An EPIC FAIL moment in the short, obscene career of Najib Razak...

Malaysian crime minister Najib Razak demonstrates how NOT to squander money on public relations exercises guaranteed to backfire.

Year of the Black Water Snake ~ Lethal to those who fear loss of status & power!

The black water snake is never aggressive unless provoked.
It glides effortlessly through the water but is equally at home on dry land.
It rarely attacks but when it does its poison is fast-acting and fatal.
Those who are pure of heart have nothing to fear
from this guardian of our emotional well-being.

HAPPY NEW LUNAR EAR, FOLKS!

Silver serpent on onyx wand from the Sacred Valley of the Incas

Orang Asli turned into temporary leaseholders on their own ancestral lands!

As some of you may know I married Anoora Chapek, a Temuan lady, almost 18 years ago. Her tribe, second largest in the Malayan peninsula, once roamed the whole of Selangor, Negri Sembilan and parts of Pahang.

In 1999 the Temuan population was estimated at 18,560. I'm not aware if there is a current census, but I know there are fewer than 170 of them in Kampong Pertak, where I have resided since 2002 when a new settlement was constructed by Gamuda to relocate the villagers for the Selangor Dam project.

Note how Anoora (assigned the name Noorhayati binti Chapek by some
Jabatan Orang Asli officer, and later shortened to Noor) has been given a Muslim
identity through the insertion of "binti" instead of "anak" before her father's name.

In 2004 each household received a grant from the Land Office entitling the house owner to a 99-year lease on the 1,101 square meters where their homes stood - plus an additional 0.3 hectare for general use, also on a 99-year temporary lease. In total each householder was required to pay RM70 per year towards the lease.

During the negotiations for the resettlement of the Temuan in connection with the Selangor Dam project, the Orang Asli of Pertak were promised freehold titles to their land. Nothing was said about the 282 hectares of ancestral lands "approved for gazetting" in February 1965. They had waited nearly 40 years for their tanah pusaka to be formally gazetted as an Orang Asli permanent reserve. This did not happen. Instead, the Jabatan Hal Ehwal Orang Asli (now renamed Jabatan Kemajuan Orang Asli) conspired with the Land Office to turn the Orang Asli into 99-year leaseholders on their own ancestral lands.

This entitles my wife to 0.3 hectare of agricultural land on a 99-year lease
whose exact location has never been made known to anyone in the village.

When I read the grant and realized what was happening, I had a long chat with the Tok Batin of Pertak, Bida Chik, who expressed profound anger and distress at being compelled to pay rent to occupy their own ancestral lands. He felt it was a barefaced insult for Orang Asli to be labeled "leaseholders" on lands their ancestors had inhabited for countless generations. Nobody knows exactly how long the Temuan tribe has been around - but many Orang Asli tribes can lay claim to having lived in the Malayan Peninsula for up to 40,000 years - possibly much more.

Batin Bida Chik

I asked Bida Chik if he was prepared to file a class action against the state government for trampling on their inherent right to continue inhabiting their ancestral lands ad infinitum. He balked at the idea at having to take legal action on his own. At the time he was confronted with a renegade faction of pro-BN villagers who were directly under the influence of the Jabatan Orang Asli and who made a point of ignoring or deriding Bida Chik's authority as Batin (headman).

"So far we have not been asked to pay a single cent," Bida noted. "The day they start demanding money, we will consider our legal options." That was more than 8 years ago. Householders in Kampong Pertak received bills from the Land Office about a week ago. The bills are for five years of assessment, 2008-2012. As far as I know, nobody was billed for the preceding years. Perhaps, as a small concession, the Orang asli were given a brief respite of four years.

One bill for the lease of 1,101 square meters of residential land amounts to RM462.90. The other is for RM45 towards the lease of 0.3 hectare of agricultural land - the exact location of which has never been made clear to anyone in the village. Not even the headman knows where his 0.3 hectare is supposed to be. The Orang Asli - or at least the Temuan of Pertak - have never been keen on farming and their present crop of rubber trees was planted for them in the mid-1960s by RISDA (Rubber Industry Smallholders Development Authority). Together the bills total RM507.90 (with a RM32.30 rebate offered for early payment).

Pic by Peter Walker

Some Temuan households are relatively well-off - especially immediately after a bumper harvest of durians. Many can afford a monthly subscription to Astro. A small handful even own cars and vans and almost every household has a motorcycle plus a couple of handphones. However, income levels are extremely uneven and we also have widows and elderly folk who depend on financial help from relatives - and a meager RM300 monthly welfare cheque from the Welfare Department.

