Some of the Luciferian Panspermian theories on the origin of the human race hold that our distant ancestors were placed on this planet by beings from outer space. "Jupiter Ascending" (PG-13, 2:07) takes such ideas seriously, presents them as a given and uses them as the launching pad for a thinking-outside-the-box kind of science fiction fantasy action adventure - that relates directly to this planet!!

All great art is political.

All great writers use lies to tell the truth...

For example, "Game of Thrones" tells us, using examples taken from History that the actions of Satanic Generational Family Gang Clan Oligarchs, that our owners are psychopathic narcissists, having not one compassionate bone in their bodies.

"Mankind is not a slave. Mankind is not a greedy person. Mankind is not a rich man. Mankind is not any of this stuff. Mankind is the continuity of the natural characteristics of the members of the human species, not the animal species, and not the oligarchs - the power of creativity of the human spirit - The Soul!! If the power of creativity is crushed, if the cause of mankind is crushed, then this planet is meaningless." - LAROUCHE - SATCHIDANAND

Game of Thrones shows the ease of killing, lying, conspiracy, murder.

But Game of Thrones does not show their Satanic Religion which underlies their acts.

Game of Thrones does not show their mind control educational system ripping their children untimely from their mothers arms age six, to go to schools like Eton where they are whipped, brutalised, fagged, raped homosexually and turned into homosexual pederasts.

Game of Thrones does not show the Family organisations which direct their Satanism to create a New World Order..

The Vatican whose Pope CEO is always controlled by the Generational Families, and the 500 Trillion, thousand year Vatican (Iron) Bank fronted by the Rothschilds and Rockefellers.

The Jesuits controlled by a Group of ten advisors from the major Generational Families, the Generational Gang Mafia Families who trace their genealogy back to Satanic Nimrod's Babylon, - Borgia, Orsini, Pallavicini, Cecil, Percy, Este, Colonna, Coberg Saxe-Gotha, Hapsburg, Bourbon, Bush, Mellon, Rockefeller, Rothschild.. and many more.

The Knights of Malta connected to The Queen of England's Privy Council - the Order of the Garter - and their created Freemasonic Religion - Satanic at it's 33rd Degree Highest Levels - Holding Company controlled City of London rule over 70% of all Banking, and also over 70% of all Fortune Five Hundred World International Companies controlling Pharmaceuticals, Education, Petroleum, Housing, Agriculture, Genetically altered Frankenstein food, Cars, Domestic Goods, Water, Fast Food and Drink - everything!! and over the corruption, blackmail and bribery of the Law, Politicians, Police, Drugs and Prostitution - the oldest professions.

THE BORGIAS, LIKE THE ROCKEFELLERS, ARE ONE OF THE GANG CLAN FAMILIES WHO STILL RULE THE WORLD THROUGH THE BRITISH EMPIRE, THE VATICAN, JESUITS, KNIGHTS OF MALTA, BRITISH EMPIRE PRIVATE CITY OF LONDON THOUSAND YEARS OLD ANCIENT MERCANTILE LIVERY COMPANIES, MASONS WORLDWIDE - ARISTOCRATIC AGENT MAO WAS A 33RD DEGREE MASON!! THE ROTHSCHILDS ARE THE BANKERS OF THE VATICAN!! JESUIT BLACK POPE CONTROLS THE 900 YEARS OLD INTELLIGENCE ARMY OF THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA (SMOM) GANG - SMOM MEMBERS - THE BUSH FAMILY, TONY BLAIR, GEORGE SOROS, HENRY KISSINGER, ALEXANDER HAIG..

Mila Kunis (who, in real life, was born in the former Soviet Union) is Jupiter Jones, a young woman in Chicago who cleans homes with her widowed Russian immigrant mother (Maria Doyle Kennedy). Well, Jupiter's life is about to change in ways that she could never have imagined, and finding out that we are not alone in the universe is only the beginning.

It turns out that Jupiter has the exact genetic make-up of a long-dead queen in one of the most powerful royal families in the universe. Among the noble families the Abrasax (From Abraxas - Satan today ... Medieval demonologists often mention a demon called Abraxas. ... Abraxas was a name used by the Gnostics to express the unspeakable name ...) family is the most powerful. That entitles her to a portion of the family inheritance – a portion which just happens to include a small blue planet that we all know and love.

CHIPS WITH EVERYTHING - JUPITER ASCENDING

When the former queen's three children, Titus (Douglas Booth), Kalique (Tuppence Middleton), and Balem (Eddie Redmayne), become aware of Jupiter's existence (and very special genetic make-up), Titus and Balem each hire people (if that's what you can call genetically-engineered bounty hunters that are only partially human) to find her to strengthen their own claims to their mother's galactic estate.

The one who gets to her first and rescues her from the clutches of the others is Caine Wise (Channing Tatum), who, with the help of old friend Stinger Apini (Sean Bean) helps her claim her inheritance.

Caine Wise is half dog, very loyal, and her Majesty, Jupiter, falls in love with him. This is the Love Story of the Knight in Shining Armour rescuing the Princess.

WAKE UP!!

Tamil Siddar SRI RAMANA MAHARSHI, GURU QUOTES, ENLIGHTENED ILLUMINATED SPIRITUAL MASTER

In this future, Half Breeds have no rights.

"Can a dog have Buddha Nature?" is the Zen Koan.

Answer, "MU!!"

Like OM, MU is a guided meditation to connect you with the Jewel in the Lotus, YOUR SOUL!!

Only the truly human have a Soul.

Anyone can have a Soul, even dogs, even any half breed.

Ramana Maharshi declared his Cow, his Dog and his Elephant enlightened when they died.

Cows, Dogs, Cats, Horses are not our slaves.

They are not to be eaten.

Genetic Half Breeds, the Poor, the White Trash are not our slaves to be eaten.

We are all the children of God, One Family, Imago Dei, with innate Human and Animal Rights.

But many do not, and that is OK, because that permanent Soul connection is the journey of one hundred lifetimes.

We are children learning how to connect with our Souls - until we do actually become enlightened.

As you know we exist as Souls, as energy, learning in Soul Universities between Lives.

We draw a body to us to inhabit lifetime to lifetime for a hundred lifetimes until we become enlightened.

We do not care about the genetics as long as they are sufficient for our evolution.

Our Spirit makes choices which over a lifetime improve our genetics and our powers.

Thoughts can evolve or de-evolve our genes!!

Even Identical twins have different personalities or Souls.

When we die we cast off the body like a suit of old clothes until we inhabit new ones again.

Genes are just a Myth justifying the rule of degenerate psychopathic elites.

Well, plebians, peasants, citizens have always had no rights except for those in the Constitution and signed off by Bad King John in the Magna Carta, but these have all now been rescinded.

Even Bad King John went back on his word to the Barons and the Magna Carta.. See movies "Robin Hood" by Ridley Scott and "Ironclad"

With the Patriot Act, Human Rights No Longer Exist!!

For Half breeds, slaves, the indentured, blacks, mulattos, immigrants, white trash, veterans, the poor, the hewers of wood and the drawers of water..

For THE 99%

Rights have never existed.

This is the great truth told by Jupiter Ascending.

In the Movie and in Real Life these great houses, gang clan families own the planet Earth.

The Luciferian Panspermian theory and this movie says, One Hundred Thousand years ago they seeded the Earth with human Genes spliced with the local animals, therefore all humans on the planet are Half Breeds with no rights.

In the Movie, when there are sufficient humans they will all be harvested - all 7 billion - for their bodily fluids.

That means BLOOD folks!!

Killed, Murdered, Assassinated!!

And the fluids will allow the rich elite Psychopathic oligarchs of the Universe to Live Forever!!

Immortality for the Elite Mafia Families from the bodily fluids of billions of dead people!!

"For one man to live forever, many must die!!" from Movie, - "In Time"

The previous masterpiece by the Wachowskis like, "The Matrix", where the vampirism of humanity occurs via energy connections into the chakras and anyone can be taken over, possessed, by an Agent Smith Demon.

The Psychic Vampirism of Humanity so that some can leave the body, and return into a new one without dying - See the Spiritual Technology in, "The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali" - from thousands of years this technology has been known by the Elite!!

THE ATTAINMENT OF BUDDHIST "NON-ATTACHMENT" BY UNPUGGING FROM THE MATRIX

Energy Blockages Create the Matrix - AMNESIFICATION - ENERGY BLOCKAGES MAKE YOU FORGET, THE MYTH OF PROMETHEUS AND ZEUS, THE DUMMING DOWN OF SCIENCE AND MEDITATION, UPLOADING AND DOWNLOADING INTO THE BODY FROM THE CHAKRAS ABOVE THE HEAD - THE ASTRAL AND BUDDHIC PLANES

The Matrix And Antahkarana Hyperdimensional Predatory Energy Blockage Forces

ENERGY ENHANCEMENT ENERGY CONNECTIONS IMPLANTS AND THE MATRIX

and Masterpiece "V for Vendetta",

Masterpiece, "Cloud Atlas" kills the half breeds at will in slaughterhouses and feeds the bodies back to the other half breeds as, "Soap" reminding us of the Aryan Races policies towards the Jews..

CLOUD ATLAS HALF BREEDS DRINKING SOAP - THE BODIES OF THE DEAD - CANNIBALISM!!

THE CLOUD ATLAS SONMI SLAUGHTERHOUSE SCENE - WITH ALL THE BEAUTIFUL HALF BREED LADIES ON MEATHOOKS

Cloud Atlas (2012) – Movie Review - A Spiritual Esoteric Analysis by Satchidanand

CHARLTON HESTON TRIED TO WARN US UNTIL HE WAS ALTZHEIMERED - "SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!!"

SOYLENT GREEN BURGERS ARE GROUND UP PEOPLE!!

In addition, we know that 280 million people were killed by war and pogrom during the 20th century by such people as Hitler, Mao and Stalin..

As part of this, 80 people died in battle during the Gulf War, yet 400,000 people have died since from Gulf War Syndrome. Gulf War syndrome is a conscious culling of the human herd by giving all servicemen ten vaccinations, multiple vaccines, at the same time and exposure to depleted uranium.

Soon it will be against the Law to refuse Vaccination, Worldwide.

We know that hundreds of thousands of servicemen were told to stand up and face the explosion of an atomic bomb so that the current Nazi Doctors could study the effects of radiation on all those soldiers.

We know the Nazi Doctors gave BZ hallucinogen to half the troop Rangers in Vietnam just to see what would happen - The Rangers all wiped each other out.

We know about the Tuskeegee experiments where black men were given syphillis by the Nazi Doctors of the Veterans Association so they could study the disease on those people over 40 years.

The 10,000 years old Ancient Religion of Satanism still controls these generational families. Satanism is defined by it's Rituals, it's sacrifice. Wars, killing, death.. All Lives for Satan!!

We know that DARPA is creating autonomous Killer Robots, Autonomous Killer Drones and Autonomous Killer Tanks..

The Terminator Movie Series Esoteric Review – Revelation of AI Artificial Intelligence Elite Killer Robot Control for Future Fascist World Globalist Totalitarian Society

Jupiter's station in life has infinitely improved, but she finds herself caught up in the rivalry between the queen's psychopathic offspring, and also soon learns some things that threaten everything she holds dear - as above.

Just as the Generational Gang Mafia Families who trace their genealogy back to Satanic Nimrod's Babylon, - Borgia, Orsini, Pallavicini, Cecil, Percy, Este, Colonna, Coberg Saxe-Gotha, Hapsburg, Bourbon, Bush, Mellon, Rockefeller, Rothschild, etc think that their genes give them the right to rule, so this movie and all the others mentioned here show that the Satanic Narcissistic Psychopathy of the ruling Elite deserves to have them put in jail for a long, long time.

THE ENERGY ENHANCEMENT SECRET KNOWLEDGE OF LUCIFERIANISM AND SATANISM BY THE NEOPLATONIC ELITE  Satanism, Luciferianism, Paganism, The Old Religion from Nimrod and Babylon and the Generational Family Gangs  who created the Slave trading, Drug Smuggling Roman Empire, Venetian Empire, Dutch Empire, British Empire, Anglo-American Establishment, Vatican, Jesuits, Knights of Malta, New World Order... "The Principle of Poverty" The survival of the species demands a revival of the "secret knowledge" of the Neoplatonic elite. That knowledge must not only be revived, but as we do here, must be situated within and updated by appropriate terms of modern scientific and Energy Enhancement Spiritual knowledge.

EUGENICS ETHICS PROFESSORS - "BABIES BELOW THE AGE OF THREE ARE MACKEREL!!"

THE BORGIAS, LIKE THE ROCKEFELLERS, ARE ONE OF THE GANG CLAN FAMILIES WHO STILL RULE THE WORLD THROUGH THE BRITISH EMPIRE, THE VATICAN, JESUITS, KNIGHTS OF MALTA, BRITISH EMPIRE PRIVATE CITY OF LONDON THOUSAND YEARS OLD ANCIENT MERCANTILE LIVERY COMPANIES, MASONS WORLDWIDE - ARISTOCRATIC AGENT MAO WAS A 33RD DEGREE MASON!! THE ROTHSCHILDS ARE THE BANKERS OF THE VATICAN!! JESUIT BLACK POPE CONTROLS THE 900 YEARS OLD INTELLIGENCE ARMY OF THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA (SMOM) GANG - SMOM MEMBERS - THE BUSH FAMILY, TONY BLAIR, GEORGE SOROS, HENRY KISSINGER, ALEXANDER HAIG..

As I sat in the theater, I noticed influences from a number of other movies. For me, this film (to varying degrees) triggered memories of films as disparate as, "They Live", "Dune",  "Star Wars", "The Matrix", "In Time", "Elysium", "Game of Thrones", Blade Runner", "The Borgias" and "Soylent Green" as well as the Novels, "Bug Jack Baron", "The Men in the Jungle, " and the "Iron Dream" by Norman Spinrad.

THE EVIL EMPEROR OLIGARCH SATANIC "SITH" - LORD OF "THIS"

DAVID LYNCH AND FRANK HERBERT'S DUNE, VERY "GAME OF THRONES" OLIGARCHIC ELITE WITH A HEAD ON A SPIKE

HARK BACK TO THE SATANIC HARKONEN OLIGARCHIC GENERATIONAL FAMILY

Yes, all these movies and novels are warning us of the lies and deceit of, "The Father of Lies" Oligarchic Generational Family Mafias who rule this planet..

The themes - Satanic Transhumanism whereby humanity gains immortality by being uploaded into the machine and in the process losing their Soul.. "Gain the World but lose their Soul" - Jesus Christ. Satanists and Luciferians who participate in Satanic Rites, who have blocked of their hearts and their souls have already lost their humanity and have become machines, so being uploaded into a machine is their destiny. But humanity is more than that and that humanity will be crushed if it is uploaded into the machine.

genes - oligarchic families, kings, queens
genetic engineering
immortality - Dune
Psychopathic oligarchs
owning and killing half breed humans - Cloud Atlas, Blade Runner, Bug Jack Barron
harvesting fluids - bug jack baron, the men in the jungle, the iron dream, matrix
microchips - tattoo

Distraction by connection with the Machine as in the Matrix but also Weaponised, by putting the higher faculties of the brain to sleep, Television flicker rates tested on tens of thousands of to be euthenised monkeys in DARPA funded University departments Worldwide, Music, Football, and Computer Games - see The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldrich - by Philip K Dick.

As noticeable as those various undercurrents may be, "Jupiter Ascending" feels very fresh. I consider it the most original and richest sci-fi mythology created this side of George Lucas. But this film's originality extends well beyond the story's plot points. The script (and the movie's title) contains some clever double meanings and some moments of humor, which amuse, but don't detract from the realistic feeling for which the film is successfully striving.

While many of the characters were reminiscent of those in the "Star Wars" films, their origins are very different. The production design that went into creating the planets and space ships drew on unusual inspiration such as Gothic and Renaissance art and architecture which works remarkably well and adds to that feeling of originality which is prevalent throughout the film. The visual effects are similarly inventive, complement the scenery wonderfully and are tremendously colorful and thrilling – especially if you can see them in IMAX 3-D.

SATURN'S RINGS

Undergirding it all are universal themes of family and selflessness on the side of Mila Kunis and Channing Tatum, with self-centeredness and greed on the other Satanic Oligarchic Gang Family on the other, and literary themes as old as Homer's "Odyssey".

There's a lot going on in "Jupiter Ascending". It's not that the film is too hard to follow, but I find myself wanting to see it again - just to more fully appreciate the depth of the characters and the richness of the story – and to again enjoy the movie's spectacular visual effects.

Like all great spiritual movies the spiritual energy embedded in the movie made us cry with joy.

As I watched and evaluated this film, Jupiter was most definitely ascending – all the way to an "A".

MUST SEE!!

THE OLIGARCHIC DARWINISTIC, EUGENOCIDAL, "PRINCIPLE OF POVERTY' SUBCONSCIOUS MIND OF THE EXTERNAL ENERGY BLOCKAGES WHO SEEM TO RUN THIS PLANET ARE PART OF THE..

THE PATH OF PAIN, OF KARMA

The Secret Service Cults come from Babylonian times and are Satanic. They believe in Lives and the Corruption of Souls for Satan. To this end they have learnt to infiltraitor and subvert the goodness in every Religion into it's opposite, Satanism.

"A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague." by Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 B.C.) 

Masons at first bind themselves through blood curdling Oaths. Later they find these Oaths to be true - The Calvi Assassination on Blackfriars Bridge. The Higher Initiations of the Ancient Scottish Rite of the Satanic 33rd Degree and the Palladian Rites open the door to Satanic Initiation.

Satanic Rituals define the Satanic Religion from before Babylon, THESE RITUALS DEFINE SATANISM.. SATANIC RITUAL SEX, RITUAL HOMOSEXUALITY, RITUAL PEDERASTY, RITUAL DRUGS, RITUAL HUMAN SACRIFICE, RITUAL CANNIBALISM, RITUAL CASTRATION  The Satanism of the Ancient Families is shown by Giles de Rais, Madame Bathory, Marquis de Sade, Jack the Ripper and the Ninth Circle

 

THE SORCERERS OF THE ANTICHRIST TRAFFIC IN THE SOULS OF MEN

THE ENERGY ENHANCEMENT SECRET KNOWLEDGE OF LUCIFERIANISM AND SATANISM BY THE NEOPLATONIC ELITE  Satanism, Luciferianism, Paganism, The Old Religion from Nimrod and Babylon and the Generational Family Gangs  who created the Slave trading, Drug Smuggling Roman Empire, Venetian Empire, Dutch Empire, British Empire, Anglo-American Establishment, Vatican, Jesuits, Knights of Malta, New World Order... "The Principle of Poverty" The survival of the species demands a revival of the "secret knowledge" of the Neoplatonic elite. That knowledge must not only be revived, but as we do here, must be situated within and updated by appropriate terms of modern scientific and Energy Enhancement Spiritual knowledge.

REMOVE EXTERNAL WORLD ENERGY BLOCKAGES WITH ENERGY ENHANCEMENT MEDITATION

LUCIFERIAN DIRECTORY THE ENERGY ENHANCEMENT SECRET KNOWLEDGE OF LUCIFERIANISM AND SATANISM BY THE NEOPLATONIC ELITE  Satanism, Luciferianism, Paganism, The Old Religion from Nimrod and Babylon and the Generational Family Gangs  who created the Slave trading, Drug Smuggling Roman Empire, Venetian Empire, Dutch Empire, British Empire, Anglo-American Establishment, Vatican, Jesuits, Knights of Malta, New World Order... "The Principle of Poverty" The survival of the species demands a revival of the "secret knowledge" of the Neoplatonic elite. That knowledge must not only be revived, but as we do here, must be situated within and updated by appropriate terms of modern scientific and Energy Enhancement Spiritual knowledge.	THE SATANIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD -  PART ONE - The Satanic Psychopathic Palmerston, Prime Minister of the British Empire circa 1850 - and his Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents, Mazzini, Urquhart and Napoleon III - as a Continuation of the same Satanic Psychopathic Families from Satanic Psychopathic Babylon through the Satanic Psychopathic Roman Empire, the Satanic Psychopathic Venetian Empire to the Satanic Psychopathic British Empire to the current Satanic Psychopathic Anglo-American Establishment	THE SATANIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD - PART TWO - OLIGARCHIES-POLICIES-FROM-THE-TIME-OF-BABYLON-AND-THEIR-HISTORICAL-TECHNIQUES-TO-ENSLAVE-THE-WORLD	THE SATANIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD PART 3 - OSHO ON ARISTOCRACY - ARISTO - ARISTOTLE, CRACY - GOVERNMENT BY.. THOSE ARISTOCRATIC OLIGARCHIC SATANIC PAGAN GANG GENERATIONAL FAMILIES AND THEIR CREATIONS, JESUITS AND KNIGHTS OF MALTA - WHO DO NOT BELIEVE IN THE SOUL.. THEY WANT TO KILL YOU!!	SATANIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD PART FOUR - The Satanic Inter-Alpha Group Corporatist Fascism is Globalization One Hundred and Eight City of London Satanic Anglo-Dutch Admiralty Law Masonic Lodge Livery Companies political and military tool of the Empire which the Satanic Generational Gang Families from Babylon Venice and Vatican Rome Jesuit Masonic, Knights of Malta, Control
THE BORGIAS, LIKE THE ROCKEFELLERS ARE ONE OF THE GANG CLAN FAMILIES WHO STILL RULE THE WORLD THROUGH THE BRITISH EMPIRE, THE VATICAN, JESUITS, KNIGHTS OF MALTA, BRITISH EMPIRE PRIVATE CITY OF LONDON THOUSAND YEARS OLD ANCIENT MERCANTILE LIVERY COMPANIES, MASONS WORLDWIDE - ARISTOCRATIC AGENT MAO WAS A 33RD DEGREE MASON!! JESUIT BLACK POPE CONTROLS THE 900 YEARS OLD INTELLIGENCE ARMY OF THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA (SMOM) GANG MEMBERS - THE BUSH FAMILY, TONY BLAIR, GEORGE SOROS, HENRY KISSINGER, ALEXANDER HAIG..	The Anglo-American Empire Created Saudi Arabian Wahhabism and Satanic ISIS through British Agent Hempher in 1750 - Later the British Installed King Saud to control Oil and create Mercenary Wahhabist Armies	The Suppression of Fusion Power Generation by the Oligarchic Satanic, "Principle of Poverty"	THESE RITUALS DEFINE SATANISM.. RITUAL SEX, RITUAL DRUGS, RITUAL HUMAN SACRIFICE, RITUAL CANNIBALISM, RITUAL CASTRATION	THE TEN THOUSAND YEARS OLD, "PRINCIPLE OF POVERTY", THE TEN WAYS OF CREATING POVERTY AND THE HUMAN RIGHT TO WEALTH
THE EVOLUTION OF A NEW HUMANITY - 1. THE ENLIGHTENED SPECIES AND THE HUMAN INTRA SPECIES PARASITES 2. THE LUCIFERIAN SPECIES 3. THE SATANIC SPECIES	How Satanic Lord Bertrand Russell Became an Evil Man	ALEISTER CROWLEY - SEX TANTRA ADDICT, DRUG ADDICT, VICTIM OF VAMPIRE IMPLANT ADDICTION BLOCKAGES	Satanic Secret Agents, Aristotle; Contarini, Pomponazzi and Giorgi; Sarpi, Galileo and Kepler; Conti, Newton and Leibniz - The Satanic Corruption of Science by the Satanic, Slave Trading, Drug Running, Bankster run Venetian Empire The True History of The Satanic Venetian Empire's Secret Agent Fra. Paolo Sarpi and his Operation against Liebniz to create Worldwide Poverty by Sabotaging Scientific Development with Satanic Scientific and Economic Empiricism	TANTRA AND HOMOSEXUALITY IN SATANIC RITUAL HOMO-OCCULTISM, FORCED PEDERASTY, TANTRA, SODOMY, ANAL SEX PREDATORS, ARCHONS RULE THE WORLD FOREVER BY LEARNING HOW TO TAKE OVER A BODY - DEMONIC POSSESSION

ENERGY ENHANCEMENT - MEDITATION WITH COJONES

 

 

NATO UK USA Gladio ISIS False Flag Terrorism To Control its Vassal Europe

The Anglo-American Establishment Controls Saudi Arabian Wahhabism and Satanic ISIS

THE BORGIAS, LIKE THE ROCKEFELLERS, ARE ONE OF THE GANG CLAN FAMILIES WHO STILL RULE THE WORLD THROUGH THE BRITISH EMPIRE, THE VATICAN, JESUITS, KNIGHTS OF MALTA, BRITISH EMPIRE PRIVATE CITY OF LONDON THOUSAND YEARS OLD ANCIENT MERCANTILE LIVERY COMPANIES, MASONS WORLDWIDE - ARISTOCRATIC AGENT MAO WAS A 33RD DEGREE MASON!! THE ROTHSCHILDS ARE THE BANKERS OF THE VATICAN!! JESUIT BLACK POPE CONTROLS THE 900 YEARS OLD INTELLIGENCE ARMY OF THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA (SMOM) GANG - SMOM MEMBERS - THE BUSH FAMILY, TONY BLAIR, GEORGE SOROS, HENRY KISSINGER, ALEXANDER HAIG..

How Satanic Lord Bertrand Russell Became an Evil Man

It is because of this that the perpetual Oligarchy which have ruled humanity like Jupiterian Zeus from the top of Mount Olympus, for thousands of years have a, "Principle of Poverty" in order to maintain a "Post Industrial Society" "Bombed back into the Stone Age" a Feudal Slave State where Sovereign Nations whose title rested upon the firm foundations of the Treaty of Westphalia have now been targeted for Balkanisation, split up, small and powerless to ward off slavery to the ravening Flower Revolution creating NGO's and International Corporations owned by the New World Order, the new Expression of the Ancient Slave Owning and Usurious Babylonian, Roman, Venetian, and British Empires - successive layers of the same Satanic Thoughtform reaching back to the beginning of time.

We have seen Yugoslavia, Libya and Syria terrorised by a CIA created mercenary Al Qaeda, conquered by New World order NATO air and troops, split up  into powerless racial homelands - Balkanised, all Infrastructure - roads, houses, electricity, water destroyed by tanks and laser guided bombs, poor and defenseless and all commodities sold off to the lowest New World Order bidder. This is the NWO British and American NATO Agenda 21 plan for the whole world.

So, for more enlightened people we need a reduction in the power of this Oligarchic plan so that any New Deal infrastructure wealth creation will not be destroyed by Oligarchy sponsored War.

For more enlightened people to be created we need an infrastructure to create sufficient human wealth for that evolution and the pursuit of happiness.

Infrastructure is the coral reef which supports the lives of everyone in happiness and plenty.

Without the coral reef, the sea is a desert supporting little life.

"The Romans created a desert and called it peace" - Tacitus. Re:- Peace Studies and conflict resolution are therefore War and victory in War as the meaning of words are always reversed by the Oligarchic Elite as well as by Satanists.

With the coral reef, thousands of species of the most beautiful fish live and interact in plenty and grace.

The results of a lack of infrastructure is austerity, a genocidal cutting of benefits, of medicine and a march towards a breakdown of society, a human extinction event.

Cloud Atlas (2012) – Movie Review - A Spiritual Esoteric Analysis by Satchidanand

"Swami Satchidanand's movie reviews are actually the best in the world" - Student of EE


 

Film poster. “Everything is Connected.”

The Gospel of Illuminism is Satanic, Luciferian Psychopathy without empathy or LOVE.

There is an ancient zen Koan which asks, "Does a Dog have Buddha Nature?" Answer, "MU!"

MU is the Buddhist, "OM" a guided meditation used to connect with the chakras above the head, with God.

Both Humans and Dogs have the capacity to connect with God.

Until they do, they are children, not completed, "Unmade Men", no understanding that, "something must be done", no Universal Love which considers an evolutionary future for our children and Grandchildren, no conscience, not enlightened, not truly adult, less than human - but everyone has the potential.

As a vegetarian, we are all, animals and humans, made in the Image of God, - "Imago Dei".

But we are not yet complete.

The story of Cloud Altas's Sonmi451 is that of a genetic clone chimera - crossed with animals, therefore less than human, probably genetically modified with a Dog or a Cat, who through education and love becomes enlightened, truly human, and like Jesus Christ is murdered whilst speaking of inclusivity for, "All Living Beings" and justice and LOVE!!

Cloud Atlas (2012) is an incredible film on several levels. Fans of both the Wachowskis and Tom Tykwer will quickly recognize the fingerprints of all three, especially philosophical elements of the Matrix trilogy in the persona of energy blockage Satanic Agent Smith who interpenetrates all humanity until it can be removed by Energy Enhancement Seven Step Process of Level Two.

From the perspective of moral assessment and artistically speaking, it is one of the seminal films of all time.

On a deeper, symbolic level, the film also has a wealth of beautiful imagery that alone made it worth watching, while on an even deeper, esoteric and spiritual level, it is clear as to its meaning: metempsychosis, gnosis and LOVE!!

Since Babylon and Satanic Nimrod, generational pagan Luciferian and Satanic families who use sexual and moral perversion as a tool to create their satanic managerial class, have through knowledge of meditation, mind control, trauma formed negative karmic masss and energy blockages have successfully controlled all societies.

From banker controlled, slave trading and drug running Babylon, Egypt, the Roman Empire, the Venetian Empire, Spanish Empire, Dutch Empire and the British Empire with its three Opium Wars against China to assert its "free trade" right to export opium from its colony, India, to China, on to the current Anglo American Empire the methodology has been to steal, enslave and murder those considered not to be human.

Generational families, through thousands of years of human breeding have created what they call, "a new species of humanity" - a cut down version of monsters, blocked with energy blockages in the heart creating a lack of empathy and above the head cutting them off from your soul conscience. Together this is their new species of psychopaths.

Psychopaths are moral idiots who have no love, cannot put themselves in the shoes of another, who whilst they can play with and discuss the concept of love, cannot understand or truly feel love.

The aim of the Generational Luciferian families is to corrupt, pervert, change and degrade the elite of humanity who go to private schools and elite universities into their psychopathic, satanic managers of the rest of humanity for the generational families.

Their cherry picked agents, MI6 Urquhart controlled Karl Marx who wrote, "Das Capital" in his office in the British National Library in London, Lenin, Stalin, Hitler, and 33rd Degree Freemason Mao, are personally responsible for the greatest death toll ever through their governments who killed 280 millions of people in the 20th Century,

Added to that we have those weakened and killed before their time by the constant elite driven chemical and bacteriological warfare against all humanity.

To do this they corrupt the elite with money, sexual addiction blockages, perverted "scientific" theories like Darwinian Eugenics, "survival of the fittest" where the fittest - the generational luciferian families and their satanic managers - are always those considered human, - Fit, to live - the rest are not human: underpeople, slaves, cattle to be used, sucked dry and killed before their time.

The poor are cockroaches - to be weakened and dumbed down through chemical warfare, who become indentured slaves.

To these generational elites and their managers, the black, brown, yellow, red people are brutes and savages who are slaves and similarly dumbed down by water filled with rat poison fluoride - there is a Harvard study which says it reduces the IQ of babies by 20 points and kills with bone cancer, pesticides like Monsatan Glyphosate, Monsatan Genetically modified crops which weaken and sterilise in three generations, cancer and mercury filled vaccinations which also destroy the intelligence of children.

Cancer Tumors - Monsatan glyphosate pesticide and genetically modified food rats experiment

Throughout all history, "Divide and Conquer" has been the most useful technique.

Cloud Atlas seeks to remove "Divide and Conquer" by awakening that love in you who still have hearts.

Cloud Atlas can only be understood by those people with a heart.

People who can not understand are all the presstitute movie critics - the usual suspects who still do not get Star Wars. Perhaps they can can realise their lack, and seek to correct it through the Energy Enhancement removal of blockages from the Heart Chakra.

The history of western esoterism has long been obsessed with the notion of reclaiming lost knowledge and technology, all the way back to Plato’s Timaeus, and its legends of Atlantis, but the difference and necessary addition to all that is love and the inclusion of all humanity - the true humanity of, "Imago Dei" .

While audiences the land over appear to be bewildered, the knotted yarn can easily be untangled. Early on, we are clued into a reference to Nietzsche’s ”eternal recurrence,” a shooting star birthmark that recurs in characters over different generations, and a highly significant musical piece being written, known as the “Cloud Atlas.” In total, six different time periods with a handful of reincarnated persons all interconnect, leading from 1846 to 2346.

The other element that stands out is that each of these periods includes some system of oppression where some people are oppressed by the "virtue" of not being considered human.

The first, 1846, involves slavery and human trafficking, with a good Christian man helping save the life of a good-hearted slave, who is then poisoned, murdered and robbed by the elite slave owner.

In the next, a Cambridge University gay couple battles the system of post-Victorian era “sexual oppression,” which difference - not, "One of us", allows him to be exploited by a member of the Satanic Elite who steals his compositions as his own as he composes the ”Cloud Atlas” musical piece.

"Human genius can compose Masterpieces".... "Can You?" - Sonny the Robot who develops a heart and becomes truly human in, "I Robot" - In these stories Robots are always symbols for humans who are not yet human, not yet enlightened - Those with no heart, those with no soul.  Read Link..

From there, a hot 1970s journalist Halle Berry interacts with one of the gay lovers who has documentation to expose a large nuclear facility that is planning on a false flag event to make nuclear power look bad, for the benefit of big oil - see Fuck you Shima and the Matt Damon movie - similarly censored, as always, destroyed by, "Faint Praise" - "Promised Land"

The propaganda of "Faint Praise" is being constantly utilised against spiritual movies like, Jupiter Ascending, Cloud Atlas, Golden Compass, The Last Samurai, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, The Last Airbender - movies of purpose and significance.

