divine spirit. They create art and inspiration with a fusion of mindful intellect and a soulful connection to a collective unconscious. They build and utilise advanced machines, always with reverence for the technology of their own bodies and the magnificent systems of the planet’s interconnected flora and the wider cosmos. They are at home in their use of psychic skill - manifesting and communicating through the shimmer of the ether. Some have formed a group, amplifying their intent together, creating an orb of energy that glows above their circle. Experimenting with light, and in unison. Two of the children are seated with a lioness and a young cottontail rabbit, who like to mingle with their school.

    They truly and deeply love themselves, and each other, in benign ways that many of us have yet to learn, but are truly capable of.

    They appreciate us dearly. In ways we perhaps don’t understand.

    They are masters of creation. Learning, sharing, constantly evolving. They imagine the world a place as wild and as deep as their own free souls. As harmonious as the music and the healing power that fills their hearts. And the world becomes that place. A radiant place. Blessed with untold and infinite treasure.

    I like to imagine it. It feels real to me.






    The Healed Planet Centre





    A Meadow Traveller





    The pilots of a meditation pod, soaking the vitality of a nearby stream





    People enjoying levitation in an old growth forest, conversing with the trees and benevolent nature spirits







    Wishing everyone a blessed and wonderful year in 2018
    Last edited by Melinda; 16th January 2018 at 20:02.

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    United States Avalon Member Wade Frazier's Avatar
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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    Hi:

    I doubt that I need to emphasize the importance of what Melinda is doing. Some notes are visual.

    Best,

    Wade
    My big essay, published in 2014, is here.

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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    On the Waters


    It is no secret that we are grown in water.

    Each human being in embryonic form, expanding over many months in a space within our mother's womb. Our tender limbs slowly forming, cushioned by a liquid cradle. Our dreams, our knowing, like seeds of light, woven into the cells of our tiny features. It is here that our souls find a gateway to the 3D world. Safe and alive, expressed by a body. Dwelling for a time within a warm, dark lake.  A growing haven of water and electrolytes.
     
    Our mother's heartbeat resounds across the oval sphere. Sounds from the outside are filtered through its layers. Nutrients gathered by the body around it, travel to reach us, and are absorbed into its world.  This world made for us.  Filled with trust.  Made of water.
     
    For a soul to become incarnate, to choose this realm for growth and for adventure, it is no small task.  So what purpose, we might ask, do our surroundings serve?  We may not know all answers to the question.  But we do at least know that to transition from another place, from dimensions that are both distant and close, and to dive into this world of heavy density, creation chose for us a medium that would remind us of the cosmos - the fluid nature of its energies and motion.  It chose for us water.
     
    And once we are born, it lives in us always.
     
    Over fifty per cent of our physical body is made of it.  We carry it through our lives as it becomes each day infused with our emotions and memories. The names and voices and vibrations of others. Its crystalline structure, dancing in our bodies. Shifting shapes as we respond to our experience. As we receive the messages transmitting all around us.  From the melodies in our blood, to the ancient call of a neighbouring galaxy. And if you look inside, into the water, you can see its perfect geometry. Changing in microscopic forms, unfurling.  Like angels of peace and mystery and music.

    To speak of angels in this way is not in reference to the powerful entities written of in the aged scriptures of old religions. The fabled winged beings, sometimes adored, yet sometimes feared. It is instead to imagine the word in its simplest sense. Its definition - in singular form - 'a messenger, especially of God.' Each drop of water, when inspired by highest consciousness, linking us to infinite creation. To a fluid, harmonious existence, and to source.

    Day to day, year upon year, we replenish our reserves with the earth's pure sources.  Its spirit in our lives is generous and free. When we are heated, it cools us through our pores. When we cry, at a world made small, it offers us tears that taste of the sea. And when we sing, and laugh, and speak of love, it rolls into our breath and over our tongues, spinning out into the air to flow into the lungs of the world around us. In a river of life. Riding supple in the trails of winds into the rain. Resting on the stems of the juniper and sage. Forming a glint across the wing of a rising dragonfly. A drop in the roots, to quench the mighty oak.  

    Just as the trees and plants absorb what we exhale, then invigorate the airs we need to live, the algae of the oceans thrive, creating oxygen for the manifold bodies who tread the earth.  We are all connected. And in that exchange we, and water, are a living library of each and every thing that occupies our world. And just as we stem from the shade of a mother's womb, so too do the waters of our wide, blue planet.  Swimming up from the depths of mother earth to her surface. Her sources hidden and changing, pouring into veins ever buried in the rocks and folds of her body. Waters that channel around her in cycles. Waters from worlds beyond, that glide frozen through the solar systems, melting into clouds as they meet with our atmosphere. Waters drawn perhaps through a singularity, suspended in the sacred chasms of the earth, embedded at a level of her divine body we have yet to reach.
     
    We are creatures of water, on a water planet.  Creators and guardians of life.  And we have learned to honour water as the teacher, the life bringer, the vessel of truth and of vitality it is.

    From this understanding we have grown the reason and the care to found a global healing. The oceans and lakes, the rivers and the streams. The reams of cloud that move across the skies; like mountains made of white, glowing with the sun, shifting into the faces of mythical beings.

    We knew the call was sacred. We carved the tools to cure ourselves.

    With our technologies, we detected and soaked up every last drop of oil that had been spilled by the greed and negligence of the previous age. We neutralised the chemicals churned daily through our sewers. We ceased using toxic ingredients on ourselves, our plants and our creations, and ended the centuries-old pollution of the air and of the atmosphere. Together, as a planetary community, we put a stop to the harmful experiments and practices conducted in the waters, which used machines and frequencies that disturbed the balance of the ocean creatures. In addition, healers from every land mass, every corner, now gather and travel to places of need, from the smallest tributaries to the most distant points from land in the Pacific and Atlantic, to bask in rituals of gratitude and strength. To mend, to cleanse and to fortify the waters. To unleash their true potential as portals of creation.