My nextdoor neighbor Nuak @ Shima, for instance, is a mother of three tiny tots whose ages range from 2 to 5 years. Her Indonesian-born husband, Azman Izhak, was diagnosed with colon cancer last year and now has to commute between home and the Sungai Buloh hospital two hours away. He has been unable to work for more than a full year. He applied for welfare assistance many months ago - but the last time I asked, not a cent had been forthcoming.

In effect, some Orang Asli households will have little trouble forking out RM507.90 for five years' lease - while others will find the amount a staggering, if not impossible, burden.

As a former urbanite accustomed to paying rent, being asked to pay RM70 a year for the privilege of living in Kampong Pertak is hardly worth complaining about, as far as I'm concerned. That's the same amount I fork out for my annual road tax.

However, it's against all principles of fair play and justice for an already marginalized community to be turned by legislative sleight-of-hand into temporary leaseholders on lands they can lay claim to for literally hundreds, if not thousands of generations.

Last week I had another discussion with Batin Bida Chik about this issue. He was of the opinion that none of the villagers would wish to pay lease for what they perceive to be their own ancestral lands - even if they could afford it. They regard it as humiliating, insulting and a clear attempt to deprive them of their ancestral lands. He asked if I could bring the matter to public attention - and hopefully solicit the assistance of the Bar Council or any human rights lawyers to take the matter to court. And this is precisely what I am doing. If anybody reading this can help, kindly get in touch via email. Thank you.

Dedicated to the memory of William Yau Zhen Zhong...

On 25 January 2013 the badly decomposed body of a child was found floating near a jetty in Klang. It has since been identified by the boy's parents as William. At this point nobody knows how young William met such an unfortunate end. Was he kidnapped, abused and murdered?  Or could it have been a freak accident, as police have suggested, with the kid falling into a monsoon drain and getting swept 30km down the Klang River? We may never know what befell William Yau. However, the massive outpouring of public concern, followed by profound and collective grief upon hearing the terrible news, shows that all humans share the same love for their offspring... and that when any child goes missing, all parents feel the same pangs of acute anxiety...

Nurin Jazlin Jazimin was only eight when she went missing on the night of August 20th, 2007. Twenty-six days later a young girl's naked body was found stuffed into a gym bag and dumped outside a shophouse. DNA tests indicated that the dead child was indeed Nurin. The cruel, perverted manner in which the child was molested and killed traumatized the entire nation. Apparently, Nurin's abductors had violated her with such vicious force, the poor child suffered internal hemorrhage from a ruptured rectum and succumbed to bacterial infection.

To date, Nurin's abductors and murderers have yet to be apprehended and brought to justice. Four men and a woman were picked up, questioned and subsequently released for lack of evidence linking them to the hideous crime. Then a 23-year-old Indonesian woman was arrested in Nilai, whereupon she swallowed a SIM card. She was admitted to the Universiti Malaya Medical Center where she refused to eat for days, but nurses finally managed to get her to purge the evidence. We'll never know what the Indonesian woman was trying to conceal because any data on the SIM card she swallowed proved unretrievable after prolonged immersion in her gastric juices. In any case I have found no follow-up reports on the results of the police investigation. What happened to the SIM-card-swallowing woman? Who was she anyway?

It would appear there are a lot of dark, dire secrets and unsolved murders in Malaysia - perhaps because the trail sometimes leads where it isn't supposed to go.

Like everybody else, I was deeply troubled by reports of Nurin's disappearance and the nightmarish manner in which she was murdered. And, sadly, Nurin just happens to be the most sensational case in recent years of child abduction, rape and murder - perhaps because she looked so utterly adorable. Everybody saw in Nurin a vision of their own precious and beloved child. To me, Nurin was the perfect symbol of the whole country - a beautiful, innocent soul with infinite potential, embodying all the exotic charm and irresistible allure of the Orient, and carrying the great hope in all our hearts for a wonderfully bright and joyful future.

Nurin was Malaysia's poster child, the fragrant flower of a dozen family trees and five hundred generations of fortuitous miscegenation. Only good things were supposed to happen to Nurin Jazlin Jazimin, not a fate so macabre you wouldn't wish it upon your worst enemy's children.

So who killed Nurin?

Nurin's dad, Jazimin Abdul Jalil, buries another dream; meanwhile, criticized for his incompetence, Police Inspector-General Musa Hassan threatens to charge Nurin's parents with "negligence."