Next, we are introduced to a publisher in 2012 London who engineers an escape from an old folks’ home, and from there, we move to a dystopian totalitarian future where a one world government known as “Unanimity” rules with technocratic iron fist. In this timeline, Sonmi-451 is a genetically engineered clone that works as an acolyte in the religion of the future: Fast Food.

From there, we move to a post-apocalyptic unknown continent that has been destroyed by what appears to be a nuclear disaster or war of some kind, in which the future Tom Hanks must guide a future Halle Berry to the location of a Sonmi “temple,” which has the technology to reach the stars.

The story is told in a non-linear fashion to associate the viewer with the idea of eternal transmigration of souls. The narratives are non-linear like the philosophy: each character is thus reincarnated into different roles and forms, based upon the decisions and roles made in the last life.

If each of those stories sound like enough for their own individual movies, then that is because they are. And yet, for all their complexities and differences, the stories blend well together, and the elements that connect them actually make sense. Indeed, pacing is one of this lengthy film’s lesser problems. The directors, the Wachowskis (the masterminds behind “The Matrix” trilogy and “V for Vendetta”) and Tom Tykwer (The International and Perfume, the story of a murderer) keep things moving at a good speed, and the screenplay and acting keep the audience invested in the stories and characters. What is more, the visuals are astounding, vast and varied, from the technological marvels of New Seoul to the sea-faring, old world set pieces of the late 1800s.

PERFUME - THE STORY OF A MURDERER

Death, as Sonmi-451 (the film’s Jesus Christ, Joan of Arc), explains, is just a doorway to the next life. The decisions you make in this life, determine the birth in the next, she explains. This is metempsychosis, and the ancient transmigration of souls taught by Plato and the Eastern mystery religions of Buddhism and Hinduism.

The wheel of birth and death can only be transcended by enlightenment and right living - that love which includes everyone, that Gnosis which can only create an abundant non polluting technology which will lead to external and internal richness and evolution, the recovery of the lost gnosis with the star chakras above the head, or in this case, and in some of western esoterism, lost technology which can lead us to the stars.

The eternal recurrence is thus working out the flaws and mistakes made in previous lives, ultimately giving the souls an experience of all phases and stations in life.

In some eastern religions, this includes reincarnation as animals as well, but the focus in Cloud Atlas is the progressive evolution of mankind from the modern period (the post-Enlightenment/revolutionary period), to the star period.

There are thus those Illuminist, Satanic and Luciferian elements of Crowleyanism, as well as Satan inspired Jacobinism, as we eventually discover that all forms of egoistic, selfish, non-inclusive, energy blockage laws and rules are to be removed.

In Sonmi-451's philosophy, all separation of humanity those with Human Rights and into those lesser non humans who can be enslaved, killed and exploited - the Poor, Jews, Animals, Negro slaves - is a propaganda illusion.

"Crawlie laughed. The sound gave Elaine gooseflesh. "Suppose I believed it: How could I live if I thought that people loved me? If I believed you, I would have to tear myself to pieces, to break my brains on the wall, to do—" The laughter changed to sobs, but Crawlie managed to resume talking: "You things are so stupid that you don't even know that you're monsters. You're not people. You never will be people. I'm one of you myself. I'm honest enough to admit what I am. We're dirt, we're nothing, we're things that are less than machines. We hide in the earth like dirt and when people kill us they do not weep." - Linebarger, The Dead Lady Of Clown Town

So those laws which set people apart are oppressive and must be removed.

All forms of hierarchy and difference are also “oppressive,” so scenes like the gay couple smashing expensive vases, while they explain that form and matter also oppressive and “natural,” and that this encrusted law must be destroyed.

Likewise with the slave system, Satanic Agent Smith, Hugo Weaving explains that hierarchy and caste are natural: they cannot be destroyed. As it says in Cimino's, "Heavens Gate", "Money (and Generational Families) talks, Talent walks!"

Note as well that Weaving plays the hierarchical male oppressor Devil in several of the timelines, and was the same role in the Wachowski’s The Matrix. Weaving thus signifies the Selfish Competitive Ego composed of a multitude of Energy Blockages - a Satanic, Luciferian demiurge of created matter and law that the enlightened gnostics (borrowing from Plato) complained so often about.

This transmigration of souls is also prominent in Greek literature, as well as in the modernist work of James Joyce, Ulysses.

There are more than 200 billions of souls extant and each of them needs life experience of around one hundred lifetimes before they can become enlightened so as to embody goodness and mercy in the larger populations only made possible by advanced pollutionless technology and advanced infrastructure.

Cloud Atlas shows that the inhabiting of bodies by other entities occurs in everyone through the energy blockage Agent Smith, Hugo Weaving which moves from body to body.

Many religions have this concept concerning demons and spirits which must be removed in order to become truly human. "Enlightenment is the removal of ALL Energy blockages" - Energy Enhancement

The nature of the inter-dimensional interactions in the next life are able to influence and act in this dimension.

However, in regard to Cloud Atlas, the overall narrative is explained in the fact that all the events and actions of the different characters in the different time periods all work together for a common end. The modern world has moved away from the idea of telos, or purpose, but as Wolfgang Pauli explained, purpose must eventually return to science, and he felt confident physics would eventually rediscover the Aristotelian idea of the final cause. In this regard, Cloud Atlas is presenting a kind of providence or predestination, insofar as all things are moving towards a certain goal, yet not in a linear fashion.

The Jewish tradition differs from the satanic pagan traditions precisely (but not solely) in this regard: for them time is linear, while for satanic paganism, there is no concept of evolution and enlightenment - Satanic paganism says that time is essentially an illusion, and the universe is trapped in an eternal cyclical wheel of life and death, good and evil, and dualistic struggle for all eternity.

Cloud Atlas presents a cyclical history, yet also seems to point towards the necessity of Gnosis, Enlightenment and the transcending of the limitations of time and space as Sonmi-451 does through education, reading spiritual books and LOVE through experiences of seeing injustice directly - like Jesus Christ, giving her life for the benefit of ALL humanity.

In this sense, it resembles 2001: A Space Odyssey, as the enlightened Starchild evolves from Dave (victorious in the struggle with HAL 9000 for the next level of evolution), transcending the limitations of time and space, having all his bad memories and energy blockages removed in the death of the ego.

Cloud Atlas, then, is about attaining the clouds. An Atlas charts one’s course, and the destination is the clouds – space, the final frontier, the Stars, the Chakras above the head of the antahkarana. The connection with God.

This is why the film begins with modernity, the first limitation to be transcended is space: can we go off-world and establish human civilizations on other planets? Can we go to the clouds? Can we connect with our souls and reject a world without love and empathy. Can we come together as all humanity in love and peace and connect with the Chakras above the Head, with God, immortal, indivisible, God only wise?

Cloud Atlas is more so a film about how this is destined to occur. It will occur through the Promethean striving of all humans to transcend all limitations and boundaries and reach the stars.

What holds humans back are the satanic energy blockages which reduce intelligence, block love and stop connection with your Soul, creating the bad decisions we make, our own suffering, the belief that some people are not human and because of that can be killed or enslaved through the forces of law and order that seek to oppress.

Here the film makes its enlightened, christian, Hindu, buddhist revolutionary message clear. As mentioned, in each time period the actions of the characters working toward freedom set in motion the chains of events that effect each era towards greater levels of freedom, increased technology, love, intelligence, purpose, meaning and significance and greater challenges.

By the time of Sonmi-451, the world is run by an oppressive dystopian government that clones and genetically modifies people and animals to make "non-human" chimera and in turn feeds the populace dead clones, run behind the facade of a perverted culture that worships the fast food they are given.

Here, eugenics and transhumanism have come full circle, with the cyclical nature of the clone plant perfectly embodying the cyclical nature of temporal reality the film intends to present.

“Everything is connected.” “Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime, and every kindness, we birth our future.”

THE SONMI-451, "ANIMAL"

So says Sonmi-451 (Doona Bae), a “fabricant” or genetically-modified human crossed with animals like Dogs or Cats who is treated as an "Underperson or non-human in the traditional historical way.. as a slave who can be abused, murdered and eaten. She lives in a futuristic dystopian country where “pure-bloods” rule from on high, and the “fabricants” are mere commodities, although they are never told how worthless they are. Somni eventually joins a group of rebels who open her eyes to the truth of the abuses the “fabricants” suffer and present her with a choice—to expose the evils of the government at the cost of all of their lives or to do nothing with her newfound freedom.

Sonmi-451's story unfolds in a future world where an entire race of genetically modified non - human clones have been created to serve as slaves for the 'true humans'.

The clones are all incredibly beautiful Asian girls who are dehumanized in every way. They have no individuality; they go by number instead of name; they live like robots, and every one of their movements and thoughts is controlled.

While working, men will often grope their buttocks and humiliate them sexually. In one scene, a man approaches one girl from behind holding a mustard bottle in place of his penis and he sprays mustard all over the her back while he and his friends laugh. When the girl retaliates, her controller slits her throat via her metal collar with one click of his remote control.

The difference between Sonmi-451 and all the other clones is that her fate is to change the world. For this purpose, she is rescued by the freedom fighter, Hae-Joo Chang.

After getting a taste of freedom and kindness, Sonmi falls in love with Chang.

In order to persuade Sonmi to accept her historic duty, Chang reveals the truth of the fabricants' existence in a horrific scene of mass sacrifice where we see hundreds of clones in white hooded robes, marching like drones towards what they call 'exaltation'.

Thinking that they are going to heaven, like in the movie, "The Island" the girls smile and rejoice as they march towards the doorway of what turns out to be a slaughter room. They are greeted by executioners in red hooded robes, callously killed via their metal collars, and transported on conveyor belts into a huge processing factory where hundreds of dismembered, headless corpses dangle from meat hooks.

THE SONMI SLAUGHTERHOUSE SCENE - NOT EASY TO FIND

As it turns out, the bodies of these girls are shredded and fed back to the other clones in drinkboxes as food called Soap in honour of the Jews in Hitler's Concentration Camps where the dead Jews were similarly rendered down into soap..

SOAP OPERA

After seeing this Truth, Sonmi agrees that, "something must be done". Her education, her reading, her experiences have evolved her above the animal to the level of a Jesus Christ who must communicate his humanity and his Universal Inclusive Love to the whole of humanity even at the expected cost of his life.

Whilst broadcasting her message, battle breaks out and Chang and all the freedom fighters are defeated and killed.

Sonmi is captured and interrogated...

THE ARCHIVIST INTERROGATING SONMI-451

In every successful revolution, hearts and minds must be won in those humans who are just on the point of illumination. You must have the necessary experiences of one hundred lifetimes of entry into every wrong path, into every evil and you must have experienced the karmic consequences.

"After all that, here are complete instructions on Enlightenment" - Yoga Sutras of Patanjali

Archivist: What if no one believes you?
 

Sonmi-451: Someone already does.

Says Sonmi of the Archivist himself.

But further than that, in this movie, having seen the truth, YOU TOO are that Archivist.

And if you have eyes to see, and if you have ears to hear, you too must change.

Your heart must open, and you must understand..

"Something must be done"

Even at the cost of your own life..


 

Cloud Atlas (2012)
Sonmi-451: ...from womb to tomb, our lives are not our own...

The word, "Wombtomb" was coined by Ray Nelson in his short story, "Time Travel for Pedestrians". Ray Nelson also wrote, "They Live", another seminal movie.

Sonmi-451: Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.

Archivist: On behalf of my Ministry and the future of Unanimity, I want to thank you for the final interview. Remember, this isn't an interrogation or trial. Your version of the truth is all that matters.
Sonmi-451: Truth is singular. Its "versions" are mistruths.

Archivist: [about Yoona taking Somni to the lost-and-found room] Why didn't you report Yoona-939 to Seer Rhee the next day?
Sonmi-451: I couldn't.
Archivist: Why?
Sonmi-451: Because she trusted me.
Archivist: But your actions violated the Fifth Catechism.
Sonmi-451: That's true.
Archivist: How did you justify this transgression?
Sonmi-451: She was my friend.

Archivist: What if no one believes you?
Sonmi-451: Someone already does.

"Joan herself is bathed in light. Her light brown hair and her doggy brown eyes express softness and tenderness. He even conveys the idea that her new body is terribly new and strong, that she is virginal and ready to die, that she is a mere girl and yet completely fearless. The posture of love shows in her legs: she stands lightly. Love shows in her hands: they are turned outward toward the judges. Love shows in her smile: it is confident." Linebarger, The Dead Lady Of Clown Town

After interrogation, she is sacrificed, executed by electric chair - a tiny beautiful doll - in front of an audience of men in satanic black and red priest-like robes.
 

"By telepathic invasion he had suppressed her human mind, so that only the primitive canine remained.

Joan did not stand still like a martyred queen.

She struggled against the flames which licked her and climbed her. She howled and shrieked like a dog in pain, like an animal whose brain—good though it is—cannot comprehend the senselessness of human cruelty.

The result was directly contrary to what the Lord Femtiosex had planned.

The crowd of people stirred forward, not with curiosity but because of compassion. They had avoided the broad areas of the street on which the dead underpeople lay as they had been killed, some pooled in their own blood, some broken by the hands of robots, some reduced to piles of frozen crystal. They walked over the dead to watch the dying, but their watching was not the witless boredom of people who never see a spectacle; it was the movement of living things, instinctive and deep, toward the sight of another living thing in a position of danger and ruin.

Even the guard who had held Elaine and Hunter by gripping Hunter's arm—even he moved forward a few unthinking steps. Elaine found herself in the first row of the spectators, the acrid, unfamiliar smell of burning oil making her nose twitch, the howls of the dying dog-girl tearing through her eardrums into her brain. Joan was turning and twisting in the fire now, trying to avoid the flames which wrapped her tighter than clothing. The odor of something sickening and strange reached the crowd. Few of them had ever smelled the stink of burning meat before.

Joan gasped.

In the ensuing seconds of silence, Elaine heard something she had never expected to hear before—the weeping of grown human beings. Men and women stood there sobbing and not knowing why they sobbed." - Linebarger, The Dead Lady Of Clown Town


Note also that her name is “451,” echoing the dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury with the same theme of a controlling, oppressive state where control is maintained by burning books at the temperature at which books burn, 451 degrees farenheit. The inability to read good books and the destruction of libraries is something every good Totalitarian State promotes.

When she discovers that Unanimity are murdering and eating the clones, she becomes the model of the united rebellion’s revolution, a new Jesus Christ.

"I have killed, Ma'am," he said, "as always—with love. This time it was a system." -Linebarger, The Dead Lady Of Clown Town

Sonmi’s revolution had achieved the ability to go offworld, we discover, and by future future Tom Hanks’ period, earth has reverted to a primitive state of tribalism that worships a goddess and has preserved Sonmi-451's revelations. There is a figure of the goddess that resembles the statue of liberty and looks like Sonmi, which we later learn is merely the symbol of liberty and her revolution. Future future Tom Hanks is presented with this truth, and must battle his own mental prison and tribal superstitions in a pivotal climactic scene, where a demonic form of the Hugo Weaving demiurge pressures him to kill a highly advanced future future Halle Berry, sent to find the Sonmi gate which will take them offworld. Berry’s character in this world is the remnant of the elite, highly advanced humans who are seeking offworld passage to another planet, as the earth is forsaken, deadly and run by wild savages.

Future future Tom Hanks decides to reject his tribalism and superstitions for science, accepting liberty, or the gnostic Sophia, leading to the salvation of the doomed human race.

At the close of the film we are shown a new human civilization built on another world, with Tom Hanks and Halle Berry together. From an esoteric perspective, the two divided anima and animus, female and male principles, have been reconciled through Sophia, leading to theosis, illumination.

The right use of science, the increase in infrastructure and the creation of wealth to support education and evolution is a symptom of good religion, as is the eventual victory over the Satanic forces of human sacrifice, war sacrifice, darkness and oppression.

We are shown the star birthmark on Hanks, and then a shooting star, which echoes “every man and woman are a star.” Both physically and Spiritually man has been born to ascend to the stars.

Plato’s doctrine is that our souls are associated with a certain star from which we came before birth.

In Neo-platonism there is in fact a return of all particularity to the One, a feature adopted in many monotheistic religions as well, as the progress of phenomena in time are in fact a resolving of multiplicities back into the One.

The Satanists, as with Marx and Marxism - Karl Marx was given an office in the British National Library in London by British Intelligence where he wrote "Das Capital" to destabilise the Czars of Russia - a successful ploy - created the Masonic Jacobin message of the atheistic revolutionaries and French Illuminists in order to destabilise and overthrow the French Kings regime - another successful ploy as MI6 Chief Jeremy Bentham wrote Robespierre's speeches from London.

Satanism, the ancient Religion transferred through Ancient Generational families and their scientific transhumanist gnosis and pantheism is just classical Satanic occultism and superstition which is also behind the false science of Global Warming and Economic Models as "Science".

Modern lying spinned “scientific” of Lysenkoism, and Darwinian Eugenics regimes have so far not produced freedom, but state Totalitarianism, far worse than even the totalitarianism of the French Terror. The French Revolution’s Committee for Public Safety murdered tens of thousands, and the satanic statists Hitler, Franco, Pol Pot, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Blair and Bush of the twentieth century murdered two hundred and eighty millions.

Poverty, culling the population through austerity, poverty, chemical and bacteriological warfare, famine and war are just tools of state used in order to maintain control over thousands of years.

Some laws are good: it is not law and boundary themselves that are the source of oppression and violence, it is the Satanic lack of virtue and choice of evil on the part of moral agents that are the source of evil and oppression.

In Cloud Atlas, the entire point of the musical piece is that all events are part of the plan that as we gain experience and evolve over time and many lifetimes, eventually our personal evolution ends in success as the, "non-human", "Animal", Sonmi-451 becomes enlightened. And her realisation in her words is the catalyst for the change impulsed by her Love finding echo in sufficient hearts - like the Archivist and... YOU.

The underpeople, the non-humans, the cockroaches.. "Years ago I recognized my kinship with all living things, and I made up my mind that I was not one bit better than the meanest on the earth. I said then and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it; while there is a criminal element, I am of it; while there is a soul in prison, I am not free." - Eugene V. Debs

As we have learned from British Intelligence, Masonic "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" used to overthrow France and Karl Marx "Das Capital" used to overthrow the Czars, words can be twisted and elites always lie.

Yet if you understand that individually you have the ability to become Enlightened - that You too can unblock your heart and remove all of your Energy Blockages and achieve true immortality through Energy Enhancement. Then that path can truly lead you and all humanity to the stars.

YOU CAN BECOME GOOD!!

Just as a symphony or orchestral piece is made up of a bunch of disparate parts that work together to produce a complete auditory tapestry, in like manner the events of history work together to produce the events that will take us to the stars, leading to man’s apotheosis both physically and spiritually in the Star Chakras above the Head.

In this respect, the tyrannies become in a sense necessary as the, "Perfect Enemy" of Don Juan and Carlos Castaneda, as they are the means that lead to the end.

I want to bring to your attention to the work of Dr Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger and his Science Fiction Stories which I think have been the impulse behind the masterpiece which is Cloud Atlas. University at 14. Doctor at 22. Godson of Sun Yat Sen. Speaking thirteen languages. Professor of Asiatic Studies at Johns Hopkins. Major in the Army. Wrote the classic book on Psychological Warfare. CIA Spy with knowledge of all the MKULTRA Secrets and future Computer Cyborgs and Genetic Transhumanist plans of the elite. Advisor and speech writer to Presidents and proposed future Secretary of State before his Borgia Cup of stomach problems which killed him at the age of 53 back in 1966. He Wrote his real Underpeople Sci Fi when they refused to publish his book and he knew he was dying. You can read all his seminal stories of, "The Instrumentality of Mankind" under the name of Cordwainer Smith..

Here is the story which impulsed Cloud Atlas..

He wrote this when he knew he was dying..POISONED!! with universal love for all sentient beings..

"Does a Dog have Buddha Nature?" Answer, "MU!"

MU is the Buddhist, "OM" a Mantra, a guided meditation used to connect with the chakras above the head, with God.

Both Humans and Dogs have the capacity to connect with God.

Until they do, they are children, not completed, "Unmade Men" unable to comprehend, "something must be done", with no Universal Love which considers an evolutionary future for our children and Grandchildren, no conscience, not enlightened, not truly adult, less than human - but everyone has the potential.

We are all, animals and humans, made in the Image of God - "Imago Dei".

But we are not yet complete.

Like the Dog-Girl clone chimera D'Joan in..

The Dead Lady Of Clown Town

by Cordwainer Smith

See Below...

Removing energy blockages

 How to remove energy blockages

Remove negative energy

Removing bad energy

THE ENERGY BLOCKAGE AND ITS SHELLS OF PROTECTION

ENERGY BLOCKAGES, ENTITIES, IMPLANTS AND NAFS - WHAT ARE THEY, WHY ARE THEY FORMED, AND HOW TO REMOVE ENERGY BLOCKAGES AND IMPLANTS BY THE ENERGY ENHANCEMENT SEVEN STEP PROCESS OF ENERGY ENHANCEMENT LEVEL 2

ON THE BRIDGE

THE RAINBOW BRIDGE

GAIN ENERGY!!

"Traditional forms of meditation are designed to fail!!"

POWER UP!!

How to Release the Energy Blockage Knots

The Buddha didn't talk much about Energy Blockages. Mainly, he said just to come and sit with him, Listen to him, Imbibe the Buddhafield of his presence. Nice things would happen. People became enlightened in his Aura. 10,000 monks became enlightened in the Purple Grove. Buddha was a Master. He taught Meditation.

Yet, one day a guy came and asked him about Energy Blockages and asked him how to get rid of them. And the Buddha answered by asking Sariputra to bring him a strip of cloth and the Buddha formed in into a knot. He asked the guy how to unpick the knot, to make the cloth straight and pure again, and the guy said, "Well he would have to study the knot in order to do this", and the Buddha said yes, " Indeed this is the way of removing energy blockages. Like knots you have to study them in order to know how to release them".

Yet Alexander the Great had the same problem. That of the Gordian Knot.

 I heard of this problem when I was a child and even then I had this inner sense of what is important. It is called Intuition. And it is felt as an energy which makes some things more energetic, more important than others. Really useful so that we do not waste our time. We know which books to read. Which movies to watch. Which music to listen to. We ignore that which is not connected to God, which is less, which is not worth our time.

Well, you see, Alexander was attacking this city of Gordia. And he was going to take it but his Generals said, as Generals do, that to take this town would involve the deaths of 10,000 of his soldiers, six months of time, and much work and supplies - Materiel I think they call it now - for this city was well defended and sturdy.

And the leaders of the town knew this too. and they knew that if they could do the deal all would be well. So they went to Alexander and said that they could surrender if he would promise to not kill and rape all the inhabitants as is normal after any seige, - they do it to make people surrender in advance! - and this would save him the time and the soldiers and the materiel.

As well as that they were having political problems with the Priests who knew that the coming of Alexander to the city meant the death of their religion and the institution of the State religion so they added the condition that he also had to unpick the Gordian knot before the city would be released unto him. But really, they knew they could do the deal to be in charge of the State Religion by giving Alexander the methodology of solving the Gordian Knot in advance.

The Gordian knot was a puzzle given to incipient priests before they could become leader priests within the temple, as a final test. So this Gordian Knot was a religious examination. Religious!!

Just like what Buddha was talking about above. The examination was about the unpicking of Energy Blockages!!

And Alexander had to solve it. He would lose the loot, but he would gain time and energy to conquer more land.

So he accepted the test and gave his promises and on the appointed day went into the Temple to take the examination.

They showed him this enormous knot, made from meters of rope which they expected him to study for days before finally succeeding - or failing - to unravel the situation.

But Alexander was made of sterner stuff. He had a technique to solve the Blockage Problem which was much in advance of that which the Buddha released in the problem above.

He took out his Vorpal Sword and with one amazing swipe..

He Cut the Gordian knot in Two!!!

WRITTEN BY SWAMI SATCHIDANAND

MANJUSRI

Manjushri with his sword of discrimination - looks like the Buddha also knew how to solve the Gordian Knot - and this technique has been removed from Buddhism!!

 Just like Energy Enhancement Ancient Successful Energy Blockage Busting Techniques!! From 10,000 years of Spiritual Technology!!

We know how to remove Energy Blockages!!

With the Sword of Discrimination, it becomes Easy!

Remove Negative Energies, Ground Energy Blockages and Negative Emotions, Eliminate Trauma Formed Negative Karmic Mass

see...

MY EXPERIENCES WITH FALUN GONG AND OTHER LUCIFERIAN EXPLOITS TOGETHER WITH ACTIVATION OF MY ADDICTION IMPLANT BLOCKAGES

Dr Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger

PENTAPAUL BY THE CAT POET C'MELL

CRY

VIE

SIGH

DIE

G'BYE!!

I want to bring to your attention to the work of Dr Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger and his Science Fiction Stories which I think have been the impulse behind the masterpiece which is Cloud Atlas. University at 14. Doctor at 22. Godson of Sun Yat Sen. Speaking thirteen languages. Professor of Asiatic Studies at Johns Hopkins. Major in the Army. Wrote the classic book on Psychological Warfare. CIA Spy with knowledge of all the MKULTRA Secrets and future Computer Cyborgs and Genetic Transhumanist plans of the elite. Advisor and speech writer to Presidents and proposed future Secretary of State before his Borgia Cup of stomach problems which killed him at the age of 53 back in 1966. He Wrote his real Underpeople Sci Fi when they refused to publish his book and he knew he was dying. You can read all his seminal stories of, "The Instrumentality of Mankind" under the name of Cordwainer Smith..

Here is the story which impulsed Cloud Atlas..

He wrote this when he knew he was dying.. with universal love for all sentient beings..

"Does a Dog have Buddha Nature?" Answer, "MU!"

MU is the Buddhist, "OM" a Mantra, a guided meditation used to connect with the chakras above the head, with God.

Both Humans and Dogs have the capacity to connect with God.

Until they do, they are children, not completed, "Unmade Men" unable to comprehend, "something must be done", with no Universal Love which considers an evolutionary future for our children and Grandchildren, no conscience, not enlightened, not truly adult, less than human - but everyone has the potential.

We are all, animals and humans, made in the Image of God - "Imago Dei".

But we are not yet complete.
 

The Dead Lady Of Clown Town
by Cordwainer Smith

Based on the seven generations of Lord Jestocost, this story could have taken place two thousand years or more before the Rediscovery of Man, which it foreshadows. Parallels with Jesus Christ and the Joan of Arc legend are obvious, as are the allusions to the Old Strong Religion; not so some of the proper names. "An-fang" is literally "beginning" in German, while "Pane Ashash" is Hindi for "five-six." The style of the story is a Chinese-derived one Smith adopted for SF late in his career—yet he had used it in some unpublished historical stories as early as 1939.

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1

You already know the end—the immense drama of the Lord Jestocost, seventh of his line, and how the cat-girl C'mell initiated the vast conspiracy. But you do not know the beginning, how the first Lord Jestocost got his name, because of the terror and inspiration which his mother, the Lady Goroke, obtained from the famous real-life drama of the dog-girl D'joan. It is even less likely that you know the other story-the one behind D'joan. This story is sometimes mentioned as the matter of the "nameless witch," which is absurd, because she really had a name. The name was "Elaine," an ancient and forbidden one.

Elaine was a mistake. Her birth, her life, her career were all mistakes. The ruby was wrong. How could that have happened?

Go back to An-fang, the Peace Square at An-fang, the Beginning Place at An-fang, where all things start. Bright it was. Red square, dead square, clear square, under a yellow sun.

This was Earth Original, Manhome itself, where Earthport thrusts its way up through hurricane clouds that are higher than the mountains.

An-fang was near a city, the only living city with a pre-atomic name. The lovely meaningless name was Meeya Meefla, where the lines of ancient roadways, untouched by a wheel for thousands of years, forever paralleled the warm, bright, clear beaches of the Old South East.

The headquarters of the People Programmer was at An-fang, and there the mistake happened.

A ruby trembled. Two tourmaline nets failed to rectify the laser beam. A diamond noted the error. Both the error and the correction went into the general computer.

The error assigned, on the general account of births for Fomalhaut III, the profession of "lay therapist, female, intuitive capacity for correction of human physiology with local resources." On some of the early ships they used to call these people witch-women, because they worked unaccountable cures. For pioneer parties, these lay therapists were invaluable; in settled post-Riesmannian societies, they became an awful nuisance. Sickness disappeared with good conditions, accidents dwindled down to nothing, medical work became institutional.

Who wants a witch, even a good witch, when a thousand-bed hospital is waiting with its staff eager for clinical experience ... and only seven out of its thousand beds filled with real people? (The remaining beds were filled with lifelike robots on which the staff could practice, lest they lose their morale. They could, of course, have worked on under-people—animals in the shape of human beings, who did the heavy and the weary work which remained as the caput mortuum of a really perfected economy—but it was against the law for animals, even when they were underpeople, to go to a human hospital. When underpeople got sick, the Instrumentality took care of them—in slaughterhouses. It was easier to breed new underpeople for the jobs than it was to repair sick ones. Furthermore, the tender, loving care of a hospital might give them ideas. Such as the idea that they were people. This would have been bad, from the prevailing point of view. Therefore the human hospitals remained almost empty while an underperson who sneezed four times or who vomited once was taken away, never to be ill again. The empty beds kept on with the robot patients, who went through endless repetitions of the human patterns of injury or disease.) This left no work for witches, bred and trained.

Yet the ruby had trembled; the program had indeed made a mistake; the birth-number for a "lay therapist, general, female, immediate use" had been ordered for Fomalhaut III.

Much later, when the story was all done down to its last historic detail, there was an investigation into the origins of Elaine. When the laser had trembled, both the original order and the correction were fed simultaneously into the machine. The machine recognized the contradiction and promptly referred both papers to the human supervisor, an actual man who had been working on the job for seven years.

He was studying music, and he was bored. He was so close to the end of his term that he was already counting the days to his own release. Meanwhile he was rearranging two popular songs. One was The Big Bamboo, a primitive piece which tried to evoke the original magic of man. The other was about a girl, Elaine, Elaine, whom the song asked, to refrain from giving pain to her loving swain. Neither of the songs was important; but between them they influenced history, first a little bit and then very much.

The musician had plenty of time to practice. He had not had to meet a real emergency in all his seven years. From time to time the machine made reports to him, but the musician just told the machine to correct its own errors, and it infallibly did so.

On the day that the accident of Elaine happened, he was trying to perfect his finger work on the guitar, a very old instrument believed to date from the pre-space period. He was playing The Big Bamboo for the hundredth time.

The machine announced its mistake with an initial musical chime. The supervisor had long since forgotten all the instructions which he had so worrisomely memorized seven long years ago. The alert did not really and truly matter, because the machine invariably corrected its own mistakes whether the supervisor was on duty or not.

The machine, not having its chime answered, moved into a second-stage alarm. From a loudspeaker set in the wall of the room, it shrieked in a high, clear human voice, the voice of some employee who had died thousands of years earlier:

"Alert, alert! Emergency. Correction needed. Correction needed!"

The answer was one which the machine had never heard before, old though it was. The musician's fingers ran madly, gladly over the guitar strings and he sang clearly, wildly back to the machine a message strange beyond any machine's belief:

Beat, beat the Big Bamboo!
Beat, beat, beat the Big Bamboo for me!

Hastily the machine set its memory banks and computers to work, looking for the code reference to "bamboo," trying to make that word fit the present context. There was no reference at all. The machine pestered the man some more.

"Instructions unclear. Instructions unclear. Please correct."

"Shut up," said the man.

"Cannot comply," stated the machine. "Please state and repeat, please state and repeat, please state and repeat."

"Do shut up," said the man, but he knew the machine would not obey this. Without thinking, he turned to his other tune and sang the first two lines twice over:

Elaine, Elaine,
go cure the pain!
Elaine, Elaine,
go cure the pain!

Repetition had been inserted as a safeguard into the machine, on the assumption that no real man would repeat an error. The name "Elaine" was not correct number code, but the fourfold emphasis seemed to confirm the need for a "lay therapist, female." The machine itself noted that a genuine man had corrected the situation card presented as a matter of emergency.

"Accepted," said the machine.

This word, too late, jolted the supervisor away from his music.

"Accepted what?" he asked.

There was no answering voice. There was no sound at all except for the whisper of slightly-moistened warm air through the ventilators.

The supervisor looked out the window. He could see a little of the blood-black red color of the Peace Square of An-fang; beyond lay the ocean, endlessly beautiful and endlessly tedious.

The supervisor sighed hopefully. He was young. "Guess it doesn't matter," he thought, picking up his guitar.

(Thirty-seven years later, he found out that it did matter. The Lady Goroke herself, one of the chiefs of the Instrumentality, sent a subchief of the Instrumentality to find out who had caused D'joan. When the man found that the witch Elaine was the source of the trouble she sent him on to find out how Elaine had gotten into a well-ordered universe. The supervisor was found. He was still a musician. He remembered nothing of the story. He was hypnotized. He still remembered nothing. The subchief invoked an emergency and Police Drug Four ("clear memory") was administered to the musician. He immediately remembered the whole silly scene, but insisted that it did not matter. The case was referred to Lady Goroke, who instructed the authorities that the musician be told the whole horrible, beautiful story of D'joan at Fomalhaut—the very story which you are now being told—and he wept. He was not punished otherwise, but the Lady Goroke commanded that those memories be left in his mind for so long as he might live.)

The man picked up his guitar, but the machine went on about its work.

It selected a fertilized human embryo, tagged it with the freakish name "Elaine," irradiated the genetic code with strong aptitudes for witchcraft and then marked the person's card for training in medicine, transportation by sail-ship to Fomalhaut III and release for service on the planet.

Elaine was born without being needed, without being wanted, without having a skill which could help or hurt any existing human being. She went into life doomed and useless.

It is not remarkable that she was misbegotten. Errors do happen. Remarkable was the fact that she managed to survive without being altered, corrected or killed by the safety devices which mankind has installed in society for its own protection.