    We have become the wild again. In a balance deeper and freer than previously conceived.

    Marine life has begun to flourish. Scores of species, once close to extinction, have resumed their connection to the earth and embraced their healed homes. The fish, the plants, the water mammals, link and swirl beneath the blue. Their celebration, to this day, is ours. Their spirit and their hearts, shift and soar and heal with our own. The seahorse and the cuttlefish. The porpoise and the seal. The schools of bass and saddleback. As we look into one another's eyes, we know we are a family in each other's keeping. We drift and dive and voyage through the depths. Gliding with the jellyfish and leaping with the dolphin. The octopus in camouflage. The oyster and her pearl. The reefs of rainbow coral who emanate their beauty like a prayer through the water.

    Water, one of its many gifts, is showing us our reflection. It reflects the light. Leading us to discover our purpose. Guiding us to flow. Persuading us to swim through life as harmonies and open souls. As we share our intent, the water can feel us, and blesses us in turn. Rippling through our thoughts and over skin and under bones. Reminding us what it feels like to fly. To let go. Inside the waves and across the miles. Surrendering to the currents of its pulse beneath the stars.






    Maria


    Maria lives amidst our village of ship dwellers. Many families and individuals have travelled in their spacecraft and chosen to gather and settle in these parts, to honour the woods and nurture medicine from the earth. We shape and farm the fertile lands close to a volcano, with gentle methods. Collaborators with the living realms that are interwoven through the veils of our surrounds. As a species we and our ecosystems inform one another. It is a blend of material and spiritual tending.

    Maria was born here. She still recalls how, as a young girl, she sat quietly in a meadow one day and began to feel sensations all around. It was the first time, since birth, that she had truly tapped into the water beyond her body. What she felt was how it was pulsing up through the cells of the flowers and round-stemmed grasses. It became a magical sensation. As though she was in an ocean as light as the air, yet full of liquid. A million tiny thirsts quenching themselves and breathing with relief. It was a faint breeze that broke her trance. But a sense of tranquillity remained. Leaving a feeling in her body, both sublime and vitalised.

    She cherishes that memory.

    There is a length of land nearby where the mountains tower above the ocean. Their bases rooted in the solid earth, their heads heeding prophecy contained within the passing clouds. Preferring only to use her craft for occasional journeys, Maria likes to wonder what the mountains see from there, with all that connection to land and sky. The pacific winds rubbing salt into their cracks. Unable to retreat from the sometime fierce moods of the sun. The mountains, like the trees, stand sovereign above life around them, offering a home to living beings who are much smaller and seek support. Just like the trees, they live, they give, and they give again, with the patience of elders. Who knows what they survey as they sway above the crowds - the trees with grace and visibly, the mountains imperceptibly. Their ranges move slow through the eons of our history. They are dependable that way. To the water they say, flow within our bodies, we will hold you and fill you with minerals. Roll down our sides and over edges, feel energised. What you need, we will supply. Just as you ebb to and through us from all places that we cannot be.

    The mountains love the water, for sharing with them the world.

    Maria sees, with her inner eye, the crystal glowing deep within them.

    She feels an affinity with this particular stretch of land. The white gold beaches, laid at the feet of the mountains with an ocean view. Sometimes she awakens with the dawn to hear the sea spirits calling. She walks down to the ocean's edge and travels across the threshold, melting with the lift and curl of the morning waves. Letting the early waters wash her skin and reconfigure her body's needs.

    Sometimes, when a day has been long, full of learning and vocation, she waits until dark to watch the moon reflections emerge along the waters. She whispers of things she feels thankful for. Her heart leans toward the ocean surface. The rippling of Silver and sapphire. In moments like this, old pain can surface. She stays with it for a time. Allowing it to seep from the corners of her mind and of her bones. The small, forgotten places in her soul. She allows it to say its piece. Then she lets it dissolve. Returning it to the earth with grateful hands, so the earth can transmute the fragments of energy with exquisite skill and breadth of understanding. From this place, Maria calls upon the hymns of ancestral blessing in her blood. Playing her flute to the reeds that bathe in shadow, and the jewels of phosphorescence on the midnight shores.

    There is a turtle whose age nobody knows, who Maria has named Prabhu. He is kingly and unafraid to be alone as he hauls his metre-wide shell across the blue lit sand, joining her for her concerts of peaceful tones and playful improvisation. Sometimes he rests his head on the closest knee of her crossed legs and tends to fall asleep. She has noticed that when she feels inclined to stay and fall asleep so as not to disturb him, her dreams take her into the layers of the world within the sea, where she hears uncommon yet somehow familiar sounds and senses other lives she has lived beneath the tide. She recalls the weight of water on her skin from when she lived as an Opoura, a kind of mermaid, on a water planet in a different constellation. She remembers being drawn to nestle between the rocks on the ocean floor, soaking in the joy of the luminous sea flowers, and riding the satin backs of porpoise-like creatures, who sang as if calling to their kin on other worlds.

    Since the majority of earth beings have collectively lifted their vibration to a peaceful plane, the Opoura have travelled here in small numbers, through portals tended by their earth cetacean cousins. Maria has been getting to know one of them. A female. She can sense her when she is near or in the bay. Her name is Ashana. She calls out to Maria in a way that is subtle. Telepathic. Maria has learned to meld their consciousness so she can ride with her beneath the waves, without leaving land. Seeing what Ashana sees, feeling what she feels.

