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Anarchist Knight Apprentice: Into the Night

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 25, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Chapter 3: Into the Night

He remained quiet but inside he was seething and planning how he was going to exchange his airbus ticket destination for Old Seattle. That’s where his parents had told him to go and that is where he was going.

Tobal Kane curled up in a dark corner of the Airbus and looked out upon a moonlit night. It was the 18th of February and the full moon cast a soft light on the snow-covered landscape far below. There were no clouds and he could see stars twinkling like diamonds in the night sky. It was one of those rare nights that you want to remember for the rest of your life and he was trying to impress the smallest details onto his soul forever. He was leaving the only home he had ever known and he was not going back.

He felt the vibration and hum of the airbus against his back and below he saw the lights of New Rome growing smaller and receding into the distance. He was lost in his thoughts. The airbus was relatively empty and he was left to himself.

It had been a simple matter to purchase his own ticket to New Seattle. There were no flights into Old Seattle and that was the closest he could get. He simply booked a flight for a few hours later than the one he was supposed to be on.

Uncle Harry hadn’t even seen him off at the airport. He had sent the driver instead and the driver dropped him off outside the terminal. Money hadn’t been a problem since he had a spending allowance and he had cautiously supplied himself with enough cash to stay for a week or two in Old Seattle if he needed to. Since he would be paying cash Uncle Harry should never find out. He thought he had enough Euros to cover any expenses that might come up.

The Euro was the global currency acceptable in all city-states around the world since the establishment of the Federation. He was carrying almost five thousand Euros and also had a credit card his uncle had given him for emergencies. As long as his expenses were reasonable his uncle had always picked up the tab. Tobal was determined to find the Antiquities shop if it still existed. He was also determined his uncle would never know about it. Nervously he touched his jacket pocket and made sure the letter was still there. He could feel the weight of the medallion around his neck.

Staring out the window into the night, Tobal thought about his parents, his mind churning with conflicting tales—Uncle Harry’s account of their mysterious death by accidental drowning in a lake, the Time Knights’ claim they were alive and imprisoned, all against his vague, unproven memories. The Wild whispered through his doubts, urging him toward Old Seattle, a gift from them that relaxed him with its calm power. He hardly remembered them at all, just those faint memories without proof they were even real. They had been mysteriously killed when he was only two years old. His parents had been working on a classified project but something had gone wrong and they never came back alive. Their bodies had been found floating in a nearby lake. The investigation had officially listed the cause of death as accidental drowning even though his uncle said his parents were both strong swimmers.

His uncle would never talk about his parents and whenever Tobal asked his uncle would change the subject. There was no one else that Tobal could ask. His uncle had known his parents and worked with them. He didn’t remember his aunt Lilly unless she was that woman he remembered swimming with Uncle Harry the day he had seen the tattoo. Uncle Harry wouldn’t talk about her either. She had been killed in the same mysterious accident that crippled his uncle.

It was all very mysterious and now he was flying into the night headed for some “Forbidden City” his parents wanted him to go to. It was the only thing they had ever asked of him. It was their dying wish and he would do just what they asked. He fingered the medallion. There was a calm power coming from it that relaxed him, especially because it was a gift from them.

The flight from New Rome to New Seattle was long and uneventful. There had been several stopovers at other city-states along the way. At last he dozed fitfully. The sky was getting lighter but the sun was still under the horizon when he woke up. It was about 5:30 in the morning when the airbus touched down at the terminal in New Seattle.

Tobal got off at the airbus terminal and asked directions at the information desk. He was only two miles from Old Seattle. After spending the night in the airbus the exercise and fresh air felt good. His clothing was warm enough as long as he kept moving. He had no luggage because his uncle had said he would be given everything needed at Heliopolis when he got there.

The first part of his trip was easy since New Seattle was essentially one huge indoor complex. This was common with city-states. The entire city-state was essentially one giant self-enclosed structure. Public transit was small-automated air cars that took passengers to any programmed address or destination. He was going to the South Gate and punched the proper location into the control screen.

“Please fasten your seat belt,” said a pleasant mechanical voice from somewhere inside the car.

Tobal complied and the car took off smoothly entering a long corridor filled with other flying traffic. In a matter of minutes his air car touched down next to the city gates and let him out. He watched as it sped away to pick up another passenger, then shrugged his shoulders and stepped through the gate into the cold air of Old Seattle.

The light mist and fog felt chill in the pre-dawn air. He turned his collar up against the wind and fastened his light jacket a little tighter. As he walked, he buttoned the top button of his collar. The icy moisture seemed to seep into his bones. There was a dusting of freshly fallen snow on the ground and it was very quiet as the sun peeked over the distant horizon. He guessed the snow would not last very long. It was already melting. While cold, it was still much warmer than his uncle’s estate.

Old Seattle differed sharply from New Seattle. He looked around curiously as he walked along an empty street. There were individual buildings on both sides as far as he could see. New Seattle had no streets. Anti-grav technology had made ground operated vehicles obsolete over twenty years ago before he had even been born. Still here in Old Seattle there was foot traffic and the streets were kept in repair for that purpose alone. The contrast between the two cities was almost overwhelming.

New Seattle was a self-contained city-state like so many others in what was now simply the Federation. Some of the older citizens called it the “New World Order” but it was not new any longer and did not seem to contain a lot of order. There were not many people still living that remembered the pre-Federation days. Each city-state was like any other with access to many of the same resources. Most people worked from their homes in private offices or lived within walking distance of the local manufacturing plants that produced the food and material products that kept the city alive.

It was hydrogen cell technology that revolutionized the world bringing cheap energy to entire communities. Almost overnight the energy problems of the world were gone. There was abundant light, heat and electricity within small communities along with the technology to become self-supporting and self-governing. Anti-grav technology completed the isolation by making the world’s ground transport structure obsolete.

All across the Federation streets and highway systems had been torn up and properties sold or allowed to go back to nature. The majority of the world’s population now lived in elaborate complexes complete with local air terminals and food processing plants. They were self-sustaining apartments in self-sustaining complexes in self-sustaining city-states. You could find anything you wanted in your own complex or order it from the Ethernet on your home computer. Hologram technology made communication and entertainment effortless. You could attend conferences, work, play games or chat with your friends through the Ethernet even if they were on the other side of the world. Advanced technology had finally reached the point where no one really needed to go anywhere.

But here in Old Seattle there were still streets. Tobal had never seen a street before. It was like entering an ancient prehistoric world. In this part of the city there were actually cobblestones that were over two hundred years old. Definitely the old city was pre-Federation. The buildings were separate from each other and built of red brick or concrete. Many of the taller skyscrapers were in a process of structural collapse or in need of repair. It was the smaller buildings built of concrete and steel that seemed immune to the sands of time. They spoke of an era when life had been different, harder and more individualistic.

Ironically it was modern technology that provided the power to support life in these ancient structures. Without the abundant heat and electricity they would have long since been abandoned. It was as if people wanted to play at living in the past while keeping the niceties of the modern world at the same time.

Tobal turned down another street and old apartments loomed up silently on either side like man made canyons. The early morning sun had not made it into these dark canyons yet and he walked in shadow. The light snow that lay on the cobblestones muffled his boots. The uneven surface made his footing treacherous and several times he almost fell.