It was the distillation of all the unresolved anger, moral debility, hypocrisy, unmitigated greed, powerlust, resentment, disillusionment, repressed and thwarted sexuality in our collective unconscious. The accumulated psychosis of century upon century of unexpressed hostility against the order of the day. All the behavioral shortcomings of megalomaniacal monarchs and their willing minions; every cover-up of every transgression that has ever been perpetrated against the helpless, powerless, and the vulnerable. Every disrespectful act ever directed against the Sacred Feminine by a misogynist patriarchy, more concerned about maintaining its public image than with correcting its private misdemeanors. Every untruth ever uttered by a politician, every erotic indiscretion denied or glossed over, every malicious thought harbored in the minds of those that misgovern, every instance of hubristic and ruthless power abuse by control freaks in high office who were granted the authority to inspire and lead - but instead misused their status to exploit, enslave and disenfranchise.

DEAD OR MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD: what's the link between sexual repression and child murder-rape?

Indeed, it was all the sins of all the Fathers visited upon one excruciatingly adorable child. And the Mothers, too, for silently abetting and conniving with, over so many centuries, this systematic rape of innocence and beauty and truth.

Every one of us is guilty of murdering Nurin who keeps quiet and shrugs whenever an unjust law is legislated into being by myopic, pusillanimous, self-serving parliamentarians - laws like the Internal Security and Police Acts that allow the State to arrest, torture and detain political dissenters without habeas corpus and forcibly disperse peaceful public gatherings.

Censorship policies that favor violence over eroticism: wherein it is permitted to view humans being punched, kicked, knifed, shot and blown to smithereens - but scenes of tender passion like lovers kissing and harmless amorous acts expressing affection are strictly forbidden, labeled "immoral" or "sinful" by religious hypocrites.

In a nation where a grown man or woman can be accused, publicly humiliated, subject to a mock trial and sentenced to nine years' jail for allegedly indulging in consensual anal or oral sex - but fabricators of evidence with evil and malicious intent are promoted to top positions in government where they are given the power of life or death over others - there is little chance of survival for the beauty, truth, and innocence that Nurin symbolized.

Here we are, shedding crocodile tears for victims of our own moral apathy - whether they be abductable 8-year-old nymphettes or street-savvy 22-year-old urban guerrillas with suspected links to criminal syndicates - while the most corrupt, spendthrift and murderously vindictive woman in the country preens herself before a gilded mirror in preparation for her debauched spouse's anticipated rise to the highest position in the land...

Just knowing that millions (perhaps even billions) of ringgit have been squandered to prop up this grotesque travesty of human decency, truth and justice makes me shudder. And whenever I hear people robotically sing the praises of our "great" former leader, Dr Mahathir - the man who gave us Putrajaya, the Petronas Twin Towers, and massive delusions of grandeur, in exchange for the nation's soul - I make it a point to take a dozen deep breaths... access my genetic archives... reclaim my divine heritage... and declare to the entire cosmos...

HELL, NO! HEAVEN, YES!!!

[First published 3 February 2009]

A rainbow ocean of humanity @ Independence Stadium...

When people of all walks and dances of life physically converge as an expression of their will to freedom from tyranny and oppression, the true and humble joy of being human in a humane, compassionate, inclusive and evolving world becomes manifest.

[Courtesy of PAStv]

Photo courtesy of Hawkeye Jack

Photo courtesy of PDRM

THE SALIERI SYNDROME (REPRISE)

F. Murray Abraham as Antonio Salieri

I saw Miloš Forman’s film of Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus five times at the same cinema. And I’ve watched the VCD at home at least three times. What impressed me most was F. Murray Abraham’s oscar-winning portrayal of Antonio Salieri, court composer to the Hapsburg emperor Joseph II.

Today everybody agrees that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a divinely inspired genius. A few of us know he died a pauper at 35 and was buried in a mass grave – and that his monumental musical legacy lay largely forgotten for more than 70 years - until Ludwig von Köchel published a descriptive catalog of the 626 works Mozart composed in his short but intense career.

In Shaffer’s fictionalization of Mozart’s story, Salieri’s professional envy of the gifted upstart becomes the central motif of the drama. Salieri is one of a small handful academic musicians with sufficient savvy to appreciate the full extent of the man’s extraordinary talent; but he chooses to thwart Mozart’s destiny in every way possible.

Nevertheless, Mozart succeeds in seizing a brief burst of popularity with his vibrant operas. The pious Salieri eventually loses his faith in God, and murders Mozart by posing as an anonymous Count and commissioning a Requiem, with an impossible deadline and a monetary reward Mozart couldn’t possibly refuse (being in heavy debt, owing to his hedonistic habits).