    There are occasions when Maria likes to go deep, body and soul, into the ocean expanse. She takes days to dive with her partner Marcos, an architect with a physicist's gaze and a smoked timbre to his laughter. They venture into the seas with schools of village children. After swimming out several kilometres, some of the children enjoy being seated on the ocean floor, letting thoughts come and go, aligning inner rhythms with the undulating water. Some of them find that being immersed in the environment serves to heighten their psychic ability. Their breath control is remarkable. Rooted in a stillness and courage in their psyche which can sustain their bodies without a fresh intake of air. Others take journeys with the sensor spheres – globes filled with silent sensors that can record the sounds and body frequencies of ocean beings, monitoring their health and migratory patterns. Recently the children have modified the spheres to pick up frequencies beyond the sky; how their cosmic transmissions beam into the waters; how the ocean life responds. New languages are being discovered this way. Unspoken. Some ancient. Ungoverned by words, or by the limitations that were fixed in layers for centuries over many human minds.

    The oceans have long been home to every shade of every colour, but with the shift and expansion of human consciousness (seeded by creating more receptive ways of living) many have begun to see new colours there – particularly where the water at specific earth locations heightens their more detailed senses. People return from the ocean and describe these colours, and following on from this, like a kind of osmosis, many others begin to see the colours in their dreams, before catching glimpses in their waking hours. Feeling heaven, where we live, is the key to our shared intent.

    There are worlds upon worlds of discovery.

    Today Ashana and Maria are together on the shore. They are camped in a comfortable spot on the rocks beneath the sun. In Ashana's presence, Maria finds it easier to practice the art of water communication. Sat a few feet away from Maria, Ashana raises drops of water from the pools between the rocks and gathers them into a single orb. Effortlessly she holds it, nearly motionless, in the air. It is a benign form of telekinesis. Maria meditates upon the orb and centres herself. Opening her awareness, she invites it to share its knowledge of the ocean and the world. Gradually, slowly, shapes begin to shimmer over its surface, hieroglyphs that are encoded with the memory of the seas. Messages from consciousness. Stories that go back thousands of years that resonate with Maria's journey as an aspect of life in the universe. She looks into the orb and sees an array of information. It occurs simultaneously. Yet somehow it seems to show connections she can intuit. Maps between places, experiences and souls. She senses that someone of great knowing, a seer, is already on their way. And the last image she interprets is of a healer and his son. Sheltered within a cavern. Preparing their surrounds. To this father and his child, this traveller is familiar.

    An old friend is coming.



    Milos


    Milos and his son Nicholai have long felt an affinity with the sea caves on the coast to the north of their island. The caves are a home from home, scattered along the shoreline and the islands around it. Temples that shelter a treasure of stones and house the ocean echoes. Their walls are imbued with history in the ancient rock, carved by the nature forces whose wills are ever-changing and interlaced. Sculpted by water, and weather and time.

    Milos was born blind, and decided as a child he did not wish to correct his state with an operation. Instead he chose to learn how to open his inner eye, and see the world with another sense. In the years before he truly mastered this ability, his other physical senses became heightened.

    When the sun begins to fall and he stands on the cave floor, he relishes feeling the water flowing over his feet. The gentle hands of the sand in a thousand granules, slipping and sliding with the waters; pouring over his skin and drifting away with the pull of the ocean mass. Spray from the sea surface rises into the air, circulating in a mist around his body. He basks in the warmth of evening light, welcoming the brine that rests on his tongue, tasting of pure salt and the darkness of the mile-deep mystery around him. The ocean waves shape themselves into a range of sounds as they enter the cave. The water and the wind converse with the rock. The rocks share their secrets, and the waters keep them. Sharing them only with those with a mind to read clearly, and a heart that seeks to truly listen. Milos picks up grains of sand, one by one, and rolls them between his finger and thumb. Each a tiny sculpture in itself. Some shaped smooth, like a shell or a starfish. Some like a rough-hewn asteroid, fallen from another world.

    Milos' relationship with water was strongly affected by his grandfather's work in dismantling the earth's river dams, all of which had become obsolete with the advent of cleaner, more advanced technology. He grew up witnessing the revolutionary systems that reconfigured humanity's relationship with the rivers and the oceans. His grandfather taught him that the waters of the earth belonged to the earth, and she must have good reason to send them where she did. From her supple springs that form a web over the land, trickling out and winding into mountain streams, running to meet and merge into rivers, to the seamless gathering of ocean domains that cover the world with untold life. Her travelling waters are, and always have been, a movement of life. Life in motion, unimpeded. A system of circular flow, of give and take. Bringing nourishment to the places they journey through, and cleansing the world of the strain of death. Transmuting empty bodies to be fuel for life again. It is part of how we travel through one another. How we recycle and rejuvenate the soils from which we stem. For that cycle we need movement. Organic, unhindered. So do all creatures. So do the waters.

    Milos finds a position next to the mouth of the cave. Stood where he can see the ocean and the setting of the sun. He goes deep into the water. Not with his body, but his mind. He feels the ocean resonate with the waters inside him. He feels the spark of life that is held in each molecule. Glowing with connection to the world and to source. The water within him begins a dance with the waters all around him. Not because it needs to. Because it chooses. It yields to collaborate from a place of harmony, connecting with the heart-centred flow within him that ripples with sentience and light. His skin becomes electric, reaching into the fabric of the fields around him. Activating links both invisible and blessed.

    Channelling energies from the core of creation.

    In the spectrum of our emotions there can be passion as fire, in a flame of aggression. But there is a far more profound expression. Milos embodies it, with a bold and gentle heart. It is passion as a flower. A blossom unfolding. Spirit, reaching outward for spirit incarnate. For resonance. So that life, and love, combine and explore together.

    Entering new dimensions they magnify creation.