Rounding another corner he almost stepped on a couple of crows intently fighting over a dead animal. They hardly noticed and hopped to one side before resuming their fight over the grisly remains of a rat or a cat. It was hard to tell which.

The street split in two separate directions. A battered sign said Oak Street and 30th Ave. Going left on Oak Street he headed down a street more narrow than the others. It looked like it was not used much any more, but then they all did. Looking back he saw the crows following him. They would fly a short way, stop to watch and then fly again to catch up. Every now and then one would squawk and a fight would erupt leaving loose feathers forgotten on the snow.

Old Seattle was a noted artist’s colony. It was one of the areas where societies fringe element escaped the rigid structure of modernization. Unique products, specialty shops and services both legal and illegal were offered within the little shops that lined the streets. The owners lived above the shops and owned entire buildings. Some of the signs were broken or covered in grime and unreadable. He figured 2424 Oak St. should be a few more blocks up and on the right side of the street. A couple blocks further he found it nestled between an old bakery and a barbershop.

The dilapidated three story red brick building looked worse for wear than it’s neighbors and some of the mortar between the bricks was missing. Tobal questioned the structural integrity of the entire building. A battered sign proclaimed “Antiquities and Curiosities”. The windows on all three stories were covered with wrought iron bars that looked functional as well as ornamental. They suggested what kind of neighborhood this really was and he nervously glanced around him. The crows hopped a little closer. Stepping up to the door he saw he was too early. The closed sign hanging in the window read the shop opened at 8:00. Glancing at his watch, he realized he still had almost two hours to wait.

Leaving the shop, Tobal continued down the street until he came to a small park area and watched the sun rise over the city. He brushed snow off a battered bench and sat listening to the strange early morning sounds of this old city and watching the crows. One large crow actually flew onto the bench and turned its head to look intently at him. Tobal had the eerie feeling that the bird was intelligent. After a half-hour of sitting in the small snow covered park the sun was up and he was thoroughly chilled.

Going back to the coffee and bakery shop he ordered a cup of coffee and a raspberry scone. It was warm inside and he stayed there until 8:00 listening to the locals and watching as they eyed him curiously. If anyone thought it strange to see a dark haired eighteen-year-old with a scarred face wandering the streets at this time of day they kept it to themselves.

Tobal took his time and enjoyed his breakfast. There was some foot traffic in the morning streets and most of it toward the bakery. Customers would enter; stomp their snow covered boots on the floor, hang their coats or jackets on a stand and sit down to read the local paper or talk with their neighbors. Most of them looked over fifty years old and dressed in outdated clothing. They were not a part of the modern world, as Tobal knew it. At 8:00 he paid for his coffee and scone and headed back to the shop. This time there was an “open” sign hanging in the window. In better light the shop looked like a fortress. The heavy wooden door had metal bands across it for reinforcement. It looked like it could withstand a battering ram. He tested the latch and the door opened silently inward on well-oiled hinges. A small bell rang as he entered.

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Anarchist Knight: Apprentice Chapter 2

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 19, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Chapter 2: Shadows of the Lake

Tobal lay in the dimness of his bedroom, the air thick with the musty scent of old wood and the faint tang of whiskey drifting from the den below. The colonial uniform lay crumpled on the floor, the silver sword leaning against the wall where it had been thrown in frustration after the ball’s chaos. His face bore the dull ache of newly healed scars, a stark reminder of Becca’s fury. The hospital’s sterile silence still echoed, Fiona’s tearful departure a weight he couldn’t shake. He pulled the hoodie over his head, brown eyes staring at the ceiling, the dance replaying—Fiona’s fire in his arms, her kiss a spark, her whisper of something strange. The incident had plunged him into a deep disturbance, a refusal to return to Tavistock High, to face the whispers or the polished masks. School twisted his stomach, a prison he longed to flee.

In the restless hours before dawn, sleep tugged him into a dream. The oak box sat in the corner of his room, its carved glyph—a man and woman holding hands within a circled serpent, edges glowing faintly—casting a shadow of a memory he couldn’t grasp—his mother’s laugh, his father’s murmur, lost when he was 2. Its weight pulled at him, a mystery tied to Harry’s cryptic “Time broke that day,” a thread to a past shrouded in smoke and steel. The Wild called, soft and distant, a shiver pulling him half-out of body. Outpost steel flashed, yellow eyes glinted in the haze, then faded into a fleeting image of Harry laughing in cold water, a woman’s—Lilly’s—joyful laugh echoing before it dissolved. He jolted awake, heart pounding, the Wild whispering louder, a spark igniting his resolve to run.

Morning broke gray and cold, the Oregon sky pressing against the windows as Tobal slipped out of bed, his scarred face a stranger’s mask. The thought of school—of facing the aftermath—clawed at him, a prison he couldn’t endure. With a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he crept downstairs, dodging the fifth step, the air heavy with polish and Harry’s silence. He grabbed a coat, the front door clicking shut behind him, and headed into the biting wind toward the frozen lake north of the estate. The snow crunched under his boots, his breath fogging in the chill, the Wild whispering through the pines—a call to escape the life Harry demanded.

Hours later, he stood at the lake’s edge, its icy surface gleaming under a weak sun, sundogs flickering on either side. Exhaustion weighed him down, the scars itching faintly, his resolve faltering. Then he saw him—an old man, stooped and weathered, fishing through a hole in the ice. His gray beard caught the light, eyes sharp beneath a tattered hat, a presence that felt ancient yet alive. Tobal approached, wary. “Who are you?” he asked, voice rough.

“Name’s Joe,” the old man rasped, reeling in an empty line. “Lost your way, lad?” His voice carried a knowing edge, a hint of something Tobal couldn’t place.

“I… I can’t go back,” Tobal muttered, the weight of his scars pressing down. “School, my uncle—they don’t get me.”

Joe nodded, eyes glinting like the ice. “The Wild’s got a hold on you, boy. Run if you must, but home’s where you’ll find your first step.” He offered a gnarled hand, and Tobal hesitated, then shook it—a grip that felt like time itself, a shiver running through him. Joe pointed toward the estate. “Head back. Something waits there—something you’ll need.”

Confused but drawn by the old man’s certainty, Tobal turned back, the lake fading behind him. The walk home stretched endlessly, the cold biting deeper, his mind a storm of doubt and determination. He slipped inside as dusk fell, Harry’s snores rumbling from the den. The house felt emptier, the attic hum louder, but he collapsed into bed, the runaway attempt a fleeting rebellion, a seed planted by Joe’s words.

In the days that followed, with his face largely healed as much as it would—scars now a permanent mask—Tobal found solace outdoors with Shadow. The estate’s grounds stretched wild beyond the manicured lawns, a sanctuary of pine and frost. He saddled Shadow, the black gelding’s sleek coat warm against the chill, and rode into the forest, hooves crunching snow. The wind carried a raw, earthy scent, and a deer paused, its eyes meeting his with a quiet understanding. Tobal dismounted, kneeling by a frozen stream, the ice glinting like glass. He traced its edge, feeling a pulse in the earth, a connection to the Wild stirring within. A fox darted past, its red fur a flash against the white, and Shadow nickered softly, nuzzling his hand. This bond with nature and animals grew, a refuge from the chaos, a whisper of something ancient awakening.