Unwanted, unused, she wandered through the tedious months and useless years of her own existence. She was well fed, richly clothed, variously housed. She had machines and robots to serve her, underpeople to obey her, people to protect her against others or against herself, should the need arise. But she could never find work; without work, she had no time for love; without work or love, she had no hope at all.

If she had only stumbled into the right experts or the right authorities, they would have altered or re-trained her. This would have made her into an acceptable woman; but she did not find the police, nor did they find her. She was helpless to correct her own programming, utterly helpless. It had been imposed on her at An-fang, way back at An-fang, where all things begin.

The ruby had trembled, the tourmaline failed, the diamond passed unsupported. Thus, a woman was born doomed.

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2

Much later, when people made songs about the strange case of the dog-girl D'joan, the minstrels and singers had tried to imagine what Elaine felt like, and they had made up The Song of Elaine for her. It is not authentic, but it shows how Elaine looked at her own life before the strange case of D'joan began to flow from Elaine's own actions:

Other women hate me.
Men never touch me.
I am too much me.
I'll be a witch!

Mama never towelled me,
Daddy never growled me.
Little kiddies grate me.
I'll be a witch!

People never named me.
Dogs never shamed me.
Oh, I am a such me!
I'll be a witch!

I'll make them shun me.
They'll never run me.
Could they even stun me?
I'll be a witch!

Let them all attack me.
They can only rack me.
Me—I can hack me.
I'll be a witch!

Other women hate me.
Men never touch me.
I am too much me.
I'll be a witch!


The song overstates the case. Women did not hate Elaine; they did not look at her. Men did not shun Elaine; they did not notice her either.

There were no places on Fomalhaut III where she could have met human children, for the nurseries were far underground because of chancy radiation and fierce weather. The song pretends that Elaine began with the thought that she was not human, but underpeople, and had herself been born a dog. This did not happen at the beginning of the case, but only at the very end, when the story of D'joan was already being carried between the stars and developing with all the new twists of folklore and legend. She never went mad.

("Madness" is a rare condition, consisting of a human mind which does not engage its environment correctly. Elaine approached it before she met D'joan. Elaine was not the only case, but she was a rare and genuine one. Her life, thrust back from all attempts at growth, had turned back on itself and her mind had spiraled inward to the only safety she could really know, psychosis. Madness is always better than X, and X to each patient is individual, personal, secret and overwhelmingly important. Elaine had gone normally mad; her imprinted and destined career was the wrong one. "Lay therapists, female" were coded to work decisively, autonomously, on their own authority and with great rapidity. These working conditions were needed on new planets. They were not coded to consult other people; most places, there would be no one to consult. Elaine did what was set for her at An-fang, all the way down to the individual chemical conditions of her spinal fluid. She was herself the wrong and she never knew it. Madness was much kinder than the realization that she was not herself, should not have lived, and amounted at the most to a mistake committed between a trembling ruby and a young, careless man with a guitar.)

She found D'joan and the worlds reeled.

Their meeting occurred at a place nicknamed "the edge of the world," where the undercity met daylight. This was itself unusual; but Fomalhaut III was an unusual and uncomfortable planet, where wild weather and men's caprice drove architects to furious design and grotesque execution.

Elaine walked through the city, secretly mad, looking for sick people whom she could help. She had been stamped, imprinted, designed, born, bred and trained for this task. There was no task.

She was an intelligent woman. Bright brains serve madness as well as they serve sanity—namely, very well indeed. It never occurred to her to give up her mission.

The people of Fomalhaut III, like the people of Manhome Earth itself, are almost uniformly handsome; it is only in the far-out, half-unreachable worlds that the human stock, strained by the sheer effort to survive, becomes ugly, weary or varied. She did not look much different from the other intelligent, handsome people who flocked the streets. Her hair was black, and she was tall. Her arms and legs were long, the trunk of her body short. She wore her hair brushed straight back from a high, narrow, square forehead. Her eyes were an odd, deep blue. Her mouth might have been pretty, but it never smiled, so that no one could really tell whether it was beautiful or not. She stood erect and proud: but so did everyone else. Her mouth was strange in its very lack of communicativeness and her eyes swept back and forth, back and forth like ancient radar, looking for the sick, the needy, and stricken, whom she had a passion to serve.

How could she be unhappy? She had never had time to be happy. It was easy for her to think that happiness was something which disappeared at the end of childhood. Now and then, here and there, perhaps when a fountain murmured in sunlight or when leaves exploded in the startling Fomalhautian spring, she wondered that other people—people as responsible as herself by the doom of age, grade, sex, training and career number—should be happy when she alone seemed to have no time for happiness. But she always dismissed the thought and walked the ramps and streets until her arches ached, looking for work which did not yet exist.

Human flesh, older than history, more dogged than culture, has its own wisdom. The bodies of people are marked with the archaic ruses of survival, so that on Fomalhaut III, Elaine herself preserved the skills of ancestors she never even thought about—those ancestors who, in the incredible and remote past, had mastered terrible Earth itself. Elaine was mad. But there was a part of her which suspected that she was mad.

Perhaps this wisdom seized her as she walked from Waterrocky Road toward the bright esplanades of the Shopping Bar. She saw a forgotten door. The robots could clean near it but, because of the old, odd architectural shape, they could not sweep and polish right at the bottom line of the door. A thin hard line of old dust and caked polish lay like a sealant at the base of the doorline. It was obvious that no one had gone through for a long, long time.

The civilized rule was that prohibited areas were marked both telepathically and with symbols. The most dangerous of all had robot or underpeople guards. But everything which was not prohibited, was permitted. Thus Elaine had no right to open the door, but she had no obligation not to do so. She opened it—

By sheer caprice.

Or so she thought.

This was a far cry from the "I'll be a witch" motif attributed to her in the later ballad. She was not yet frantic, not yet desperate, she was not yet even noble.

That opening of a door changed her own world and changed life on thousands of planets for generations to come, but the opening was not itself strange. It was the tired caprice of a thoroughly frustrated and mildly unhappy woman. Nothing more. All the other descriptions of it have been improvements, embellishments, falsifications.

She did get a shock when she opened the door, but not for the reasons attributed backwards to her by balladists and historians.

She was shocked because the door opened on steps and the steps led down to landscape and sunlight—truly an unexpected sight on any world. She was looking from the New City to the Old City. The New City rose on its shell out over the old city, and when she looked "indoors" she saw the sunset in the city below. She gasped at the beauty and the unexpectedness of it.

There, the open door—with another world beyond it. Here, the old familiar street, clean, handsome, quiet, useless, where her own useless self had walked a thousand times.

There—something. Here, the world she knew. She did not know the words "fairyland" or "magic place," but if she had known them, she would have used them.

She glanced to the right, to the left.

The passersby noticed neither her nor the door. The sunset was just beginning to show in the upper city. In the lower city it was already blood-red with streamers of gold like enormous frozen flame. Elaine did not know that she sniffed the air; she did not know that she trembled on the edge of tears; she did not know that a tender smile, the first smile in years, relaxed her mouth and turned her tired tense face into a passing loveliness. She was too intent on looking around.

People walked about their business. Down the road, an underpeople type—female, possibly cat—detoured far around a true human who was walking at a slower pace. Far away, a police ornithopter flapped slowly around one of the towers; unless the robots used a telescope on her or unless they had one of the rare hawk-undermen who wore sometimes used as police, they could not see her.

She stepped through the doorway and pulled the door itself back into the closed position.

She did not know it, but therewith unborn futures reeled out of existence, rebellion flamed into coming centuries, people and underpeople died in strange causes, mothers changed the names of unborn lords and starships whispered back from places which men had not even imagined before. Spaces which had always been there, waiting for men's notice, would come the sooner—because of her, because of the door, because of her next few steps, what she would say and the child she would meet. (The ballad-writers told the whole story later on, but they told it backwards, from their own knowledge of D'joan and what Elaine had done to set the worlds afire. The simple truth is the fact that a lonely woman went through a mysterious door. That is all. Everything else happened later.)

At the top of the steps she stood; door closed behind her, the sunset gold of the unknown city streaming out in front of her. She could see where the great shell of the New City of Kalma arched out toward the sky; she could see that the buildings here were older, less harmonious than the ones she had left. She did not know the concept "picturesque," or she would have called it that. She knew no concept to describe the scene which lay peacefully at her feet.

There was not a person in sight.

Far in the distance, a fire-detector throbbed back and forth on top of an old tower. Outside of that there was nothing but the yellow-gold city beneath her, and a bird—was it a bird, or a large storm-swept leaf?—in the middle distance.

Filled with fear, hope, expectation and the surmisal of strange appetites, she walked downward with quiet, unknown purpose.

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3

At the foot of the stairs, nine flights of them there had been, a child waited—a girl, about five. The child had a bright blue smock, wavy red-brown hair, and the daintiest hands which Elaine had ever seen.

Elaine's heart went out to her. The child looked up at her and shrank away. Elaine knew the meaning of those handsome brown eyes, of that muscular supplication of trust, that recoil from people. It was not a child at all—just some animal in the shape of a person, a dog perhaps, which would later be taught to speak, to work, to perform useful services.

The little girl rose, standing as though she were about to run. Elaine had the feeling that the little dog-girl had not decided whether to run toward her or from her. She did not wish to get involved with an underperson—what woman would?—but neither did she wish to frighten the little thing. After all, it was small, very young.

The two confronted each other for a moment, the little thing uncertain, Elaine relaxed. Then the little animal-girl spoke.

"Ask her," she said, and it was a command.

Elaine was surprised. Since when did animals command?

"Ask her!" repeated the little thing. She pointed at a window which had the words TRAVELERS' AID above it. Then the girl ran. A flash of blue from her dress, a twinkle of white from her running sandals, and she was gone.

Elaine stood quiet and puzzled in the forlorn and empty city.

The window spoke to her, "You might as well come on over. You will, you know."

It was the wise mature voice of an experienced woman—a voice with a bubble of laughter underneath its phonic edge, with a hint of sympathy and enthusiasm in its tone. The command was not merely a command. It was, even at its beginning, a happy private joke between two wise women.

Elaine was not surprised when a machine spoke to her. Recordings had been telling her things all her life. She was not sure of this situation, however.

"Is there somebody there?" she said.

"Yes and no," said the voice. "I'm Travelers' Aid' and I help everybody who comes through this way. You're lost or you wouldn't be here. Put your hand in my window."

"What I mean is," said Elaine, "are you a person or are you a machine?"

"Depends," said the voice. "I'm a machine, but I used to be a person, long, long ago. A lady, in fact, and one of the Instrumentality. But my time came and they said to me, 'Would you mind if we made a machine print of your whole personality? It would be very helpful for the information booths.' So of course I said yes, and they made this copy, and I died, and they shot my body into space with all the usual honors, but here I was. It felt pretty odd inside this contraption, me looking at things and talking to people and giving good advice and staying busy, until they built the new city. So what do you say? Am I me or aren't I?"

"I don't know, ma'am." Elaine stood back.

The warm voice lost its humor and became commanding. "Give me your hand, then, so I can identify you and tell you what to do."

"I think," said Elaine, "that I'll just go back upstairs and go through the door into the upper city."

"And cheat me," said the voice in the window, "out of my first conversation with a real person in four years?" There was demand in the voice, but there was still the warmth and the humor; there was loneliness too. The loneliness decided Elaine. She stepped up to the window and put her hand flat on the ledge.

"You're Elaine," cried the window. "You're Elaine! The worlds wait for you. You're from An-fang, where all things begin, the Peace Square at An-fang, on Old Earth itself!"

"Yes," said Elaine.

The voice bubbled over with enthusiasm. "He is waiting for you. Oh, he has waited for you a long, long time. And the little girl you met. That was D'joan herself. The story has begun. The world's great age begins anew.' And I can die when it is over. So sorry, my dear. I don't mean to confuse you. I am the Lady Pane Ashash. You're Elaine. Your number originally ended 783 and you shouldn't even be on this planet. All the important people here end with the number 5 and 6. You're a lay therapist and you're in the wrong place, but your lover is already on his way, and you've never been in love yet, and it's all too exciting."

Elaine looked quickly around her. The old lower town was turning more red and less gold as the sunset progressed. The steps behind her seemed terribly high as she looked back, the door at the top very small. Perhaps it had locked on her when she closed it. Maybe she wouldn't ever be able to leave the old lower city.

The window must have been watching her in some way, because the voice of the Lady Pane Ashash became tender,

"Sit down my dear," said the voice from the window. "When I was me, I used to be much more polite. I haven't been me for a long, long time. I'm a machine, and still I feel like myself. Do sit down, and do forgive me."

Elaine looked around. There was the roadside marble bench behind her. She sat on it obediently. The happiness which had been in her at the top of the steps bubbled forth anew. If this wise old machine knew so much about her, perhaps it could tell her what to do. What did the voice mean by "wrong planet"? By "lover"? By "he is coming for you now," or was that what the voice had actually said?

"Take a breath, my dear," said the voice of the Lady Pane Ashash. She might have been dead for hundreds or thousands of years, but she still spoke with the authority and kindness of a great lady.

Elaine breathed deep. She saw a huge red cloud, like a pregnant whale, getting ready to butt the rim of the upper city, far above her and far out over the sea. She wondered if clouds could possibly have feelings.

The voice was speaking again. What had it said?

Apparently the question was repeated. "Did you know you were coming?" said the voice from the window.

"Of course not." Elaine shrugged. "There was just this door, and I didn't have anything special to do, so I opened it And here was a whole new world inside a house. It looked strange and rather pretty, so I came down. Wouldn't you have done the same thing?"

"I don't know," said the voice candidly. "I'm really a machine. I haven't been me for a long, long time. Perhaps I would have, when I was alive. I don't know that, but I know about things. Maybe I can see the future, or perhaps the machine part of me computes such good probabilities that it just seems like it. I know who you are and what is going to happen to you. You had better brush your hair."

"Whatever for?" said Elaine.

"He is coming," said the happy old voice of the Lady Pane Ashash.

"Who is coming?" said Elaine, almost irritably.

"Do you have a mirror? I wish you would look at your hair. It could be prettier, not that it isn't pretty right now. You want to look your best. Your lover, that's who is coming, of course."

"I haven't got a lover," said Elaine. "I haven't been authorized one, not till I've done some of my lifework, and I haven't even found my lifework yet. I'm not the kind of girl who would go ask a subchief for the dreamies, not when I'm not entitled to the real thing. I may not be much of a person, but I have some self-respect." Elaine got so mad that she shifted her position on the bench and sat with her face turned away from the all-watching window.

The next words gave her gooseflesh down her arms, they were uttered with such real earnestness, such driving sincerity. "Elaine, Elaine, do you really have no idea of who you are?"

Elaine pivoted back on the bench so that she looked toward the window. Her face was caught redly by the rays of the setting sun. She could only gasp.

"I don't know what you mean ... "

The inexorable voice went on. "Think, Elaine, think. Does the name 'D'joan' mean nothing to you?"

"I suppose it's an underperson, a dog. That's what the D is for, isn't it?"

"That was the little girl you met," said the Lady Pane Ashash, as though the statement were something tremendous.

"Yes," said Elaine dutifully. She was a courteous woman, and never quarreled with strangers.

"Wait a minute," said the Lady Pane Ashash, "I'm going to get my body out. God knows when I wore it last, but it'll make you feel more at easy terms with me. Forgive the clothes. They're old stuff, but I think the body will work all right. This is the beginning of the story of D'joan, and I want that hair of yours brushed even if I have to brush it myself. Just wait right there, girl, wait right there. I'll just take a minute."

The clouds were turning from dark red to liver-black. What could Elaine do? She stayed on the bench. She kicked her shoe against the walk. She jumped a little when the old-fashioned street lights of the lower city went on with sharp geometrical suddenness; they did not have the subtle shading of the newer lights in the other city upstairs, where day phased into the bright clear night with no sudden shift in color.

The door beside the little window creaked open. Ancient plastic crumbled to the walk.

Elaine was astonished.

Elaine knew she must have been unconsciously expecting a monster, but this was a charming woman of about her own height, wearing weird, old-fashioned clothes. The strange woman had glossy black hair, no evidence of recent or current illness, no signs of severe lesions in the past, no impairment evident of sight, gait, reach or eyesight. (There was no way she could check on smell or taste right off, but this was the medical check-up she had had built into her from birth on—the checklist which she had run through with every adult person she had ever met. She had been designed as a "lay therapist, female" and she was a good one, even when there was no one at all to treat.)

Truly, the body was a rich one. It must have cost the landing charges of forty or fifty planetfalls. The human shape was perfectly rendered. The mouth moved over genuine teeth; the words were formed by throat, palate, tongue, teeth and lips, and not just by a microphone mounted in the head. The body was really a museum piece. It was probably a copy of the Lady Pane Ashash herself in time of life. When the face smiled, the effect was undescribably winning. The lady wore the costume of a bygone age—a stately frontal dress of heavy blue material, embroidered with a square pattern of gold at hem, waist and bodice. She had a matching cloak of dark, faded gold, embroidered in blue with the same pattern of squares. Her hair was upswept and set with jeweled combs. It seemed perfectly natural, but there was dust on one side of it.

The robot smiled, "I'm out of date. It's been a long time since I was me. But I thought, my dear, that you would find this old body easier to talk to than the window over there ... "

Elaine nodded mutely.

"You know this is not me?" said the body, sharply.

Elaine shook her head. She didn't know; she felt that she didn't know anything at all.

The Lady Pane Ashash looked at her earnestly. "This is not me. It's a robot body. You looked at it as though it were a real person. And I'm not me, either. It hurts sometimes. Did you know a machine could hurt? I can. But—I'm not me."

"Who are you?" said Elaine to the pretty old woman.

"Before I died, I was the Lady Pane Ashash. Just as I told you. Now I am a machine, and a part of your destiny. We will help each other to change the destiny of worlds, perhaps even to bring mankind back to humanity."

Elaine stared at her in bewilderment. This was no common robot. It seemed like a real person and spoke with such warm authority. And this thing, whatever it was, this thing seemed to know so much about her. Nobody else had ever cared. The nurse-mothers at the Childhouse on earth had said, "Another witch-child, and pretty too, they're not much trouble," and had let her life go by.

At last Elaine could face the face which was not really a face. The charm, the humor, the expressiveness were still there.

"What—what," stammered Elaine, "do I do now?"

"Nothing," said the long-dead Lady Pane Ashash, "except to meet your destiny."

"You mean my lover?"

"So impatient!" laughed the dead woman's record in a very human way. "Such a hurry. Lover first and destiny later. I was like that myself when I was a girl."

"But what do I do?" persisted Elaine.

The night was now complete above them. The street lights glared on the empty and unswept streets. A few doorways, not one of them less than a full street-crossing away, were illuminated with rectangles of light or shadow-light if they were far from the street lights, so that their own interior lights shone brightly, shadow if they were so close under the big lights that they cut off the glare from overhead.

"Go through this door," said the old nice woman.

But she pointed at the undistinguished white of an uninterrupted wall. There was no door at all in that place.

"But there's no door there," said Elaine.

"If there were a door," said the Lady Pane Ashash, "you wouldn't need me to tell you to go through it. And you do need me."

"Why?" said Elaine.

"Because I've waited for you hundreds of years, that's why."

"That's no answer!" snapped Elaine.

"It is so an answer," smiled the woman, and her lack of hostility was not robotlike at all. It was the kindliness and composure of a mature human being. She looked up into Elaine's eyes and spoke emphatically and softly. "I know because I do know. Not because I'm a dead person—that doesn't matter any more—but because I am now a very old machine. You will go into the Brown and Yellow Corridor and you will think of your lover, and you will do your work, and men will hunt you. But you will come out happily in the end. Do you understand this?"

"No," said Elaine, "no, I don't." But she reached out her hand to the sweet old woman. The lady took her hand. The touch was warm and very human.

"You don't have to understand it. Just do it. And I know you will. So since you are going, go."

Elaine tried to smile at her, but she was troubled, more consciously worried than ever before in her life. Something real was happening to her, to her own individual self, at a very long last. "How will I get through the door?"

"I'll open it," smiled the lady, releasing Elaine's hand, "and you'll know your lover when he sings you the poem."

"Which poem?" said Elaine, stalling for time and frightened by a door which did not even exist.

"It starts, 'I knew you and loved you, and won you, in Kalma ... ' You'll know it. Go on in. It'll be bothersome at first, but when you meet the Hunter, it will all seem different."

"Have you ever been in there, yourself?"

"Of course not," said the dear old lady. "I'm a machine. That whole place is thoughtproof. Nobody can see, hear, think or talk in or out of it. It's a shelter left over from the ancient wars, when the slightest sign of a thought would have brought destruction on the whole place. That's why the Lord Englok built it, long before my time. But you can go in. And you will. Here's the door."

The old robot lady waited no longer. She gave Elaine a strange friendly crooked smile, half proud and half apologetic. She took Elaine with firm fingertips holding Elaine's left elbow. They walked a few steps down toward the wall.

"Here, now," said the Lady Pane Ashash, and pushed. Elaine flinched as she was thrust toward the wall. Before she knew it, she was through. Smells hit her like a roar of battle. The air was hot. The light was dim. It looked like a picture of the Pain Planet, hidden somewhere in space. Poets later tried to describe Elaine at the door with a verse which begins,

There were brown ones and blue ones

And white ones and whiter,

In the hidden and forbidden

Downtown of Clown Town.

There were horrid ones and horrider,

In the brown and yellow corridor.

The truth was much simpler.

Trained witch, born witch that she was, she perceived the truth immediately. All these people, all she could see, at least, were sick. They needed help. They needed herself.

But the joke was on her, for she could not help a single one of them. Not one of them was a real person. They were just animals, things in the shape of man. Underpeople. Dirt.

And she was conditioned to the bone never to help them.

She did not know why the muscles of her legs made her walk forward, but they did.

There are many pictures of that scene.

The Lady Pane Ashash, only a few moments in her past, seemed very remote. And the city of Kalma itself, the new city, ten stories above her, almost seemed as though it had never existed at all. This, this was real.

She stared at the underpeople.

And this time, for the first time in her life, they stared right back at her. She had never seen anything like this before.

They did not frighten her; they surprised her. The fright, Elaine felt, was to come later. Soon, perhaps, but not here, not now.

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4

Something which looked like a middle-aged woman walked right up to her and snapped at her.

"Are you death?"

Elaine stared. "Death? What do you mean? I'm Elaine."

"Be damned to that!" said the woman-thing. "Are you death?"

Elaine did not know the word "damned" but she was pretty sure that "death," even to these things, meant simply "termination of life."

"Of course not," said Elaine. "I'm just a person. A witch woman, ordinary people would call me. We don't have anything to do with you underpeople. Nothing at all." Elaine could see that the woman-thing had an enormous coiffure of soft brown sloppy hair, a sweat-reddened face and crooked teeth which showed when she grinned.

"They all say that. They never know that they're death. How do you think we die, if you people don't send contaminated robots in with diseases? We all die off when you do that, and then some more underpeople find this place again later on and make a shelter of it and live in it for a few generations until the death machines, things like you, come sweeping through the city and kill us off again. This is Clown Town, the underpeople place. Haven't you heard of it?"

Elaine tried to walk past the woman-thing, but she found her arm grabbed. This couldn't have happened before, not in the history of the world—an underperson seizing a real person!

"Let go!" she yelled.

The woman-thing let her arm go and faced toward the others. Her voice had changed. It was no longer shrill and excited, but low and puzzled instead. "I can't tell. Maybe it is a real person. Isn't that a joke? Lost, in here with us. Or maybe she is death. I can't tell. What do you think, Charley-is-my-darling?"

The man she spoke to stepped forward. Elaine thought, in another time, in some other place, that underperson might pass for an attractive human being. His face was illuminated by intelligence and alertness. He looked directly at Elaine as though he had never seen her before, which indeed he had not, but he continued looking with so sharp, so strange a stare that she became uneasy. His voice, when he spoke, was brisk, high, clear, friendly; set in this tragic place, it was the caricature of a voice, as though the animal had been programmed for speech from the habits of a human, persuader by profession, whom one saw in the storyboxes telling people messages which were neither good nor important, but merely clever. The handsomeness was itself deformity. Elaine wondered if he had come from goat stock.

"Welcome, young lady," said Charley-is-my-darling. "Now that you are here, how are you going to get out? If we turned her head around, Mabel," said he to the underwoman who had first greeted Elaine, "turned it around eight or ten times, it would come off. Then we could live a few weeks or months longer before our lords and creators found us and put us all to death. What do you say, young lady? Should we kill you?"

"Kill? You mean, terminate life? You cannot. It is against the law. Even the Instrumentality does not have the right to do that without trial. You can't. You're just underpeople."

"But we will die," said Charley-is-my-darling, flashing his quick intelligent smile, "if you go back out of that door. The police will read about the Brown and Yellow Corridor in your mind and they will flush us out with poison or they will spray disease in here so that we and our children will die."

Elaine stared at him.

The passionate anger did not disturb his smile or his persuasive tones, but the muscles of his eye-sockets and forehead showed the terrible strain. The result was an expression which Elaine had never seen before, a sort of self-control reaching out beyond the limits of insanity.

He stared back at her.

She was not really afraid of him. Underpeople could not twist the heads of real persons; it was contrary to all regulations.

A thought struck her. Perhaps regulations did not apply in a place like this, where illegal animals waited perpetually for sudden death. The being which faced her was strong enough to turn her head around ten times clockwise or counterclockwise. From her anatomy lessons, she was pretty sure that the head would come off somewhere during that process. She looked at him with interest. Animal-type fear had been conditioned out of her, but she had, she found, an extreme distaste for the termination of life under random circumstances. Perhaps her "witch" training would help. She tried to pretend that he was in fact a man. The diagnosis "hypertension: chronic aggression, now frustrated, leading to overstimulation and neurosis: poor nutritional record: hormone disorder probable" leapt into her mind.

She tried to speak in a new voice.

"I am smaller than you," she said, "and you can kill me just as well later as now. We might as well get acquainted. I'm Elaine, assigned here from Manhome Earth."

The effect was spectacular.

Charley-is-my-darling stepped back. Mabel's mouth dropped open. The others gaped at her. One or two, more quick-witted than the rest, began whispering to their neighbors.

At last Charley-is-my-darling spoke to her. "Welcome, my Lady. Can I call you my Lady? I guess not. Welcome, Elaine. We are your people. We will do whatever you say. Of course you got in. The Lady Pane Ashash sent you. She has been telling us for a hundred years that somebody would come from Earth, a real person with an animal name, not a number, and that we should have a child named D'joan ready to take up the threads of destiny. Please, please sit down. Will you have a drink of water? We have no clean vessel here. We are all underpeople here and we have used everything in the place, so that it is contaminated for a real person." A thought struck him. "Baby-baby, do you have a new cup in the kiln?" Apparently he saw someone nod, because he went right on talking. "Get it out then, for our guest, with tongs. New tongs. Do not touch it. Fill it with water from the top of the little waterfall. That way our guest can have an uncontaminated drink. A clean drink." He beamed with a hospitality which was as ridiculous as it was genuine.

Elaine did not have the heart to say she did not want a drink of water.

She waited. They waited.

By now, her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. She could see that the main corridor was painted a yellow, faded and stained, and a contrasting light brown. She wondered what possible human mind could have selected so ugly a combination. Cross-corridors seemed to open into it; at any rate, she saw illuminated archways further down and people walking out of them briskly. No one can walk briskly and naturally out of a shallow alcove, so she was pretty sure that the archways led to something.

The underpeople, too, she could see. They looked very much like people. Here and there, individuals reverted to the animal type—a horseman whose muzzle had regrown to its ancestral size, a rat-woman with normal human features except for nylon-like white whiskers, twelve or fourteen on each side of her face, reaching twenty centimeters to either side. One looked very much like a person indeed—a beautiful young woman seated on a bench some eight or ten meters down the corridor, and paying no attention to the crowd, to Mabel, to Charley-is-my-darling or to herself.

"Who is that?" said Elaine, pointing with a nod at the beautiful young woman.

Mabel, relieved from the tension which had seized her when she had asked if Elaine were "death," babbled with a sociability which was outré in this environment. "That's Crawlie."

"What does she do?" asked Elaine.

"She has her pride," said Mabel, her grotesque red face now jolly and eager, her slack mouth spraying spittle as she spoke.

"But doesn't she do anything?" said Elaine.

Charley-is-my-darling intervened. "Nobody has to do anything here, Lady Elaine—"

"It's illegal to call me 'Lady,' " said Elaine.

"I'm sorry, human being Elaine. Nobody has to do anything at all here. The whole bunch of us are completely illegal. This corridor is a thought-shelter, so that no thoughts can escape or enter it. Wait a bit! Watch the ceiling ... Now!"

A red glow moved across the ceiling and was gone. "The ceiling glows," said Charley-is-my-darling, "whenever anything thinks against it. The whole tunnel registers 'sewage tank: organic waste' to the outside, so that dim perceptions of life which may escape here are not considered too unaccountable. People built it for their own use, a million years ago."

"They weren't here on Fomalhaut III a million years ago," snapped Elaine. Why, she wondered, did she snap at him? He wasn't a person, just a talking animal who had missed being dropped down the nearest incinerator.

"I'm sorry, Elaine," said Charley-is-my-darling. "I should have said, a long time ago. We underpeople don't get much chance to study real history. But we use this corridor. Somebody with a morbid sense of humor named this place Clown Town. We live along for ten or twenty or a hundred years, and then people or robots find us and kill us all. That's why Mabel was upset. She thought you were death for this time. But you're not. You're Elaine. That's wonderful, wonderful." His sly, too-clever face beamed with transparent sincerity. It must have been quite a shock to him to be honest.

"You were going to tell me what the undergirl is for," said Elaine.

"That's Crawlie," said he. "She doesn't do anything. None of us really have to. We're all doomed anyhow. She's a little more honest than the rest of us. She has her pride. She scorns the rest of us. She puts us in our place. She makes everybody feel inferior. We think she is a valuable member of the group. We all have our pride, which is hopeless anyway, but Crawlie has her pride all by herself, without doing anything whatever about it. She sort of reminds us. If we leave her alone, she leaves us alone."

Elaine thought, You're funny things, so much like people, but so inexpert about it, as though you all had to "die" before you really learned what it is to be alive. Aloud, she could only say, "I never met anybody like that."

Crawlie must have sensed that they were talking about her, because she looked at Elaine with a short quick stare of blazing hatred. Crawlie's pretty face locked itself into a glare of concentrated hostility and scorn; then her eyes wandered and Elaine felt that she, Elaine, no longer existed in the thing's mind, except as a rebuke which had been administered and forgotten. She had never seen privacy as impenetrable as Crawlie's. And yet the being, whatever she might have been made from, was very lovely in human terms.

A fierce old hag, covered with mouse-gray fur, rushed up to Elaine. The mouse-woman was the Baby-baby who had been sent on the errand. She held a ceramic cup in a pair of long tongs. Water was in it.

Elaine took the cup.

Sixty to seventy underpeople, including the little girl in the blue dress whom she had seen outside, watched her as she sipped. The water was good. She drank it all. There was a universal exhalation, as though everyone in the corridor had waited for this moment Elaine started to put the cup down but the old mouse-woman was too quick for her. She took the cup from Elaine, stopping her in mid-gesture and using the tongs, so that the cup would not be contaminated by the touch of an underperson.

"That's right, Baby-baby," said Charley-is-my-darling, "we can talk. It is our custom not to talk with a newcomer until we have offered our hospitality. Let me be frank. We may have to kill you, if this whole business turns out to be a mistake, but let me assure you that if I do kill you, I will do it nicely and without the least bit of malice. Right?"

Elaine did not know what was so right about it, and said so. She visualized her head being twisted off. Apart from the pain and the degradation, it seemed so terribly messy—to terminate life in a sewer with things which did not even have a right to exist.

He gave her no chance to argue, but went on explaining, "Suppose things turn out just right. Suppose that you are the Esther-Elaine-or-Eleanor that we have all been waiting for—the person who will do something to D'joan and bring us all help and deliverance—give us life, in short, real life—then what do we do?"

"I don't know where you get all these ideas about me. Why am I Esther-Elaine-or-Eleanor? What do I do to D'joan? Why me?"

Charley-is-my-darling stared at her as though he could not believe her question. Mabel frowned as though she could not think of the right words to put forth her opinions. Baby-baby, who had glided back to the group with swift mouselike suddenness, looked around as though she expected someone from the rear to speak. She was right. Crawlie turned her face toward Elaine and said, with infinite condescension:

"I did not know that real people were ill-informed or stupid. You seem to be both. We have all our information from the Lady Pane Ashash. Since she is dead, she has no prejudices against us underpeople. Since she has not had much of anything to do, she has run through billions and billions of probabilities for us. All of us know what most probabilities come to—sudden death by disease or gas, or maybe being hauled off to the slaughterhouses in big police ornithopters. But Lady Pane Ashash found that perhaps a person with a name like yours would come, a human being with an old name and not a number name, that that person would meet the Hunter, that she and the Hunter would teach the underchild D'joan a message and that the message would change the worlds. We have kept one child after another named D'joan, waiting for a hundred years. Now you show up. Maybe you are the one. You don't look very competent to me. What are you good for?"

"I'm a witch," said Elaine.

Crawlie could not keep the surprise from showing in her face. "A witch? Really?"

"Yes," said Elaine, rather humbly.

"I wouldn't be one," said Crawlie. "I have my pride." She turned her face away and locked her features in their expression of perennial hurt and disdain.

Charley-is-my-darling whispered to the group nearby, not caring whether Elaine heard his words or not, "That's wonderful, wonderful. She is a witch. A human witch. Perhaps the great day is here! Elaine," said he humbly, "will you please look at us?"