    As he lifts his limbs a sacred hum begins to sing beneath his skin. His body attuned, in every cell, to the language of his soul. Rooted in balance, and the subtlest intention. He becomes the world, and speaks to the parts of himself that exist beyond the boundaries of his flesh. He speaks to the part of the world that is the water. Invites it to rise. He feels it rise in the centre of his mind's eye and the spaces before him. It ascends in a veil of liquid silk, from the surface of the ocean that is lapping at the entrance of the cave. Every aspect of his being is present in the moment - suspending the wave, as it glistens in the air.

    His son Nicholai can feel the charge all around them. He has been deep in meditation a few feet away from his father. They fill the rising wave with their deepest love. Their souls inhale its beauty, its pleasure, its vitality. The wisdom of the water. They hold each breath in a state of bliss, then exhale with gratitude. They pour into the water all the colours which they emanate. The water will remember. It always does. The gifts of their energy reshaping its molecules, which then continue their journey back into the ocean. Back around the world. They can see it though their eyes are closed, how fast and where the water goes. They feel it travel in their bones. Out beyond the breakwaters. Descending into layers of darkness.

    It travels downward, mingling with the deep. A hundred meters. Two hundred. An hour passes. Now five hundred. Through the dark salt water a body moves slowly. It is Cora. A majestic being. Emissary from a family of blue whales. She is about to travel between the islands, weaving her song through the depths to imbue the ocean with her healing. She recognises the energy signature of Milos and Nicholai as she swims through the current. Her heart, radiant with love, amplifies her signal, sending gratitude to her two human friends in their cave high up above. They feel it embracing their bodies from within. It is an indescribable feeling. When the consciousness of such a powerful friend resonates inside you, it holds an awareness that does more than witness your own. It is a consciousness which recognises, which appreciates with all of its essence, the sublime connectedness of all living things, and shows you your place within it. How beloved, how intended, how necessary you are. The true, vast nature of your existence. The sense that you, your kindred, and all who choose to feel it, are part of a divine plan. Cora basks in the joy of reminding us how that path exists beyond time in dreams that are eternal.

    Our celestial journey.

    And the wisdom of surrender to it.




    Ashana and Maria, their meditation on the shore, communicating with an orb of water :




    Nicholai and his father Milos, as he lifts a veil from the sea and blesses the waters :




    Children from the village engaging with the sensor spheres that monitor ocean life, as a local orangutan prepares her forest psyche for a swimming lesson :




    Ocean divers glide alongside a humpback whale, who communicates his love for all healers of his oceanic realm :




    A young woman meditates near the coral, beneath the water surface, activating energies beyond her physical boundaries :




    Two partners are drawn to a gathering of jellyfish who, with their ancient lineage, transmit their gratitude for the frequencies of love that humans now enter the water with :




    Prabhu, a regal being, his life a bridge between earth and ocean, conversing with the phosphorescence as it drifts beneath the stars. :



  18. The Following 12 Users Say Thank You to Melinda For This Post:

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  19. Link to Post #190
    United States Avalon Member Wade Frazier's Avatar
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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    Hi:

    That was quite a way to begin my day. Melinda’s Multidimensional Poetry. As I read her latest masterpiece, I was reminded of accounts that I have read of the astral plane, where water has a sentience and vitality far beyond what we experience on Earth today. In Melinda’s visions, it begins returning to Earth, or, we might say, humanity develops an ability to sense it, interact with it, play with it. Only in a world of abundance and love will it be feasible.

    Ironically, yesterday I was reading about the latest findings on the floating trash heap in the Pacific. A teenager began an effort to clean it up. If free energy makes it past humanity’s inertia and the organized suppression, that kid’s dream will come true laughingly easily, as humanity cleans up its mess, on Earth, in space, in our relationships, etc.

    It is fitting that Bill was the first to thank Melinda for her latest, as he and his pals built this home for artists such as Melinda. This is quite a canvass to paint on. I have a few tales rolling around in my head (maybe more on Andra’s life), which I will write when I finish my year’s writing chores, which today are finishing Ed’s bio project and making the long-overdue essay update, which will likely take the rest of year and maybe longer.

    For now, it is time for me to enjoy Melinda’s latest.

    Best,

    Wade
    Last edited by Wade Frazier; 24th March 2018 at 15:45.
    My big essay, published in 2014, is here.

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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    Really beautiful work, Melinda!

    I forgot about this thread and this bit of writing I did about five years ago for my latest book in progress...

    I thought it might fit here.

    I watch my displays carefully. Droids two and three are busy drilling holes for the mounting platform where the communications cluster would later be installed. Droid four is proceeding down the underground corridor stopping every ten feet to shoot fasteners into the ceiling for the cabling tray.

    Switching views I watch Four stop at the next location and engage its telescopic legs. It lifts neatly to twenty feet and then its arms stretch across the remaining short distance to the ceiling. Four’s left hand has been modified and fitted with an impact tool, which it now uses, zeroing in on its exact positioning by means of its laser guided vision and sophisticated remote location gear. The droid’s right hand then twists a threaded steel rod into the newly installed fastener.

    I switch back to the overview and watch the stats roll by, constantly updated. I start reading the specs on the power modulators. Boring, tedious numbers scroll by, then a description of same runs for dozens of pages. Lucky for me, most of it is not pertinent. As a power systems specialist my job is to supply power and cabling for this project. It stops short of the convoluted and precise computations necessary for the actual design and compatibility of the components.

    Such power consumption was not possible even scant decades ago but with the advent of the new physics all that had changed. Of course, the secret agencies had tried to withhold the information and had succeeded in doing so for over a hundred years. But some word got out and even though there was active and severe suppression of any leaks the evidence and anecdotes kept piling up until the truth could not be held back any longer. Then civil unrest ensued. Governments cracked down on FE (free energy) use, citing economic turmoil as the primary reason while overplaying the dangers of its inappropriate use and the ease with which the technology could be weaponized. For decades, as the disruptive technology was increasingly incorporated into the daily lives of the masses, it was the root cause of many further calamities that eventually culminated in the city wars.