One afternoon, the house trembled with Harry’s rage. Tobal found him in the den, wheelchair jammed against the desk, papers scattered, a Federation summons crumpled in his fist. “They’re recalling me to the Outpost near Heliopolis,” Harry snarled, his voice a bitter growl, eyes blazing with resentment. “After all I’ve given—Lilly’s death, my legs—those bastards think I can still serve. I’m done!” He slammed the summons down, the scar on his knuckles whitening. Tobal stood silent, the air thick with Harry’s fury, a hint of his past unraveling.

Later that evening, at dinner, Harry’s bitterness spilled over. “I don’t understand what the Federation wants with a cripple,” he spat, shoving his plate aside, coffee sloshing. “Reopening that damn research—your parents’ work—after I shut it down. They’re dragging me back to oversee it, and I hate every second of it.” His hands trembled, gripping the chair’s arms, a mix of anger and guilt, the Outpost’s shadow looming. Tobal nodded, sensing a fracture in Harry’s control, a thread to the mystery of his parents.

One evening, Harry wheeled into Tobal’s room, the oak box balanced on his lap, its carved glyph—a man and woman holding hands within a circled serpent—catching the light. “It’s time,” Harry said, voice low, haunted eyes meeting Tobal’s. His hands gripped the chair tightly, shifting uncomfortably as a flicker of unease crossed his face. The box’s weight settled on the bed, a promise and a curse, and Tobal lifted the lid with trembling fingers. Inside, a yellowed envelope bore his name, sealed with red wax embossed with the same glyph, and nestled in dark green velvet, a large gold medallion with a heavy chain, mirroring the carving. He slipped it over his head, its weight pressing against his chest, a calm power radiating through him. Tears welled in his eyes, a shock of connection to the parents he barely remembered, his breath catching as he traced the glyph’s curves.

He broke the wax seal with a letter opener, hands shaking, and unfolded the letter, reading his parents’ exact words:

“Dearest son, Tobal, if you are reading this, we are dead. We wish we could have been there to watch you grow and share our love as you were growing up. Events happened to make this impossible. We promised to do one last mission that is very dangerous and are writing this letter in case we don’t come back. You are in good hands with your Uncle Harry and Aunt Lilly. They love you and will take care of you. We asked them to keep this letter and give it to you when you come of age.
You have the right to claim ‘sanctuary’ in the City of the Sun and find your true destiny, just as we have. It is our wish and dream that you be trained in the values and beliefs we hold dear. While we can not control the choices you make in life, we would like you to know what we believe; the things we feel are worth living and dying for. You may never know us, but you can know the things we love and care about. Perhaps someday you will learn what we died for.
Take this medallion and letter to the Antiquities Shop on 2424 Oak St., Old Seattle, Washington, and show them to the proprietor. He will know what they are and what needs to be done. Your Uncle Harry will give you an airbus ticket. We would like to tell you more but there is no time left. Give our love to Howling Wolf. He can tell you what you need to know.
Your loving parents,
Lord and Lady of the Sun, Ron and Rachel Kane.
Dated this day 25 January,
113th year of the New Eon,
sun in Aquarius, moon in Scorpio.”

Tears streamed down his face as Harry spoke, his voice heavy with a past he’d buried. “Your parents were research scientists in Heliopolis, a closed city-state on the West Coast,” Harry began, his tone guarded. “Their work was classified—something about energy and time, tied to the OAK Matrix. They believed it could reshape the Federation, but it was dangerous. An air sled accident over a lake took them when you were 2—no formal investigation, just a Federation cover-up. I found their bodies, floating, no marks, but something felt wrong. I tried continuing their research, but an explosion killed Lilly and left me paralyzed. The Federation shut it down, called it too risky. Some say it was sabotage—my orders pushed them too far.” His voice broke, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I’ve kept it secret, fearing the Federation’s reach. Now they’re reopening it, and you’re tangled in it. You’re going to Sanctuary directly.”

Tobal gripped the letter, defiance flaring. “But the letter tells me to go to Old Seattle,” he said, confusion and stubbornness in his voice. “I’m supposed to take the medallion and letter to someone my parents knew. That’s what I need to do first. They will know what I need to do next. That’s what the letter says.” He looked stubbornly at his uncle.

“There is no one to meet at Old Seattle,” Harry barked. “They are all dead! All of your parent’s friends are dead. They have been dead for fifteen years! I am buying you an airbus ticket for Heliopolis and that is where you are going. That is where the sanctuary program is. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” Tobal replied meekly, shaken by his uncle’s outburst. Inside, he seethed, planning to exchange his ticket for Old Seattle—that’s where his parents had told him to go, and that’s where he would go.

Harry wheeled out, the door clicking shut, leaving Tobal alone with the box. Hours later, as midnight deepened, he sat on his bed, the medallion’s weight a silent vow. The air shimmered, and two figures materialized: Lucas, tall and stern with a warrior’s bearing, and Carla, her eyes alight with a spinner’s grace, timelines weaving faintly in her gaze. Time Knights from the future, they stood as echoes of the Wild. “We’re Lucas and Carla,” Lucas said, voice resonant. “Time Knights protecting the realms. We worked with your father and mother, Ron and Rachel, to set up a time portal on Gaia. They disappeared during the project, held prisoner still, alive but out of reach.”

Carla’s fingers traced the air, a temporal ripple shimmering. “The alignment isn’t right yet—nothing more can be done now. You’ll find help to rescue them, but you must trust the unfolding events. The medallion holds their legacy—your path begins here.”

They faded, leaving Tobal’s heart pounding, the Wild whispering louder, a spark igniting his resolve. That night, he packed a bag and slipped out to the airbus terminal, the estate shrinking behind him under a moonlit sky, Joe’s image and the Time Knights’ words lingering in his mind, a thread pulling him toward Old Seattle.

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Anarchist Knight: Apprentice-Chapter 1: Tavistock Shadows

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 13, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Chapter 1: Tavistock Shadows

By Joe Bandel

The morning air hung heavy with the scent of polished wood and stale coffee as Tobal Kane, now 18, sat at the breakfast table in Uncle Harry’s sprawling mansion, its high ceilings swallowing the faint creak of Harry’s wheelchair. Outside, the gray Oregon sky pressed against the tall windows, casting Tavistock Township—a rich enclave near the golf course—into a muted light where manicured lawns clashed with the jagged pines clawing the horizon. Tobal was tall and lean, his brown eyes catching more than he let on beneath a mop of dark hair that flirted with Tavistock High’s strict uniform code. The blazer itched at his shoulders, a constant reminder of the polished cliques he drifted through like a ghost, a life shaped since he was 2, when his parents, Ron and Rachel, died in a mysterious air sled accident over a lake. Only a fleeting memory remained—a woman’s laugh, soft and warm, cut by a man’s low murmur, slipping away before the Federation’s silence took hold.