Salieri thereby pushes the already frail genius beyond the edge of exhaustion to an untimely demise. For his efforts, Salieri ends his days in an insane asylum, where he pontificates about the rectitude of mediocrity and blesses his fellow inmates for their lacklustre and wasted lives. Two centuries down the line, nobody remembers a single melody written by Antonio Salieri; while Amadeus triggered a worldwide Mozart revival which would have made Wolfie posthumously richer than Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sir Paul McCartney, and Sir Elton John combined.

The theme of genius unrecognized and unrewarded, I must confess, has obsessed me for the greater part of my early life. In my schooldays only three teachers noticed I was a precocious kid – and one of them happened to be a Peace Corps Volunteer from Baltimore. This may have encouraged me to spend a year in the U.S. as an exchange student, and it was then that I finally received the ego nourishment my soul craved. Ironic that the glitzy culture that spawned Coca-Cola, McDonald’s, and “pre-emptive” war has also provided me with the greatest amount of positive feedback. Perhaps the land of superlatives got that way by giving its kids the hearty encouragement all kids require, to grow up brimming over with initiative and innovative chutzpah. My own initiation into adulthood in Malaysia taught me not to bother applying for a government grant unless I snip off my foreskin and turn into some species of bin.

Which brings us to the Malaysian Dilemma: here we are, a feudal society abruptly thrust into the Digital Age by “market forces” that emphasize competition over cooperation. No matter how often we yell “Malaysia Boleh!” - and no matter how much official sponsorship is invested in some guy who sails solo around the world to claim his Datukship, or some well-heeled lady who solo-treks across the Antarctic, only to have her victory inundated by the most spectacular tsunami within memory – we’ve shot ourselves in the foot so many times, one could remark that our national ego has clay pigeon feet. At least we can brag about our fantastic marksmanship: it’s no mean feat, you know, to shoot your own foot when you have to crane your neck just to see where your feet are. Well... burp... there are no starving hordes in evidence in Potbellyland – and that’s something we can be proud of without even trying!

So... are we really doomed to remain a mediocracy forever? Is there no cure for the Salieri Syndrome? Indeed there is. You only have to take a stiff swig of this ancient Chinese prescription: “One does not grow taller by chopping off other people’s heads.” That’s right, folks. Ego insecurity breeds jealousy. Which is (I keep reminding people, especially my wife) the root of all evil. For that matter, one does not grow taller by wearing platform shoes either. But that’s an entirely different disease called TLFC – The Lord Farquaard Complex – which can be easily treated with a little bit of dragon magic.

[Originally published in the April 2005 issue of  VIDA!; republished here on 8 January 2007]

Some images to end a dramatic era with...

Beauty and truth serve us better than money and power 

Eternal symbol of the perfection of imperfectness

Life is always mysterious

When the walls crumble...

Hang on to that paddle!

There are beings with much larger brains than humans 

Planetary metamorphosis

The genius of Nature

The sacred geometry of eternal renewal 

The only health warning we need to heed!

TAKE IT EASY, FOLKS!

My Journey through the 11:11 Doorway (Part Six)

Sacred Lotus dancers kissed by the magenta Sun (Sebastian Amantani)

I was very happy indeed to be part of the 11th Gate Activation Master Cylinder in Peru. 

It was the final gate of eleven 11:11 frequency gates that Solara undertook 21 years ago to activate – with the help of thousands around the world who responded to her call. I have no doubt that Solara has a mind-boggling story to tell of her own amazing journey. When pressed to write her memoirs, she laughs and says she had it all written down years ago – and then accidentally deleted it. Solara has a wonderful sense of humor and a totally infectious laugh.

Solara is a seriously funny entity (Igor Abramanov)

The only other Master Cylinder I had joined was at the 9th Gate in Tanah Lot, Bali, in October 2010. That was mainly because the airfare from Malaysia was cheap. The challenge for many of us who choose to participate in these sacred ceremonies all over the planet is that we have to be committed enough to spend a whole lot of money some of us don’t have.

Aloisio & Mariana, beautiful soul buddies from Brazil

My Brazilian friends Aloisio and Mariana miraculously managed to secure new credit cards at the last minute, just so they could be at the final Gate Activation. In my case, my daughter was most helpful in booking my flight in advance with her credit card. However, there was still the participation fee to consider – and, as it often turns out when one is fully focused, amazing things can happen.