    That is all behind us now, I know, at least for the most part. No one could force, or would even dare think of forcing, another to comply with anything without their consent. There were still powerful economic forces in the world that greatly influenced the average person’s life but those economic forces were increasingly controlled by the people. And governments were just that - governing councils - not totalitarian overlords handing down their decrees from on high. In all its previous forms governance has always served the interests of the few, going by the motto: the needs of the few outweighs the needs of the many. Whether communist, socialist, dictatorial, suzerainty, fascist, democratic or some other form of governance it was finally realized, all in the end were a form of authoritarianism.

    So when governments were taken back by the people, the avenue to riches and disproportionate advantage was removed. It hadn’t been easy, it had been very messy. Many vested interests were destroyed. Many people died. Wars erupted, weapons of mass destruction were used. All the while the survivors struggled to redefine their basic values, to recreate themselves in light of all the new knowledge and reclaim their power over their destinies. For seven decades the unrest continued, while ever increasing numbers left civilization and settled in inaccessible regions all around the globe - in the waters, in the mountains and deserts, underground and even at the poles.

    But life based on basic subsistence was not enough for most. So even though with unlimited power life in such remote and inhospitable areas was possible it did not allow the many luxuries that could only be afforded by the extant civilization and its access to materials, factories and manufacturing plants. This forced trade between the groups inside and outside the system. But it also spurred innovation. Within twenty years the first viable factory/manufacturing plant was designed and in use. Coupled with high-speed information processors, state of the art laser graphics, nanotechnology, as well as quantum physical effects and advances in microscopic lithographic and deposition/sputtering techniques, the state-of-the-art factory-in-a-box could construct anything from simple utensils and garments of any kind to complex machines and entire systems plants from start to finish without human intervention.

    It was the robots that revolutionized the way humans interacted with the world. Starting in the new millennium, electronic human facsimiles began assuming many simple tasks for their owners like calendar/appointment routines, sending/receiving texts and emails, news/technical information sorter, assembling/executing lists of commands, and many other helpful roles. These facsimiles were purposely tailored to resemble the owner and its response parameters were customized to mimic the actual person. When robots began taking on a significant variety of jobs their personalities were the digitized downloads of these facsimiles. Coupled with quantum computers, advanced algorithms, and sophisticated software integrated into microchips as super fast logic trees allowed robots to take on many complex tasks. First the robot supplanted humans primarily in the retail/service sectors of the economy - anything from sales clerk to garbage collector. Next robots assumed positions in the manufacturing sector, then in assembly and distribution plants. Soon robot workers were in the farming sector, road construction and repair, infrastructure renovations and upgrades, housing and high rises. Then into offices, odd jobs and hospitals. Not long after they began driving cars, sailing ships and flying planes. For the first time in history the robot became the primary worker, and man was freed of the labor of survival.

    The cost of that freedom was dear. Soon it became clear that if humanity was free to live life without the constant worry of survival needs, what should it do with itself? This caused the people to recreate themselves by questioning their values and their priorities and the direction of their lives. That caused the great redefining as it was later called. And the redefining, or redee, lead to the people reclaiming their power and their birthright as human beings. People repatriated their abdicated rights under the banner of individual sovereignty, insisted that technological advances were their collective intellectual property and they had the right to the fruits of its bounty. In the years to come most people acquired a mechanical personal assistant to help with mundane tasks and chores and soon robots became ubiquitous in human life.

    Augmenting the civil revolution was the need to communicate verbally with a widening array of machines. Language got a boost at this point because of the need to be more precise in giving orders and receiving updates or gaining information in general. Programming a computer or ordering a robot to perform a task became a matter of phonetic precision. Most humans doubled their daily vocabulary and trebled their overall vocabulary just to compensate for the increased informational flow and the need to direct their machine helpers precisely.

    In the course of the years to follow robots became more adaptable to their human masters and began to display unique characteristics. Although they may not have been individuals, they began to be readily recognizable as belonging to this or that human.

    From this interchange between machine and man a slow flowering of creativity resulted. No longer held down by the chains of oppression, and no longer driven by the need to survive, coupled with the absolute necessity to communicate with machines, mankind learned to follow their desires instead of their fears. Humanity began to flourish as ingenuity and radically new innovations recreated life on earth.

    I stare at the display, lost in thought, not really looking at what I see. We had all had this indoctrination as kids. We’d lived through the city wars, seen the death and the chaos. We all still live with large areas cordoned off from before our parent’s days, and the evil winds that still sweep through our cities on occasion, causing sickness in the population. Oh we remember the other choice, the other way, very well indeed - and we know where it leads. That thought overrides our more baser instincts, no matter how visceral they are, no matter how right we may be in our choice on a personal level. We override the hate and the fear and the lust for revenge, in all issues, in favor of life, abundance and most of all, in the name of freedom. And we uphold those same ideals in the name of others around us if needs be. No one can be violated in the sight of another sovereign citizen, for in their eyes their own freedom is thus threatened. And they will sound the cry and they will arouse their neighbors and all will rally to the defense of freedom at its slightest need. Only so is freedom ensured for all.

    This we all know. And so when my personal assistant, #1 as I call him, rolls up and begins chattering about a rights violation nearby, I drop everything and follow the robot’s lead.

    The robot extends a steel appendage and turns the door handle. We exit the structure and I am momentarily blinded by the scorching rays of the sun. When vision returns a moment later I see #1 some distance off along a flagstone path that leads away from the edifice, turns into a dirt trail and disappears into the nearby woods.