Elaine looked. When she stopped to think about where she was, it was incredible that the empty old lower city of Kalma should be just outside, just beyond the wall, and the busy new city a mere thirty-five meters higher. This corridor was a world to itself. It felt like a world, with the ugly yellows and browns, the dim old lights, the stenches of man and animal mixed under intolerably bad ventilation. Baby-baby, Crawlie, Mabel and Charley-is-my-darling were part of this world. They were real; but they were outside, outside, so far as Elaine herself was concerned.

"Let me go," she said. "I'll come back some day."

Charley-is-my-darling, who was so plainly the leader, spoke as if in a trance: "You don't understand, Elaine. The only 'going' you are going to go is death. There is no other direction. We can't let the old you go out of this door, not when the Lady Pane Ashash has thrust you in to us. Either you go forward to your destiny, to our destiny too, either you do that, and all works out all right, so that you love us, and we love you," he added dreamily, "or else I kill you with my own hands. Right here. Right now. I could give you another clean drink of water first. But that is all. There isn't much choice for you, human being Elaine. What do you think would happen if you went outside?"

"Nothing, I hope," said Elaine.

"Nothing!" snorted Mabel, her face regaining its original indignation. "The police would come flapping by in their ornithopter—"

"And they'd pick your brains," said Baby-baby.

"And they'd know about us," said a tall pale man who had not spoken before.

"And we," said Crawlie from her chair, "would all of us die within an hour or two at the longest. Would that matter to you, Ma'am and Elaine?"

"And," added Charley-is-my-darling, "they would disconnect the Lady Pane Ashash, so that even the recording of that dear dead lady would be gone at last, and there would be no mercy at all left upon this world."

"What is 'mercy'?" asked Elaine.

"It's obvious you never heard of it," said Crawlie.

The old mouse-hag Baby-baby came close to Elaine. She looked up at her and whispered through yellow teeth. "Don't let them frighten you, girl. Death doesn't matter all that much, not even to you true humans with your four hundred years or to us animals with the slaughterhouse around the corner. Death is a—when, not a what. It's the same for all of us. Don't be scared. Go straight ahead and you may find mercy and love. They're much richer than death, if you can only find them. Once you do find them, death won't be very important."

"I still don't know mercy" said Elaine, "but I thought I knew what love was, and I don't expect to find my lover in a dirty old corridor full of underpeople."

"I don't mean that kind of love," laughed Baby-baby, brushing aside Mabel's attempted interruption with a wave of her hand-paw. The old mouse face was on fire with sheer expressiveness. Elaine could suddenly imagine what Baby-baby had looked like to a mouse-underman when she was young and sleek and gray. Enthusiasm flushed the old features with youth as Baby-baby went on, "I don't mean love for a lover, girl. I mean love for yourself. Love for life. Love for all things living. Love even for me. Your love for me. Can you imagine that?"

Elaine swam through fatigue but she tried to answer the question. She looked in the dim light at the wrinkled old mouse-hag with her filthy clothes and her little red eyes. The fleeting image of the beautiful young mouse-woman had faded away; there was only this cheap, useless old thing, with her inhuman demands and her senseless pleading. People never loved underpeople. They used them, like chairs or doorhandles. Since when did a doorhandle demand the Charter of Ancient Rights?

"No," said Elaine calmly and evenly, "I can't imagine ever loving you."

"I knew it," said Crawlie from her chair. There was triumph in the voice.

Charley-is-my-darling shook his head as if to clear his sight. "Don't you even know who controls Fomalhaut III?"

"The Instrumentality," said Elaine. "But do we have to go on talking? Let me go or kill me or something. This doesn't make sense. I was tired when I got here, and I'm a million years tireder now."

Mabel said, "Take her along."

"All right," said Charley-is-my-darling. "Is the Hunter there?"

The child D'joan spoke. She had stood at the back of the group. "He came in the other way when she came in the front."

Elaine said to Charley-is my-darling, "You lied to me. You said there was only one way."

"I did not lie," said he. "There is only one way for you or me or for the friends of the Lady Pane Ashash. The way you came. The other way is death."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, "that it leads straight into the slaughterhouses of the men you do not know. The lords of the Instrumentality who are here on Fomalhaut III. There is the Lord Femtiosex, who is just and without pity. There is the Lord Limaono, who thinks that underpeople are a potential danger and should not have been started in the first place. There is the Lady Goroke, who does not know how to pray, but who tries to ponder the mystery of life and who has shown kindnesses to underpeople, as long as the kindnesses were lawful ones. And there is the Lady Arabella Underwood, whose justice no man can understand. Nor underpeople either," he added with a chuckle.

"Who is she? I mean, where did she get the funny name? It doesn't have a number in it. It's as bad as your names. Or my own," said Elaine.

"She's from Old North Australia, the stroon world, on loan to the Instrumentality, and she follows the laws she was born to. The Hunter can go through the rooms and the slaughterhouses of the Instrumentality, but could you? Could I?"

"No," said Elaine.

"Then forward," said Charley-is-my-darling, "to your death or to great wonders. May I lead the way, Elaine?"

Elaine nodded wordlessly.

The mouse-hag Baby-baby patted Elaine's sleeve, her eyes alive with strange hope. As Elaine passed Crawlie's chair, the proud, beautiful girl looked straight at her, expressionless, deadly and severe. The dog-girl D'joan followed the little procession as if she had been invited.

They walked down and down and down. Actually, it could not have been a full half-kilometer. But with the endless browns and yellows, the strange shapes of the lawless and untended underpeople, the stenches and the thick heavy air, Elaine felt as if she were leaving all known worlds behind.

In fact, she was doing precisely that, but it did not occur to her that her own suspicion might be true.

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5

At the end of the corridor there was a round gate with a door of gold or brass.

Charley-is-my-darling stopped.

"I can't go further," he said. "You and D'joan will have to go on. This is the forgotten antechamber between the tunnel and the upper palace. The Hunter is there. Go on. You're a person. It is safe. Underpeople usually die in there. Go on." He nudged her elbow and pulled the sliding door apart.

"But the little girl," said Elaine.

"She's not a girl," said Charley-is-my-darling. "She's just a dog—as I'm not a man, just a goat brightened and cut and trimmed to look like a man. If you come back, Elaine, I will love you like god or I will kill you. It depends."

"Depends on what?" asked Elaine. "And what is 'god'?"

Charley-is-my-darling smiled the quick tricky smile which was wholly insincere and completely friendly, both at the same time. It was probably the trademark of his personality in ordinary times. "You'll find out about god somewhere else, if you do. Not from us. And the depending is something you'll know for yourself. You won't have to wait for me to tell you. Go along now. The whole thing will be over in the next few minutes."

"But D'joan?" persisted Elaine.

"If it doesn't work," said Charley-is-my-darling, "we can always raise another D'joan and wait for another you. The Lady Pane Ashash had promised us that. Go on in!"

He pushed her roughly, so that she stumbled through. Bright light dazzled her and the clean air tasted as good as fresh water on her first day out of the space-ship pod.

The little dog-girl had trotted in beside her.

The door, gold or brass, clanged to behind them.

Elaine and D'joan stood still, side by side, looking forward and upward.

There are many famous paintings of that scene. Most of the paintings show Elaine in rags with the distorted, suffering face of a witch. This is strictly unhistorical. She was wearing her everyday culottes, blouse and twin over-the-shoulder purses when she went in the other end of Clown Town. This was the usual dress on Fomalhaut III at that time. She had done nothing at all to spoil her clothes, so she must have looked the same when she came out. And D'joan-well, everyone knows what D'joan looked like.

The Hunter met them.

The Hunter met them, and new worlds began.

He was a shortish man, with black curly hair, black eyes that danced with laughter, broad shoulders and long legs. He walked with a quick sure step. He kept his hands quiet at his side, but the hands did not look tough and calloused, as though they had been terminating lives, even the lives of animals.

"Come up and sit down," he greeted them. "I've been waiting for you both."

Elaine stumbled upward and forward. "Waiting?" she gasped.

"Nothing mysterious," he said. "I had the viewscreen on. The one into the tunnel. Its connections are shielded, so the police could not have peeped it."

Elaine stopped dead still. The little dog-girl, one step behind her, stopped too. She tried to draw herself up to her full height. She was about the same tallness that he was. It was difficult, since he stood four or five steps above them. She managed to keep her voice even when she said:

"You know, then?"

"What?"

"All those things they said."

"Sure I know them," he smiled. "Why not?"

"But," stammered Elaine, "about you and me being lovers? That too?"

"That too," he smiled again. "I've been hearing it half my life. Come on up, sit down and have something to eat We have a lot of things to do tonight, if history is to be fulfilled through us. What do you eat, little girl?" said he kindly to D'joan. "Raw meat or people food?"

"I'm a finished girl," said D'joan, "so I prefer chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream."

"That you shall have," said the Hunter. "Come, both of you, and sit down."

They had topped the steps. A luxurious table, already set, was waiting for them. There were three couches around it. Elaine looked for the third person who would join them. Only as she sat down did she realize that he meant to invite the dog-child.

He saw her surprise, but did not comment on it directly.

Instead, he spoke to D'joan.

"You know me, girl, don't you?"

The child smiled and relaxed for the first time since Elaine had seen her. The dog-girl was really strikingly beautiful when the tension went out of her. The wariness, the quietness, the potential disquiet—these were dog qualities. Now the child seemed wholly human and mature far beyond her years. Her white face had dark, dark brown eyes.

"I've seen you lots of times, Hunter. And you've told me what would happen if I turned out to be the D'joan. How I would spread the word and meet great trials. How I might die and might not, but people and underpeople would remember my name for thousands of years. You've told me almost everything I know—except the things that I can't talk to you about. You know them too, but you won't talk, will you?" said the little girl imploringly.

"I know you've been to Earth," said the Hunter.

"Don't say it! Please don't say it!" pleaded the girl.

"Earth! Manhome itself?" cried Elaine. "How, by the stars, did you get there?"

The Hunter intervened. "Don't press her, Elaine. It's a big secret, and she wants to keep it. You'll find out more tonight than mortal woman was ever told before."

"What does 'mortal' mean?" asked Elaine, who disliked antique words.

"It just means having a termination of life."

"That's foolish," said Elaine. "Everything terminates. Look at those poor messy people who went on beyond the legal four hundred years."

She looked around. Rich black-and-red curtains hung from ceiling to floor. On one side of the room there was a piece of furniture she had never seen before. It was like a table, but it had little broad flat doors on the front, reaching from side to side; it was richly ornamented with unfamiliar woods and metals. Nevertheless, she had more important things to talk about than furniture.

She looked directly at the Hunter (no organic disease; wounded in left arm at an earlier period; somewhat excessive exposure to sunlight; might need correction for near vision) and demanded of him:

"Am I captured by you, too?"

"Captured?"

"You're a Hunter. You hunt things. To kill them, I suppose. That underman back there, the goat who calls himself Charley-is-my-darling-"

"He never does!" cried the dog-girl, D'joan, interrupting.

"Never does what?" said Elaine, cross at being interrupted.

"He never calls himself that. Other people, underpeople I mean, call him that. His name is Balthasar, but nobody uses it."

"What does it matter, little girl?" said Elaine. "I'm talking about my life. Your friend said he would take my life from me if something did not happen."

Neither D'joan nor the Hunter said anything.

Elaine heard a frantic edge go into her voice, "You heard it!" She turned to the Hunter, "You saw it on the viewscreen."

The Hunter's voice was serenity and assurance: "We three have things to do before this night is out. We won't get them done if you are frightened or worried. I know the underpeople, but I know the lords of the Instrumentality as well—all four of them, right here. The Lords Limaono and Femtiosex and the Lady Goroke. And the Norstrilian, too. They will protect you. Charley-is-my-darling might want to take your life from you because he is worried, afraid that the tunnel of Englok, where you just were, will be discovered. I have ways of protecting him and yourself as well. Have confidence in me for a while. That's not so hard, is it?"

"But," protested Elaine, "the man—or the goat—or whatever he was, Charley-is-my-darling, he said it would all happen right away, as soon as I came up here with you."

"How can anything happen," said little D'joan, "if you keep talking all the time?"

The Hunter smiled.

"That's right," he said. "We've talked enough. Now we must become lovers."

Elaine jumped to her feet, "Not with me, you don't. Not with her here. Not when I haven't found my work to do. I'm a witch. I'm supposed to do something, but I've never really found out what it was."

"Look at this," said the Hunter calmly, walking over to the wall, and pointing with his finger at an intricate circular design.

Elaine and D'joan both looked at it.

The Hunter spoke again, his voice urgent. "Do you see it, D'joan? Do you really see it? The ages turn, waiting for this moment, little child. Do you see it? Do you see yourself in it?"

Elaine looked at the little dog-girl. D'joan had almost stopped breathing. She stared at the curious symmetrical pattern as though it were a window into enchanting worlds.

The Hunter roared, at the top of his voice, "D'joan! Joan! Joanie!"

The child made no response.

The Hunter stepped over to the child, slapped her gently on the cheek, shouted again. D'joan continued to stare at the intricate design.

"Now," said the Hunter, "you and I make love. The child is absent in a world of happy dreams. That design is a mandala, something left over from the unimaginable past. It locks the human consciousness in place. D'joan will not see us or hear us. We cannot help her go toward her destiny unless you and I make love first."

Elaine, her hands to her mouth, tried to inventory symptoms as a means of keeping her familiar thoughts in balance. It did not work. A relaxation spread over her, a happiness and quiet that she had not once felt since her childhood.

"Did you think," said the Hunter, "that I hunted with my body and killed with my hands? Didn't anyone ever tell you that the game comes to me rejoicing, that the animals die while they scream with pleasure? I'm a telepath, and I work under license. And I have my license now from the dead Lady Pane Ashash."

Elaine knew that they had come to the end of the talking. Trembling, happy, frightened, she fell into his arms and let him lead her over to the couch at the side of the black-and-gold room.

A thousand years later, she was kissing his ear and murmuring loving words at him, words that she did not even realize she knew. She must, she thought, have picked up more from the storyboxes than she ever realized.

"You're my love," she said, "my only one, my darling. Never, never leave me; never throw me away. Oh, Hunter, I love you so!"

"We part," he said, "before tomorrow is gone, but shall meet again. Do you realize that all this has only been a little more than an hour?"

Elaine blushed. "And I," she stammered, "I—I'm hungry."

"Natural enough," said Hunter. "Pretty soon we can waken the little girl and eat together. And then history will happen, unless somebody walks in and stops us."

"But, darling," said Elaine, "can't we go on—at least for a while? A year? A month? A day? Put the little girl back in the tunnel for a while."

"Not really," said the Hunter, "but I'll sing you the song that came into my mind about you and me. I've been thinking bits of it for a long time, but now it has really happened. Listen."

He held her two hands in his two hands, looked easily and frankly into her eyes. There was no hint in him of telepathic power.

He sang to her the song which we know as I Loved You and Lost You.

I knew you, and loved you,

and won you, in Kalma. I loved you, and won you,

and lost you, my darling! The dark skies of Waterrock

swept down against us. Lightning-lit only

Toy our own love, my lovely!



Our time was a short time,

a sharp hour of glory—We tasted delight

and we suffer denial. The tale of us two

is a bittersweet story, Short as a shot

But as long as death.



We met and we loved,

and vainly we plotted To rescue beauty

from a smothering war. Time had no time for us,

the minutes, no mercy. We have loved and lost,

and the world goes on.



We have lost and have kissed,

and have parted, my darling! All that we have,

we must save in our hearts, love. The memory of beauty

and the beauty of memory ... I've loved you and won you

and lost you, in Kalma.



His fingers, moving in the air, produced a soft organ-like music in the room. She had noticed music-beams before, but she had never had one played for herself.

By the time he was through singing, she was sobbing. It was all so true, so wonderful, so heartbreaking.

He had kept her right hand in his left hand. Now he released her suddenly. He stood up.

"Let's work first. Eat later. Someone is near us."

He walked briskly over to the little dog-girl, who was still seated on the chair looking at the mandala with open, sleeping eyes. He took her head firmly and gently between his two hands and turned her eyes away from the design. She struggled momentarily against his hands and then seemed to wake up fully.

She smiled. "That was nice. I rested. How long was it—five minutes?"

"More than that," said the Hunter gently. "I want you to take Elaine's hand."

A few hours ago, and Elaine would have protested at the grotesquerie of holding hands with an underperson. This time, she said nothing, but obeyed: she looked with much love toward the Hunter.

"You two don't have to know much," said the Hunter. "You, D'joan, are going to get everything that is in our minds and in our memories. You will become us, both of us. Forevermore. You will meet your glorious fate."

The little girl shivered. "Is this really the day?"

"It is," said the Hunter. "Future ages will remember this night."

"And you, Elaine," said he to her, "have nothing to do but to love me and to stand very still. Do you understand? You will see tremendous things, some of them frightening. But they won't be real. Just stand still."

Elaine nodded wordlessly.

"In the name," said the Hunter, "of the First Forgotten One, in the name of the Second Forgotten One, in the name of the Third Forgotten One. For the love of people, that will give them life. For the love that will give them a clean death and true ... " His words were clear but Elaine could not understand them. The day of days was here. She knew it.

She did not know how she knew it, but she did. The Lady Pane Ashash crawled up through the solid floor, wearing her friendly robot body. She came near to Elaine and murmured: "Have no fear, no fear."

Fear? thought Elaine. This no time for fear. It is much too interesting. As if to answer Elaine, a clear, strong, masculine voice spoke out of nowhere:

This is the time for the daring sharing.

When these words were spoken, it was as if a bubble had been pricked. Elaine felt her personality and D'joan mingling. With ordinary telepathy, it would have been frightening. But this was not communication. It was being.

She had become Joan. She felt the clean little body in its tidy clothes. She became aware of the girl-shape again. It was oddly pleasant and familiar, in terribly faraway kinds of feeling, to remember that she had had that shape once—the smooth, innocent flat chest; the uncomplicated groin; the fingers which still felt as though they were separate and alive in extending from the palm of the hand. But the mind—that child's mind! It was like an enormous museum illuminated by rich stained-glass windows, cluttered with variegated heaps of beauty and treasure, scented by strange incense which moved slowly in unpropelled air.

D'joan had a mind which reached all the way back to the color and glory of man's antiquity. D'joan had been a lord of the Instrumentality, a monkey-man riding the ships of space, a friend of the dear dead Lady Pane Ashash, and Pane Ashash herself.

No wonder the child was rich and strange: she had been made the heir of all the ages.

This is the time for the glaring top of the truth at the wearing/sharing, said the nameless, clear, loud voice in her mind. This is the time for you and him.

Elaine realized that she was responding to hypnotic suggestions which the Lady Pane Ashash had put into the mind of the little dog-girl—suggestions which were triggered into full potency the moment that the three of them came into telepathic contact.

For a fraction of a second, she perceived nothing but astonishment within herself. She saw nothing but herself—every detail, every secrecy, every thought and feeling and contour of flesh. She was curiously aware of how her breasts hung from her chest, the tension of her belly-muscles holding her female backbone straight and erect—Female backbone?

Why had she thought that she had a female backbone?

And then she knew.

She was following the Hunter's mind as his awareness rushed through her body, drank it up, enjoyed it, loved it all over again, this time from the inside out.

She knew somehow that the little dog-girl watched everything quietly, wordlessly, drinking in from them both the full nuance of being truly human.

Even with the delirium, she sensed embarrassment. It might be a dream, but it was still too much. She began to close her mind and the thought had come to her that she should take her hands away from the hands of Hunter and the dog-child.

But then fire came ...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

6

Fire came up from the floor, burning about them intangibly. Elaine felt nothing ... but she could sense the touch of the little girl's hand.

Flames around the dames, games, said an idiot voice from nowhere. Fire around the pyre, sire, said another. Hot is what we got, tot, said a third.

Suddenly Elaine remembered Earth, but it was not the Earth she knew. She was herself D'joan, and not D'joan. She was a tall, strong monkey-man, indistinguishable from a true human being. She/he had tremendous alertness in her/his heart as she/he walked across the Peace Square at An-fang, the Old Square at An-fang, where all things begin. She/he noticed a discrepancy. Some of the buildings were not there.

The real Elaine thought to herself, "So that's what they did with the child—printed her with the memories of other underpeople. Other ones, who dared things and went places." The fire stopped.

Elaine saw the black-and-gold room clean and untroubled for a moment before the green white-topped ocean rushed in. The water poured over the three of them without getting them wet in the least. The greenness washed around them without pressure, without suffocation.

Elaine was the Hunter. Enormous dragons floated in the sky above Fomalhaut III. She felt herself wandering across a hill, singing with love and yearning. She had the Hunter's own mind, his own memory. The dragon sensed him, and flew down. The enormous reptilian wings were more beautiful than a sunset, more delicate than orchids. Their beat in the air was as gentle as the breath of a baby. She was not only Hunter but dragon too; she felt the minds meeting and the dragon dying in bliss, in joy.

Somehow the water was gone. So too were D'joan and the Hunter. She was not in the room. She was taut, tired, worried Elaine, looking down a nameless street for hopeless destinations. She had to do things which could never be done. The wrong me, the wrong time, the wrong place—and I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm alone, her mind screamed. The room was back again; so too were the hands of the Hunter and the little girl—Mist began rising—

Another dream? thought Elaine. Aren't we done? But there was another voice somewhere, a voice which grated like the rasp of a saw cutting through bone, like the grind of a broken machine still working at ruinous top speed. It was an evil voice, a terror-filling voice.

Perhaps this really was the "death" which the tunnel underpeople had mistaken her for.

The Hunter's hand released hers. She let go of D'joan.

There was a strange woman in the room. She wore the baldric of authority and the leotards of a traveler.

Elaine stared at her.

"You'll be punished," said the terrible voice, which now was coming out of the woman.

"Wh—wh—what?" stammered Elaine.

"You're conditioning an underperson without authority. I don't know who you are, but the Hunter should know better. The animal will have to die, of course," said the woman, looking at little D'joan.

Hunter muttered, half in greeting to the stranger, half in explanation to Elaine, as though he did not know what else to say:

"Lady Arabella Underwood."

Elaine could not bow to her, though she wanted to.

The surprise came from the little dog-girl.

I am your sister Joan, she said, and no animal to you.

The Lady Arabella seemed to have trouble hearing. (Elaine herself could not tell whether she was hearing spoken words or taking the message with her mind.)

I am Joan and I love you.

The Lady Arabella shook herself as though water had splashed on her. "Of course you're Joan. You love me. And I love you."

People and underpeople meet on the terms of love.

"Love. Love, of course. You're a good little girl. And so right." You will forget me, said Joan, until we meet and love again.

"Yes, darling. Good-by for now."

At last D'joan did use words. She spoke to the Hunter and Elaine, saying, "It is finished. I know who I am and what I must do. Elaine had better come with me. We will see you soon, Hunter—if we live."

Elaine looked at the Lady Arabella who stood stock still, staring like a blind woman. The Hunter nodded at Elaine with his wise, kind, rueful smile.

The little girl led Elaine down, down, down to the door which led back to the tunnel of Englok. Just as they went through the brass door, Elaine heard the voice of the Lady Arabella say to the Hunter:

"What are you doing here all by yourself? The room smells funny. Have you had animals here? Have you killed something?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said the Hunter as D'joan and Elaine stepped through the door.

"What?" cried the Lady Arabella.

Hunter must have raised his voice to a point of penetrating emphasis because he wanted the other two to hear him, too:

"I have killed, Ma'am," he said, "as always—with love. This time it was a system."

They slipped through the door while the Lady Arabella's protesting voice, heavy with authority and inquiry, was still sweeping against the Hunter.

Joan led. Her body was the body of a pretty child, but her personality was the full awakening of all the underpeople who had been imprinted on her. Elaine could not understand it, because Joan was still the little dog-girl, but Joan was now also Elaine, also Hunter. There was no doubt, about their movement; the child, no longer an undergirl, led the way and Elaine, human or not, followed.

The door closed behind them. They were back in the Brown and Yellow Corridor. Most of the underpeople were awaiting them. Dozens stared at them. The heavy animal-human smells of the old tunnel rolled against them like thick, slow waves. Elaine felt the beginning of a headache at her temples, but she was much too alert to care.

For a moment, D'joan and Elaine confronted the underpeople.

Most of you have seen paintings or theatricals based upon this scene. The most famous of all is, beyond doubt, the fantastic "one-line drawing" of San Shigonanda—the board of the background almost uniformly gray, with a hint of brown and yellow on the left, a hint of black and red on the right, and in the center the strange white line, almost a smear of paint, which somehow suggests the bewildered girl Elaine and the doom-blessed child Joan.

Charley-is-my-darling was, of course, the first to find his voice. (Elaine did not notice him as a goat-man any more. He seemed an earnest, friendly man of middle age, fighting poor health and an uncertain life with great courage. She now found his smile persuasive and charming. Why, thought Elaine, didn't I see him that way before? Have I changed?)

Charley-is-my-darling had spoken before Elaine found her wits. "He did it. Are you D'joan?"

"Am I D'joan?" said the child, asking the crowd of deformed, weird people in the tunnel. "Do you think I am D'joan?"

"No! No! You are the lady who was promised—you are the bridge—to man," cried a tall yellow-haired old woman, whom Elaine could not remember seeing before. The woman flung herself to her knees in front of the child, and tried to get D'joan's hand. The child held her hands away, quietly, but firmly, so the woman buried her face in the child's skirt and wept.

"I am Joan," said the child, "and I am dog no more. You are people now, people, and if you die with me, you will die men. Isn't that better than it has ever been before? And you, Ruthie," said she to the woman at her feet, "stand up and stop crying. Be glad. These are the days that I shall be with you. I know your children were all taken away and killed, Ruthie, and I am sorry. I cannot bring them back. But I give you womanhood. I have even made a person out of Elaine."

"Who are you?" said Charley-is-my-darling. "Who are you?"

"I'm the little girl you put out to live or die an hour ago. But now I am Joan, not D'joan, and I bring you a weapon. You are women. You are men. You are people. You can use the weapon."

"What weapon?" The voice was Crawlie's, from about the third row of spectators.

"Life and life-with," said the child Joan.

"Don't be a fool," said Crawlie. "What's the weapon? Don't give us words. We've had words and death ever since the world of underpeople began. That's what people give us—good words, fine principles and cold murder, year after year, generation after generation. Don't tell me I'm a person—I'm not. I'm a bison and I know it. An animal fixed up to look like a person. Give me a something to kill with. Let me die fighting."

Little Joan looked incongruous in her young body and short stature, still wearing the little blue smock in which Elaine had first seen her. She commanded the room. She lifted her hand and the buzz of low voices, which had started while Crawlie was yelling, dropped off to silence again.

"Crawlie," she said, in a voice that carried all the way down the hall, "peace be with you in the everlasting now."

Crawlie scowled. She did have the grace to look puzzled at Joan's message to her, but she did not speak.

"Don't talk to me, dear people," said little Joan. "Get used to me first. I bring you life-with. It's more than love. Love's a hard, sad, dirty word, a cold word, an old word. It says too much and it promises too little. I bring you something much bigger than love. If you're alive, you're alive.

If you're alive-with, then you know the other life is there too—both of you, any of you, all of you. Don't do anything. Don't grab, don't clench, don't possess. Just be. That's the weapon. There's not a flame or a gun or a poison that can stop it."

"I want to believe you," said Mabel, "but I don't know how to."

"Don't believe me," said little Joan. "Just wait and let things happen. Let me through, good people. I have to sleep for a while. Elaine will watch me while I sleep and when I get up, I will tell you why you are underpeople no longer."

Joan started to move forward—

A wild ululating screech split the corridor.

Everyone looked around to see where it came from.

It was almost like the shriek of a fighting bird, but the sound came from among them.

Elaine saw it first.

Crawlie had a knife and just as the cry ended, she flung herself on Joan.

Child and woman fell on the floor, their dresses a tangle. The large hand rose up twice with the knife, and the second time it came up red.

From the hot shocking burn in her side, Elaine knew that she must herself have taken one of the stabs. She could not tell whether Joan was still living.

The undermen pulled Crawlie off the child.

Crawlie was white with rage, "Words, words, words. She'll kill us all with her words."

A large, fat man with the muzzle of a bear on the front of an otherwise human-looking head and body, stepped around the man who held Crawlie. He gave her one tremendous slap. She dropped to the floor unconscious. The knife, stained with blood, fell on the old worn carpet. (Elaine thought automatically: restorative for her later; check neck vertebrae; no problem of bleeding.)

For the first time in her life, Elaine functioned as a wholly efficient witch. She helped the people pull the clothing from little Joan. The tiny body, with the heavy purple-dark blood pumping out from just below the rib-cage, looked hurt and fragile. Elaine reached in her left handbag. She had a surgical radar pen. She held it to her eye and looked through the flesh, up and down the wound. The peritoneum was punctured, the liver cut, the upper folds of the large intestine were perforated in two places. When she saw this, she knew what to do. She brushed the bystanders aside and got to work.

First she glued up the cuts from the inside out, starting with the damage to the liver. Each touch of the organic adhesive was preceded by a tiny spray of re-coding powder, designed to reinforce the capacity of the injured organ to restore itself. The probing, pressing, squeezing, took eleven minutes. Before it was finished, Joan had awakened, and was murmuring:

"Am I dying?"

"Not at all," said Elaine, "unless these human medicines poison your dog blood."

"Who did it?"

"Crawlie."

"Why?" said the child. "Why? Is she hurt too? Where is she?"

"Not as hurt as she is going to be," said the goat-man, Charley-is-my-darling. "If she lives, we'll fix her up and try her and put her to death."

"No, you won't," said Joan. "You're going to love her. You must."

The goat-man looked bewildered.

He turned in his perplexity to Elaine. "Better have a look at Crawlie," said he. "Maybe Orson killed her with that slap. He's a bear, you know."

"So I saw," said Elaine, drily. What did the man think that thing looked like, a hummingbird?

She walked over to the body of Crawlie. As soon as she touched the shoulders, she knew that she was in for trouble. The outer appearances were human, but the musculature beneath was not. She suspected that the laboratories had left Crawlie terribly strong, keeping the buffalo strength and obstinacy for some remote industrial reason of their own. She took out a brainlink, a close-range telepathic hookup which worked only briefly and slightly, to see if the mind still functioned. As she reached for Crawlie's head to attach it, the unconscious girl sprang suddenly to life, jumped to her feet and said:

"No, you don't! you don't peep me, you dirty human!"

"Crawlie, stand still."

"Don't boss me, you monster!"

"Crawlie, that's a bad thing to say." It was eerie to hear such a commanding voice coming from the throat and mouth of a small child. Small she might have been, but Joan commanded the scene.

"I don't care what I say. You all hate me."

"That's not true, Crawlie."

"You're a dog and now you're a person. You're born a traitor. Dogs have always sided with people. You hated me even before you went into that room and changed into something else. Now you are going to kill us all."

"We may die, Crawlie, but I won't do it."

"Well, you hate me, anyhow. You've always hated me."

"You may not believe it," said Joan, "but I've always loved you. You were the prettiest woman in our whole corridor."

Crawlie laughed. The sound gave Elaine gooseflesh. "Suppose I believed it: How could I live if I thought that people loved me? If I believed you, I would have to tear myself to pieces, to break my brains on the wall, to do—" The laughter changed to sobs, but Crawlie managed to resume talking: "You things are so stupid that you don't even know that you're monsters. You're not people. You never will be people. I'm one of you myself. I'm honest enough to admit what I am. We're dirt, we're nothing, we're things that are less than machines. We hide in the earth like dirt and when people kill us they do not weep. At least we were hiding. Now you come along, you and your tame human woman—" Crawlie glared briefly at Elaine—"and you try to change even that. I'll kill you again if I can, you dirt, you slut, you dog! What are you doing with that child's body? We don't even know who you are now. Can you tell us?"

The bear-man had moved up close to Crawlie, unnoticed by her, and was ready to slap her down again if she moved against little Joan.

Joan looked straight at him and with a mere movement of her eyes she commanded him not to strike.

"I'm tired," she said, "I'm tired, Crawlie. I'm a thousand years old when I am not even five. And I am Elaine now, and I am Hunter too, and I am the Lady Pane Ashash, and I know a great many more things than I thought I would ever know. I have work to do, Crawlie, because I love you, and I think I will die soon. But please, good people, first let me rest."

The bear-man was on Crawlie's right. On her left, there had moved up a snake-woman. The face was pretty and human, except for the thin forked tongue which ran in and out of the mouth like a dying flame. She had good shoulders and hips but no breasts at all. She wore empty golden brassiere cups which swung against her chest. Her hands looked as though they might be stronger than steel. Crawlie started to move toward Joan, and the snake-woman hissed.

It was the snake hiss of Old Earth.

For a second, every animal-person in the corridor stopped breathing. They all stared at the snake-woman. She hissed again, looking straight at Crawlie. The sound was an abomination in that narrow space. Elaine saw that Joan tightened up like a little dog, Charley-is-my-darling looked as though he was ready to leap twenty meters in one jump, and Elaine herself felt an impulse to strike, to kill, to destroy. The hiss was a challenge to them all.

The snake-woman looked around calmly, fully aware of the attention she had obtained.

"Don't worry, dear people. See, I'm using Joan's name for all of us. I'm not going to hurt Crawlie, not unless she hurts Joan. But if she hurts Joan, if anybody hurts Joan, they will have me to deal with. You have a good idea who I am. We S-people have great strength, high intelligence and no fear at all. You know we cannot breed. People have to make us one by one, out of ordinary snakes. Do not cross me, dear people. I want to learn about this new love which Joan is bringing, and nobody is going to hurt Joan while I am here. Do you hear me, people? Nobody. Try it, and you die. I think I could kill almost all of you before I died, even if you all attacked me at once. Do you hear me, people? Leave Joan alone. That goes for you, too, you soft human woman. I am not afraid of you either. You there," said she to the bear-man, "pick little Joan up and carry her to a quiet bed. She must rest. She must be quiet for a while. You be quiet too, all you people, or you will meet me. Me." Her black eyes roved across their faces. The snake-woman moved forward and they parted in front of her, as though she were the only solid being in a throng of ghosts.