A new hotel in Kuala Lumpur decided to feature Malaysian cartoons as part of their décor and I was invited to submit samples of work done. They took months to decide but finally I got the green light to supply them with artwork for all 482 rooms, for which I was paid an advance. That took care of expenses.

In 1993 when I set my heart on meeting Solara, I was down to RM23 in my bank. Nevertheless, I asked Mr Das who runs a provision shop in Kuala Kubu Bharu (and who also doubles as a travel agent occasionally) if he knew of any cheap flights to Melbourne. He informed me that there was indeed a special deal on MAS, provided I confirmed the ticket within a week and paid for it. “I don’t have the money just yet,” I told Mr Das – and he surprised me by offering to pay for it first out of his own pocket if I was absolutely sure of going. So the ticket was booked and I was committed to being part of Star-Borne Reunion #8.

Indigo Raffel, 11:11 veteran and fellow "First Waver" at Machu Picchu

My favorite aunt, Grace, looked a lot like this

There was an additional AUD1,100 to cover participation, food and accommodation over a week. This was sometime in January and I only had a little over a month to raise enough to pay Mr Das for the ticket and Star-Borne the rest.

Call it luck or serendipity, I paid a courtesy call on my favorite aunt and she showed me a stack of short stories she had written. She was keen to publish them in a collection and asked if I could edit and polish up her text. She paid me RM2,000 for the job – which covered the airfare, but I was still short. 

However, in mid-February I received a letter from a lawyer friend asking me to drop by his office and pick up a cheque for RM2,300. Three years ago, a Volvo had smashed into my car and the insurance claim couldn’t be resolved because of some technical discrepancy. So I had had a chat with this lawyer and left him to thrash it out with the insurance company. He apologized for letting so much time elapse – as it turns out, he recently moved to a new office and while packing found my folder at the bottom of his in-tray. He decided to phone the insurance company and persuaded them to reach an amicable settlement – and all he charged me was RM200 for administrative costs.

These are just a few instances where the money somehow comes just in time to allow me to do what I feel is my calling. It’s hard to convince a purely rational person about impulses arising from one’s gut feelings. The most important decisions of my life have never been based on logic or reason. My heart takes over and leads me into situations I could never imagine possible. However, I’ve never been inclined to do things on a grand scale – and have thus managed to enjoy a debt-free existence. I believe that if I can manage with the minimum, it won’t be too difficult to upgrade to the optimum.

Indigo & Solara at Moray (Igor Abramanov)

Solara is very different. She has empress-sized dreams that cost millions to realize. I appreciate and admire her vision and wholeheartedly believe she deserves to fulfill her dream of establishing the Heart of AN as a learning and teaching community in Ollantaytambo - a beautiful and ancient village in the Sacred Valley surrounded by majestic peaks, amidst splendid Inca ruins. 

Considering the billions that have been ferreted and squirreled away by crooked politicians, rogue bankers, drug lords, robber barons, and arms dealers – who then reinvest their ill-gotten gains in dubious ventures like flashy casinos, luxury hotels, marinas and golf resorts – surely it’s time we got our priorities right and allow only those who contribute in a wholesome way to the planet’s well-being to handle the money? Especially wayshowers like Solara with a proven track record – who have demonstrated, time and again, that their visions are beautiful and true; and whose life’s work is dedicated to the enlightenment and liberation of humanity, rather than its continued exploitation and enslavement.

Starpriestess Elena & Elf Princess Maria

The Heart of AN – when realized – will definitely serve as a powerful center of spiritual attunement and upliftment. Its inspiring location in the rarefied atmosphere of the Andes is perfect for the new evolutionary spiral which will witness a spectacular conscious awakening (spearheaded by Central and South America).

Enlightened parents will send their mutant kids there for master classes in planetary rehabilitation and reconstruction - and I would be delighted to visit once a year, perhaps to conduct workshops or simply to enjoy some quality time with some of the most lovable and extraordinary people I have ever met.

Sebastian Amantani has been a brilliant organizational lynchpin in Star-Borne

Emanáku Ku got zapped by the 11:11
and turned into a pillar of strength, clarity &
emotional support for Solara 

Solara has always attracted amazing people to assist and support her planetary work. The 11:11 facilitator team that handles the complex logistics of each Activation has invariably done a superb job of ensuring that everything flows smoothly – from picking the right roommates to airport transfers and ensuring the highest grade of hotel accommodation and food. 