    I look around. Standing atop a hill the view is commanding in all directions. There are no signs of others or any sign of trouble anywhere to the horizon. #1 is still bleeping and exclaiming, flashing and twisting on the spot - as if impatient for me to catch up. I love that one, great innovation. It is comical to watch the PA robot lurch about like that, all undignified and un-robot-like. But I can measure its urgency much better now - and it is very urgent indeed!

    “Hold on there, Gizmo!” I say, “Chill out, already.”

    “Hurry!” #1 virtually squeaks, “Rights violation in progress!”

    “Really? You sure? Where?” I ask in succession as I run up to the robot, who for all the world looks like a cross between a canister vacuum and an aquarium, on tracks.

    #1 scurries off into the woods on the dirt path as I approach with a, “Follow me!” over its shoulder .

    “Any danger?” I ask, slowing down as I enter the woods.

    “Yes! Great danger! Rights violation in progress.” the robot’s voice drifts back to me from around a bend in the path, “Hurry!”

    “Alright. I’m coming. Meanwhile arm yourself. Repeat, go to battle readiness!”

    “Understood. Switching to combat mode now. Initiating...Ready. Rights violation in progress! Hurry!”

    I speed up again. I am not much of a fighter and in my work jumpsuit I am hardly armored but my droid has a fully functioning warrior upgrade and is programmed to protect me to the end. I am confident that is enough.

    “Halt!”

    I stop dead in my tracks at the command.

    “Cease your hostile actions immediately!”

    I continue forward cautiously, realizing the halt order is not directed at me.

    “Release your victim!” I hear #1 say as I hurry around the bend.

    “You are violating the rights of another. Cease your violation or face severe consequences.”

    But as the robot comes into view I at first see nothing else, so I order #1, “Stand down #1. Hold a defensive station. What is the trouble?”

    That’s when I hear the commotion in the brush to the side of the path. There is a struggle going on in there but the scrub is so short and thick I can’t see the source. It can’t be human, the bushes are too short. Suddenly a small gray form bursts out of the undergrowth and rapidly scampers by. Not a blink of time behind it runs a red fox.

    A shot rings out and then another, missing the fox by a hair, spraying up a puff of dust that obscured the target and made the second shot miss as well.

    “Stop Shooting! I said stand down! Verbalize compliance immediately!” Damn robots, always taking things too literally. No brains in them, just mission parameters and factory default settings - bah!

    “Standing by as ordered.”

    “Disarm yourself,”

    “What?”

    “Look Gizmo, you’ve gone and done a very stupid thing and until we get to the bottom of it you will be disarmed. Now eject appendage components designated series WUPA1GZM01. Do it now.” I order the machine.

    “Ah, I only wanted to save the pretty bunny. Its rights were being violated.” Gizmo mimics dejection - picks at the dirt near its wheels with an errant appendage.

    “Now Gizmo. Don’t make me shut you down.” I threaten. That is the last thing I want to do after all this work tweaking it to be more responsive and human-like.

    Understood. Ejecting weapons package and defensive response units now.” A panel slides aside in the canister part and a shiny metal tube a foot long and six inches wide drops to the floor. From the aquarium two odd little weird-shaped plastic pods are ejected.

    “Thank you.”

    “You’re welcome.”

    “Now explain to me why you used the rights violation protocol when you know perfectly well it does not apply to animals in the wild.”

    “I like bunny rabbits. You told me to pick favorite things. My favorite animal is the bunny rabbit. I had to protect it.”

    “Alright. I’m pleased that you chose a favorite animal. I notice it is cute and cuddly. As we discussed favorites must be things with endearing qualities.”

    “Yes.”

    “But why the protocol?”

    “How else was I to elicit your assistance?”

    “You could have asked.”

    “No, there was no time to explain the need.”

    “So you conspired to purposely mislead me?”

    “No, I merely employed the means necessary to accomplish my desire to have you act.”

    “But you made me act under false pretenses, thereby violating my basic rights instead.”

    “The situation had numerous logical streams with rather tight operational parameters. I merely acted within those parameters. Your violation was the lesser of the two, in my estimation. Your assistance was paramount.”

    “No. A human’s rights always supersede an animal’s, is that understood?

    “Understood.”

    “No matter if it is your favorite animal or not, my rights are not to be infringed on. Is that clear?”

    “Yes.”

    “Update logic circuits to include this new parameter. Assign the parameter highest priority rating. Execute now.”

    “Executing.......done. New parameters incorporated. Initiating new logic cascade...proceeding with update...complete. New mission parameters accepted. Initializing new protocols. Standing by.”

    “Very good Gizmo. Pick up your components and let’s get back to work, okay?”

    “Whatever you say boss.” The machine extended an appendage with grapplers attached at the end from a small opening. It picked up the signal targeting packages and gingerly placed them inside the rectangular glass container atop its canister body. Then it retracted its appendage, rolled over the weapons package, lowered itself on top of it and when it raised up the package was gone.
    If not now, then when?

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    Canada Avalon Member Ernie Nemeth's Avatar
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    Default Re: A Future Earth

    Here is the next part of the story of the future. Written year before last. The Book is called:

    #1 and I


    It is always during the cabling that bots two through four get into trouble. They can’t seem to co-ordinate their efforts to keep the cables pulling smoothly, even after hundreds of updates and various trial and error revamps. Right now, bot three is stuck. Two and Four are trying to extricate their mate from its logical impasse. Three’s arm is caught between twists in the cable and in the act of trying to free its appendage, managed to get wound up in the cables. Three is mostly in the tray now, laying flat and barely able to move. Two and four while trying their best, are ill-equipped for the rescue mission. Their logic circuits are limited. So I send One in.

    “#1?”