Harry wheeled closer, the squeak of rubber on hardwood grating against Tobal’s nerves like an old wound scraped raw. Once a broad-shouldered Federation commander, Harry now slumped, his gray hair wild and legs limp—twisted relics of the outpost blast that stole Tobal’s parents and Harry’s wife, Lilly, when Tobal was just 2. Harry had taken him in then, raising him amid secrets. His right hand, gripping the table, revealed a faded scar across the knuckles, a silent testament to a past he never spoke of. “You’ve got to make something of yourself, boy,” Harry growled, his voice rough as gravel, gripping the table until his knuckles whitened, coffee trembling in its chipped mug. “No son of my brother’s gonna waste what I can’t—what I’d kill to have back.” Tobal nodded, his lips parting just enough to mutter a quiet “Yeah” before shoveling down the last spoonful of oatmeal, its bland warmth sticking in his throat. Harry didn’t know him—not really. Sixteen years of raising him had built a wall of duty, not understanding.

The memory clung as he cleared his plate, the clink of ceramic against the sink barely audible over the hum of the house’s forced heat. Harry’s wheelchair squeaked toward the den, where whiskey and grudges awaited, leaving Tobal to climb the stairs—two steps at a time, dodging the fifth step’s creak he’d memorized over the years. His room was a cluttered refuge—books piled on the desk, a jacket slung over the chair, muddy boots staining the rug—but it was his, a corner Harry’s wheels couldn’t invade. He dropped his bag, fingers flexing with an itch that pulled him beyond the walls, past the garage where the stable waited under the pines’ shadow.

There, Shadow stood—his black gelding, sleek coat glinting, mane catching the wind, bright eyes mirroring a wild spirit Tobal felt deep in his chest. He loved that horse more than anything—more than Tavistock’s sterile halls, more than Harry’s barked orders. Harry had bought Shadow cheap off a broke rancher when Tobal was 16—“Something to keep you busy,” he’d muttered—but it was freedom. The stable’s earthy smell cleared his head as he saddled up, hands steady, Shadow’s warmth seeping through worn leather. He swung onto the gelding’s back, feeling the familiar jolt, and nudged him out, the trail opening ahead, pines clawing the sky.

They rode hard, hooves pounding the dirt, wind biting Tobal’s face as the wilderness blurred into streaks of green and brown. Up a ridge, the ground sloped sharp beneath them; down a gully, the earth softened, trees thickening—hours melted away, the sun dipping low, painting the pines in gold and shadow. A rustling in the pines caught his attention, a strange shiver running through him as if the Wild stirred. The air thickened, a dancer’s face rose briefly in his mind, gone as quick as it came. He reined in at a clearing, breath fogging in the chill, Shadow tossing his mane with a snort. He patted the gelding’s neck, brown eyes scanning the trees, the quiet settling like a blanket woven from the forest’s breath. Out here, he wasn’t Harry’s ward or Tavistock’s misfit—just Tobal, Shadow’s steady heartbeat grounding him.

Back home, dusk deepened as he stabled Shadow, brushing him down with slow strokes, hay dust clinging to his hands, the horse’s warmth a balm against the chill creeping in. Harry’s voice barked from the porch—“Riding won’t fix anything, boy!”—but Tobal lingered, reluctant to trade this peace for the house’s silence. In his room, he adjusted the colonial American Revolutionary War-style uniform, the blue jacket and white pantaloons stiff and unfamiliar, the long silver sword at his side awkward and dangerous, its weight clanking against his leg—a two-week struggle to master without injury. His brown eyes stared back in the mirror, shadowed with dread and a flicker of something else—tonight’s ball at Tavistock High, a gaudy circus Harry insisted he attend. The house fell silent as he descended the stairs, dodging the fifth step, the air heavy with polish and a trace of whiskey drifting from the den.

School had loomed that day, two weeks ago—calculus with Mr. Henshaw’s drone, equations blurring into a haze Tobal scratched into his notebook margins alongside rough sketches of Shadow’s ears. During a break between classes, he spotted Fiona by the lockers, her red hair swinging under fluorescent lights, green eyes catching his. Nervously, he approached, the blazer itching. “Hey, Fiona… uh, want to go to the ball with me in two weeks?” he asked, voice low. She paused, then smiled softly. “Sure, why not?” she said, her acceptance a quiet anchor, and he nodded, a spark igniting despite the crowd’s buzz.

That evening, Fiona waited outside her place, red hair glowing under the streetlamp, green eyes sharp against her stunning dress—not quite period-perfect for the colonial theme, its flowing design accentuating her figure in a way that stole his breath. She nodded, no smile, her presence a quiet anchor as Tobal approached, the uniform’s sword clanking awkwardly. “You look stiff,” she said, voice soft but firm, a faint tease threading through, and Tobal shifted the sword. “Feel it,” he muttered, her laugh hitting him like that fleeting memory—his mother’s, soft and warm, gone before he could hold it. They walked to the gym, her steps light beside his heavy shuffle, the air cool with a hint of pine drifting from beyond town. Her arm brushed his, a spark jolting through—a touch he didn’t expect, a hum stirring deep, the Wild whispered to him.

The dance hall was dimly lit, colored fog and mists swirling through the air, Tavistock’s rich kids swirling in uniforms and ball gowns like peacocks. Tobal shifted, the uniform’s starched edges and sword’s weight digging into his side, brown eyes darting for an exit drowned in the haze. Fiona stayed close, her fire quieter now, green eyes scanning with a steadiness that tethered him. “They’re all fakes,” she whispered, leaning in, her breath warm against his ear, and he nodded, her strength a flicker against the chaos—a glimpse of the Wild he didn’t know yet. She tugged him to the dance floor—“Come on, don’t just stand there”—her voice a challenge, hands guiding his through clumsy steps, the sword clanking as he moved, her stunning dress swaying with a grace he envied. The hall faded—noise, figures lost in mist—and it was just them, her touch sparking. He buried his face in her tangled hair, breathing in her violet perfume eagerly, nibbling her ear as his hands slid up, feeling the softness of her breast beneath the silk, her nipple hardening under his thumb. She caught her breath, snuggling closer, whispering, “I feel something strange too”—a secret that deepened their bond, its future unknown. Their bodies pressed, teasing each other with slow, intimate movements that quickened into a wild spin. The Wild whispered to him, a fire he could not yet name, as they weaved through the fog and mists, laughing and shouting at other dancers in the gloom, the swirling haze making their path treacherous.

As they spun, the air thickened, a strange pulse rippling through. Anubis’s statue shifted, its dog head turning, yellow eyes glinting briefly before stilling—a vision that jolted Tobal. Fiona laughed, unaware, and they weaved faster, lost in the dance. Suddenly, a violent collision with Becca threw him off balance, the fog and mists obscuring their path. He let go of Fiona, the sword snagging her dress and clattering to the side, turning to see Becca, her emerald gown torn, hanging around her waist, exposing small white breasts with rosy pink nipples. His gaze locked helplessly as she spun, fury flashing in her eyes.

“You bastard!” she screamed, knocking him to the floor.

“No! It was an accident!” he cried, feeling her nails tear into his face. Pain exploded, and darkness swallowed him.

He awoke in a hospital room, groggy and aching, bandages covering his face. Panic surged as he reached up, an alarm blaring. Uncle Harry’s firm hand pushed him down. “Take it easy, son,” Harry said, voice dry. “You’ve been through hell.”

“What happened?” Tobal rasped.

“Some girl nearly gouged your eye out,” Harry chuckled. “Scratched your face raw. Doc says scars are coming. How’d you piss her off?”