Her eyes rested a moment on Elaine. Elaine met the gaze, but it was an uncomfortable thing to do. The black eyes with neither eyebrows nor lashes seemed full of intelligence and devoid of emotion. Orson, the bear-man, followed obediently behind. He carried little Joan.

As the child passed Elaine she tried to stay awake. She murmured, "Make me bigger. Please make me bigger. Right away."

"I don't know how ... " said Elaine.

The child struggled to full awakening. "I'll have work to do. Work ... and maybe my death to die. It will all be wasted if I am this little. Make me bigger."

"But—" protested Elaine again.

"If you don't know, ask the lady."

"What lady?"

The S-woman had paused, listening to the conversation. She cut in.

"The Lady Pane Ashash, of course. The dead one. Do you think that a living lady of the Instrumentality would do anything but kill us all?"

As the snake-woman and Orson carried Joan away, Charley-is-my-darling came up to Elaine and said, "Do you want to go?"

"Where?"

"To the Lady Pane Ashash, of course."

"Me?" said Elaine. "Now?" said Elaine, even more emphatically. "Of course not," said Elaine, pronouncing each word as though it were a law. "What do you think I am? A few hours ago I did not even know that you existed. I wasn't sure about the word 'death.' I just assumed that everything terminated at four hundred years, the way it should. It's been hours of danger, and everybody has been threatening everybody else for all that time. I'm tired and I'm sleepy and I'm dirty, and I've got to take care of myself, and besides—"

She stopped suddenly and bit her lip. She had started to say, and besides, my body is all worn out with that dreamlike love-making which the Hunter and I had together. That was not the business of Charley-is-my-darling: he was goat enough as he was. His mind was goatish and would not see the dignity of it all.

The goat-man said, very gently, "You are making history, Elaine, and when you make history you cannot always take care of all the little things too. Are you happier and more important than you ever were before? Yes? Aren't you a different you from the person who met Baltha-sar just a few hours ago?"

Elaine was taken aback by the seriousness. She nodded.

"Stay hungry and tired. Stay dirty. Just a little longer. Time must not be wasted. You can talk to the Lady Pane Ashash. Find out what we must do about little Joan. When you come back with further instructions, I will take care of you myself. This tunnel is not as bad a town as it looks. We will have everything you could need, in the Room of Englok. Englok himself built it, long ago. Work just a little longer, and then you can eat and rest. We have everything here. 'I am the citizen of no mean city.' But first you must help Joan. You love Joan, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I do," she said.

"Then help us just a little bit more."

With death? she thought. With murder? With violation of law? But—but it was all for Joan.



It was thus that Elaine went to the camouflaged door, went out under the open sky again, saw the great saucer of Upper Kalma reaching out over the Old Lower City. She talked to the voice of the Lady Pane Ashash, and obtained certain instructions, together with other messages. Later, she was able to repeat them, but she was too tired to make out their real sense.

She staggered back to the place in the wall where she thought the door to be, leaned against it, and nothing happened.

"Further down, Elaine, further down. Hurry! When I used to be me, I too got tired," came the strong whisper of the Lady Pane Ashash, "but do hurry!"

Elaine stepped away from the wall, looking at it.

A beam of light struck her.

The Instrumentality had found her.

She rushed wildly at the wall.

The door gaped briefly. The strong welcome hand of Charley-is-my-darling helped her in.

"The light! The light!" cried Elaine. "I've killed us all. They saw me."

"Not yet," smiled the goat-man, with his quick crooked intelligent smile. "I may not be educated, but I am pretty smart."

He reached toward the inner gate, glanced back at Elaine appraisingly, and then shoved a man-sized robot through the door.

"There it goes, a sweeper about your size. No memory bank. A worn-out brain. Just simple motivations. If they come down to see what they thought they saw, they will see this instead. We keep a bunch of these at the door. We don't go out much, but when we do, it's handy to have these to cover up with."

He took her by the arm. "While you eat, you can tell me. Can we make her bigger ... ?"

"Who?"

"Joan, of course. Our Joan. That's what you went to find out for us."

Elaine had to inventory her own mind to see what the Lady Pane Ashash had said on that subject. In a moment she remembered.

"You need a pod. And a jelly bath. And narcotics, because it will hurt. Four hours."

"Wonderful," said Charley-is-my-darling, leading her deeper and deeper into the tunnel.

"But what's the use of it," said Elaine, "if I've ruined us all? The Instrumentality saw me coming in. They will follow. They will kill all of you, even Joan. Where is the Hunter? Shouldn't I sleep first?" She felt her lips go thick with fatigue; she had not rested or eaten since she took that chance on the strange little door between Waterrocky Road and the Shopping Bar.

"You're safe, Elaine, you're safe," said Charley-is-my-darling, his sly smile very warm and his smooth voice carrying the ring of sincere conviction. For himself, he did not believe a word of it. He thought they were all in danger, hut there was no point in terrifying Elaine. Elaine was the only real person on their side, except for the Hunter, who was a strange one, almost like an animal himself, and for the Lady Pane Ashash, who was very benign, but who was, after all, a dead person. He was frightened himself, but he was afraid of fear. Perhaps they were all doomed.

In a way, he was right.

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7

The Lady Arabella Underwood had called the Lady Goroke.

"Something has tampered with my mind."

The Lady Goroke felt very shocked. She threw back the inquiry. Put a probe on it.

"I did. Nothing."

Nothing?

More shock for the Lady Goroke. Sound the alert, then.

"Oh, no. Oh, no, no. It was a friendly, nice tampering." The Lady Arabella Underwood, being an Old North Australian, was rather formal: she always thought full words at her friends, even in telepathic contact. She never sent mere raw ideas.

But that's utterly unlawful. You're part of the Instrumentality. It's a crime! thought the Lady Goroke.

She got a giggle for reply.

You laugh ... ? she inquired.

"I just thought a new lord might be here. From the Instrumentality. Having a look at me."

The Lady Goroke was very proper and easily shocked. We wouldn't do that!

The Lady Arabella thought to herself but did not transmit, "Not to you, my dear. You're a blooming prude." To the other she transmitted, "Forget it then."

Puzzled and worried, the Lady Goroke thought: Well, all right. Break?

"Right-ho. Break."

The Lady Goroke frowned to herself. She slapped her wall. Planet Central, she thought at it.

A mere man sat at a desk.

"I am the Lady Goroke," she said.

"Of course, my Lady," he replied.

"Police fever, one degree. One degree only. Till rescinded. Clear?"

"Clear, my lady. The entire planet?"

"Yes," she said.

"Do you wish to give a reason?" his voice was respectful and routine.

"Must I?"

"Of course not, my Lady."

"None given, then. Close."

He saluted and his image faded from the wall.

She raised her mind to the level of a light clear call. Instrumentality Only—Instrumentality Only. I have raised the police fever level one degree by command. Reason, personal disquiet. You know my voice. You know me. Goroke.

Far across the city—a police ornithopter flapped slowly down the street.

The police robot was photographing a sweeper, the most elaborately malfunctioning sweeper he had ever seen.

The sweeper raced down the road at unlawful speeds, approaching three hundred kilometers an hour, stopped with a sizzle of plastic on stone, and began picking dust-motes off the pavement.

When the ornithopter reached it, the sweeper took off again, rounded two or three corners at tremendous speed and then settled down to its idiot job.

The third time this happened, the robot in the ornithopter put a disabling slug through it, flew down and picked it up with the claws of his machine.

He saw it in close view.

"Birdbrain. Old model. Birdbrain. Good they don't use those any more. The thing could have hurt a Man. Now, I'm printed from a mouse, a real mouse with lots and lots of brains."

He flew toward the central junkyard with the worn-out sweeper. The sweeper, crippled but still conscious, was trying to pick dust off the iron claws which held it.

Below them, the Old City twisted out of sight with its odd geometrical lights. The New City, bathed in its soft perpetual glow, shone out against the night of Fomalhaut III. Beyond them, the everlasting ocean boiled in its private storms.



On the actual stage the actors cannot do much with the scene of the interlude, where Joan was cooked in a single night from the size of a child five years old to the tallness of a miss fifteen or sixteen. The biological machine did work well, though at the risk of her life. It made her into a vital, robust young person, without changing her mind at all. This is hard for any actress to portray. The storyboxes have the advantage. They can show the machine with all sorts of improvements—flashing lights, bits of lightnight, mysterious rays. Actually, it looked like a bathtub full of boiling brown jelly, completely covering Joan.

Elaine, meanwhile, ate hungrily in the palatial room of Englok himself. The food was very, very old, and she had doubts, as a witch, about its nutritional value, but it stilled her hunger. The denizens of Clown Town had declared this room "off limits" to themselves, for reasons which Charley-is-my-darling could not make plain. He stood in the doorway and told her what to do to find food, to activate the bed out of the floor, to open the bathroom. Everything was very old-fashioned and nothing responded to a simple thought or to a mere slap.

A curious thing happened.

Elaine had washed her hands, had eaten and was preparing for her bath. She had taken most of her clothes off, thinking only that Charley-is-my-darling was an animal, not a man, so that it did not matter.

Suddenly she knew it did matter.

He might be an underperson but he was a man to her. Blushing deeply all the way down to her neck, she ran into the bathroom and called back to him:

"Go away. I will bathe and then sleep. Wake me when you have to, not before."

"Yes, Elaine."

"And—and—"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much. Do you know, I never said 'thank you' to an underperson before."

"That's all right," said Charley-is-my-darling with a smile. "Most real people don't. Sleep well, my dear Elaine. When you awaken, be ready for great things. We shall take a star out of the skies and shall set thousands of worlds on fire ... "

"What's that?" she said, putting her head around the corner of the bathroom.

"Just a figure of speech," he smiled. "Just meaning that you won't have much time. Rest well. Don't forget to put your clothes in the ladys-maid machine. The ones in Clown Town are all worn out. But since we haven't used this room, yours ought to work."

"Which is it?" she said.

"The red lid with the gold handle. Just lift it." On that domestic note he left her to rest, while he went off and plotted the destiny of a hundred billion lives.

They told her it was mid-morning when she came out of the room of Englok. How could she have known it? The brown-and-yellow corridor, with its gloomy old yellow lights, was just as dim and stench-ridden as ever.

The people all seemed to have changed.

Baby-baby was no longer a mouse-hag, but a woman of considerable force and much tenderness. Crawlie was as dangerous as a human enemy, staring at Elaine, her beautiful face gone bland with hidden hate. Charley-is-my-darling was gay, friendly and persuasive. She thought she could read expressions on the faces of Orson and the S-woman, odd though their features were.

After she had gotten through some singularly polite greetings, she demanded, "What's happening now?"

A new voice spoke up—a voice she knew and did not know.

Elaine glanced over at a niche in the wall.

The Lady Pane Ashash! And who was that with her?

Even as she asked herself the question, Elaine knew the answer. It was Joan, grown, only half a head less tall than the Lady Pane Ashash or herself. It was a new Joan, powerful, happy, and quiet; but it was all—the dear little old D'joan too.

"Welcome," said the Lady Pane Ashash, "to our revolution."

"What's a revolution?" asked Elaine. "And I thought you couldn't come in here with all the thought shielding?"

The Lady Pane Ashash lifted a wire which trailed back from her robot body, "I rigged this up so that I could use the body. Precautions are no use any more. It's the other side which will need the precautions now. A revolution is a way of changing systems and people. This is one. You go first, Elaine. This way."

"To die? Is that what you mean?"

The Lady Pane Ashash laughed warmly. "You know me by now. You know my friends here. You know what your own life has been down to now, a useless witch in a world which did not want you. We may die, but it's what we do before we die that counts. This is Joan going to meet her destiny. You lead as far as the Upper City. Then Joan will lead. And then we shall see."

"You mean, all these people are going too?" Elaine looked at the ranks of the underpeople, who were beginning to form into two queues down the corridor. The queues bulged wherever mothers led their children by the hand or carried small ones in their arms. Here and there the line was punctuated by a giant underperson.

They have been nothing, thought Elaine, and I was nothing too. Now we are all going to do something, even though we may be terminated for it. "May be" thought she: "shall be" is the word. But it is worth it if Joan can change the worlds, even a little bit, even for other people.

Joan spoke up. Her voice had grown with her body, but it was the same dear voice which the little dog-girl had had sixteen hours (they seem sixteen years, thought Elaine) ago, when Elaine first met her at the door to the tunnel of Englok.

Joan said, "Love is not something special, reserved for men alone."

"Love is not proud. Love has no real name. Love is for life itself, and we have life."

"We cannot win by fighting. People outnumber us, outgun us, outrun us, outfight us. But people did not create us. Whatever made people, made us too. You all know that, but will we say the name?"

There was a murmur of no and never from the crowd.

"You have waited for me. I have waited too. It is time to die, perhaps, but we will die the way people did in the beginning, before things became easy and cruel for them. They live in a stupor and they die in a dream. It is not a good dream and if they awaken, they will know that we are people too. Are you with me?" They murmured yes. "Do you love me?" Again they murmured agreement. "Shall we go out and meet the day?" They shouted their acclaim.

Joan turned to the Lady Pane Ashash. "Is everything as you wished and ordered?"

"Yes," said the dear dead woman in the robot body. "Joan first, to lead you. Elaine preceding her, to drive away robots or ordinary underpeople. When you meet real people, you will love them. That is all. You will love them. If they kill you, you will love them. Joan will show you how. Pay no further attention to me. Ready?"

Joan lifted her right hand and said words to herself. The people bowed their heads before her, faces and muzzles and snouts of all sizes and colors. A baby of some kind mewed in a tiny falsetto to the rear.

Just before she turned to lead the procession, Joan turned back to the people and said, "Crawlie, where are you?"

"Here, in the middle," said a clear, calm voice far back.

"Do you love me now, Crawlie?"

"No, D'joan. I like you less than when you were a little dog. But these are my people too, as well as yours. I am brave. I can walk. I won't make trouble."

"Crawlie," said Joan, "will you love people if we meet them?"

All faces turned toward the beautiful bison-girl. Elaine could just see her, way down the murky corridor. Elaine could see that the girl's face had turned utter, dead white with emotion. Whether rage or fear, she could not tell.

At last Crawlie spoke, "No, I won't love people. And I won't love you. I have my pride."

Softly, softly, like death itself at a quiet bedside, Joan spoke. "You can stay behind, Crawlie. You can stay here. It isn't much of a chance, but it's a chance."

Crawlie looked at her, "Bad luck to you, dog-woman, and bad luck to the rotten human being up there beside you."

Elaine stood on tiptoe to see what would happen. Crawlie's face suddenly disappeared, dropping downward.

The snake woman elbowed her way to the front, stood close to Joan where the others could see her, and sang out in a voice as clear as metal itself:

"Sing 'poor, poor, Crawlie,' dear people. Sing 'I love Crawlie,' dear people. She is dead. I just killed her so that we would all be full of love. I love you too," said the S-woman, on whose reptilian features no sign of love or hate could be seen.

Joan spoke up, apparently prompted by the Lady Pane Ashash. "We do love Crawlie, dear people. Think of her and then let us move forward."

Charley-is-my-darling gave Elaine a little shove. "Here, you lead."

In a dream, in a bewilderment, Elaine led.

She felt warm, happy, brave when she passed dose to the strange Joan, so tall and yet so familiar. Joan gave her a full smile and whispered, "Tell me I'm doing well, human woman. I'm a dog and dogs have lived a million years for the praise of man."

"You're right, Joan, you're completely right! I'm with you. Shall I go now?" responded Elaine.

Joan nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elaine led.

Joan and the Lady Pane Ashash followed, dog and dead woman championing the procession.

The rest of the underpeople followed them in turn, in a double line.

When they made the secret door open, daylight flooded the corridor. Elaine could almost feel the stale odor-ridden air pouring out with them. When she glanced back into the tunnel for the last time, she saw the body of Crawlie lying all alone on the floor.

Elaine herself turned to the steps and began going up them.

No one had yet noticed the procession.

Elaine could hear the wire of the Lady Pane Ashash dragging on the stone and metal of the steps as they climbed.

When she reached the top door, Elaine had a moment of indecision and panic. "This is my life, my life," she thought. "I have no other. What have I done? Oh, Hunter, Hunter, where are you? Have you betrayed me?"

Said Joan softly behind her, "Go on! Go on. This is a war of love. Keep going."

Elaine opened the door to the upper street. The roadway was full of people. Three police ornithopters flapped slowly overhead. This was an unusual number. Elaine stopped again.

"Keep walking," said Joan, "and warn the robots off."

Elaine advanced and the revolution began.

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8

The revolution lasted six minutes and covered one hundred and twelve meters.

The police flew over as soon as the underpeople began pouring out of the doorway.

The first one glided in like a big bird, his voice asking, "Identify! Who are you?"

Elaine said, "Go away. That is a command."

"Identify yourself," said the bird-like machine, banking steeply with the lens-eyed robot peering at Elaine out of its middle.

"Go away," said Elaine. "I am a true human and I command."

The first police ornithopter apparently called to the others by radio. Together they flapped their way down the corridor between the big buildings.

A lot of people had stopped. Most of their faces were blank, a few showing animation or amusement or horror at the sight of so many underpeople all crowded in one place.

Joan's voice sang out, in the clearest possible enunciation of the Old Common Tongue:

"Dear people, we are people. We love you. We love you."

The underpeople began to chant love, love, love in a weird plainsong full of sharps and halftones. The true humans shrank back. Joan herself set the example by embracing a young woman of about her own height. Charley-is-my-darling took a human man by the shoulders and shouted at him:

"I love you, my dear fellow! Believe me, I do love you. It's wonderful meeting you." The human man was startled by the contact and even more startled by the glowing warmth of the goat-man's voice. He stood mouth slack and body relaxed with sheer, utter and accepted surprise.

Somewhere to the rear a person screamed.

A police ornithopter came flapping back. Elaine could not tell if it was one of the three she had sent away, or a new one altogether. She waited for it to get close enough to hail, so that she could tell it to go away. For the first time, she wondered about the actual physical character of danger. Could the police machine put a slug through her? Or shoot flame at her? Or lift her screaming, carrying her away with its iron claws to some place where she would be pretty and clean and never herself again"?

"Oh, Hunter, Hunter, where are you now? Have you forgotten me? Have you betrayed me?"

The underpeople were still surging forward and mingling with the real people, clutching them by their hands or their garments and repeating in the queer medley of voices:

"I love you. Oh, please, I love you! We are people. We are your sisters and brothers ... "

The snake-woman wasn't making much progress. She had seized a human man with her more-than-iron hand. Elaine hadn't seen her saying anything, but the man had fainted dead away. The snake-woman had him draped over her arm like an empty overcoat and was looking for somebody else to love.

Behind Elaine a low voice said, "He's coming soon."

"Who?" said Elaine to the Lady Pane Ashash, knowing perfectly well whom she meant, but not wanting to admit it, and busy with watching the circling ornithopter at the same time.

"The Hunter, of course," said the robot with the dear dead lady's voice. "He'll come for you. You'll be all right. I'm at the end of my wire. Look away, my dear. They are about to kill me again and I am afraid that the sight would distress you."

Fourteen robots, foot models, marched with military decision into the crowd. The true humans took heart from this and some of them began to slip away into doorways. Most of the real people were still so surprised that they stood around with the underpeople pawing at them, babbling the accents of love over and over again, the animal origin of their voices showing plainly.

The robot sergeant took no note of this. He approached the Lady Pane Ashash only to find Elaine standing in his way.

"I command you," she said, with all the passion of a working witch, "I command you to leave this place."

His eye-lenses were like dark-blue marbles floating in milk. They seemed swimmy and poorly focused as he looked her over. He did not reply but stepped around her, faster than her own body could intercept him. He made for the dear, dead Lady Pane Ashash.

Elaine, bewildered, realized that the lady's robot body seemed more human than ever. The robot-sergeant confronted her.

This is the scene which we all remember, the first authentic picture tape of the entire incident:

The gold and black sergeant, his milky eyes staring at the Lady Pane Ashash.

The lady herself, in the pleasant old robot body, lifting a commanding hand.

Elaine, distraught, half-turning as though she would grab the robot by his right arm. Her head is moving so rapidly that her black hair swings as she turns.

Charley-is-my-darling shouting, "I love, love, love!" at a small handsome man with mouse-colored hair. The man is gulping and saying nothing.

All this we know.

Then comes the unbelievable, which we now believe, the event for which the stars and worlds were unprepared.

Mutiny.

Robot mutiny.

Disobedience in open daylight.

The words are hard to hear on the tape, but we can still make them out. The recording device on the police ornithopter had gotten a square fix on the face of the Lady Pane Ashash. Lip-readers can see the words plainly; non-lip-readers can hear the words the third or fourth time the tape is run through the eyebox.

Said the lady, "Overridden."

Said the sergeant, "No, you're a robot."

"See for yourself. Read my brain. I am a robot. I am also a woman. You cannot disobey people. I am people. I love you. Furthermore, you are people. You think. We love each other. Try. Try to attack."

"I—I cannot," said the robot sergeant, his milky eyes seeming to spin with excitement. "You love me? You mean I'm alive? I exist?"

"With love, you do," said the Lady Pane Ashash. "Look at her," said the lady, pointing to Joan, "because she has brought you love."

The robot looked and disobeyed the law. His squad looked with him.

He turned back to the lady and bowed to her: "Then you know what we must do, if we cannot obey you and cannot disobey the others."

"Do it," she said sadly, "but know what you are doing. You are not really escaping two human commands. You are making a choice. You. That makes you men."

The sergeant turned to his squad of man-sized robots: "You hear that? She says we are men. I believe her. Do you believe her?"

"We do," they cried almost unanimously.

This is where the picture-tape ends, but we can imagine how the scene was concluded. Elaine had stopped short, just behind the sergeant-robot. The other robots had come up behind her. Charley-is-my-darling had stopped talking. Joan was in the act of lifting her hands in blessing, her warm brown dog eyes gone wide with pity and understanding.

People wrote down the things that we cannot see.

Apparently the robot-sergeant said, "Our love, dear people, and good-by. We disobey and die." He waved his hand to Joan. It is not certain whether he did or did not say, "Good-by, our lady and our liberator." Maybe some poet made up the second saying; the first one, we are sure about. And we are sure about the next word, the one which historians and poets all agree on. He turned to his men and said,

"Destruct."

Fourteen robots, the black-and-gold sergeant and his thirteen silver-blue foot soldiers, suddenly spurted white fire in the street of Kalma. They detonated their suicide buttons, thermite caps in their own heads. They had done something with no human command at all, on an order from another robot, the body of the Lady Pane Ashash, and she in turn had no human authority, but merely the word of the little dog-girl Joan, who had been made an adult in a single night.

Fourteen white flames made people and underpeople turn their eyes aside. Into the light there dropped a special police ornithopter. Out of it came the two ladies, Arabella Underwood and Goroke. They lifted their forearms to shield their eyes from the blazing dying robots. They did not see the Hunter, who had moved mysteriously into an open window above the street and who watched the scene by putting his hands over his eyes and peeking through the slits between his fingers. While the people still stood blinded, they felt the fierce telepathic shock of the mind of the Lady Goroke taking command of the situation. That was her right, as a chief of the Instrumentality. Some of the people, but not all of them, felt the outré countershock of Joan's mind reaching out to meet the Lady Goroke.

"I command," thought the Lady Goroke, her mind kept open to all beings.

"Indeed you do, but I love, I love you," thought Joan.

The first-order forces met.

They engaged.

The revolution was over. Nothing had really happened, but Joan had forced people to meet her. This was nothing like the poem about people and underpeople getting all mixed up. The mixup came much later, even after the time of C'mell. The poem is pretty, but it is dead wrong, as you can see for yourself:

You should ask me,

Me, me, me, Because I know—I used to live

On the Eastern Shore.

Men aren't men, And women aren't women,

And people aren't people any more.

There is no Eastern Shore on Fomalhaut III anyhow; the people/underpeople crisis came much later than this. The revolution had failed, but history had reached its new turning-point, the quarrel of the two ladies. They left their minds open out of sheer surprise. Suicidal robots and world-loving dogs were unheard-of. It was bad enough to have illegal underpeople on the prowl, but these new things—ah!

Destroy them all, said the Lady Goroke.

"Why?" thought the Lady Arabella Underwood.

Malfunction, replied Goroke.

"But they're not machines!"

Then they're animals—underpeople. Destroy! Destroy!

Then came the answer which has created our own time. It came from the Lady Arabella Underwood, and all Kalma heard it:

Perhaps they are people. They must have a trial.

The dog-girl Joan dropped to her knees. "I have succeeded, I have succeeded, I have succeeded! You can kill me, dear people, but I love, love, love you!"

The Lady Pane Ashash said quietly to Elaine, "I thought I would be dead by now. Really dead, at last. But I am not I have seen the worlds turn, Elaine, and you have seen them turn with me."

The underpeople had fallen quiet as they heard the high-volume telepathic exchange between the two great ladies.

The real soldiers dropped out of the sky, their ornithopters whistling as they hawked down to the ground. They ran up to the underpeople and began binding them with cord.

One soldier took a single look at the robot body of the Lady Pane Ashash. He touched it with his staff, and the staff turned cherry-red with heat. The robot-body, its heat suddenly drained, fell to the ground in a heap of icy crystals.

Elaine walked between the frigid rubbish and the red-hot staff. She had seen Hunter.

She missed seeing the soldier who came up to Joan, started to bind her and then fell back weeping, babbling, "She loves me! She loves me!"

The Lord Femtiosex, who commanded the inflying soldiers, bound Joan with cord despite her talking.

Grimly he answered her: "Of course you love me. You're a good dog. You'll die soon, doggy, but till then, you'll obey."

"I'm obeying," said Joan, "but I'm a dog and a person. Open your mind, man, and you'll feel it."

Apparently he did open his mind and felt the ocean of love rip-tiding into him. It shocked him. His arm swung up and back, the edge of the hand striking at Joan's neck for the ancient kill.

"No, you don't," thought the Lady Arabella Underwood. "That child is going to get a proper trial."

He looked at her and glared, chief doesn't strike chief, my lady. Let go my arm.

Thought the Lady Arabella at him, openly and in public: "A trial, then."

In his anger he nodded at her. He would not think or speak to her in the presence of all the other people.

A soldier brought Elaine and Hunter before him.

"Sir and master, these are people, not underpeople. But they have dog-thoughts, cat-thoughts, goat-thoughts and robot-ideas in their heads. Do you wish to look?"

"Why look?" said the Lord Femtiosex, who was as blond as the ancient pictures of Baldur, and often-times that arrogant as well. "The Lord Limaono is arriving. That's all of us. We can have the trial here and now."

Elaine felt cords bite into her wrists; she heard the Hunter murmur comforting words to her, words which she did not quite understand.

"They will not kill us," he murmured, "though we will wish they had, before this day is out Everything is happening as she said it would, and—"

"Who is that she?" interrupted Elaine.

"She? The lady, of course. The dear dead Lady Pane Ashash, who has worked wonders after her own death, merely with the print of her personality on the machine. Who do you think told me what to do? Why did we wait for you to condition Joan to greatness? Why did the people way down in Clown Town keep on raising one D'joan after another, hoping that hope and a great wonder would occur?"

"You knew?" said Elaine. "You knew ... before it happened?"

"Of course," said the Hunter, "not exactly, but more or less. She had had hundreds of years after death inside that computer. She had time for billions of thoughts. She saw how it would be if it had to be, and I—"

"Shut up, you people!" roared the Lord Femtiosex. "You are making the animals restless with your babble. Shut up, or I will stun you!"

Elaine fell silent

The Lord Femtiosex glanced around at her, ashamed at having made his anger naked before another person. He added quietly:

"The trial is about to begin. The one that the tall lady ordered."

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9

You all know about the trial, so there is no need to linger over it. There is another picture of San Shigonanda, the one from his conventional period, which shows it very plainly.

The street had filled full of real people, crowding together to see something which would ease the boredom of perfection and time. They all had numbers or number-codes instead of names. They were handsome, Well, dully happy. They even looked a great deal alike, similar in their handsomeness, their health and their underlying boredom. Each of them had a total of four hundred years to live. None of them knew real war, even though the extreme readiness of the soldiers showed vain practice of hundreds of years. The people were beautiful, but they felt themselves useless, and they were quietly desperate without knowing it themselves. This is all clear from the painting, and from the wonderful way that San Shigonanda has of forming them in informal ranks and letting the calm blue light of day shine down on their handsome, hopeless features.

With the underpeople, the artist performs real wonders.

Joan herself is bathed in light. Her light brown hair and her doggy brown eyes express softness and tenderness. He even conveys the idea that her new body is terribly new and strong, that she is virginal and ready to die, that she is a mere girl and yet completely fearless. The posture of love shows in her legs: she stands lightly. Love shows in her hands: they are turned outward toward the judges. Love shows in her smile: it is confident.

And the judges!

The artist has them, too. The Lord Femtiosex, calm again, his narrow sharp lips expressing perpetual rage against a universe which has grown too small for him. The Lord Limaono, wise, twice-reborn, sluggardly, but alert as a snake behind the sleepy eyes and the slow smile. The Lady Arabella Underwood, the tallest true-human present, with her Norstrilian pride and the arrogance of great wealth, along with the capricious tenderness of great wealth, showing in the way that she sat, judging her fellow-judges instead of the prisoners. The Lady Goroke, bewildered at last, frowning at a play of fortune which she does not understand. The artist has it all.

And you have the real view-tapes, too, if you want to go to a museum. The reality is not as dramatic as the famous painting, but it has value of its own. The voice of Joan, dead these many centuries, is still strangely moving. It is the voice of a dog-carved-into-man, but it is also the voice of a great lady. The image of the Lady Pane Ashash must have taught her that, along with what she had learned from Elaine and Hunter in the antechamber above the Brown and Yellow Corridor of Englok.

The words of the trial, they too have survived. Many of them have become famous, all across the worlds.

Joan said, during inquiry, "But it is the duty of life to find more than life, and to exchange itself for that higher goodness."

Joan commented, upon sentence. "My body is your property, but my love is not. My love is my own, and I shall love you fiercely while you kill me."

When the soldiers had killed Charley-is-my-darling and were trying to hack off the head of the S-woman until one of them thought to freeze her into crystals, Joan said:

"Should we be strange to you, we animals of Earth that you have brought to the stars? We shared the same sun, the same oceans, the same sky. We are all from Manhome. How do you know that we would not have caught up with you if we had all stayed at home together? My people were dogs. They loved you before you made a woman-shaped thing out of my mother. Should I not love you still? The miracle is not that you have made people out of us. The miracle is that it took us so long to understand it. We are people now, and so are you. You will be sorry for what you are going to do to me, but remember that I shall love your sorrow, too, because great and good things will come out of it."

The Lord Limaono slyly asked, "What is a 'miracle'?"

And her words were, "There is knowledge from Earth which you have not yet found again. There is the name of the Nameless One. There are secrets hidden in time from you. Only the dead and the unborn can know them right now: I am both."

The scene is familiar, and yet we will never understand it.

We know what the Lords Femtiosex and Limaono thought they were doing. They were maintaining established order and they were putting it on tape. The minds of men can live together only if the basic ideas are communicated. Nobody has, even now, found out a way of recording telepathy directly into an instrument. We get pieces and snatches and wild jumbles, but we never get a satisfactory record of what one of the great ones was transmitting to another. The two male chiefs were trying to put on record all those things about the episode which would teach careless people not to play with the lives of the underpeople. They were even trying to make underpeople understand the rules and designs by virtue of which they had been transformed from animals into the highest servants of man. This would have been hard to do, given the bewildering events of the last few hours, even from one chief of the Instrumentality to another; for the general public, it was almost impossible. The outpouring from the Brown and Yellow Corridor was wholly unexpected, even though the Lady Goroke had surprised D'joan; the mutiny of the robot police posed problems which would have to be discussed halfway across the galaxy. Furthermore, the dog-girl was making points which had some verbal validity. If they were left in the form of mere words without proper context, they might affect heedless or impressionable minds. A bad idea can spread like a mutated germ. If it is at all interesting, it can leap from one mind to another halfway across the universe before it has a stop put to it. Look at the ruinous fads and foolish fashions which have nuisanced mankind even in the ages of the highest orderliness. We today know that variety, flexibility, danger and the seasoning of a little hate can make love and life bloom as they never bloomed before; we know it is better to live with the complications of thirteen thousand old languages resurrected from the dead ancient past than it is to live with the cold blind-alley perfection of the Old Common Tongue. We know a lot of things which the Lords Femtiosex and Limaono did not, and before we consider them stupid or cruel, we must remember that centuries passed before mankind finally came to grips with the problem of the under-people and decided what "life" was within the limits of the human community.

Finally, we have the testimony of the two lords themselves. They both lived to very advanced ages, and toward the end of their lives they were worried and annoyed to find that the episode of D'joan overshadowed all the bad things which had not happened during their long careers—bad things which they had labored to forestall for the protection of the planet Fomalhaut III—and they were distressed to see themselves portrayed as casual, cruel men when in fact they were nothing of the sort. If they had seen that the story of Joan on Fomalhaut III would get to be what it is today—one of the great romances of mankind, along with the story of C'mell or the romance of the lady who sailed The Soul—they would not only have been disappointed, but they would have been justifiably angry at the fickleness of mankind as well. Their roles are clear, because they made them clear. The Lord Femtiosex accepts the responsibility for the notion of fire; the Lord Limaono agrees that he concurred in the decision. Both of them, many years later, reviewed the tapes of the scene and agreed that something which the Lady Arabella Underwood had said or thought—Something had made them do it.

But even with the tapes to refresh and clarify their memories, they could not say what.