    “Here.”

    “Can you go down to the communications center and help your buddies out. Three is stuck in the tray and two and four are not helping matters much. They need you buddy.”

    “On my way.”

    I watch Gizmo swing out of its perch high up in the cavernous control room, where it had been installing the lighting system. Using two long steel appendages with almost human-like hands at the ends it swings from platform to platform, ten feet at a time, not bothering with the lift. In moments it is on the ground, swiveling and heading off at a clip down the communications tunnel.

    Switching views I watch Gizmo arrive at the accident. Two is just about to yank on Three’s arm while Four, extended to maximum, holds up a thousand pounds of cables. I am about to tell them to stop but it is too late. Two manages to pull Three’s arm out of the cables but looses traction at the last moment and to save itself from falling holds on tightly to Three’s arm. Not designed to hold so much weight, Three’s appendage releases and Two falls over backwards, legs still retracting, tripping Four. No longer holding up the weight, the cables crash down on Three as it is half way out of the tray, crushing the robot’s torso and nearly severing the robot in two.

    Gizmo goes into action. Out come two and then two more appendages. So armed Gizmo moves over to the fallen robot and helps it stand. Four is having trouble retracting one of its legs so Gizmo goes over and using those dexterous fingers adjusts it, then helps the bot retract its leg. Four gets up on its own. Two is standing there with Three’s arm in its pincer grips. It seems to be stuck in some robot logical log jam, moving jerkily in small increments to and fro.

    Gizmo rolls directly beneath the injured robot half hanging out of the tray twenty-five feet overhead. Gizmo’s canister separates about half way down and two turbo-fan props fold out from within and lock into place on either side of the bottom half of Gizmo’s ‘body’. They begin turning and #1 rises neatly into the air. Gizmo hovers just above the tray and inspects the situation.

    “Two and Four. Get up here now.”

    Robot Two continues its herky-jerk. Four complies readily enough.

    “Four, your job is to hold onto Three and do not let go. I will lift up the cables, you will slowly pull Three free and safely lower it to the ground. Ready?”

    “Two ready.” says Two although it continues to move in a spastic rhythm.

    “Four ready.”

    “Okay, Four. Here we go. Don’t let go. Okay then. On the count of three. One. Two. Three. Now!”

    In perfect unison Gizmo lifts the thousands of pounds of wires and Four pulls Three free.

    Four retracts it legs with a bit of difficulty and slowly lowers the injured Three to the ground. Gizmo floats slowly to the floor of the tunnel and retracts its fans. The dust in the tunnel makes the scene hazy.

    “Report #1’

    “Three has been lost. Its memory core was breached. Most of the parts can be saved. Four has been injured and will need repair. Two seems to be fine but will need to be rebooted. I will bring them along shortly.”

    “Fine. I’ll meet you in the maintenance shack.”

    “On three, pull!” blurts out Two and does a little robot dance, the other robot’s arm still in its clutches.

    “And shut Two down before it hurts itself.”

    “Roger that, boss.”

    * * * * *

    The craft is pulling hard Gs; everything is rattling and vibrating. The screens blink as power is pulled from the plant quicker than it can keep up. We come out of hyper-drive with the usual thud that can be felt as much as heard. The craft begins shaking violently as it enters the thickening atmosphere at high speed. A piercing scream ramps up to a squeal as the ram jets kick in. The Gs drop off rapidly and the shaking stops. The windows become transparent again.

    I see a speck of light far below us and I know that is the city. At these speeds we’d be landing in minutes. As if to highlight my words my stomach lunges into my throat as the craft adjusts its descent angle to plummet toward the ground and take advantage of its powerful electric engines. We are hurtling toward the ground, engines screaming. This never gets old; I am gripping the armrests tightly.

    Just when the shaking begins again the nose pulls up abruptly, the ram is extinguished and the conventional engines take over. We bank as we hit the clouds.

    A final correction as we exit the cloud cover and the runway is in sight just below. We hit tarmac and the few passengers applaud.

    As we stop I think to myself how odd that not five minutes earlier we were hurtling along barely skimming the atmosphere at mach 15.

    * * * * *

    “You don’t have enough credits for a new core.” the burly giant of a man tells me.

    “Well put it on my tab, I’m good for it. I need to finish this contract before I can make good. For that I need the core.”

    “Sorry. No extensions this month. Proton is adjusting its price list again. You know my stock is on consignment. Proton raises the price, I have to raise it too - on all unsold items. Damn company is going to be the ruin of me. They have got to stop jacking the prices like this.”

    “Not so long as they corner the market they don’t.”

    “Maybe so, for now. But their time will come, mark my words.” The giant shook his finger at me.

    “Alright. Give me a sec. Let me see what I can arrange.”

    I don’t want to let my employers know my predicament so there is only one alternative. I raise my left arm and tap the armband I’m wearing. A display lights up, blinks twice.

    “Look through the local data bases. Find me a job in the vicinity paying the required sum of credits to cover my costs. Refer to local web master for details.”

    “Starting date?”

    “ASAP.”

    “Searching. Considering our ongoing project I have calculated a reasonable time-frame for such a short-term job. There are two readily available. Both pay enough for our current needs. One is nearby, a lighting contract. Five hundred lights, the control system and the power plant plus distribution. The other is further away, renovation and upgrade of small assembly plant. Type not specified...cross checking...map and address located...checking city records...plastics extrusion plant...HiPaC Inc.

    “Take the lighting job. One can handle that while I work with the other bots in the mine. Call Gizmo. Fill him in on the plan. Tell him to be here by tomorrow morning.”

    “Done. While we are here there is a list of items we should pick up. A quick check around our circle might grow the list some. Wait...Contract is secured, deposit rendered. We could make those purchases now and have the items stowed for our return flight.”