Even so, the unexpected often occurs. One day before the 11th Gate sessions began, we were joined by a 24-year-old backpacker named Nathan who had never heard of the 11:11; but on the plane to Cusco he was sitting among a few who were headed for the Activation and his curiosity was piqued. At the airport exit he saw a van driver holding up an 11:11 sign and on impulse hopped on with the others. Well, Nathan managed to sweet-talk Solara into accepting him as an unexpected participant. He was really excited by the whole thing and wanted his girlfriend to join him – and she did, but wasn’t quite ready for the experience, so they both graciously bowed out after the 4th day. No refunds!

The Apus reveal themselves in the morning light

After the ceremony some of us bumped into Nathan and his girlfriend in Ollantaytambo and he was really eager to know how everything went… but there was absolutely no way we could compress the experience into an intelligible response.

Even as I attempt to document herein snippets of my journey through the 11:11 Doorway, I’m reminded at every turn that reality cannot be compressed and converted into words – what more the Ultra Greater Reality!

I had fun trying and I do hope you had fun reading about it.

HAPPY NEW AEON, FOLKS!

11th Gate Sun (as recorded by Emanáku's broken camera)

My Journey through the 11:11 Doorway (Part Five)

Aranwa spa resort in Huayllabamba, Sacred Valley of the Incas (Svetlana Zubareva)

My private lounge which, alas, nobody visited as they all had their own cozy nooks

Ornate icon in the lounge

The Aranwa Spa Resort turned out to be just the right setting for the group to settle into becoming the One Being. Magnificently landscaped and furnished in grand hacienda style with beautiful iconic art in every room, the sprawling grounds were enlivened by a resident menagerie consisting of peacocks, brilliantly colored macaws, and a family of alpacas (goat-like woolly camelids related to llamas). 

However, the super-luxurious trappings were marred by some very basic design flaws. A couple of days before the ceremony, it rained so heavily part of the conference room was flooded. Sebastian the heroic and indefatigable coordinator spent 45 minutes sweeping water back into the drains and managed to save Omashar’s sound system from possible damage. The carpet smelt of wet dog for several days afterwards. 

Lushly landscaped grounds (Svetlana Zubareva)

Other quirky details made our sojourn even more unforgettable: for instance, somebody had forgotten to incline the shower floor in my bathroom so that water could drain quickly. As a result I was forced to use the long bath with its built-in jacuzzi (good fun, but I still prefer the natural ones around my home). And Solara twice reported that she found a worm in her room. Although every room supposedly had wi-fi, the connection was so feeble and unstable it cured me, at least temporarily, of my low opinion of Streamyx.

Our master chefs at Aranwa

But what touched us all deeply was the incredible hotel staff who were friendly and cheerful all the time – and visibly delighted to serve such an unusual bunch of guests. We got to know many of them by name and held a poignant thank-you ceremony with all the kitchen and restaurant staff where Solara presented them with a generous tip collected from all the participants. I have never in my life encountered such heart-centered hotel staff – except possibly in Bali - and the Peruvian people have much in common with the Balinese, especially when it comes to expertise in agricultural terracing - and also the Nepalese in their practical approach to spirituality.

Road to Urubamba, adobe house, the Andes

Schoolkids at Machu Picchu: the girl on the left smiled at me all the way on the bus

A Quecha bambina

I only spent a few hours in a budget hotel in Lima, but that’s a city of 10 million with all the problems monster cities face. It was smoggy and cold and not particularly enchanting. I was glad to see the blue sky and feel the intense sun on arrival in Cusco, gateway to the Sacred Valley of the Incas.

The Urubamba Valley is mostly scenic, with endless acres of potato and corn fields, and colorfully dressed native Quechas going about their business. The houses are mostly made of adobe which lends them an entirely earthy aura. There are many local tribes that did not assimilate genetically with the Spaniards – their features echo the Nepalese and the Maya. You can tell from the luminous eyes of the children that these highland tribes are still very much connected to their souls.

Many of them remain farmers but some are from artisan families with highly developed jewellery making skills. Peruvian food has subtle flavors and is quite easy to adapt to – especially the variety of excellent breads made from assorted grains. As we spent most of the 10-day session comfortably embedded in our splendid resort, there wasn’t much opportunity to play tourist – except for those who extended their stay and continued exploring before or after the ceremony. I was content to wander around the cobbled streets of Ollantaytambo and check out a few cafes. I did make an attempt at scaling Pinkuylluna, the nearest peak to my guesthouse - but after 20 minutes I decided to just stop and admire the view. The thin air (and my thinning hair) made climbing extremely strenuous - and I wished I had visited Peru 10 years earlier. Anyhow it was delightful to keep bumping into others from the 11th Gate who were still around. It felt like a neverending family reunion.