We have even put computers on the job of cataloguing every word and every inflection of the whole trial, but they have not pinpointed the critical point either.

And the Lady Arabella—nobody ever questioned her. They didn't dare. She went back to her own planet of Old North Australia, surrounded by the immense treasure of the santaclara drug, and no planet is going to pay at the rate of two thousand million credits a day for the privilege of sending an investigator to talk to a lot of obstinate, simple, wealthy Norstrilian peasants who will not talk to offworlders anyhow.

The Norstrilians charge that sum for the admission of any guest not selected by their own invitation; so we will never know what the Lady Arabella Underwood said or did after she went home. The Norstrilians said they did not wish to discuss the matter, and if we do not wish to go back to living a mere seventy years we had better not anger the only planet which produces stroon.

And the Lady Goroke—she, poor thing, went mad.

Mad, for a period of years.

People did not know it till later, but there was no word to be gotten out of her. She performed the odd actions which we now know to be a part of the dynasty of Lords Jestocost, who forced themselves by diligence and merit upon the Instrumentality for two hundred and more years. But on the case of Joan she had nothing to say.

The trial is therefore a scene about which we know everything—and nothing.

We think that we know the physical facts of the life of D'joan who became Joan. We know about the Lady Pane Ashash who whispered endlessly to the underpeople about a justice yet to come. We know the whole life of the unfortunate Elaine and of her involvement with the case. We know that there were in those centuries, when underpeople first developed, many warrens in which illegal underpeople used their near-human wits, their animal cunning and their gift of speech to survive even when mankind had declared them surplus. The Brown and Yellow Corridor was not by any means the only one of its kind. We even know what happened to the Hunter.

For the other underpeople-Charley-is-my-darling, Baby-baby, Mabel, the S-woman, Orson and all the others—we have the tapes of the trial itself. They were not tried by anybody. They were put to death by the soldiers on the spot, as soon as it was plain that their testimony would not be needed. As witnesses, they could live a few minutes or an hour; as animals, they were already outside the regulations.

Ah, we know all about that now, and yet know nothing. Dying is simple, though we tend to hide it away. The how of dying is a minor scientific matter; the when of dying is a problem to each of us, whether he lives on the old-fashioned 400-year-life planets or on the radical new ones where the freedoms of disease and accident have been reintroduced; the why of it is still as shocking to us as it was to pre-atomic man, who used to cover farmland with the boxed bodies of his dead. These underpeople died as no animals had ever died before. Joyfully.

One mother held her children up for the soldier to kill them all.

She must have been of rat origin, because she had septuplets in closely matching form.

The tape shows us the picture of the soldier getting ready.

The rat-woman greets him with a smile and holds up her seven babies. Little blondes they are, wearing pink or blue bonnets, all of them with glowing cheeks and bright little blue eyes.

"Put them on the ground," said the soldier. "I'm going to kill you and them too." On the tape, we can hear the nervous peremptory edge of his voice. He added one word, as though he had already begun to think that he had to justify himself to these underpeople. "Orders," he added.

"It doesn't matter if I hold them, soldier. I'm their mother. They'll feel better if they die easily with their mother near. I love you, soldier. I love all people. You are my brother, even though my blood is rat blood and yours is human. Go ahead and kill them, soldier. I can't even hurt you. Can't you understand it? I love you, soldier. We share a common speech, common hopes, common fears, and a common death. That is what Joan has taught us all. Death is not bad, soldier. It just comes badly, sometimes, but you will remember me after you have killed me and my babies. You will remember that I love you now-"

The soldier, we see on the tape, can stand it no longer. He clubs his weapon, knocks the woman down; the babies scatter on the ground. We see his booted heel rise up and crush down against their heads. We hear the wet popping sound of the little heads breaking, the sharp cutoff of the baby wails as they die. We get one last view of the rat-woman herself. She has stood up again by the time the seventh baby is killed. She offers her hand to the soldier to shake. Her face is dirty and bruised, a trickle of blood running down her left cheek. Even now, we know she is a rat, an underperson, a modified animal, a nothing. And yet we, even we across the centuries, feel that she has somehow become more of a person than we are—that she dies human and fulfilled. We know that she has triumphed over death: we have not.

We see the soldier looking straight at her with eerie horror, as though her simple love were some unfathomable device from an alien source.

We hear her next words on the tape:

"Soldier, I love all of you—"

His weapon could have killed her in a fraction of a second, if he had used it properly. But he didn't. He clubbed it and hit her, as though his heat-remover had been a wooden club and himself a wild man instead of part of the elite guard of Kalma.

We know what happens then.

She falls under his blows. She points. Points straight at Joan, wrapped in fire and smoke.

The rat-woman screams one last time, screams into the lens of the robot camera as though she were talking not to the soldier but to all mankind:

"You can't kill her. You can't kill love. I love you, soldier, love you. You can't kill that. Remember—"

His last blow catches her in the face.

She falls back on the pavement. He thrusts his foot, as we can see by the tape, directly on her throat. He leaps forward in an odd little jig, bringing his full weight down on her fragile neck. He swings while stamping downward, and we then see his face, full on in the camera.

It is the face of a weeping child, bewildered by hurt and shocked by the prospect of more hurt to come.

He had started to do his duty, and duty had gone wrong, all wrong.

Poor man. He must have been one of the first men in the new worlds who tried to use weapons against love. Love is a sour and powerful ingredient to meet in the excitement of battle.

All the underpeople died that way. Most of them died smiling, saying the word "love" or the name "Joan."

The bear-man Orson had been kept to the very end.

He died very oddly. He died laughing.

The soldier lifted his pellet-thrower and aimed it straight at Orson's forehead. The pellets were 22 millimeters in diameter and had a muzzle velocity of only 125 meters per second. In that manner, they could stop recalcitrant robots or evil underpeople, without any risk of penetrating buildings and hurting the true people who might be inside, out of sight.

Orson looks, on the tape the robots made, as though he knows perfectly well what the weapon is. (He probably did. Underpeople used to live with the danger of a violent death hanging over them from birth until removal.) He shows no fear of it, in the pictures we have; he begins to laugh. His laughter is warm, generous, relaxed—like the friendly laughter of a happy foster—father who has found a guilty and embarrassed child, knowing full well that the child expects punishment but will not get it.

"Shoot, man. You can't kill me, man. I'm in your mind. I love you. Joan taught us. Listen, man. There is no death. Not for love. Ho, ho, ho, poor fellow, don't be afraid of me. Shoot! You're the unlucky one. You're going to live. And remember. And remember. And remember. I've made you human, fellow." The soldier croaks, "What did you say?"

"I'm saving you, man. I'm turning you into a real human being. With the power of Joan. The power of love. Poor guy! Go ahead and shoot me if it makes you uncomfortable to wait. You'll do it anyhow."

This time we do not see the soldier's face, but the tightness of his back and neck betray his own internal stress.

We see the big broad bear face blossom forth in an immense splash of red as the soft heavy pellets plow into it. Then the camera turns to something else.

A little boy, probably a fox, but very finished in his human shape. He was bigger than a baby, but not big enough, like the larger underchildren, to have understood the deathless importance of Joan's teaching.

He was the only one of the group who behaved like an ordinary underperson. He broke and ran.

He was clever: He ran among the spectators, so that the soldier could not use pellets or heat-reducers on him without hurting an actual human being. He ran and jumped and dodged, fighting passively but desperately for his life.

At last one of the spectators—a tall man with a silver hat—tripped him up. The fox-boy fell to the pavement, skinning his palms and knees. Just as he looked up to see who might be coming at him, a bullet caught him neatly in the head. He fell a little way forward, dead.

People die. We know how they die. We have seen them die shy and quiet in the Dying Houses. We have seen others go into the 400-year-rooms, which have no doorknobs and no cameras on the inside. We have seen pictures of many dying in natural disasters, where the robot crews took picture-tapes for the record and the investigation later on. Death is not uncommon, and it is very unpleasant

But this time, death itself was different. All the fear of death—except for the one little fox-boy, too young to understand and too old to wait for death in his mother's arms—had gone out of the underpeople. They met death willingly, with love and calmness in their bodies, their voices, their demeanor. It did not matter whether they lived long enough to know what happened to Joan herself: they had perfect confidence in her, anyway.

This indeed was the new weapon, love and the good death.

Crawlie, with her pride, had missed it all.

The investigators later found the body of Crawlie in the corridor. It was possible to reconstruct who she had been and what had happened to her. The computer in which the bodiless image of the Lady Pane Ash-ash survived for a few days after the trial was, of course, found and disassembled. Nobody thought at the time to get her opinions and last words. A lot of historians have gnashed their teeth over that.

The details are therefore clear. The archives even preserve the long interrogation and responses concerning Elaine, when she was processed and made clear after the trial. But we do not know how the idea of "fire" came in.

Somewhere, beyond sight of the tape-scanner, the word must have been passed between the four chiefs of the Instrumentality who were conducting the trial. There is the protest of the chief of birds (robot), or police chief of Kalma, a subchief named Fisi.

The records show his appearance. He comes in at the right side of the scene, bows respectfully to the four chiefs and lifts his right hand in the traditional sign for "beg to interrupt," an odd twist of the elevated hand which the actors had found it very difficult to copy when they tried to put the whole story of Joan and Elaine into a single drama. (In fact, he had no more idea that future ages would be studying his casual appearance than did the others. The whole episode was characterized by haste and precipitateness, in the light of what we now know.) The Lord Limaono says:

"Interruption refused. We are making a decision."

The chief of birds spoke up anyhow.

"My words are for your decision, my Lords and my Ladies."

"Say it, then," commanded the Lady Goroke, "but be brief."

"Shut down the viewers. Destroy that animal. Brainwash the spectators. Get amnesia yourselves, for this one hour. This whole scene is dangerous. I am nothing but a supervisor of ornithopters, keeping perfect order, but I—"

"We have heard enough," said the Lord Femtiosex. "You manage your birds and we'll run the worlds. How do you dare to think like a chief? We have responsibilities which you can't even guess at. Stand back."

Fisi, in the pictures, stands back, his face sullen. In that particular frame of scenes, one can see some of the spectators going away. It was time for lunch and they had become hungry; they had no idea that they were going to miss the greatest atrocity in history, about which a thousand and more grand operas would be written.

Femtiosex then moved to the climax. "More knowledge, not less, is the answer to this problem. I have heard about something which is not as bad as the Planet Shayol, but which can do just as well for an exhibit on a civilized world. You there," said he to Fisi, the chief of birds, "bring oil and a spray. Immediately."

Joan looked at him with compassion and longing, but she said nothing. She suspected what he was going to do. As a girl, as a dog, she hated it; as a revolutionary, she welcomed it as the consummation of her mission.

The Lord Femtiosex lifted his right hand. He curled the ring finger and the little finger, putting his thumb over them. That left the first two fingers extended straight out. At that time, the sign from one chief to another, meaning, "private channels, telepathic, immediate." It has since been adopted by underpeople as their emblem for political unity.

The four chiefs went into a trancelike state and shared the judgment.

Joan began to sing in a soft, protesting, doglike wail, using the off-key plainsong which the underpeople had sung just before their hour of decision when they left the Brown and Yellow Corridor. Her words were nothing special, repetitions of the "people, dear people, I love you" which she had been communicating ever since she came to the surface of Kalma. But the way she did it has defied imitation across the centuries. There are thousands of lyrics and melodies which call themselves, one way and another, The Song of Joan, but none of them come near to the heart-wrenching pathos of the original tapes. The singing, like her own personality, was unique.

The appeal was deep. Even the real people tried to listen, shifting their eyes from the four immobile chiefs of the Instrumentality to the brown-eyed singing girl. Some of them just could not stand it. In true human fashion, they forgot why they were there and went absent-mindedly home to lunch.

Suddenly Joan stopped.

Her voice ringing clearly across the crowd, she cried out:

"The end is near, dear people. The end is near."

Eyes all shifted to the two lords and the two ladies of the Instrumentality. The Lady Arabella Underwood looked grim after the telepathic conference. The Lady Goroke was haggard with wordless grief. The two lords looked severe and resolved.

It was the Lord Femtiosex who spoke.

"We have tried you, animal. Your offense is great. You have lived illegally. For that the penalty is death. You have interfered with robots in some manner which we do not understand. For that brand-new crime, the penalty should be more than death; and I have recommended a punishment which was applied on a planet of the Violet Star. You have also said many unlawful and improper things, detracting from the happiness and security of mankind. For that the penalty is reeducation, but since you have two death sentences already, this does not matter. Do you have anything to say before I pronounce sentence?"

"If you light a fire today, my Lord, it will never be put out in the hearts of men. You can destroy me. You can reject my love. You cannot destroy the goodness in yourselves, no matter how much goodness may anger you—"

"Shut up!" he roared. "I asked for a plea, not a speech. You will die by fire, here and now. What do you say to that?"

"I love you, dear people."

Femtiosex nodded to the men of the chief of birds, who had dragged a barrel and a spray into the street in front of Joan.

"Tie her to that post," he commanded. "Spray her. Light her. Are the tape-makers in focus? We want this to be recorded and known. If the underpeople try this again, they will see that mankind controls the worlds." He looked at Joan and his eyes seemed to go out of focus. In an unaccustomed voice he said, "I am not a bad man, little dog-girl, but you are a bad animal and we must make an example of you. Do you understand that?"

"Femtiosex," she cried, leaving out his title, "I am very sorry for you. I love you too."

With these words of hers, his face became clouded and angry again. He brought his right hand down in a chopping gesture.

Fisi copied the gesture and the men operating the barrel and spray began to squirt a hissing stream of oil on Joan. Two guards had already chained her to the lamp post, using an improvised chain of handcuffs to make sure that she stood upright and remained in plain sight of the crowd.

"Fire," said Femtiosex.

Elaine felt the Hunter's body, beside her, cramp sharply. He seemed to strain intensely. For herself, she felt the way she had felt when she was defrozen and taken out of the adiabatic pod in which she had made the trip from Earth—sick to her stomach, confused in her mind, emotions rocking back and forth inside her.

Hunter whispered to her, "I tried to reach her mind so that she would die easy. Somebody else got there first. I ... don't know who it is."

Elaine stared.

The fire was being brought. Suddenly it touched the oil and Joan flamed up like a human torch.

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10

The burning of D'joan at Fomalhaut took very little time, but the ages will not forget it.

Femtiosex had taken the crudest step of all.

By telepathic invasion he had suppressed her human mind, so that only the primitive canine remained.

Joan did not stand still like a martyred queen.

She struggled against the flames which licked her and climbed her. She howled and shrieked like a dog in pain, like an animal whose brain—good though it is—cannot comprehend the senselessness of human cruelty.

The result was directly contrary to what the Lord Femtiosex had planned.

The crowd of people stirred forward, not with curiosity but because of compassion. They had avoided the broad areas of the street on which the dead underpeople lay as they had been killed, some pooled in their own blood, some broken by the hands of robots, some reduced to piles of frozen crystal. They walked over the dead to watch the dying, but their watching was not the witless boredom of people who never see a spectacle; it was the movement of living things, instinctive and deep, toward the sight of another living thing in a position of danger and ruin.

Even the guard who had held Elaine and Hunter by gripping Hunter's arm—even he moved forward a few unthinking steps. Elaine found herself in the first row of the spectators, the acrid, unfamiliar smell of burning oil making her nose twitch, the howls of the dying dog-girl tearing through her eardrums into her brain. Joan was turning and twisting in the fire now, trying to avoid the flames which wrapped her tighter than clothing. The odor of something sickening and strange reached the crowd. Few of them had ever smelled the stink of burning meat before.

Joan gasped.

In the ensuing seconds of silence, Elaine heard something she had never expected to hear before—the weeping of grown human beings. Men and women stood there sobbing and not knowing why they sobbed.

Femtiosex loomed over the crowd, obsessed by the failure of his demonstration. He did not know that the Hunter, with a thousand kills behind him, was committing the legal outrage of peeping the mind of a chief of the Instrumentality.

The Hunter whispered to Elaine, "In a minute I'll try it. She deserves something better than that ... "

Elaine did not ask what. She too was weeping.

The whole crowd became aware that a soldier was calling. It took them several seconds to look away from the burning, dying Joan.

The soldier was an ordinary one. Perhaps he was the one who had been unable to tie Joan with bonds a few minutes ago, when the lords decreed that she be taken into custody.

He was shouting now, shouting frantically and wildly, shaking his fist at the Lord Femtiosex.

"You're a liar, you're a coward, you're a fool, and I challenge you—"

The Lord Femtiosex became aware of the man and of what he was yelling. He came out of his deep concentration and said, mildly for so wild a time:

"What do you mean?"

"This is a crazy show. There is no girl here. No fire. Nothing. You are hallucinating the whole lot of us for some horrible reason of your own, and I'm challenging you for it, you animal, you fool, you coward."

In normal times even a lord had to accept a challenge or adjust the matter with clear talk.

This was no normal time.

The Lord Femtiosex said, "All this is real. I deceive no one."

"If it's real, Joan, I'm with you!" shrieked the young soldier. He jumped in front of the jet of oil before the other soldiers could turn it off and then he leapt into the fire beside Joan.

Her hair had burned away but her features were still clear. She had stopped the doglike whining shriek. Femtiosex had been interrupted. She gave the soldier, who had begun to burn as he stood voluntarily beside her the gentlest and most feminine of smiles. Then she frowned, as though there were something which she should remember to do, despite the pain and terror which surrounded her.

"Now!" whispered the Hunter. He began to hunt the Lord Femtiosex as sharply as he had ever sought the alien, native minds of Fomalhaut III.

The crowd could not tell what had happened to the Lord Femtiosex. Had he turned coward? Had he gone mad? (Actually, the Hunter, by using every gram of the power of his mind, had momentarily taken Femtiosex courting in the skies; he and Femtiosex were both male bird-like beasts, singing wildly for the beautiful female who lay hidden in the landscape far, far below.)

Joan was free, and she knew she was free.

She sent out her message. It knocked both Hunter and Femtiosex out of thinking; it flooded Elaine; it made even Fisi, the chief of birds, breathe quietly. She called so loudly that within the hour messages were pouring in from the other cities to Kalma, asking what had happened. She thought a single message, not words. But in words it came to this:

"Loved ones, you kill me. This is my fate. I bring love, and love must die to live on. Love asks nothing, does nothing. Love thinks nothing. Love is knowing yourself and knowing all other people and things. Know—and rejoice. I die for all of you now, dear ones—"

She opened her eyes for a last time, opened her mouth, sucked in the raw flame and slumped forward. The soldier, who had kept his nerve while his clothing and body burned, ran out of the fire, afire himself, toward his squad. A shot stopped him and he pitched flat forward.

The weeping of the people was audible throughout the streets. Underpeople, tame and licensed ones, stood shamelessly among them and wept too.

The Lord Femtiosex turned warily back to his colleagues.

The face of Lady Goroke was a sculptured, frozen caricature of sorrow.

He turned to the Lady Arabella Underwood. "I seem to have done something wrong, my Lady. Take over, please."

The Lady Arabella stood up. She called to Fisi, "Put out that fire."

She looked out over the crowd. Her hard, honest Norstrilian features were unreadable. Elaine, watching her, shivered at the thought of a whole planet full of people as tough, obstinate and clever as these.

"It's over," said the Lady Arabella. "People, go away. Robots, clean up. Underpeople, to your jobs."

She looked at Elaine and the Hunter. "I know who you are and I suspect what you have been doing. Soldiers, take them away."

The body of Joan was fire-blackened. The face did not look particularly human any more; the last burst of fire had caught her in the nose and eyes. Her young, girlish breasts showed with heart-wrenching immodesty that she had been young and female once. Now she was dead, just dead.

The soldiers would have shoveled her into a box if she had been an underperson. Instead, they paid her the honors of war that they would have given to one of their own comrades or to an important civilian in time of disaster. They unslung a litter, put the little blackened body on it and covered the body with their own flag. No one had told them to do so.

As their own soldier led them up the road toward the Waterrock, where the houses and offices of the military were located, Elaine saw that he too had been crying.

She started to ask him what he thought of it, but Hunter stopped her with a shake of the head. He later told her that the soldier might be punished for talking with them.

When they got to the office they found the Lady Goroke already there.

The Lady Goroke already there ... It became a nightmare in the weeks that followed. She had gotten over her grief and was conducting an inquiry into the case of Elaine and D'joan.

The Lady Goroke already there ... She was waiting when they slept. Her image, or perhaps herself, sat in on all the endless interrogations. She was particularly interested in the chance meeting of the dead Lady Pane Ashash, the misplaced witch Elaine, and the non-adjusted man, the Hunter.

The Lady Goroke already there ... She asked them everything, but she told them nothing.

Except for once.

Once she burst out, violently personal after endless hours of formal, official work, "Your minds will be cleansed when we get through, so it wouldn't matter how much else you know. Do you know that this has hurt me—me!—all the way to the depths of everything I believe in?"

They shook their heads.

"I'm going to have a child, and I'm going back to Manhome to have it. And I'm going to do the genetic coding myself. I'm going to call him Jestocost. That's one of the Ancient Tongues, the Paroskii one, for 'cruelty,' to remind him where he comes from, and why. And he, or his son, or his son will bring justice back into the world and solve the puzzle of the underpeople. What do you think of that? On second thought, don't think. It's none of your business, and I am going to do it anyway."

They stared at her sympathetically, but they were too wound up in the problems of their own survival to extend her much sympathy or advice. The body of Joan had been pulverized and blown into the air, because the Lady Goroke was afraid that the underpeople would make a goodplace out of it; she felt that way herself, and she knew that if she herself were tempted, the underpeople would be even more tempted.

Elaine never knew what happened to the bodies of all the other people who had turned themselves, under Joan's leadership, from animals into mankind, and who had followed the wild, foolish march out of the Tunnel of Englok into the Upper City of Kalma. Was it really wild? Was it really foolish? If they had stayed where they were, they might have had a few days or months or years of life, but sooner or later the robots would have found them and they would have been exterminated like the vermin which they were. Perhaps the death they had chosen was better. Joan did say, "It's the mission of life always to look for something better than itself, and then to try to trade life itself for meaning."

At last, the Lady Goroke called them in and said, "Goodbye, you two. It's foolish, saying goodbye, when an hour from now you will remember neither me nor Joan. You've finished your work here. I've set up a lovely job for you. You won't have to live in a city. You will be weather-watchers, roaming the hills and watching for all the little changes which the machines can't interpret fast enough. You will have whole lifetimes of marching and picnicking and camping together. I've told the technicians to be very careful, because you two are very much in love with each other. When they re-route your synapses, I want that love to be there with you."

They each knelt and kissed her hand. They never wittingly saw her again. In later years they sometimes saw a fashionable ornithopter soaring gently over their camp, with an elegant woman peering out of the side of it; they had no memories to know that it was the Lady Goroke, recovered from madness, watching over them.

Their new life was their final life.

Of Joan and the Brown and Yellow Corridor, nothing remained.

They were both very sympathetic toward animals, but they might have been this way even if they had never shared in the wild political gamble of the dear dead Lady Pane Ashash.

One time a strange thing happened. An underman from an elephant was working in a small valley, creating an exquisite rock garden for some important official of the Instrumentality who might later glimpse the garden once or twice a year. Elaine was busy watching the weather, and the Hunter had forgotten that he had ever hunted, so that neither of them tried to peep the underman's mind. He was a huge fellow, right at the maximum permissible size—five times the gross stature of a man. He had smiled at them friendily in the past.

One evening he brought them fruit. Such fruit! Rare offworld items which a year of requests would not have obtained for ordinary people like them. He smiled his big, shy, elephant smile, put the fruit down and prepared to lumber off.

"Wait a minute," cried Elaine, "why are you giving us this? Why us?"

"For the sake of Joan," said the elephant-man.

"Who's Joan?" said the Hunter.

The elephant-man looked sympathetically at them. "That's all right. You don't remember her, but I do."

"But what did Joan do?" said Elaine.

"She loved you. She loved us all," said the elephant-man. He turned quickly, so as to say no more. With incredible deftness for so heavy a person, he climbed speedily into the fierce lovely rocks above them and was gone.

"I wish we had known her," said Elaine. "She sounds very nice."

In that year there was born the man who was to be the first Lord Jestocost

THE SATANIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD

-  PART ONE

- The Satanic Psychopathic Palmerston, Prime Minister of the British Empire circa 1850 - and his Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents, Mazzini, Urquhart and Napoleon III - as a Continuation of the same Satanic Psychopathic Families from Satanic Psychopathic Babylon through the Satanic Psychopathic Roman Empire, the Satanic Psychopathic Venetian Empire to the Satanic Psychopathic British Empire to the current Satanic Psychopathic Anglo-American Establishment

And a Little Energy Enhancement Meditation...

Not Only do we have Energy Blockages within our Bodies, but also We are indissolubly connected with Energy Blockages outside the body

Not only are we affected by them.

Happily, we also affect the Blockages!


Thus our power to draw angels into our psychic bodies increasing talent and ability to handle larger amounts of energy to Change the World by transmuting Energy Blockages by the Seven Step Process.

And by removing the Internal and External Blockages..

Silently..

Change the World...
 

PLATO AND SATANIC BABYLONIAN SECRET AGENT ARISTOTLE "THE POISONER" OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT - BY RAPHAEL

The Evolution of a New Humanity
1. The Enlightened Species
And the Human Intra Species Parasites
2. The Luciferian Species
3. The Satanic Species

Is the Latest Painful Installment of my Series about the Effects of the, "Dark Side" on the Last Tens of Thousands of years of Modern Society..

It is a Dark Vision, not unlike The Buddha's, "Pain, Sickness, Old Age and Death" But as we Both Say...

"There is a Path" -

Energy Enhancement Meditation...

SEE - CLICK HERE... FOR - THE EVOLUTION OF A NEW HUMANITY - 1. THE ENLIGHTENED SPECIES AND THE HUMAN INTRA SPECIES PARASITES 2. THE LUCIFERIAN SPECIES 3. THE SATANIC SPECIES

Here is my next article on The Evolution of a New Humanity

Satanic Controller of the British Empire - Henry Temple, the Third Viscount Palmerston.
Palmerston is the man the others - the Russells, Disraelis, and Gladstones simply cannot match. Palmerston was first a Tory, then a Whig, always a disciple of Satanic Psychopathic Jeremy Bentham, head of British Secret Services Intelligence, and for 35 years there is scarcely a cabinet without Palmerston as foreign secretary or prime minister. In London they call him Lord Cupid, a Regency buck always on the lookout for a new mistress, perfectly at home in a menage a trois. On the continent they call him Lord Firebrand. The schoolboys of Vienna sing that if the devil has a son, that son is Lord Palmerston. Bisexual "Pam" is an occultist who loves Satanism, seances and menages a trois. And here, between Big Ben and the Foreign Office, are the haunts of this nineteenth-century DEVIL, head of the Satanic Psychopathic Oligarchy, the New Venetian Venal Doge, Lord Palmerston... "Old Pam"..

(PAM IS A WOMAN'S NAME AND THUS A HOMOSEXUAL REFERENCE AS IS NAPOLEON THE THIRD AS PALMERSTON'S CATAMITE, BELOW. WHILST NOT SAYING THAT ALL HOMOSEXUALS ARE SATANIC, HOMOSEXUALITY AND HYPERSEXUALITY INCLUDING PEDOPHILIA ARE PRACTISES WHICH FOLLOW SATANISM AND THE SATANIC EMPIRES LIKE A DISEASE.)

I am now standing in the shadow of the Houses of Parliament in the part of London called Westminster. It is the year of grace 1850. Around me lies Victorian London, the London of Dickens and Thackeray, of John Stuart Mill and Thomas Carlyle. This capital city is now the center of the greatest colonial empire the world has ever known, shortly to embrace between one-fifth and one-fourth of the total population and land area of the Earth. Although in theory there are still empires ruled by the French, the Spanish, the Portuguese, the Dutch, the Belgians, and the Danes, all of these, in this year of 1850, are but the satellites of the British Empire. Britain is the mistress of the seas, the empire upon which the sun never sets. It is the new Rome on the banks of the Thames.


The Empress is Queen Victoria, who is largely occupied with Prince Albert in her business of breeding new litters of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to take over the royal houses of Europe. A quarter-century from now Victoria will be made Empress of India to reward her for so much breeding. But for all of Victoria's wealth and power, Britain is not really a monarchy; it is an oligarchy on the Satanic Psychopathic Venetian model, and the most powerful leader, the "Doge" of the British oligarchy in these times, between 1830 and the end of the American Civil War, is Lord Palmerston.


A new Satanic Psychopathic Roman Empire
It is 1850. Lord Palmerston is engaged in a campaign to make London the undisputed: center of a new, worldwide Roman Empire. He is attempting to conquer the world in the way that the British have already conquered India, destabilising every other nation to the role of a puppet, client, and fall-guy for British imperial policy. Lord Palmerston's campaign is not a secret. He has declared it here in the Houses of Parliament, saying that wherever in the world a British subject goes, he can flaunt the laws, secure that the British fleet will support him. "Civis Romanus sum, every Briton is a citizen of this new Rome," thundered Lord Palmerston, and with that, the universal empire was proclaimed.


During the British created Napoleonic wars - because British Masonic Agents started the French Revolution, Head of the British Secret Services, Jeremy Bentham, was writing the speeches of Robespierre from London - and like Hitler, the British Secret Service chose Napoleon to start the Napoleonic Wars to destroy and destabilise Europe and Russia, destroying infrastructure, creating poverty, whilst the British Empire managed to conquer most of the world outside of Europe, with the exception of the United States. After 1815, the French betrayed; the restored Bourbons, Orleanists or Bonapartists were generally British Agents, pliant tools of London.


But in central and eastern Europe, there was Prince Metternich's Austrian Empire, a very strong land power. There was vast Imperial Russia, under the autocrat Nicholas I or the reformer Alexander II. There was the Kingdom of Prussia. Lord Palmerston likes to call these the "arbitrary powers." Above all, Palmerston bated Metternich, the embodiment and ideologue of the Congress of Vienna system. Metternich presided over one of the most pervasive police states in history. Men said his rule was shored up by a standing army of soldiers, a sitting army of bureaucrats, a kneeling army of priests, and a creeping army of informers.


For Britain to rule the world, the Holy Alliance of Austria, Russia, and Prussia had to be broken up. There is also the matter of the British  dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire putting in British Agent Kemal Attaturk, allowing him to win at Gallipoli,  as Turkish head. Starting with British Agent Lord Byron's Greek Revolution in the 1820s, British policy has been to play the card of nationalism, national liberation, against each of these rival empires.


The imperial theme was sounded in 1846 with the Free (Slave and drugs) trade policy, Britain' s declaration of intent to loot the world in the name of the pound. Then, in January 1848, Lord Palmerston arranged an insurrection in Sicily, using British Mafia networks that went back to Lord Nelson.

SATANIST AND HEAD OF MI6, JEREMY BENTHAM, CREATOR OF THE ALL SEEING EYE, "WREATHED IN FLAME",  PANOPTICON PRISM, HAD HIMSELF STUFFED WITH HIS HEAD UNDERNEATH HIM AND PLACED IN HIS FAVOURITE PUB IN LONDON WHERE IT RESIDES TODAY - HERE IS THE PICTURE!!

In his exposition of the Bentham, "Hedonistic Calculus", Bentham proposed a classification of 12 pains and 14 pleasures, by which we might test the "happiness factor" of any action. Nonetheless, it should not be overlooked that Bentham's "hedonistic" theory is often criticized.. Bentham said it would be acceptable to torture one person if this would produce an amount of happiness in other people outweighing the unhappiness of the tortured individual - which has recently, satanically, been implemented by the USA. Bentham also argued for "Free Banking" - increases in interest rates to infinity and "Free Love" - the liberalisation of laws prohibiting homosexual sex, bestiality and pederasty - this is Satanism and the satanic perversion of the word, free!!
 

BRITISH AGENT MAZZINI - CREATED "YOUNG" NATIONALIST TERRORIST ORGANISATIONS TO DESTBILISE EVERY COUNTRY FOR DIVIDE AND CONQUER SATANIC PSYCHOPATHIC, "PRINCIPLE OF POVERTY" DESTRUCTION
 

"The Agricultural Revolution took thousands of years, the Industrial Revolution took hundreds of years, the Technological Revolution took tens, the Spiritual Revolution has come and we have only an instant to act." - Russell Brand

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” ~ Richard Buckminster Fuller
 

WE MUST UNDERSTAND THAT ANY MONEY PAID TO POLITICIANS IS A BRIBE. LIKE JUDGES, THEY MUST ONLY BE ABLE TO TAKE MONEY AND ADVERTISING FROM THEIR EMPLOYERS, ALL THE PEOPLE.

WE MUST UNDERSTAND THAT MEDIA CAN NOT BE UNDER THE TOTAL CONTROL OF ONLY FIVE INTERNATIONAL COMPANIES.

POLITICIANS MUST ONLY WORK TO ENRICH THEIR EMPLOYERS, ALL THE PEOPLE. WATER, FOOD, HOUSING, EDUCATION, LIBRARIES, TRANSPORTATION, ENERGY, NO POLLUTION.. ALL FREE AND PAID FOR BY DIRIGIST POLICIES WHICH MAKE SOCIETY RICH AND EVOLVE INDIVIDUALS - AND TAKE HUMANITY TO THE STARS

What needs to be developed is rather than open revolt, we need to develop a new solution.

To defeat the Luciferian Elite who have managed the Human Herd since the slave trading, drug running Babylon, through the slave trading, drug running Roman Empire, past the slave trading, drug running Venetians, and the slave trading, drug running British Empire and on into the the slave trading, drug running Anglo-American Establishment who rule through the IMF, the International Monetary Fund, and the IMF - International Military Force of Drug Running, White Slave Trading NATO, The CFR, The Bilderburgers, Davos, TED, RIIA - British Royal Institute of International Affairs, the Rockefeller CFR - Council of Foreign affairs.