    “Make the necessary arrangements.”

    “Roger that. Will advise.”

    “Thanks.”

    “That’s my job, boss.”

    * * * * *

    I stroll along the boardwalk and look out over the massive lake. It could be an ocean from this perspective. It is a cool night and the waters are calm. Further inland a parking lot is filling up with the nightly load of homes on wheels. From here they look like a caravan of gypsies, displaying all manner of colors and shapes and sizes. When power is no longer a consideration, vehicles can be any weight and of many improbable designs - some tiny, most gargantuan.

    Without #1 I feel a bit exposed but I do have my two armbands and a tensor unit under my zipsuit (jumpsuit, one piece zippered overall, coverall). It is not all that safe in the cities - especially at night. The great redress had not yet caught up with all the rats in the sewers. And just because basic needs are met does not address the needs of the few degenerates that crave violence and terror and seek victims under the cover of darkness. Still, these lowlifes had more to fear themselves these days as most citizens were well able to protect themselves or had robots to do it for them. Of course, the opportunists had robots of their own.

    Up ahead is a row of small restaurants lining the boardwalk. Above them a hologram hovers of a crowd of happy people eating and drinking and dancing with the words, ‘GOOD EATS’ flashing in giant letters every few seconds, washing out the happy people.

    Suddenly I’m hungry and I decide to enter the pub-style eatery. I belly up to the bar. It has the usual trappings of a pub: long wooden bar, shuffleboard, dartboard in the corner, gaudy green fixture hanging over the pool table, flashing holograms of various brewers, holos of scantily clad women fondling bottles of suds. Even the bar bot is an imitation of a young female with ample cleavage. For two credits more she’ll bend down to get you a beer from the bottom cooler.

    The bar bot saunters over.

    “What’ll you have, honey?”

    “A pint and a menu, thanks”

    “Would you like one of our special stock, I’m sure there’s one buried somewhere in the back of that cooler.’ She points, winking. “Only two credits more, sweatie,” she wipes the bar near me, showing more cleavage than necessary.

    “That’s alright. No thanks. Just a pint of draft and the menu.”

    “Coming right up, hun.” the bot moves off. A patron sits down next to me. He is well dressed, clean, alert.

    “Macy, bring me a pint as well, could you?”

    “Sure thing Stan.”

    The man next to me settles into his seat with a bit of fidgeting and butt cheek sneaking until the contour of the wooden seat suits him. He is tall and thin and his bony knees are pressed into the underside of the bar. He rests his spindly elbows on top of the bar and looks around.

    “Stan’s the name,” he says extending his arm, smiling serenely.

    “They just call me Mack,” I say, locking into a pleasingly firm handshake.

    “What brings you around these parts, friend?”

    “You a regular?”

    “Why you asking?”

    “Why are you?”

    “Not very obliging are you?”

    “Am I obliged to be?”

    He looks at me hard with large blue eyes the color of the sky. For a moment I think there is going to be trouble. Then he laughs and slaps his bony knee. His long sandy hair flops forward and covers his eyes but his big crooked teeth show clearly through his gaping grin.

    “Just passing through and thought I’d drop in for a drink, Stan, honest” I hold my hands palm up in mock submission.

    “Ah, you take no **** and you got a sense of humor. My kind of guy.” He laughs again.

    Just then my armband signals unobtrusively.

    I hold it up and touch a series of virtual keys; tap, tap, tap. A display appears in front of me and I drop my arm, the display remains stationary. I quickly read the message. I motion at the display and portions readjust and update accordingly. I motion my quick reply, then sweep the display away.

    “Construction, eh?”

    “Ya, picking up a bit of work in town.”

    “Nice. Hey, I’m looking for work right now, got any?”

    “Work, like a job? No, sorry, I don’t.”

    “That’s alright.”

    “What sort of work do you do?” I ask him, noticing a few other regulars glancing our way now. Not sure why but my hairs stand up on the back of my neck and a tingle runs up and down my spine. With an unobtrusive motion I activate the readiness setting on my torsion belt.

    “Oh, I do all sorts of things, kind of a jack-of-all-trades type - master of none, I guess... Hey, why the defensive stance? There is no danger here, my friend.”

    “Oh, that, it is just protocol, no offense intended. I have to fulfill the ‘reasonable care’ portion of my current contract, that’s all. I’d forgotten earlier. My AI just reminded me.” I lie to gauge the man’s wariness. Why is the tingle turning into a shiver? And why are there goose bumps on my arms?

    “Those confounded contract regulations, reasonable care - what nonsense. And who’s to say what ‘negligent behavior resulting in breech of contract’ is? The megacorps, that’s who!” The knobby stranger waves his gangly arms about demonstratively.

    I am about to agree but the world suddenly turns strange. A general dimming of the illumination in the room is quickly followed by a gust of wind strong enough to knock my beer off the bar and cause Stan to grip same for fear of being blown off his bar stool.

    A black line appears in front of me, having half swiveled on my stool to face my bar mate, and as I lean over to try and grab hold of Stan to help him from falling off his stool, the line turns into a crack that I find myself falling into. Desperately clawing at anything at all for purchase, I grasp Stan’s outstretched hand and cling for dear life. But the rest of me has fallen into the crack and as I flail around trying to get hold of that hand with my second hand, the crack widens even further. Now Stan is falling too and there is nothing else for it but to get ready for whatever awaits. Still holding hands we tumble into this dark, mysterious crack in reality, not knowing what to expect and scared witless to boot.

    “Number One reporting in sir. The journey, I am happy to inform you, was uneventful.”

    I come back to my senses long enough to yell, “One! Emergency assistance needed now! Come get me!” Then I guess I passed out because I do not know what happened after that.
    If not now, then when?

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