Ollantaytambo plaza at dawn

Morning mist over Ollantaytambo

Aguas Caliente is a tourist trap where the trainline stops
and you walk or take a bus to Machu Picchu

I hadn’t made any plans to visit Machu Picchu but when I learnt that Ollantaytambo was only a couple of hours away by train and bus, I decided to go – even if the excursion cost a lot more than I expected ($115 for the train, $17 for the bus, plus $43 for the entrance fee).

Machu Picchu is a major revenue earner for Peru and they even set a daily limit on the number of tourists. It was a little disconcerting to see the long lines of day-trippers waiting to go in, many gabbing away loudly the whole time, totally insensitive to the awesome sight of the towering mountains and the inscrutable gaze of the Apus (mountain spirits). Why would anyone spend so much money visiting this spectacular site, only to photograph each other with handphones and then brag about having been there? 

Vertiginous terraces of Machu Picchu; the Urubamba River flows below

First glimpse of the Inca ruins as you enter Machu Picchu

Restoration is ongoing, just as at Angkor Wat, another UNESCO World Heritage site

I couldn't take my eyes off the monumental peaks. The Apus are still around!

It is simply a jaw-dropping sight, despite the thousands of noisy tourists crawling around. I managed to find a few quiet nooks where, at least for 15 minutes at a time, I could imagine life in this fortress temple complex as it used to be, and commune with the Apus. There were many discreet niches everywhere, ideal meditation spots – which suggested that the beings who inhabited this place were lofty minded and cognizant of both terrestrial and celestial forces.

View of Machu Picchu in 1911 (Hiram Bingham)

Trapezoidal windows and inwardly inclined
walls designed to withstand tremors

I was surprised to learn that Machu Picchu remained a lost city until 1911 when Hiram Bingham, who lectured in history at Yale University, announced his astounding discovery (he was led to the spot by an 11-year-old Quecha boy named Pablito Alvarez). A hundred years later, Machu Picchu has seen extensive restoration as a UNESCO World Heritage site. There are uniformed guards everywhere who will stop you from being too curious about roped-off areas, which spoils the mystery somewhat. 

My intuition informs me that there is a great deal as yet undiscovered about the Incas – who they were and where they originated. Near a cave glittering with tiny quartz crystals I spotted the entrance of a hobbit-sized tunnel. Friends mentioned the possible existence of crystal cities deep within these rugged peaks and I kept visualizing 20-foot tall humanoids peering out the trapezoidal windows which normal-sized humans would have to climb ladders to reach.

Ponchos and chullos are perfect for the Andean climate

The sight of me in my rainbow poncho and chullo (Peruvian wool hat) triggered a great deal of excitement, especially among the Japanese tour groups. They must have assumed I was part of the exhibit, since I appeared to be the only visitor not dressed like a tourist but like a Peruvian shaman. 

I greatly look forward to the day fresh discoveries are announced that may reveal the deep secrets of the Andes: how these mountains were formed and who built these monumental ruins that have survived serious earthquakes and Conquistadors.

Bronze statue of Pachacutec in Aguas Caliente 

Machu Picchu, according to mainstream historians, was built in the 1400s by the great Incas, Pachacutec Inca Yupanqui and Tupac Inca Yupanqui. The cyclopean rock structures, I strongly suspect, date back much farther in time. It’s entirely possible that the 15th century Incas merely restored and extended the original structures, less than a century before the Spanish conquest.

12-angled stone in Sacsayhuaman (Håkan Svensson)

The problem with academic historians is that they are vigorously discouraged from arriving at conclusions that don’t fit in with the orthodox view of linear evolution, even when the evidence is rock solid in every Inca ruin. 

In Machu Picchu massive boulders weighing up to 50 tons fit neatly and asymmetrically together without the use of mortar to seal the joints, which are generally so precise you couldn’t slip in a human hair, much less a razor blade. I read that the Inca walls in Sacsayhuaman, outside Cusco, feature gigantic stones, some weighing over 125 tons. I seriously doubt any contemporary engineering methods exist that can come close to constructing such colossal structures, designed to blend with the terrain and withstand major earthquakes.

One of the awe-inspiring terraced depressions in Moray

The entire Master Cylinder went on an excursion to Moray, a mysterious archaeological site (described by academics as an agricultural research station) located 11,500 feet above sea level, about 40 minutes by bus from Huayllabamba. Several terraced depressions, the largest nearly 100 feet deep, spread over hundreds of acres, present an awesome spectacle. 