“I bumped her… her dress tore,” Tobal whispered, heat flushing his bandaged face. “Then she clawed me.”

“I can’t see!” he panicked, clawing at the gauze.

“It’s the bandages,” Harry soothed, pulling his hands away. “Something on her nails peeled your skin—messing with healing. Your eye’s safe, but rest.” A nurse injected his IV, dizziness sweeping him into sleep. Fiona’s hand lingered on the bed’s edge, a gentle touch he felt even in his daze, a connection he’d regret pushing away.

He awoke to violet perfume, Fiona’s voice cutting through. “It’s about time you woke up,” she said, concern in her tone. She touched his arm; he pulled away, bitter. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone.”

Her eyes teared up. “Can I come back?” she pleaded.

“Maybe after Christmas break,” he lied, watching her leave, her hand brushing the bed one last time, regret hitting too late. He never saw her again—yet.

Days later, Christmas Eve arrived, the house silent under a heavy snow. Tobal fretted, fingering the bandages, itching to tear them off. The doctor had instructed him to wait one final week, and today was the day. With trembling fingers, he entered the bathroom, grabbed surgical scissors, and began cutting the layers of gauze. It stuck to his skin, pain flaring as he lifted the last piece off his right eye. Bright light stabbed into him, sharp pain flashing through his head.

He closed his eyes, waiting for it to fade, then touched the newly healed skin. Opening his eyes, he faced the mirror.

“No!” he screamed in horror.

Four angry scars ran diagonally across his face, about an eighth of an inch wide. One stretched from his right temple across his eye, slashing his nose and jaw—the worst, nearly costing his sight. A smaller scar swept from his forehead to his left eyebrow, two more across his cheek and jaw. Swollen, discolored, and raw, they marked him forever.

With a curse, his fist smashed the mirror. As it shattered, he screamed, clutching his bleeding hand, sobbing as blood flowed into the sink and onto the floor.

“No! Goddess No!” he sobbed.

Blood spattered the shards, erasing his reflection as he slumped, holding his ruined face. His life would never be the same.

I am sharing this book with my trusted friends during this coming Saturn return. It is only being shared on this webpage and PaganSpace where I hang out a lot. Where people know me and what I do. This is the first book in a trilogy that I am working on. Enjoy!

I am also posting this book on Royal Road at http://www.royalroad.com

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The OAK Matrix: Forge Your Soul’s Steel

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 11, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Being True to Yourself – Forge Your Soul’s Steel

Truth to self is your blade—sharp, unyielding—cutting through life’s murk. The OAK Matrix fuels it: opposites (split/whole) grind, awareness (your fierce core) wakes, kinship (shared stand) binds. Crack an orb with a gym grind or gut vow? Hell yes—own it. This is survivalism’s root—here’s how to carve it fierce and free.

What’s This About?

Fourteen, split—church saint, school rogue—stress piled, lies flowed, theft fed wants—conscience slept. Bible bored, candy stole—goodwill cash, class munch—star kid, hollow core. Pressure cracked—two lives tore—night hit, soul screamed—couldn’t face me, not God. Vowed truth—no lies, no steals—thirty-six years clean, stress gone.

Rosicrucians named it—“Master Within”—heart’s whisper, conscience’s roar—inner rule over outer chains. Crisis forged it—born anew—not easy, but power’s peak—living true, no split, just steel.

Why It Matters

It’s your warrior’s forge. Opposites clash—false bends, true holds—and awareness wakes: you’re not a mask, you’re real. Kinship hums—your stand steadies others, mirrors their fight. I’ve felt it: gym grind, breath deep—second wind cracked an orb, faced my split—lived whole, fierce. Fakery kills—truth’s your steel, unbent.

That second wind—lifting, vowing—splits the astral. That’s your soul’s forge.

How to Forge It

No drift—here’s your steel:

  • Flood the Truth: Gym—lift ‘til second wind cracks—breathe deep, flood sexual/bio-electric energy—charge your grit. Face it—gut screams, align fast—stack will. If an orb cracks—a surge—ride it; you’re forging steel.
  • Crack the Split: Lies creep? Cut ‘em—gym grind or life shove—same forge, conscience snaps—truth holds, stress flops. Inner voice calls—heed it, act—core grows.
  • Track the Stand: Log dreams—fake turns real, you rule. Flat or split? Up the grind—your truth lags. Whole dreams mean you’re live—self hums.
  • Radiate Core: Live it—true fierce, will loud. Your charm’s a steel roar—others feel it, they rise. Stand authentic—you lead.
  • Cycle Tie: Lunar full moon? Flood it—truth peaks. Solar summer? Forge high—win big. Daily noon? Grind fierce—own the now.

My Take

I’ve split—lied, stole—‘til night broke me—gym grind, vowed true—cracked orbs, lived clean—thirty-six years fierce, free. You’ve got this—flood it, forge it, rule it. This ain’t soft—it’s fierce steel, survival’s core. Be bold, warrior-true.

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The OAK Matrix: Forge Fear From Chaos

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 10, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Confronting Fear – Forge Courage from Chaos

Fear’s a jolt—sharp, alive—screaming danger’s close. The OAK Matrix fuels your stand: opposites (bolt/still) grind, awareness (your fierce gut) wakes, kinship (shared steel) binds. Crack an orb with a gym grind or bold leap? Hell yes—face it. This is survivalism’s crucible—here’s how to turn fear into power and win.

What’s This About?

Fear roars—lion’s snarl—freeze, you’re meat; bolt, you live. Body knows—trained deep—mind blanks, muscle moves. Beaver’s tail cracked—shotgun loud—I jumped, spun mid-air, crouched ready—martial arts sank in. Casino pool—baby sank—mom froze, guard dove—training kicked, no thought, just act.

Fear’s constant—life’s wild—paralysis kills, action saves. Heights, water, love—I’ve faced ‘em—roof’s climbed, strokes learned, heart opened—fear shrinks, you grow. Train it—confront it—lifetime’s work, worth every scar.

Why It Matters

It’s your warrior’s edge. Opposites clash—fear grips, will breaks—and awareness wakes: you’re not prey, you’re predator. Kinship hums—your fight steadies others, mirrors their grit. I’ve felt it: gym grind, breath deep—second wind cracked an orb, faced the drop—lived bold. Fear signals—courage forges your steel, unbent.

That second wind—lifting, facing—splits the astral. That’s your grit’s forge.

How to Forge It

No drift—here’s your steel:

  • Flood the Fight: Gym—lift ‘til second wind cracks—breathe deep, flood sexual/bio-electric energy—charge your grit. Face it—fear hits, move fast—stack wins. If an orb cracks—a surge—ride it; you’re forging courage.
  • Crack the Freeze: Terror looms? Act—gym grind or threat shove—same forge, training snaps—fear shrinks, will grows. Heights? Climb—water? Swim—love? Open—body learns.
  • Track the Shift: Log dreams—dread turns dare, you rule. Flat or scared? Up the grind—your edge lags. Bold dreams mean you’re live—grit hums.
  • Radiate Steel: Live it—face fierce, stand sure. Your charm’s a steel roar—others feel it, they rise. Fear bows—you lead.
  • Cycle Tie: Lunar full moon? Flood it—fears peak. Solar summer? Forge high—win big. Daily noon? Grind fierce—own the now.