To defeat the Luciferian Elite we need a Spiritual Revolution.

"The Agricultural Revolution took thousands of years, the Industrial Revolution took hundreds of years, the Technological Revolution took tens, the Spiritual Revolution has come and we have only an instant to act." - Russel Brand

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” ~ Richard Buckminster Fuller

Assassinated Lincoln used the Credit system when he created Government issued Money - Greenbacks.

Assassinated Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal Economics when he demanded that the Rothschild Privately owned Federal Reserve create trillions of dollars of credit to build the Infrastructure which made the people of America the richest population in the World for sixty years. Following the techniques of FDR shows the way out of the purposeful Oligarch Austerity Depression designed to Dumb Down Humanity, create universal poverty and Rule the World.

Assassinated John F. Kennedy made Government created Greenbacks too. By 1980 he planned to have fusion power online and nuclear rockets for Mars and all the necessary commodities available from the Asteroid belt. His plan was for more water, irrigation infrastructure to triple the agriculture of the United States and throughout the world for increased richness, cheaper power, a more richer, more numerous, more evolved humanity.

BAN FED TARP TO BANKS, GET RID OF DERIVATIVES, USE FED CREDIT TO CREATE TRILLIONS TO REBUILD WORLD AND US INFRASTRUCTURE, INCREASE HIGH FLUX DENSITY ENERGY PRODUCTION, INDUSTRY AND AGRICULTURE: THE PROGRAM TO END THE ECONOMIC DEPRESSION AND THUS HELP IN THE WORLDWIDE EVOLUTION OF A RICH HUMANITY.

WE MUST UNDERSTAND THAT ANY MONEY PAID TO POLITICIANS IS A BRIBE. LIKE JUDGES, THEY MUST ONLY BE ABLE TO TAKE MONEY AND ADVERTISING FROM THEIR EMPLOYERS, ALL THE PEOPLE.

WE MUST UNDERSTAND THAT MEDIA CAN NOT BE UNDER THE TOTAL CONTROL OF ONLY FIVE INTERNATIONAL COMPANIES.

POLITICIANS MUST ONLY WORK TO ENRICH THEIR EMPLOYERS, ALL THE PEOPLE. WATER, FOOD, HOUSING, EDUCATION, LIBRARIES, ENERGY, NO POLLUTION.. ALL FREE AND PAID FOR BY DIRIGIST POLICIES WHICH MAKE SOCIETY RICH AND TAKE HUMANITY TO THE STARS

A RETURN TO PALMERSTON

Lord Palmerston's three leading Satanic Psychopathic British Agents who enabled British intelligence to control continental Europe. SEE above: "Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young Italy" terrorist and British Agent Giuseppe Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini; the British Aristocrat David Urquhart, founder of modern communism; and Palmerston's French catamite, Emperor Napoleon III. Also leading British Agent Karl Marx and their controller, Head of British Intelligence, Satanic Psychopathic Jeremy Bentham.


That started the great revolutionary year of 1848, and in the course of that year, every government in Europe was toppled, and every monarchy badly shaken, at least for a time. Metternich of Austria and King Louis Philippe of France fled to London, where they now spend their time playing cards. There was war in Italy, civil war in Austria, barricades in Paris, and tumult in Germany.


The only exception to the rule was Russia, and now Lord Palmerston is preparing to invade Russia, with the help of his strategic catamite, Napoleon III, also known as Napoleon Le Petit. That will start in about three years, and it will be called the Crimean War. As soon as the war against Russia is over, Palmerston and John Stuart Mill at the British East India Company will Satanically and Psychopathically start the Great Mutiny in India, which some historians will call the Sepoy Rebellion...

Muslim soldiers will be told that new cartridges are greased with pig fat, Hindu soldiers will be told the cartridges are greased with cow fat, and the result will be what you would expect. But in the conflagration the British will murder the Great Mogul and the Mogul Empire, and impose their direct rule in all of India. Typical John Stuart Mill. He, of course, is the author of, "On Liberty."


The British would like to give China the same treatment they are giving India. Since 1842, Palmerston and the East India Company have been waging Opium Wars against the Chinese Empire, partly to get them to open their ports to opium from India, and also as a way to conquer China. Already the British have Hong Kong and the other treaty ports. By 1860, the British will be in Beijing, looting and burning the summer palace of the Emperor.


Shortly after that, the British will back Napoleon in his project of putting a Hapsburg archduke on the throne of an ephemeral Mexican Empire-the Maximilian Project. These projects will be closely coordinated with Palmerston's plans to eliminate the only two nations still able to oppose him ­ the Russia of Alexander II and the United States of Abraham Lincoln.


Lord Palmerston will be the evil demiurge, creating the American Civil War, the mastermind of secession, far more important for the Confederacy than Jefferson Davis or Robert E. Lee. And in the midst of that war, Palmerston will detonate a rebellion in Poland against Russian rule, not for the sake of Poland, but for the sake of starting a general European war against Russia.

But when the Russian fleets sail into New York and San Francisco, when Lee's wave breaks at Gettysburg, when the Stars and Bars are lowered over Vicksburg, the British Empire will be stopped-just short of its goal. Just short-and yet, British hegemony will still be great enough to launch the two world wars of the twentieth century, and the third conflagration that will start in 1991. And as we look forward for a century and a half from 1850, British geopolitics, despite the challenges, despite the defeats, despite the putrefaction of Britain itself, will remain the dominant factor in world affairs.


The Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents' personal relations epitomize the continual, infantile violence among the inmates in Palmerston' s Satanic Psychopathic terrorist zoo.


Palmerston's Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents
How do the British do it? How can a clique of depraved aristocrats on this tight little island bid to rule the entire world? Don't believe the stories about the workshop of the world; there are some factories here, but Britain lives by looting the colonies. The fleet is formidable, but also overrated, and very vulnerable to serious challenges. The army is third rate.

But the British have inherited Ancient Knowledge from the Venetians that the greatest force in history is the force of ideas, and that if you can control the culture through the Media, then you can control the way people think, and then Statesmen and Fleets and Armies will bend to your will.


Take our friend Lord Palmerston. Pam has the Foreign Office, the Home Office, and Whitehall, but when he needed to start the 1848 revolutions, or when the time will come for the American Civil War, he turns to a troika of agents.

They are Lord Palmerston's Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents. These Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents are named Giuseppe Mazzini, Louis Napoleon Bonaparte III, and David Urquhart. These Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents, - far more than the Union Jack, Victoria, the bulldog breed, the thin gray line of heroes, and the fleet - are the heart of what is called the British Empire.


We will get to know Satanic Psychopathic Lord Palmerston's Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents better. But first, one thing must be understood. They often had to work together on this or that project. But their relations were never exactly placid.


You understand: Their stock in trade was violence. So do not be surprised if we find Palmerston's Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents pretending, for show, to lash out with slanders, knives, and bombs against each other, and even against their august master, Lord Palmerston himself. The main aim of Britain is destabilisation, war, destruction of infrastructure, poverty - a lack of ability to defend against takeover.


Under Lord Palmerston England supports all revolutions - except her own - and the leading revolutionary in Her Majesty's Secret Service is Giuseppe Mazzini, our first Satanic Psychopathic British Agent.


Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini's terrorist revolution
Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini has concocted a very effective terrorist belief structure. Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini is a Genoese admirer of the diabolical Venetian Secret Agent - Venetian friar Paolo Sarpi.

Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini' s father was a physician to Queen Victoria's father. For a while Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini worked for the Carbonari, one of Napoleon's freemasonic fronts. Then, in 1831, Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini founded his Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young Italy secret society. Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, today' s President of France, sent him articles for his magazine.

Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini's cry is Nationalistic.. "God and the People," "Dio e Popoio," which means that the people are the new God. Populism becomes an ersatz religion. Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini teaches that Christianity developed the human individual, but that the era of Christianity, of freedom, of human rights, is now over. From now on, the protagonists of history are not individuals any more, but peoples, understood as racial nationalities. Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini is adamant that there are no inalienable human rights. There is only Duty, the duty of thought and action to serve the destiny of the racial collectivities to fight against each other.

"Liberty," says Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini, "is not the negation of all authority; it is the negation of every authority that fails to represent the Collective Aim of the Nation." There is no individual human soul, only a collective soul. According to Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini, the Catholic Church, the papacy, and every other institution which attempts to bring God to man must be abolished. Every national grouping that can be identified must be given independence and self-determination in a centralized dictatorship. They must fight each other. In the coming century, Hitler, Mussolini and the Italian Fascists will repeat many of Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini' s ideas verbatim.


Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini thinks that each modern nation has a "mission": The British would take care of Industry and Colonies; the Poles, leadership of the Slavic world; the Russians, the civilizing of Asia. The French get Action, the Germans get Thought, and so forth. For some strange reason, there is no mission for Ireland, so Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini does not support the independence of Ireland. There is only one monarchy which Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini supports, because he says it has deep roots among the people: You guessed it, Queen Victoria.

The Second Satanic Psychopathic British Agent: David Urquhart
Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini is the Satanic Psychopathic terrorist zookeeper for all of these theme parks.

But there are other Satanic Psychopathic terrorist zookeepers, and still more theme parks in the human, multicultural Satanic Psychopathic Terrorist zoo. The custodians are Palmerston's two other Satanic Psychopathic British Agents, David Urquhart and Napoleon III.

How interesting that Urquhart should be the controller of British agent Karl Marx, who earns his keep as a writer for Urquhart's paper. British Agent Karl Marx was given and Office in the British National Library in London. David Urquhart is the founder of modern communism! It is Urquhart who will prescribe the plan for Das Kapital. Marx is a sad admirer of Urquhart ­acknowledging his influence more than that of any other living person. Marx will even compose a Life of Lord Palmerston, based on under cover agent Urquhart's wild obsession that 'Pam is a Russian agent of influence. This says enough about Marx's acumen as a political analyst. Marx and Urquhart agree that there is no real absolute profit in capitalism, and that technological progress causes a falling rate of profit.

Another of Urquhart's operatives is Lothar Biicher, a confidant of the German labor leader Lassalle, and later of the Iron Chancellor, Otto von Bismarck himself. After Gettysburg, Urquhart will move to France, and open a terrorist Jesuit theme park for right-wing Catholics; he will meet Pius IX and will join members of Cardinal Newman's Oxford Movement at the First Vatican Council in 1870.


The Third Satanic Psychopathic British Agent: Napoleon III - "Of course the Rothschilds were financing both Napoleon I and the British, just as they funded both Hitler and Roosevelt."

 
Our third paid British Agent is the current President and soon-to-be emperor of France, Napoleon III. Napoleon Ie Petit. As we have seen, he started off as a Carbonaro and terrorist in contact with Satanic Psychopathic Mazzini. In 1836, Napoleon tried to parlay his famous name into a successful putsch; he failed and was exiled to America. Then Napoleon was given a private study at the new British Museum reading room and frequented Lord Palmerston. He began work on his book, Les Idees Napoleoniques. His main idea was that the original Napoleon was not wrong to be an imperialist, but only erred in trying to expand his empire at the expense of Great Britain. There is plenty of room for a French Empire as a junior partner to the British. The preferred form of government would be democratic Caesarism, with frequent plebiscites.

The reason why must now be confronted.


The Satanic Psychopathic ideology of British imperialism in a Line With Satanic Psychopathic Babylon, Satanic Psychopathic Roman Empire, Satanic Psychopathic Venice, Satanic Psychopathic British Empire, Satanic Psychopathic Anglo-American Establishment

 
The British Empire is the Empire of the same Satanic Psychopathic Bloodline families stretching back to Satanic Psychopathic Babylon, through the Satanic Psychopathic Roman Empire through Satanic Psychopathic Venice through to the Satanic Psychopathic British Empire of Satanic Psychopathic sense certainty, the empire of Satanic Psychopathic empiricism.

Well, for one thing, they call themselves the Venetian Party. The future prime minister Benjamin Disraeli will write in his novel Conningsby that the Whig aristocrats of 1688 wanted "to establish in England a high aristocratic republic on the model of Venice, making the kings into doges, and with a 'Venetian constitution.' "

During the years after the Council of Florence in 1439, the Venetian enemies of Nicolaus of Cusa plotted to wage war on the Italian High Renaissance and Cusa' s ecumenical project. To combat Cusa's Renaissance Platonism, the Venetians of the Rialto and Padua turned to a new-look Aristotelianism, featuring Aristotle's characteristic outlook shorn of its medieval-scholastic and Averroist outgrowths.

This was expressed in the work at the University of Padua where all Elite Venetians sent their sons, extolling Satanic Psychopathic Aristotle of Pietro Pomponazzi, and in that of Pomponazzi's highly born Venetian pupil, Gasparo Contarini, later Cardinal. During the War of the League of Cambrai of 1509-17, an alliance of virtually every power in Europe threatened to wipe out the Venetian oligarchy. The Venetians knew that France or Spain could crush them like so many flies.

The Venetians responded by launching the Protestant Reformation with two paid Venetian Agents - Luther and Calvin, and badly advised - by Venetian Agents - syphilitic Henry VIII.

..Bentham's world of pleasure and pain.
In the wake of the initial success in forcing France to its knees with the Jacobin Terror, Bentham sponsored several generations of philosophical radicals, ranging from his closest protégés, James Mill and John Bowring, to Mill's son John Stuart Mill, Thomas Carlyle, and David Urquhart. Carlyle, under the watchful eye of J.S. Mill, penned the official British history of the French Revolution, needless to say burying the role of the Shelburne-Bentham cabal in that blood-soaked tragedy. Bowring, Bentham's long-suffering personal secretary, would later supervise the publication of Bentham's collected works in an 11-volume series; would serve as Lord Palmerston's agent-handler of the notorious Giuseppe Mazzini; and would instigate the Second Opium War against China from his post as emissary in Canton. Urquhart, one of the youngest of the Benthamites, would later become the agent-handler for Karl Marx.

Upon his death in 1832, Bentham's body was dissected and stuffed; his head was cast in bronze and placed at his feet, with a mask affixed in its place. For years, the mummified Bentham, seated in his favorite chair inside a glass case, was an ever-present participant in meetings of his radical circle. In the 1990s, the mummy would still enjoy a place of prominence at London University.
 

MORE... CLICK BELOW...

 

THE EVOLUTION OF A NEW HUMANITY - 1. THE ENLIGHTENED SPECIES AND THE HUMAN INTRA SPECIES PARASITES 2. THE LUCIFERIAN SPECIES 3. THE SATANIC SPECIES

THE SATANIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD -  PART ONE - The Satanic Psychopathic Palmerton, Prime Minister of the British Empire circa 1850 - and his Three Satanic Psychopathic British Agents, Mazzini, Urquhart and Napoleon III - as a Continuation of the same Satanic Psychopathic Families from Satanic Psychopathic Babylon through the Satanic Psychopathic Roman Empire, the Satanic Psychopathic Venetian Empire to the Satanic Psychopathic British Empire to the current Satanic Psychopathic Anglo-American Establishment

THE SATANIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD - PART TWO - OLIGARCHIES-POLICIES-FROM-THE-TIME-OF-BABYLON-AND-THEIR-HISTORICAL-TECHNIQUES-TO-ENSLAVE-THE-WORLD

The Satanic Frankfurt School "Dums" Down Civilisation ADORNO, BENJAMIN, MARCUSE, LUKACS, BRECHT, WEILL, ECO, DERRIDA

Satanism, Black Magic, Ordo Templi Orientis OTO, Aleister Crowley, Luciferianism, Wicca

VAMPIRE ADDICTION IMPLANT BLOCKAGES VAMPIRE SEXUAL ADDICTION IMPLANT BLOCKAGES VAMPIRE DRUG ADDICTION IMPLANT BLOCKAGES VAMPIRE FOOD ADDICTION IMPLANT BLOCKAGES

DEEPAMKARA BUDDHA - THE LAMPLIGHTER, THE GURU, THE SPIRITUAL MASTER

ALEISTER CROWLEY - SEX TANTRA ADDICT, DRUG ADDICT, VICTIM OF VAMPIRE IMPLANT ADDICTION BLOCKAGES

THE REAL REALITY OF THE WORLD AND THE PURPOSE OF "SPIN", HERMENEUTICS, HISTORIOGRAPHY, HEGEMONY, MYTH AND GRAMSCI'S "PHILOSOPHY OF PRAXIS" ON THE PATH OF ILLUMINATION, ENLIGHTENMENT

The survival of the species demands a revival of the "secret knowledge" of the Neoplatonic elite. That knowledge must not only be revived, but as we do here, must be situated within and updated by appropriate terms of modern scientific knowledge.
https://www.energyenhancement.org/Secret-Knowledge-Of-The-Neoplatonic-Elite/THE-ENERGY-ENHANCEMENT-SECRET-KNOWLEDGE-OF-THE-NEOPLATONIC-ELITE-DIRECTORY.htm

 

THE PURPOSE AND THE PSYCHOPATHIC PERVERSION OF THE PURPOSE - THE CAUSE OF ALL EVIL IN THE WORLD!!

THE ORIGEN OF THE BANKSTERS

 
STUDENT REPORT

READ THE FULL STUDENT REPORT AT..

https://www.energyenhancement.org/energy-vampires-energy-implant-blockages-demons-psychic-cords-past-life-relationships-ENERGY-ENHANCEMENT-VIDEO-MEDITATION-COURSE-IMPLANTS-sexual-Implants.htm

"I'm still drawing in light from above the head - it works quite well I can fill myself up with light fairly quickly!

I am reading bits of the links you sent me. I can see you've updated them a lot and feel you're putting in some stuff to help me (and others).

THIS CHAPTER ENTITLED, "THE EVOLUTION OF A NEW HUMANITY 1. THE ENLIGHTENED SPECIES AND THE HUMAN INTRA SPECIES PARASITES 2. THE LUCIFERIAN SPECIES 3. THE Satanic Psychopathic SPECIES" IS THE LATEST PAINFUL INSTALLMENT OF MY SERIES ABOUT THE EFFECTS OF THE, "DARK SIDE" ON THE LAST TENS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS OF MODERN SOCIETY.

https://www.energyenhancement.org/THE-EVOLUTION-OF-A-NEW-HUMANITY-THE-ENLIGHTENED-SPECIES-AND-THE-HUMAN-INTRA-SPECIES-PARASITES-THE-LUCIFERIAN-SPECIES-THE-Satanic Psychopathic-SPECIES.htm

IT IS A DARK VISION.

NOT UNLIKE THE BUDDHAS, "PAIN, OLD AGE AND DEATH" BUT AS WE BOTH SAY..

"THERE IS A PATH".. ENERGY ENHANCEMENT MEDITATION..

Satanism, Black Magic, Ordo Templi Orientis OTO, Aleister Crowley, Luciferianism, Wicca
https://www.energyenhancement.org/Satanism-Black-Magic-Ordo-Templi-Orientis-OTO-Aleister-Crowley-Luciferianism-Wicca-SEX-TANTRA-ADDICT-DRUG-ADDICT-VICTIM-OF-VAMPIRE-SEX-DRUG-AND-FOOD-ADDICTION-blockages.htm

and it is against their egos to tell them that. That they need perhaps one hundred lifetimes of experience of entering into every type of evil, and its judicial return, Karma, before they can freely choose to fuse with their Souls and God and become Enlightened.

OR THEY CAN DO IT NOW, WITH ENERGY ENHANCEMENT.."

This is important too! Don't worry, I won't forget about this. I am ready to attempt this final path."


SATCHIDANAND'S REPLY

I am hoping to answer your question in my projected article TITLED..

THE EVOLUTION OF A NEW HUMANITY
1. THE ENLIGHTENED SPECIES
AND THE HUMAN INTRA SPECIES PARASITES..
2. THE LUCIFERIAN SPECIES
3. THE Satanic Psychopathic SPECIES

1. Enlightened are those who connect with God, an infinity of chakras above the head with no blockages. They remove all their energy blockages including the heart to bring back empathy and above the head to bring back conscience. They integrate and increase in size their talent energy bodies.

2. THE LUCIFERIAN SPECIES are humans who have meditated and learned, perhaps many, many tens of thousands of years ago, how to cut off from god by using energy blockages to block chakras above the head so they can live outside the body in private universes - so they seem like psychopathic aliens to us - then they download into their mind weakened sons - throwing their sons out - on their 21st birthday so as to become the Head of their Baron, Lord or Crown families and control their multi trillion dollar, thousands of years old families wealth, to manage the human herd.

STATUE OF LUCIFER

Depending how many chakras above the head they block off, the more power they have. They need a lot of energy as they receive no energy from God, so they have learned how to create Implant addiction energy blockages for drugs, sex, and rock and roll so as to parasitise, vampirise their slave populations and create their Satanic Psychopathic managers.

Marquis de Sade was a Psychopathic Satanist of the ruling class. Perhaps the end result of many lifetimes of perversion he was a pathetic addict of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Highly intelligent and of an excellent family he showed that without mastery of addiction, intelligence does not bring wisdom and purpose - only an explanation of the psychopathic ruling elite and its Illuminati Rituals.

“There is nothing that sets bounds to licentiousness…The best way of enlarging and multiplying one’s desires is to try to limit them.” - Sade

Sade is a propagandist for perversion and degeneration, in his books he hopes to persuade you, the reader, to become like him, as all Satanists offer Christ all the money and power in this world and Sade cannot understand why Christ says, "Get behind me Satan"

Like so many psychopaths in Hervey Cleckley's, "THE MASK OF SANITY" this type of psychopath always get caught and never does any harm despite being moral idiots - thus they all ended up in Psychiatric Hospital rather than declaring War on Iraq.

However, their modus operandi is similar to those who do not get caught and deserves investigation because Ritual Illuminists all end up the same way - as psychopaths.

Psychopaths -  Hervey Cleckley THE MASK OF SANITY, Section 1: An Outline of the Problem, 1. Sanity-a protean concept - Click here!!

Perhaps the most controversial figure in sexual history is the Marquis de Sade, the French aristocrat after whom the practice of sadism is named. Sade could equally well be called the greatest philosopher of psychopathic sex. A highly intelligent man, he spent much of his adult life in prisons and mental asylums because of his socially unacceptable conduct. Some have labelled him the most subversive man, to those who want to tread the path of perversion, who ever lived.

He provided an astonishingly frank self-analysis: “Related through my mother to the greatest families in the realm, attached on my father’s side to everyone of distinction in the province of Languedoc; born in Paris in the lap of luxury and plenty, I thought as soon as I could think that nature and fortune had combined to heap their gifts on me; I thought so because people were silly enough to tell me so and this ridiculous prejudice made me haughty, despotic and irascible; it seemed that everyone should yield to me, that the entire universe should flatter my whims, and that I alone possessed the right to conceive and satisfy such whims.”

This is the same attitude expressed to this day by most of the privileged elite. Do you remember Tiger Woods’ explanation of his tawdry conduct?

"I knew my actions were wrong but I convinced myself that normal rules didn't apply. I never thought about who I was hurting, instead I thought only about myself. I ran straight through the boundaries a married couple should live by. I thought I could get away with whatever I wanted to. I felt that I had worked hard my entire life and deserved to enjoy all the temptations around me. I felt I was entitled, and thanks to money and fame, I didn't have to go far to find them.”

And so say all the members of the privileged elite. What’s even much more disturbing is that the world agrees to suspend normal rules for these people. The powerful do not inhabit the same world as ordinary folk. Nor do the weak victims. They are so far down the pecking order that Sade thought anything could be done to them with impunity.

Though not if you insult God, as Sade discovered to his cost. His first spell in prison came after a Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young woman complained to the police that Sade planned to whip her and have anal sex (a capital crime because of restrictions of the church on Satanic Psychopathic paganism talked of in the Bible which leads to Temple prostitutes, Male homosexual dog priests, murder sacrifice rituals and cannibal (CainAbel) Ritual). He also wanted to urinate in a chalice, insult Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary, and insert a Communion wafer in the girl’s vagina.

The king commanded that Sade should be jailed for two weeks, and thus Sade first became acquainted with the prison system in which he would spend much of the rest of his life. In a time of excess and licence for the rich, Sade managed to be so outrageous that it proved impossible to turn a blind eye to what he was doing.

Sade was always on the lookout for impressionable girls to exploit. For centuries in France there was a habit of upper class men hanging around backstage to pick up actresses and dancers. In the 19th century, the French artist Degas often painted Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young ballet dancers being ogled by sinister gentlemen in black frockcoats and top hats. These lechers were known as abonnés meaning “subscribers” and came from the richest echelon of French society. They were allowed, for the right price, to go wherever they liked in the ballet school. It was understood that they’d have sex with the ballet dancers i.e. ballerinas were rather high-class whores.


With his valet, Sade took part in an orgy of whippings, masturbation and sodomy with four girls, to whom they gave aniseed sweets soaked in Spanish Fly aphrodisiac. Two of the girls became ill and said they’d been poisoned.


A warrant was issued for the arrest of Sade and his valet, but they fled the country. In their absence, Sade was sentenced to beheading for poisoning and sodomy, and his valet to hanging. Their bodies were then to be burned and their ashes scattered to the winds. The sentences were duly carried out on effigies of the two men.


When Sade heard the news, he recorded that he masturbated and discharged joyously! When he later returned to France, the death sentence passed on him was conveniently forgotten, as was so often the case with the aristocratic class.


Unreformed, Sade continued his sexual adventures and was frequently in court on charges of “excessive libertinage.” It wasn’t long before he was back in jail where he took to indulging in fantasies about coprophilia – fascination with excrement as is said, Aleister Crowley indulged. He also loved sex toys and used them to aid his “prestiges”: masturbatory orgasms in his cell.


Writing to his wife, Sade said of himself, “Imperious, choleric, impetuous, extreme in everything, of disorderly wealth of imagination on human conduct such as life never saw the equal of, there you have me in a couple of words; one thing more, you must either kill me or take me as I am, for I shall not change.”


Satanic Psychopathic Sade was a keen student of the anti-theistic philosophy of the Enlightenment and became an extreme scientific materialist. Nature, not God, was the Prime Mover, he believed. He called Jesus Christ a vulgar trickster and impostor and declared that religions were only good for setting man against man, and “caused greater loss of life on earth than all other wars and all other plagues combined.”

Psychopathic Hitler, Stalin and Mao killed 160 millions. In the twentieth century Governments of psychopaths killed 280 millions!!


In a booklet called Dialogue between a Priest and a Dying Man (written while he was in jail), Sade had the dying man convert the priest to atheism and join him, in his last hours, in an orgy with six beautiful women.


Sade was influenced by the work of Voltaire and his library also contained Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, a precise dissection of the libertine’s art of seduction of innocent victims (famously filmed as "Dangerous Liaisons (1988)" with Glen Close, John Malkovich, Keanu Reeves, Michelle Pfeiffer and Uma Thurman - see my Review). That book captures perfectly the amorality and pleasure-seeking obsessions of the French aristocracy in pre-Revolutionary France.


Sade, Prisoner No 6 (the number of his cell), was eventually transferred to the notorious Bastille prison in Paris, and found himself in a cell located in the “Liberty Tower”, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him. Most of the people of the contemporary world might be considered as prisoners in the Liberty wing of the global jail. They imagine they are free but they are only free to do whatever the authorities desire of them.

(It’s interesting that Patrick McGoohan in the 1960s TV series The Prisoner was also “No 6”.)

It was in the Bastille that Sade wrote the infamous 120 Days of Sodom on a great roll of paper (like a toilet roll) to disguise the fact that it was a book. Given that his cell was regularly searched, anything as obscene as his most famous book would certainly have been confiscated if it had been in a traditional book form.

He was transferred from the Bastille a day or two before it was stormed by the people in 1789 and despatched to a lunatic asylum used by aristocratic families to conveniently lock away embarrassing black sheep. To his horror, he was allowed to take nothing with him. When the Bastille was ransacked, Sade’s old cell was looted and he was certain he had permanently lost his sexual masterpiece, prompting him to weep “tears of blood”. It had in fact survived. Someone had stolen it and sold it. In 1900, long after Sade’s death, it showed up in Germany and was published in 1904.

The story revolves around a castle as isolated from the world as the Grail Castle of the Fisher King, but rather than being the home of chivalric knights, this castle is the torture chamber of four psychopathic wealthy, licentious perverts whom Sade described as “bloodsuckers who are always on the watch for public calamities”. In the present day, we might liken them to rapacious, nouveau riche individuals such as Wall Street hedge fund managers; people without any qualities at all to commend them.

One was a banker (described as effeminate), one a duke (who poisoned his mother, and his sister when she found out), one a judge (who deliberately sentenced the innocent to death) and one a bishop (who religiously practised anal intercourse). They summed up the world of money, entitlement, the law and religion.

As someone who detested religion, “lawful” authority and the vulgar rich, Sade was all too keen to depict them as criminals, perverts, hypocrites and monsters. To this extent, Sade could be said to be providing a sharp social satire mocking the claims of the upper echelons of society to be morally superior. On the other hand, Sade makes it clear that he himself is greatly attracted to horrific sexual offences against others, and, if he could have got away with it, he would certainly have murdered some of his victims.


Therefore his novel is, disturbingly, both satire and psychopathic aspiration. Perhaps his real message is that whereas he is honest about valuing the lives of the lower orders of society at zero, his fellow members of the privileged elite pretend otherwise while feeling and thinking exactly as he does. And who can doubt that the Old World Order of today are just as contemptuous as Sade of the slaves who serve them?


Sade’s description of the judge is suitably monstrous: “a pillar of society; almost sixty years of age and worn by debauchery to a singular degree…he was tall, he was dry, had two blue lustreless eyes, a livid and unwholesome mouth, a long nose. Hairy as a satyr, flat-backed, with slack drooping buttocks that rather resembled a pair of dirty rags flapping upon his upper thighs; the skin of his arse was, thanks to whip strokes, so deadened and toughened that you could seize up a handful and knead it without his feeling a thing.”

The plan of the four libertines was to give themselves over to murderous debauchery for 120 days, cut off from any chance of being stopped by any outsiders. Their castle resembled a forerunner of Nazi death camps, with the emphasis on sexual crimes against the victims.

They were to be assisted by four middle-aged prostitutes, women who would tell depraved stories of the erotic highlights of their careers, which the protagonists would then seek to emulate. They would be aided by eight “fuckers” (sodomists) chosen solely on the basis of the enormous size of their penises.

The victims were 46 in number, as meticulously detailed by Sade. They included the four daughters of the protagonists, eight Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young girls and eight Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young boys kidnapped from their families (all aged 12 to 15 and all virgins, to be deflowered during the 120 days of debauch), female servants, and four ugly old women to serve as a contrast to the Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young beauties. The victims were given all sorts of sexual tasks and timetables, and any contraventions of the rules were met with the death penalty.

The book contains hundreds of pages depicting the most extreme sexual degradation and violence, often culminating in murder. Although it might sound an interesting if unpleasant read, it will in fact pervert and degrade you should you read it as deeper and deeper horrors will create the necessity for worse in order to feel anything and so these types of people say... it could well qualify as the most boring book in the whole of literature. Unless you share Sade’s propensities, it soon becomes a tedious catalogue of nauseating crimes, all merging into one grand violation of humanity.  Imagine watching one porn movie 24/7 for four months and you will get a flavour of the book. Any initial thrill at coming across the terrain of ultimate transgression soon gives way to tedium. Most readers quickly become desensitised to the myriad cruelties, crimes and horrors. It is impossible to care about anything or anyone in the book, including the victims. One gets a disturbing idea that the guards of the Nazi death camps must have felt this way.

For this reason, 120 Days of Sodom is an astonishingly profound book, revealing the deepest horrors of the human condition, and the most disturbing of these may be that the suffering of others can become irritating and then boring, meaning that on the path of psychopathy we can grow inured to the pain of others.

Sade said of his book, “You must prepare your heart and mind for the most impure tale that has ever been told since our world began…”

When the Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young virgin girls arrive at the castle of their destruction, they are greeted by one of the most chilling statements ever made. The Duke tells them that they are at the mercy of “beings of a profound and recognized criminality, who have no god but their lubricity, no laws but their depravity…godless, unprincipled, unbelieving profligates in whose eyes the life of a woman – the lives of all women – are as insignificant as the crushing of a fly.”

If the Nazis had been honest, they would have said the same thing to the Jews arriving at the extermination camps and the tortures of Eugenic Satanic Psychopathic Mengele on the path of traumatic mental dissociation and deep experiments in mind control far outdid anything written by De Sade.

Satanic Psychopathic SS Nazi Mengele of the Kaiser Willhelm Eugenic Institute funded by the Rockefellers

 

The Jews had arrived in a godless fortress where their lives were meaningless, valueless and soon to be taken from them.

That is the speech that psychopathic power makes to weakness, and there is nothing weakness can do about it. Well, other than become strong and fight back. Fighting never works in the end. This world is a factory for producing enlightened beings. The different stratas of societies and countries are the grinding wheels which sort and sift. I feel that through meditation, the removal of blockages and karma, it is possible to enter into strata which are only to help.


If you want to understand the mind of a Nazi executioner, the 120 Days of Sodom is probably the best possible starting point.


Psychopathic Sade must be congratulated for unflinchingly committing to paper the thoughts of a person who literally thought that for the strong to kill the weak was nothing but nature in action (as in the Eugenic Satanist Darwin law of the jungle), hence could not be condemned in any way. He argued more or less that it was the duty of the strong to kill the weak and it would be unnatural and deadly to the future of humanity if they didn’t.


He declared that nothing that destroys can be criminal, such being the law of Nature. In a later book, one of his characters says, “Cruelty is simply the energy in a man whom civilisation has not yet altogether corrupted. It is therefore not a vice but a virtue.” He also observes, “Announce a cruel spectacle, a burning battle, a gladiatorial combat, and you will see them come running in droves.” as I said, Sopranos, Breaking Bad, Dexter, True Blood..