Echoes of far-off memories in Moray
(Thilo Vasanael Vierhuff)

The air is exceptionally thin up here and I found breathing difficult – almost as if I were suddenly transported to a different planet. Solara had gone through a good deal of red-tape a year earlier when she conducted a Silent Watcher ceremony at Moray with a small group. When she made arrangements for more than 120 of us to visit Moray, the officials worriedly asked if she was doing another ceremony – because if she was, they would have to obtain special clearance from headquarters – so she assured them we were just visiting as tourists. 

When we got there, it just so happened that we thought it would be amusing to spread ourselves around the amphitheater-like terraced depression with people on every level. Having been briefed about our non-ceremony at Moray, nobody was to perform any mudras - but if we felt like it we could do a bit of synchronized stretching. 

As it turned out, our non-ceremony at Moray was supercharged – everybody seemed totally focused and energized as we performed our synchronized “stretching” exercises. It would have been a magnificent sight to record on video, but every one of us was involved in the non-ceremony so the only videos that might exist would have been shot by a handful of other tourists who happened to stumble upon our spectacular non-ceremony. 

A segment of our lovable One Being at Moray (Virginia Ball)

My first impression of the huge terraced pits was that this area was where an enormous spaceship landed - the circular depressions indicating where its landing gear impacted the earth. Perhaps many centuries later, the Incas had the bright idea to smooth out the terraces for agricultural experiments.

Rainbow seen from the Aranwa resort (Emanáku Ku)

In Peru it’s impossible not to have UFOs on your mind. The Andean peaks visible in almost every direction and the elevation make you acutely aware of the firmament. I did keep an eye on the night skies while we were preparing for the Activation – but nothing unusual happened, apart from a vivid rainbow appearing over the Sacred Valley one evening; and then around the midday Sun for two consecutive days, interspersed with a brilliant halo around the Moon on the night of the Activation ceremony.

The Eye of AN formed by the midday Sun

There were countless poignant moments throughout the 25-hour ceremony but the moment that remains indelibly imprinted in my soul occurred just as we completed the final Starry Processional dance. Many of us felt torn between joy and sorrow. Joyful, knowing we had kept our promise and performed a very special service to our beloved planet the full significance of which will not be understood for perhaps another couple of generations. 

25 hours of starry dances and 11:11 mudras, witnessed by the Apus

Sorrowful, because the beautiful 11:11 family we had bonded with for more than a week would soon disperse, and there was every possibility we might never again see the others – at least not on this planet or in our human bodies. 

Anyway, on the second day of the ceremony, a few village kids had wandered into the Activation site and were observed trying to imitate our mudras. A couple of them even stood in as Guardians for a while, just for fun. Among them was a girl of perhaps 10 or 11 and I found out her name was Libertado – which means “liberated” in English. Omashar performed a haunting song to close the ceremony and as he played the final chord we were surprised to hear the voice of Libertado wafting a capella over the speakers – a pure angelic voice singing praises to Pachamama in Spanish – and I bet there wasn’t a single dry eye among us. It was unmistakably the Voice of the New Aeon.

After that we collected our stuff and made our way to where mini-buses were waiting to take us back to the hotel. Halfway along the path I paused to light a cigarette and decided to take another look at the beautiful sight of the radiant Sun in the West and a luminous crescent Moon in the East. 

In Peru, the symbol of the Sun and Moon uniting as one is the equivalent of the Chinese Yang and Yin. And that, according to Solara, is what the frequency of AN represents – the reunification of all polarities – the male and female merged in dynamic balance. 

As I gazed at the Moon, a brilliant moving light suddenly appeared right next to her in the afternoon sky. Could it be a plane? Just as I asked the question, the light paused, then reversed direction, before doing an elegant jig and vanishing behind the nearest cloud. Only three people in my immediate vicinity spotted this mysterious light. It was the perfect vision to take away from the ceremony. I felt a powerful surge of optimism and reassurance.

On the previous day Solara had spotted a condor flying over the Activation site. Apparently, condors have rarely been seen in the area for years, even decades. She was greatly cheered because the condor represents the Spirit of the Andes, just as the eagle represents the Spirit of the Rockies in North America. I missed seeing the condor but felt amply rewarded spotting the Light Ship. It was an unmistakable sighting – I’ve had quite a few over the years – and these glimpses of other dimensions interpenetrating with our own are immensely fortifying.  

Most certainly part of what Solara calls the Ultra Greater Reality.

Photos by Antares except where otherwise credited

[Part Six]