My Take

I’ve froze—fear choked—‘til I hit the gym, faced it—cracked orbs, jumped the roar—lived fierce, free. You’ve got this—flood it, face it, rule it. This ain’t soft—it’s fierce steel, survival’s roar. Conquer bold, warrior-forged.

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The OAK Matrix: Forge Controls From Chaos

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 6, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Emotions Can’t Reason – Forge Control from Chaos

Emotions hit hard—wild, raw, yours alone—untamed senses, not your reins. The OAK Matrix fuels it: opposites (feel/think) grind, awareness (your fierce mind) wakes, kinship (shared fire) binds. Crack an orb with a gym grind or gut check? Hell yes—rule it. This is survivalism’s edge—here’s how to channel it and win.

What’s This About?

Feelings flare—love, rage, joy—beyond your grip, extra eyes, not right or wrong. Guilt’s a lie—want to kill? Fine—act on it? That’s the line. Emotions scream—listen, don’t obey—why’s it there? Danger? Chance? Signals flare—mind decides, not heart.

Magic or muscle—emotions fuel, but reason steers—loose, they wreck; aimed, they soar. Gym ache says “stay down”—feel it, sure—mind says “up,” you rise. Emotions sense—reason rules—master that, and you’re steel, not storm.

Why It Matters

It’s your warrior’s reins. Opposites clash—emotion floods, reason cuts—and awareness wakes: you’re not slave to feeling, you’re its lord. Kinship hums—your control steadies others, mirrors their fight. I’ve felt it: gym grind, breath deep—second wind cracked an orb, fought the ache—won sharp. Chaos tempts—mind’s your steel, forged steady.

That second wind—lifting, ruling—splits the astral. That’s your will’s forge.

How to Forge It

No drift—here’s your steel:

  • Flood the Signal: Gym—lift ‘til second wind cracks—breathe deep, flood sexual/bio-electric energy—charge your grit. Feel it—rage, joy—track why, mind rules—act true. If an orb cracks—a surge—ride it; you’re forging control.
  • Crack the Flood: Emotions surge? Probe—gym grind or gut shove—same forge, reason snaps—channel it, don’t break. Inner voice hums—tune in, steer—will holds.
  • Track the Line: Log dreams—wild turns clear, you rule. Blurred or lost? Up the grind—your reason lags. Calm dreams mean you’re live—mind hums.
  • Radiate Reign: Live it—feel fierce, act sure. Your charm’s a steel roar—others feel it, they rise. Emotions fuel—you lead.
  • Cycle Tie: Lunar full moon? Flood it—signals peak. Solar summer? Forge high—win big. Daily noon? Grind fierce—own the now.

My Take

I’ve drowned—rage ruled, wrecked—‘til I hit the gym, reined it—cracked orbs, felt the why—lived bold, steady. You’ve got this—flood it, rule it, win it. This ain’t soft—it’s fierce steel, survival’s grip. Master bold, warrior-led.

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The OAK Matrix: Forge a Fierce Existence

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 3, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Life is Short and Sacred – Forge a Fierce Existence

Life’s a brief, holy blaze—yours to claim, rich with joy and gain. The OAK Matrix fuels it: opposites (doubt/faith) grind, awareness (your sacred will) wakes, kinship (shared quests) binds. Crack an orb with a gym grind or gut truth? Hell yes—seize it. This is survivalism’s core—here’s how to burn bright and win.

What’s This About?

Short, sacred—life demands you thrive, not limp—three keys unlock it. Body first—temple, pure—fuel it right, breathe deep, move hard. Self-esteem next—rock-solid belief you’ll smash barriers, shape your fate. Truth third—your paradigm, clear and yours—act bold, conscience loud, no wobble.

Doubt’s a thief—external crutches sap you—hesitant, frail—your path’s unique, not theirs. Know it, live it—happiness and prosperity flow when you stand true, not bowed.

Why It Matters

It’s your warrior’s flame. Opposites clash—weak bends, strong holds—and awareness wakes: you’re not frail, you’re forged. Kinship hums—your fire honors theirs, lifts all. I’ve felt it: gym grind, breath deep—second wind cracked an orb, stood tall—lived fierce. Life’s fleeting—conviction’s your steel, sacred and sharp.

That second wind—lifting, knowing—splits the astral. That’s your life’s forge.

How to Forge It

No drift—here’s your steel:

  • Flood the Temple: Gym—lift ‘til second wind cracks—breathe deep, flood sexual/bio-electric energy—charge your grit. Eat clean, move daily—body hums. If an orb cracks—a surge—ride it; you’re forging strength.
  • Crack the Doubt: Self falters? Stand—believe hard, act sure—gym grind or life shove—same forge, esteem snaps—obstacles break. Truth rings—trust it, no waver—will holds.
  • Track the Truth: Log dreams—fog turns clear, you rule. Weak or lost? Up the grind—your truth lags. Bold dreams mean you’re live—path hums.
  • Radiate Sacred: Live it—body strong, will fierce, truth loud. Your charm’s a steel roar—others feel it, they rise. Live yours—they live theirs—you lead.
  • Cycle Tie: Lunar full moon? Flood it—truth peaks. Solar summer? Forge high—win big. Daily noon? Grind fierce—own the sacred.

My Take

I’ve drifted—doubted, dimmed—‘til I hit the gym, forged my truth—cracked orbs, stood sacred—lived full, fierce. You’ve got this—flood it, forge it, rule it. This ain’t soft—it’s fierce life, survival’s blaze. Burn bold, warrior-holy.

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The OAK Matrix: Forge Truth that Wins

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 28, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Actuality vs. Reality – Forge Truth That Wins

Reality’s your blade—actuality’s the forge—know the gap, and you cut through life’s fog. The OAK Matrix fuels it: opposites (blur/sharp) grind, awareness (your fierce lens) wakes, kinship (collective nod) binds. Crack an orb with a gym grind or gut truth? Hell yes—wield it. This is survivalism’s edge—here’s how to see clear and conquer.

What’s This About?

Actuality’s the raw mess—universe humming, chaos buzzing—too vast for your head to grab. Bees see colors you miss, dogs smell what you can’t—worlds overlap, unseen. Reality’s your slice—what senses catch, mind shapes—subjective, yours. Collective reality? Agreed bets—drive right, not left—keeps us rolling.

Close your reality to actuality—results hit hard. Fantasy flops—no juice, just fluff. Truth works—use it, ditch the rest. Close-minded wins—doubt-free, laser-tight—open drifts, lost. Forge your paradigm—inner flashes, true will—lock it, and you’re unstoppable, lifting all as you rise.

Why It Matters

It’s your warrior’s sight. Opposites clash—chaos blinds, clarity cuts—and awareness wakes: you’re not guessing, you’re knowing. Kinship hums—your truth aligns us, if it’s real. I’ve felt it: gym grind, breath deep—second wind cracked an orb, saw the path—won sharp. Illusion drains—certainty’s your steel, forged true.

That second wind—lifting, locking—splits the astral. That’s your truth’s forge.

How to Forge It

No drift—here’s your steel:

  • Flood the Truth: Gym—lift ‘til second wind cracks—breathe deep, flood sexual/bio-electric energy—charge your grit. Act sure—test it, keep what works—stack wins. If an orb cracks—a surge—ride it; you’re forging clarity.
  • Crack the Fog: Doubt clouds? Close it—gut flash, will locks—gym grind or life shove—same forge, reality snaps—results flow. Friends nudge—heed ‘em, refine—truth holds.
  • Track the Edge: Log dreams—haze turns clear, you rule. Foggy or flat? Up the grind—your lens lags. True dreams mean you’re live—will hums.
  • Radiate Steel: Live it—close tight, act bold. Your charm’s a steel roar—others feel it, they rise. Truth wins—you lead.
  • Cycle Tie: Lunar full moon? Flood it—truth peaks. Solar summer? Forge high—win big. Daily noon? Grind fierce—own the real.

My Take

I’ve flailed—open, lost—‘til I hit the gym, locked my truth—cracked orbs, cut through—won real, fierce. You’ve got this—flood it, lock it, rule it. This ain’t soft—it’s fierce sight, survival’s blade. See bold, warrior-true.

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The OAK Matrix: Forge a Full Fire

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 27, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Living a Balanced Life – Forge a Full Fire

Balance is your blade—sharp, steady, cutting through chaos to keep every need alive. The OAK Matrix fuels it: opposites (lack/full) grind, awareness (your broad surge) wakes, kinship (shared roots) binds. Crack an orb with a gym grind or daily shift? Hell yes—wield it. This is survivalism’s whole dance—here’s how to live fierce and complete.

What’s This About?

You’re complex—unique—but needs boil down: self, love, work, dreams—twelve houses, seven energies. Neglect one, and cracks spread—overfeed one, and others starve. Ancients mapped it—ego to death—astrology’s wheel spins true. Balance isn’t soft—it’s power—each day hitting every mark: body strong, heart open, mind sharp, soul lit.

Physical’s base—sweat, senses, now—etheric ties bind family, sex drives life, joy fuels play, will shapes you, learning links us, intuition guides, unity grounds. Small acts—daily grit—build it all, no heroics, just steady fire. Skip it, and you’re half—hit it, and you’re whole.

Why It Matters

It’s your warrior’s frame. Opposites clash—neglect drains, balance fills—and awareness wakes: you’re not lopsided, you’re full-force. Kinship hums—your strength steadies others, mirrors their fight. I’ve felt it: gym grind, breath deep—second wind cracked an orb, hit all fronts—lived bigger. Chaos kills—balance is your steel, forged wide.

That second wind—lifting, living—splits the astral. That’s your life’s forge.

How to Forge It

No drift—here’s your steel:

  • Flood the Full: Gym—lift ‘til second wind cracks—breathe deep, flood sexual/bio-electric energy—charge your grit. Hit all—exercise, love, play, learn—daily chunks, close ‘em. If an orb cracks—a surge—ride it; you’re forging balance.
  • Crack the Gap: Skip one? Pain grows—shift small, gym grind or heart shove—same forge, each need hums—closure locks power. Friends nudge—listen, tweak—life aligns.
  • Track the Flow: Log dreams—chaos turns calm, you rule. Weak or flat? Up the grind—your balance lags. Full dreams mean you’re live—whole hums.
  • Radiate All: Live it—broad reach, fierce pulse. Your charm’s a steel roar—others feel it, they rise. Hit every mark—you lead.
  • Cycle Tie: Lunar full moon? Flood it—balance peaks. Solar summer? Forge high—win big. Daily noon? Grind fierce—own the day.

My Take

I’ve skewed—chased one, lost all—‘til I hit the gym, paced it—cracked orbs, hit body, love, mind—lived whole, fierce. You’ve got this—flood it, balance it, rule it. This ain’t soft—it’s fierce life, survival’s full blaze. Stand bold, warrior-complete.

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OAK Ghostwriting Protocol- Duality Sexual Alchemy

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 27, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Duality- Sexual Alchemy
The greatest secret of all time is the use of the male and female
energies to perform what is sometimes known as high magic. Because
of the puritan ethic that dominated society in the past death was often
the result of revealing too much. It is hoped today’s society will be
more tolerant of this sacred mystery.
In chapter one we explored the normal stages of male ego
development. Ego development and spiritual growth proceeded
through a series of stages or steps culminating in a type of awareness
beyond mental awareness that has been called Cosmic Consciousness.
This is the direct perception of self evident truth and the archetypal
nature of existence. This path of development has also been termed
the mystical path. It is driven through prayer and meditation.
In chapter two we took the opposite and suggested it may represent
the normal stages of female ego development. In retrospect we can
see this path represents biological stages of development with
emphasis on three distinct phases each female may progress through.
These are the stages of maid, mother and crone. They are driven by
biological factors. Family, relationships and service are very
important.
These two opposite paths both appear reasonable and logical and
we are confronted with paradox. Both views extend from the lowest
levels of awareness to the highest levels of awareness. Both are
natural opposites of the other.
Classic books like “Men are from Mars;Women are from Venus”
give further evidence that males and females do experience life
differently. I will go so far as to claim that males will default to a
spiritual/intellectual view of living while being intensely drawn
toward sensual/biological experiences. Males will be drawn to the
female path and experience it briefly but they can not sustain contact
with it.
Females will be intensely drawn to a spiritual/intellectual view of
living but default to sensual/biological experiences. They will be48
drawn to the male path and experience it briefly but can not sustain
contact with it. They will loose interest in constant head tripping.
Another factor of interest is that almost any female can experience
the complete range of ego development through dating, pregnancy,
child birth, and menopause. Some females may be more successful
than others but they all reach the pinnacle and regain their connection
with Goddess. This is a holistic path.
The male path is quite different in that many males are not able to
progress up the steps to the higher levels of ego development. They
remain stuck at uncompleted stages for their entire lives. Progress to
the next stage is not allowed until the current stage is mastered. This
is a linear path.
We form relationships with the opposite sex to help us grow as
individuals and as love partners. The dynamic energy exchange
between these two paths propel us to become whole.
In this chapter we will form connections between the two views
that reflect personal experience and help balance our inner male and
female aspects. The degree format is not used in this chapter. Instead
the male and female are seen as interacting with each other at ten
separate levels.
The similarity between this chapter and such practices as “drawing
down the moon” are noteworthy.
The man and woman agree to work together as an inseparable team
to accomplish their desired goals. Since they are meeting primarily on
the mental plane it is vital they have as many interests in common as
possible. These common interests will help to bridge the vast spiritual
gap that will face them later in the work and strengthen their sense of
purpose. They are drawn together through a magnetic attraction called
love. Romantic love relationships are sacred. Combined their energy
is magickal.
The man should have a very idealistic and spiritual nature. He will
be using male energy as a catalyst to lift her spiritual nature to those
spiritual heights where she can contact the Goddess within.
When this contact is made she becomes the Goddess and by
transforming his generated energy causes it to manifest objectively as
healing energy or she directs it for stated magical objectives. He has
the surplus energy she needs to achieve her goals. Alone his energy is
wild and undirected. Together they can achieve miracles.
Using the male and female energies correctly is a form of tantric
sex magic. This may or may not involve sex or orgasm. What is49
required is foreplay and sexual tension that is prolonged until intense
sexual, emotional, and spiritual energies are generated between them.
Through physical contact these energies merge into her aura and
stabilize. If they are fully clothed holding hands together will allow
this exchange of energies to take place. In essence any type of
male/female interaction will create sparks. This is the spark of sexual
excitement.
In magical work sincerity of purpose is important, not ritual.
Whatever is done must be original and meaningful to them alone. It
must inspire emotions and arouse their desires. To perform this type
of sexual alchemy takes time. Mentally and emotionally explore each
other step by step. There are ten steps.
Each of the following objectives must be mastered completely
before going on to the next. Each objective describes the male and
female response as the male generates spiritual energy and invokes
the Goddess within her. These steps are the two previous chapters
combined as they describe the romantic interaction between two
people in love.
There are ten stages or objectives that relationships progress
through under normal conditions. See if you can recognize these first
five.

  1. In this first objective the male struggles to be both body and spirit.
    He strives to become one with the Christ spirit within him while still
    maintaining an awareness of his physical body.
    He looks at her and recognizes the Goddess. He sees her as a
    spiritual being placing her on a pedestal and mentally kneels before
    her. He has expectations and standards for her that are so high only a
    Goddess could fulfill them. He does not feel worthy of her love. She
    feels his energy coming into her aura and body.
    Mentally she identifies with the spiritual Goddess within her and
    opens herself to embrace his energy. This is true Goddess love. She
    acts through instinct and recognizes what sensations his energy
    produces in her physical body.
    All options are explored. She allows this. She loves herself and the
    whole world. She accepts his worship of her. She is the Goddess. His
    love makes her feel lovable.
  2. In this second objective she becomes the ideal for him as he gets to
    know her better. Mentally he tries to understand her. She is beyond
    logic and reason.50
    All answers merely bring more questions. She is a great mystery.
    She is good, she is evil, she is life, she is death, she is sin, she is
    salvation, she is illusion, she is reality.
    His intellect is inadequate and he tries to intuitively understand her
    instead. He is in a complete intellectual fog and at her mercy. Words
    can’t express his feelings toward her.
    Her body rejoices with eagerness. Everything is right. She is a
    physical Goddess. Her body obeys her mind. she feels stability and
    peace. She has no expectations of him at all. Everything is new and
    fresh. All is fulfillment.
    She feels his energy influence her sensually. Her emotions are
    becoming aroused. There is great joy and freedom in exploring these
    new sensations. She identifies more and more with her body as she
    sees its effect on him. Her body can not be wrong. It can deal with
    anything that comes along. He is wrapped around her little finger. She
    uses her body deliberately to get reactions from him. She uses body
    language.
  3. He begins to trust his intuition above other things. She is the
    Goddess and he is in love. There is no one else for him or ever will
    be. She is his Goddess. He is content to bask in her radiance, to
    merely be close to her. He never felt he could find someone that was
    so right for him. It’s like a fairy tale dream. He wants to have sex with
    her. Her energy makes his entire body shiver.
    Her new body awareness is strange and she feels timid, shy, and
    uncertain. She feels weak and powerless compared to him. The very
    force of the emotions he is generating threaten to overwhelm her.
    Instead of reaching spiritual heights the force of his emotions is
    plunging her down the steep incline into sensual materialism.
    Recklessly and joyously she forsakes all spiritual values and lets it
    take her where it will. This is also part of being a Goddess. She wants
    to have sex with him.
  4. He finds joy and peace in daydreaming about her. He lets his
    imagination run wild as he explores fantasy after fantasy. His
    daydreams become more real than she is. It is what she spiritually
    represents that he is in love with. He tries to draw this Goddess down
    into her physical body with his imagination. When they have sex he is
    making love to the Goddess and not to her.
    She feels apprehension and sorrow at her sudden exposure to the
    intensity of his emotions. He is now generating tangible psychic force51
    and she must accept it and transform it. This force at first seems
    hostile and threatening. It stirs her emotions wildly. This is her first
    eye opening exposure to the forces that can be generated this way.
    It is both terrifying and exciting. How can he have so much energy?
    It is too much for her so she tries to channel his energy upward to the
    Goddess. Sex is not what she thought is would be and she
    instinctively feels that something is not right about how he feels about
    her. He doesn’t really know her.
  5. He realizes she is holding back and having difficulties with his
    energy. He turns his vast creative energies exclusively toward
    developing a type of energy she can work with. Through trial and
    error he examines the nature of the energy he is sending her. He
    perfects and refines each type of energy until he can send each type to
    her at will. Physical sex entraps both of them and she becomes
    pregnant.
    She is totally overwhelmed by the varieties and force of the energies
    he is sending. This is a totally new experience and she becomes afraid
    of loosing herself completely in this wild vortex of raw sensual,
    emotional, and spiritual forces.
    Even though she tries to be careful she finds herself being dragged
    deeper and deeper into his wild energies and she can’t escape. She is
    loosing control. He is beginning to dominate her. Then she becomes
    pregnant.
  6. At this point it is time for him to slack off and forget about
    romance for awhile. He should just enjoy her company and share
    social activities with her. They are going to have a child together.
    Sensual pursuits are fun. As he turns the power down she relaxes and
    they both turn to a life of total hedonism and enjoyment. She enjoys
    his company and needs his energy but only a little at a time.
    After a while she craves larger and larger doses of his raw energy.
    She learns how to deal with it effectively. It begins to give her power
    and energy and she can return some of it back to him in a new form.
  7. He thinks seriously about forming a permanent relationship with
    her. He pours his energy and vigor out to her with an intensity that
    borders on insanity because it is so strong.
    As she receives his energy she becomes completely self-centered.
    This is the only way she can effectively direct the forces he is
    generating. She has to be in total control, there can be no weakness.52
    She uses her will to focus his energy toward those things she desires.
  8. As she takes total control he begins to suspect she doesn’t love him,
    that she is just using him to get what she wants. What about the things
    he wants? He has to fight these doubts and be patient with her at this
    time. All she seems to care about is the child.
    The entire world spreads out before her. She can carve out of it
    whatever she will. She can use him and his energies as she wishes to
    achieve her dream. There is no mental hesitation or uncertainty. She
    goes for the achievement of her dream. She is having a baby!
  9. He seems to be only a servant to her but then he remembers that is
    what he wanted to be. She is the Goddess. He wanted to build her
    dream for her and now she is using his energy to do just that!
    Working together they are both achieving those things they wished
    for. This is the beginning of high magic. They are making a family.
    She is the Goddess, a force of nature, unstoppable. She perceives
    the karmic need for excitement, thrills, and vitality. She knows when
    to support him and when to bitch at him to get him fired up enough to
    do something. She gives him inspiration and takes from him what she
    needs.
  10. Blinded by his love for her he sacrifices himself. He projects
    everything he has and is into her. He is free of all personal desires and
    plunges into spiritual death and rebirth.
    She accepts his sacrifice. She embraces all that he is and resolves to
    make him complete in all things. It will take all of her power to
    completely contain his expansive energies but she sacrifices
    everything she is to do this.
  11. They merge. They are one. They are a single unit, a new being.
    There are no barriers between them. They have become one soul and
    one family.
  12. Their entire personal universe is now recreated on all levels in
    their image. All is realized, all is complete.

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