In the modern day, we have endless spectacles of humiliation and degradation to “amuse” us. Millions of people are addicted to “shoot ‘em up” video games, designed by the Army who fund them to desensitize the Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young and create psychopathic Drone Drivers, to crime novels, to true crime investigations. “Road rage” is just one of many forms of rage that can erupt in our modern society at any time in any place. We are perched on the crater of a volcano of violence that can erupt without warning.


No matter what you think of Sade’s ideas, psychopaths think that if the cosmos has no moral basis then Sade is right, and indeed the earliest years of human evolution probably did involve the continual destruction of the weak at the hands of the strong. Even now, the powerful have complete dominion. They soft kill through poison the death of a thousand cuts to weaken, to dumb down and euthenise before our natural time. They can get anything they want from the weak. And if they choose the right victims (those who will not be missed and hundreds of thousands go missing to the white prostitution slave trade every year), they can even get away with murder.


Sade makes us look straight at the face of absolute psychopathic horror where there is no mercy at all, and no possibility of salvation.


But his dark fantasies were not exhausted by 120 Days of Sodom. He later chose to write about the adventures of two sisters, one virtuous and one depraved, and he thus gave the world another grotesque masterpiece of propaganda to turn you into a psychopath.


"There are bloody corpses everywhere, infants torn from their mothers' arms, Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young women with their throats slit after an orgy, cups full of blood and wine, unimaginable tortures. Cauldrons are heated, racks set up, skulls broken, men flayed alive; there is shouting, swearing, blasphemy; hearts are ripped from bodies; all this on every page and every line. What an indefatigable scoundrel he is! In his first book he shows us a poor girl at bay, lost, ruined, shrinking under a rain of blows, led by inhuman monsters through one underground vault after another, from graveyard to graveyard, beaten, broken, devoured alive, wilting, crushed…

When the author has committed every crime there is, when he is sated with incest and monstrosities, when he stands panting above the corpses he has stabbed and violated, when there is no church he has not sullied, no child he has not sacrificed to his rage, no moral thought on which he has not flung the foulness of his own thoughts and words, then at last this man pauses, looks at himself, smiles to himself and is not frightened. On the contrary…"- Jules Janin


"Justine" is about the victory of vice over virtue. A true propagandist for psychopathy, at the beginning of the book, Sade provides the chilling logic of the tale: "Will it not be felt that Virtue however beautiful becomes the worst of all attitudes when it is found too feeble to contend with Vice and that, in an entirely corrupted age, the safest course is to follow along after the others?...if misery persecutes virtue and prosperity accompanies crime, those things being as one in Nature's view, is it not far better to join company with the wicked who flourish than to be counted among the virtuous who founder?"

As we might say, "If you can't beat the psychopaths, join them." - Sadian Satanic Psychopathic recruitment!!

Sade's "heroine" is a trusting, naïve Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young woman who falls prey to a host of monstrous men and women who exploit her mercilessly. Even in a monastery, she finds nothing but depraved monks who torture women.

Justine is continually raped, yet her childlike innocence means that she still thinks of herself as a virgin. She is falsely accused of theft, arson and poisoning, found guilty and sentenced to death. On her way to execution, she is rescued by a gentleman and his mistress who turns out to be her long-lost sister Juliette.

A happy ending? You must be joking. Justine is shortly afterwards killed by a lightning bolt that enters her mouth and exits via her vagina.

Sade then writes the adventures of the sister - Juliette. If Justine illustrated the weakness and failure of virtue, Juliette exults in the triumph of vice.

Juliette was a convent girl - in a degenerate nunnery where the girls have regular lesbian orgies and are taught the philosophy of the libertine Sexual Addict. On leaving the nuns, Juliette goes to a brothel and becomes an expert whore mixing with the great and good (and usually stealing from them). She meets a government minister described as, "most false, most treacherous, most depraved, most savage, of infinite hauteur, possessed of the art of robbing France to the highest degree." (Sounds just like a typical Washington D.C. Senator.)

Juliette is put in charge of organising orgies for the privileged elite, often involving murder. Girls are roasted alive like chickens on a spit.

The minister poisons his father and sodomizes his own daughter at the bedside as the old man dies, then pimps her to a friend: "I have committed patricide, I murdered, I prostituted, I sodomized," he announces proudly.

He dreams of starving the French people and turning them into cannibals.

Juliette marries a rich man for his money then poisons him. She joins a sisterhood sworn to killing men to avenge their crimes against women. After many mind-bogglingly sadistic experiences, she ends up in the Vatican, determined to see the Pope's prick and to fuck him. Before they have sex, they discuss crime and murder. The Pope acknowledges that murderers aren't criminals and should instead be compared with weapons of Nature such as war, famine and plague. What's the difference between being the victim of a serial killer or an earthquake? In both cases, Nature has killed you.

"We do not complain of nature as immoral because it sends a thunderstorm and makes us wet. Why then do we call those who injure us immoral?" - Satanist Nietzsche
 

I suppose because man has choice and free will, thunderstorms don't!!

Sade's Pope says, "You will always find wrongs measured not by the size of the offence but by the vulnerability of the aggressor; and there is your explanation why wealth and position are always right." That is, if you are powerful enough you can get away with anything. The Pope then sodomizes Juliette behind the great altar in St Peter's after inserting a Communion Host in her anus. Afterwards, an orgy is held in the Sistine Chapel, giving Juliette's accomplices an opportunity to rob the Pope's treasury and help themselves to a fortune.

Lady Clairwil, the English aristocrat for whom Juliette works, dreams of committing the perfect crime. She declares, "What I should like to find is a crime, the effects of which would be perpetual, even when I myself do not act, so that there would not be a single moment of my life, even when I was asleep, when I was not the cause of some chaos, a chaos of such proportions that it would provoke a general corruption or a disturbance and that even after my death its effects would still be felt."


Have not the Luciferian and Satanic Psychopathic and Sadian Myth creators already committed the perfect crime tens of thousands of years ago? Long dead, their toxic psychopathic Satanic Psychopathic legacy is with us every day and still growing.

LUCIFER

LUCIFER THROWN OUT OF HEAVEN CUT OFF FROM GOD

STATUE OF LUCIFER

Many feminists have been taken in by Sadist propaganda and found themselves finding the virtuous sister Justine rather pathetic and the wicked sister Juliette disturbingly invigorating, like an ancient Maenad reborn. Satanic Psychopathic Cultic rites associated with worship of the Greek god of wine, Dionysus (or Bacchus in Roman mythology), were characterized by maniacal dancing to the sound of loud music and crashing cymbals, in which the revellers, called Bacchantes, whirled, screamed, became drunk and incited one another to greater and greater ecstasy - thus sending back their energy to those who have implanted them.

The goal was to achieve a state of enthusiasm in which the celebrants’ souls were temporarily freed from their earthly bodies and were able to commune with Bacchus/Dionysus and gain a glimpse of and a preparation for what they would someday experience in eternity.

The rite climaxed in a performance of frenzied feats of strength and madness, such as uprooting trees, tearing a bull (the symbol of Dionysus) apart with their bare hands, an act of Sacrifice of the Bull representing the raw strength of Humanity, called sparagmos, and eating its flesh raw, an act called omophagia.

This latter rite was a sacrament akin to communion in which the participants assumed the strength and character of the god by symbolically eating the raw flesh and drinking the blood of his symbolic incarnation. Having symbolically eaten his body and drunk his blood, the celebrants became possessed by Dionysus...


Such a notorious individual as Sade could not escape the scrutiny of the Revolution and he was charged with various crimes. He would certainly have gone to the guillotine had not Robespierre and St Just been overthrown soon after he was indicted. Nevertheless, condemned from all quarters, he ended up back in the mental asylum where he was allowed to stage plays he had written, using the inmates as actors, and attracting a high class, voyeuristic audience.


A report was sent to Napoleon describing Sade as being "in a perpetual state of lascivious furore, which constantly compels him to monstrous thoughts and actions."


The controversial French poet Baudelaire wrote, "One must always come back to Sade, that is to say Natural Man, to explain evil."


In actual fact, Satanic Psychopathic Sade effectively denied the existence of evil. If there is no evil in the animal world and man is a mere animal then how can anything be described as evil?

But as Tolkien says, "Evil Is!"

THE EYE OF SAURON

Sade might be called an extreme libertarian and anarchist. He argued that any government that advocates equality should also endorse theft as a means of redistributing wealth more evenly. The state agreed and instigated taxes.


Like Rousseau, he thought that many of the evils of the world were the direct result of private property. He said, "It cannot be a just law that orders a man who has nothing to respect another who has everything." In the Satanic Psychopathic Darwinian world the, "natural" world, a strong Satanic Psychopathic British paid and maintained Young guy with nothing would simply kill the older guy with everything and take it all from him, just as happens with lions, for example.


The "law", above all else, is about preventing nature taking its course - because we are not animals. What separates man from animals is "Imago Dei" only man has the possibility, with much meditation of Soul connected Dharma - about protecting the wealth that the rich stole from others. How many of the modern wealthy come from families that profited from the immoral enslavement of others? If their riches were from an immoral and now illegal source, why are those riches respected as legal and moral? All wealth derived from slavery should have been seized by the State in the name of the people, justice and morality. It should then have been given to the former slaves as reparation for the crimes they suffered.

Throughout history the problem has been the Oligarchic "Principle of Poverty"

The problem has been created scarcity as a methodology of enslavement.

Today, however with Science. Free energy from fission and fusion. Vast infrastructure improvements in irrigation and nuclear desalination. Cyber-Robots running the factories.

This was the plan of assassinated John F. Kennedy. By 1980 he planned to have fusion power online and nuclear rockets for Mars and all the necessary commodities available from the Asteroid belt. His plan was for more water, irrigation infrastructure to triple the agriculture of the United States and throughout the world for increased richness, cheaper power, a more richer, more evolved humanity.

JFK

It is possible for everyone to be rich from birth. So it is no longer necessary to take and divide from anyone. If everyone has enough, why should we worry if some have more unless they use their wealth to perpetuate Satanic Psychopathic Austerity?

Sade attempted to get the Revolutionary government of France to abolish Christianity and replace it with the amoral atheistic cult of Reason and Virtue. It always astonished him that Christianity hadn't been destroyed by ridicule at its inception.

Sade recognised the profound link between the priestly caste and the royal. He said, "Tyranny and religious superstition were nurtured in the same cradle, both were daughters of fanaticism, both were served by those useless creatures known as the priest in the temple and the monarch on the throne: having a common foundation they could not but protect each other."

Elsewhere, he wrote, "In every age one of the primary concerns of kings has been to maintain the dominant religion as one of the political bases that best sustains the throne." In other words, tyranny, whether it be a monarchy, a theocracy or a rich man's "democracy" always panders to religion and superstition.

Sade's Satanic Psychopathic philosophy can be summed up as "might is right"; the world is amoral and Nature is based on creation and destruction, so no one is entitled to condemn the forces of destruction. Any claims to a moral order are based on hypocrisy and covert exploitation.

Sade's philosophy is psychopathic, without empathy, without conscience, there is only the victim.

Sade's philosophy is Satanic Psychopathic Darwinism: all weakness must perish, and the weak can have no complaint. Nature conferred weakness upon them and Nature will kill them for it. "The Survival of the fittest" means the Satanic Psychopathic elimination of the De Sade victim.

Sade remains an immensely disturbing figure. He desired not sexual partners but victims, denied of all rights. He declared, "There is no more selfish passion than lust." For Sade, other people didn't count at all. In many ways, he was the first modern serial killer, but his crimes were confined to the page because he was not at liberty to enact them in reality. Maurice Blanchot captured the essence of Sade's "morality": "De Sade said over and over again in different ways that we are born alone, there are no links between one man and another. ("There is no such thing as Society" - Satanic Psychopathic Thatcher together with Milton Freidman, who destroyed the means of production and thus their economies, in many countries worldwide including the US and the UK thus starting the great World depression of the Twenty-First century)

Satanic Psychopathic Sade said the only rule of conduct is that I prefer those things which affect me pleasurably and set at nought the undesirable effects of my preferences on other people. The greatest suffering of others always counts for less than my own pleasures. What matter if I must purchase my most trivial satisfaction through a fantastic accumulation of wrongdoing? For my satisfaction gives me pleasure, it exists in myself, but the consequences of crime do not touch me, they are outside me."


This is the mantra of all serial killers and psychopaths. They consider the lives of others infinitely less important than their most trivial pleasures. They must get what they want, even if it involves killing others. Others have no significance. And this in fact is the same belief that the super rich harbour towards ordinary people. You simply don't count in the world if you're not rich. The children of the rich have red carpets laid out for them in life. The children of the poor must walk for miles over barbed wire and razor blades, and almost none get to the end of the hardest road.


Susan Sontag said that Sade had created a "negative utopia" - the worst of all possible worlds (except for himself, of course). Yet pre-Revolutionary France, the whole World, was exactly that. Unless you belong to the elite, you are living in a nightmare, subject to the invariably cruel whims of the ruling class. Sade's intimate knowledge of the aristocracy had led him to believe that they didn't see the underclasses as human but rather as animals waiting for their appointment with the abattoir. The Satanic Psychopathic Old World Order continue to think much the same thing today, wanting people's money and eugenically soft killing their lives.


The ferocity of the Terror unleashed by the Jacobins in revolutionary France was a direct consequence of the sadism that the elite had inflicted on the people for decades and centuries worldwide but utilised in France as masonic terrorism by UK secret services and released as foreign policy to destroy France - Bentham was writing the speeches of Robespierre from London. Then later Russia and China were destroyed with the help of secret agent Marx who wrote in an office at the British Library in London, controlled by Ambassador David Urquhart promoted by Bentham head of MI6.

SATANIST AND HEAD OF MI6 BENTHAM, CREATOR OF THE ALL SEEING EYE, "Wreathed in Flame",  PANOPTICON, HAD HIMSELF STUFFED WITH HIS HEAD UNDERNEATH HIM AND PLACED IN HIS FAVOURITE PUB IN LONDON
 

In Justine, Sade wrote of a rich counterfeiter who had a number of dungeon-like kennels providing the most miserable of homes for naked female slaves whom he raped whenever he felt like it. He chained them to a wheel and worked them to death.


Elsewhere, Sade depicted aristocrats cannibalising women. Thus not only had women been stripped of their humanity and turned into objects, the process had concluded with them being turned into food. Symbolically, the French aristocracy ate those beneath him. And it's the same today.


Released by the Oligarchic removal of the Glass Steagal Act and encouraged by Greenspan, Head of the Luciferian Rothschild Federal Reserve the Satanic Psychopathic Wall Street hedge fund managers are today's aristocrats who have no regard whatever for the rest of the human race.

The Glass Steagal Act was instituted by Roosevelt New Deal in the 1930's to separate normal Banking from Casino Banking, Leverage and Derivatives. When Bill Clinton got rid of it in the 1990's the banks were able to use deposits as investments in Derivatives and leverage the debt up to 1500 Trillions of Dollars taking commissions on this investment. However all banks are now bankrupt. They have no money left. Thus Tarp and QE Infinity. And any future disaster will bring in bankruptcy. And every depositor, now an investor, will lose all their money in one Grand Cyprus Style Bail In..

All that matters to them is their desires, their money and power. They have placed themselves outside the pale. They have torn up the implicit social contract. "What are you going to do about it?" is their silent challenge to everyone else. And indeed what are we going to do?


In the sexual arena, Satanic Psychopathic Sade abolished love and romance and brought to bear the full force of the master-slave paradigm. Sex, for Sade, was exclusively about power, and the masters demonstrate their domination through the inflicting of pain on the slaves. But when the masters become bored, they themselves must have pain inflicted on them in order to feel. To feel what? To feel ANYTHING!

PSYCHOPATHY IS THE BLOCKAGE ELIMINATION OF EMPATHY OF THE HEART AND CONSCIENCE OF THE SOUL

Satanic Psychopathic Masters revel in transgressing every empathy and conscience prohibition and taboo as a means of progressing further on the path of psychopathy. The more sacred the taboo, the more energy can be derived from profaning it. What better to create a psychopath than to use the consecrated Communion Host - the actual body and blood of Christ according to the Catholic theory of transubstantiation - in an act of sodomy. To push it deep into the rectum, into the human drain of shit.


Are human beings able to have sex like animals or are we able to perform only when we have created the right symbolic conditions?


Many people won't have sex unless they love their partner i.e. place immense symbolic value on them, under God.


Many people can't perform sexually unless some psychopathic fantasy is being fulfilled or some fetish satisfied or, or, down and down.


In Satanic Psychopathic Sade's view, sex in the human world is never about sex.

It is about power relations of master and slave...

The very antithesis of natural and pure sex between equals.


In Sade's view, in every relationship, no matter how apparently loving and equal, someone is the master and someone the slave. Sade took the master-slave paradigm to its extreme, but he says it's always there whether it's acknowledged or not and this is the case with everyone on the path of perversion.


"Desire of the flesh can be gratified in the flesh.

Desire as an idea knows no limits." - Sade


Sade's philosophy revolves around the Satanic Psychopathic "sovereign man" - the existential self-governing, independent individual without empathy or conscience. Such a person, a psychopath, of necessity places zero value on others. If you think others have rights and a value it imposes restrictions on you as a psychopath.
 

PETER SELLERS CAPTURES PSYCHOPATHIC GLEE FOR DESTRUCTION - DR STRANGELOVE OF THE EPONYMOUS MOVIE BY KUBRICK

A Sadean psychopathic sovereign individual is a person of absolute solitude. He can show no solidarity with others because that would restrict his scope for action.

Bataille, writing about Sade, captures the desperation of the libertine: "All great libertines who live only for pleasure are great only because they have destroyed in themselves all their capacity for pleasure. That is why they go in for frightful anomalies, for otherwise the vanilla mediocrity of ordinary sensuality would be enough for them."


Is not Satanic Psychopathic Sade a creature that lusts after "frightful anomalies"? He is desensitised to ordinary sensations. Only monstrous deeds satisfy his monstrous passions. And it is we who are his victims. We are the damned in the hell he has created for us. The degree of torture he inflicts on us must be infinite if he is to derive any satisfaction.

Satanic Psychopathic Sade made no such concessions. Psychopathic, Satanic Psychopathic Sade got rid of morality and put nothing in its place. As an atheist, he simply acknowledged the brute facts of Nature, and he could find no morality there at all.


Sade's destruction of morality is even more extreme than Satanic Psychopathic Nazi Nietzsche's. The "great" German philosopher replaced herd morality with the concept of self-overcoming and sublimation of bestial instincts towards higher ends but failing because this path is not intellectual, and becoming mad, because he did not know how to remove the Implant Addiction Blockages which create bestial desires.

Luciferians say, "Why has it never occurred to Abrahamists that there is nothing intrinsically good about monotheism?" It's an inherent apex system, a pyramid. In Luciferian Illuminism, Abraxas, the True God, is someone we can emulate. The Omega Point does not involve one God but a community of Gods - an Arthurian Round Table of psychopaths who have cut themselves off from the one true God with 10,000 names. Who pyramidically command a rich elite of Satanists who manage the Human Herd.


Further, Luciferians and Satanists worship psychopathically splitting the mind into alters for complete mind control - they do this to themselves and their families. It has been the technique for many thousands of years brought up to date by Mengele and his torture experiments in the concentration camps. It uses guided meditations, drugs, hypnotism, sensory deprivation, fear and trauma. It goes deepest on children but three days in a hospital is enough to control anyone. They control Generals, economists, bankers, masons, Secret Services, ministry burocrats Media and University professors, Assassins, Sex Kitten alters. See Fritz Springmeier and Cisco-Wheeler - "The Illuminati Formula to create an Undetectable mind controlled slave"

So Luciferians create Economist Adam Smith - who was a paid agent of Lord Shelburne, Head of the the slave running, Drug Smuggling British East India Company, Prime Minister of England, Head of Bentham in MI6 - for total control of economies to create depressions and bubbles and totally manage stock markets. They propagate Darwinistic eugenics - poisoning the population's food, water and air and euthenising them medically in their free health services. They propagate atom bombs, designed to fail nuclear power generation and designed to escape bacterialogical warfare to euthenise whole populations.

2012 - Nov. 6—If the world escapes the fate of thermonuclear destruction, to which the British-Saudi 9/11 Two is inexorably leading, the British financial empire has another genocidal program in process—one that calls for the mass murder of the world's population through austerity, and outright Hitlerian genocide. As broadly advertised everywhere, including the discussion of the so-called "fiscal cliff" in the U.S., this program is set to dramatically intensify after the U.S. elections—no matter who wins—unless there is a revolution in policy.

No area makes the point more evident than health care. In the so-called economic issues debate, Romney and Obama agree that they view health-care spending as the biggest "problem" driving up the deficit. Health-care "efficiency" through "cost-effectiveness" is their goal—but they vary in how to get there. What they both refuse to admit is that the rationale behind both their programs is the Satanic Psychopathic Eugenic NAZI Hitlerian concept of declaring some lives "not worthy of life"—or, in more common parlance, "not worth the money."

Obama's program for such genocide has been broadly exposed by this news service, for its copying of former British Prime Minister Tony Blair's version of the NAZI Hitlerian T-4 program of determining who should live, and who should die. Obama has virtually broadcast this approach, by calling for the infamous Independent Payments Advisory Board ("death panels"), which, when it goes into effect in 2014, will apply "expert" cost-effectiveness criteria to decide which treatments will be paid for, and which will not. The direction this will take is obvious in the decisions already taken by the Obama Administration's Preventive Services Task Force, in calling for the mass reduction in use of life-saving mammograms and prostate cancer screening.

While screaming against IPAB, Republican Party spokesmen have advocated the same cost-accounting approach. For example: We can't pay the benefits promised to the elderly through Medicare and Medicaid, said nationally prominent economist Allan H. Meltzer in a speech Sept. 27, 2012.

"We have to reduce the amount of benefits ... and try to do it in the most humane way." Later, he elaborated that people in the later stages of life should have access to the care they want—without interference of a group like IPAB—but only if they are willing to pay for it. Faced with those "serious choices," he said, patients may opt to "die in peace and have hospice care."

In other words, it is money, not human life, which is important here—in both approaches. This contrasts fundamentally with LaRouche's approach of going back to the Hill-Burton principle of providing adequate facilities for all, and making health care a right.

Mass Murder in Britain
While Obamacare has been, by design, moving slowly into its deep cut period, the British model, begun in 1999, is finally provoking public outrage.

Resistance to an in-hospital euthenisation murder program overseen by the British government's National Health Service is growing. Starting in 2009, pro-life groups began to raise an uproar about a practice,

first instituted at the Marie Curie Hospice, called the, "Liverpool Care Pathway", a protocol for "continuous deep sedation." and the withholding of food and water.

INSTITUTIONALISED MURDER!!

Britain's National Health Service, acting on the advice of Satanist Tony Blair's National Institutes for Health and Clinical Excellence (NICE, his equivalent of IPAB), adopted the program in 2004. About one-sixth of all deaths in Britain in 2008 were attibutable to this program.

IRAQ

As health-care cuts have been put in place, under the increasingly bankrupt monetarist system—both by Labour and Conservative governments—the spread of the Liverpool Care Pathway has accelerated. According to the latest exposé, published in Britain's Daily Telegraph Oct. 25 2012, some 130,000 people a year—nearly a third of all who die in British hospitals—are now killed through a program of forced dehydration and starvation, even without the consent of their families or themselves.

This past June, a professor and consulting neurologist, Patrick Pullicino of the University of Kent, in a speech before the Royal Society of Medicine in London, said that the Liverpool Care Pathway had become a "death pathway," the equivalent to euthanasia, a contention that the Department of Health, not suprisingly, denied.

But after obtaining documents through Britain's Freedom of Information Act, the Daily Mail of London has run a series of articles that made Pullicino's contention undeniable.

'A Society Devoid of Humanity Itself'
What is the driving force behind the campaign to get rid of defenseless patients? Dr. Tony Cole, chairman of the Medical Ethics Alliance, says: "If death is accelerated by a single day, that will save the NHS nearly £200" ($320)—the estimated cost for a patient each day in hospital. And hospitals also are interested in freeing up beds.

But Melanie Phillips, one of the Mail correspondents who has reported on the killing program, makes the point that the impetus is something more than "economics": "The fundamental driver of all this is the belief that certain people are better off dead, because their lives are deemed worthless, a drain on the public purse, or both.

The Liverpool Killing Pathway is driven not just by crude economic calculation, but by a wider brutalisation of our culture, at the heart of which lies the Satanic Psychopathic erosion of respect for the innate value of human life. And that way lies not just the degradation of the NHS, but a society devoid of humanity itself."

In other words, NAZI Hitler economics which decrees that there are lives "not worthy of life."

But just to make sure, the hospitals are being bribed to meet kill quotas, and are having funds withheld if they do not.

The Mail reported Oct. 25, "Hospitals are paid millions to hit targets for the number of patients who die on the Liverpool Care Pathway. The incentives have been paid to hospitals that ensure a set percentage of patients who die on their wards have been put on the controversial regime. In some cases, hospitals have been set targets that between a third and two thirds of all the deaths should be on the LCP, which critics say is a way of hastening the deaths of terminally ill patients. At least £30 million [$48 million] in extra money from taxpayers is estimated to have been handed to hospitals over the past three years to achieve these goals."

This system of financial incentives is precisely what the Obama's health-care bill is putting into effect now in certain areas, including hospital readmissions. In specific, in October of this year, according to expert Betsy McCaughey, "hospitals that spend the least on seniors will get rewarded; those that spend more will get whacked with demerits." Guess who will lose care?

Such criteria for saving money will obviously hit the most expensive patients the hardest—the elderly, the chronically ill, and the handicapped.

The Mail exposés have prompted a group of mainly Roman Catholic doctors to denounce the Liverpool Pathway. They said in a statement that the withdrawal of tubes providing fluids from the great majority of patients on the Pathway "self-evidently" speeds dying. They noted that picking a patient who is about to die is a prediction rather than a medical diagnosis, which in practice is often in serious error. The statement added that wrong diagnosis could result in murder.

The doctors who signed the statement are Dr. Philip Howard from the ethical committee of the Catholic Union, Dr. Robert Hardie of the Catholic Medical Association, Dr. Tony Cole of the Medical Ethics Alliance, and Dr. Mary Knowles of First Do No Harm. Two senior Catholic nurses also signed the statement.

What Hippocratic Oath?

FROM NAZI Satanic Psychopathic DOCTORS WORKING IN CONCENTRATION CAMPS, IN TORTURE CHAMBERS, AND RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MURDER, EUTHENISATION OF 250,000 CRETINS, AND MENTAL HEALTH POLITICAL PRISONERS IN MENTAL HOSPITALS DURING THE Satanic Psychopathic NAZI REGIME WE HAVE..
In September, a number of professional medical groups, including the Royal College of General Practitioners, the Royal College of Physicians, the National Council of Palliative Care, and the Royal College of Nursing, issued a consensus statement in support of the Euthenisation Murder Liverpool, "Care" Pathway.

This statement provoked a backlash from doctors who criticized various omissions such as the question of consent. "Patients should not be deprived of consciousness, but receive such treatment that is aimed at relieving all their symptoms including thirst," the dissenters' statement said. "Nothing should be done which intentionally hastens death."

One of the groups that originally signed the consensus statement has since broken with the defenders of euthanasia. The Association for Palliative Medicine (APM), which represents 1,000 doctors who work in hospices and specialist hospital wards, says that it will, as the Mail puts it, "identify and explore concerns over the system of caring for patients in their final days."

The move by the APM breaks ranks with the public stand of other medical bodies, which continue to give the Liverpool Pathway full support. But a "review" is far from a commitment to cease the murder program. And to what extent even the review will be coopted by those determined to continue and expand it is up in the air.

Dr. Bee Wee of the APM said, "The APM intends to undertake such a piece of work about integrated care pathways for the last days of life, in collaboration with a number of national organisations. Discussions are taking place about the details of the proposal, who else is involved, etc."

The government's Department of Health has indicated that it will be involved in the inquiry.

And the still-limp level of opposition to the murder program was indicated by another "consensus statement," issued by 20 organizations which are calling for at least two medical staff to assess patients to be put on the starvation and dehydration program. Presently only one is required. They said the Liverpool Pathway could bring substantial benefits to people who are dying and their families. The organizations include the Royal College of General Practitioners, the Royal College of Physicians, the National Council for Palliative Care, Age UK, the Alzheimers Society, and the Royal College of Nursing.

The British oligarchy will not give up its murder program without a fight, as Health Minister Lord Howe has unintentionally made plain. Trying to turn death into life, he has said that the Liverpool Care Pathway is not a means of killing people, but is used to "prevent dying patients from having the distress of receiving treatment or tests that are not beneficial and that may in fact cause harm rather than good."

If that sounds like Hitler's endorsement of offering people a "good death," or Obama's statement of stopping "unnecessary, harmful" tests, that should be no surprise. But the cost-accounting approach of your standard Republican economist, such as Meltzer, is no alternative. Unless you overthrow this Satanic Psychopathic system, you'll be dead a lot earlier than you think...


Satanists have perverted and degenerated every society for thousands of years by infiltrating and perverting the leaders and the rich and later the masses so as to crash and destroy them. They manage through the oligarchic, "Principle of Poverty" to dumb down and kill humanity.

Luciferians create purposefully mad religions in order to create mercenary armies - Saudi Arabian - see Lawrence of Arabia movie - Muslim Brotherhood, Wahabist and Salafist religions so as to create Jihad Al Qaeda organisations of mercenaries, rebels and terrorists to attack, militarise and degenerate by Authoritarianism the civilisation of any country targetted for destabilisation and collapse.

Gurdjieff used to tell a story about a Black Magician, or Luciferian, who used to own a herd of sheep but who had much trouble looking after them. So he promoted some of the sheep, like on Animal Farm by George Orwell, to be Satanic Psychopathic Politicians, Policemen, Army, and Media and soon they were running themselves. The Luciferian then found it simple to kill and butcher any sheep whenever he wanted in order to feed. - The promoted are the Satanists - a Religion created by the Luciferians in order to control the Satanists who run society. Still they are sheep, blocked with energy blockages to create a psychopath, they are still legitimate prey of the Luciferians.


SEE THE ENERGY ENHANCEMENT SECRET KNOWLEDGE OF THE NEOPLATONIC ELITE about the Effects of the, "Dark Side" on the Last Tens of Thousands of years of Modern Society.. The survival of the species demands a revival of the "secret knowledge" of the Neoplatonic elite. That knowledge must not only be revived, but as we do here, must be situated within and updated by appropriate terms of modern scientific and Energy Enhancement Spiritual knowledge.

https://www.energyenhancement.org/Secret-Knowledge-Of-The-Neoplatonic-Elite/THE-ENERGY-ENHANCEMENT-SECRET-KNOWLEDGE-OF-THE-NEOPLATONIC-ELITE-DIRECTORY.htm

"The Agricultural Revolution took thousands of years, the Industrial Revolution took hundreds of years, the Technological Revolution took tens, the Spiritual Revolution has come and we have only an instant to act." - Russell Brand

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” ~ Richard Buckminster Fuller
 

What needs to be developed is, rather than open revolt, we need to develop a new solution.

To defeat the Luciferian Elite who have managed the Human Herd since the slave trading, drug running Babylon, through the slave trading, drug running Roman Empire, past the slave trading, drug running Venetians, and the slave trading, drug running British Empire and on into the the slave trading, drug running Anglo-American Establishment who rule through the IMF, the International Monetary Fund, and the IMF - International Military Force of Drug Running, White Slave Trading NATO, The CFR, The Bilderburgers, Davos, TED, RIIA - British Royal Institute of International Affairs, the Rockefeller CFR - Council of Foreign affairs.

To defeat the Luciferian Elite we need a Spiritual Revolution.

"The Agricultural Revolution took thousands of years, the Industrial Revolution took hundreds of years, the Technological Revolution took tens, the Spiritual Revolution has come and we have only an instant to act." - Russell Brand

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” ~ Richard Buckminster Fuller

Assassinated Lincoln used the Credit system when he created Government issued Money - Greenbacks.

Assassinated Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal Economics when he demanded that the Rothschild Privately owned Federal Reserve create trillions of dollars of credit to build the Infrastructure which made the people of America the richest population in the World for sixty years. Following the techniques of FDR shows the way out of the purposeful Oligarch Austerity Depression designed to Dumb Down Humanity, create universal poverty and Rule the World.

Assassinated John F. Kennedy made Government created Greenbacks too. By 1980 he planned to have fusion power online and nuclear rockets for Mars and all the necessary commodities available from the Asteroid belt. His plan was for more water, irrigation infrastructure to triple the agriculture of the United States and throughout the world for increased richness, cheaper power, a more richer, more numerous, more evolved humanity.

BAN FED TARP TO BANKS, GET RID OF DERIVATIVES, USE FED CREDIT TO CREATE TRILLIONS TO REBUILD WORLD AND US INFRASTRUCTURE, INCREASE HIGH FLUX DENSITY ENERGY PRODUCTION, INDUSTRY AND AGRICULTURE: THE PROGRAM TO END THE ECONOMIC DEPRESSION AND THUS HELP IN THE WORLDWIDE EVOLUTION OF A RICH HUMANITY
 

In the beginning of the Twenty-First Century the US and the world are gripped by a deepening forty year economic depression. This depression, like the depression of the 1930's has been planned under the Oligarchic, "Principle of Poverty" or Austerity.

We therefore NEED:

1. Measures to reduce speculation and minimize the burden of fictitious capital: End all bailouts of banks and financial institutions. Claw back the TARP and other public money given or lent to financiers. Abolish the notion of too big to fail; JP Morgan, Goldman Sachs, Citibank, Wells Fargo and other Wall Street zombie banks are insolvent, bankrupt, and must be seized by the FDIC for chapter 7 liquidation, with derivatives eliminated by triage.

Restore the ability to have an individual chapter 11 Bankruptcy.

2. Measures to nationalize the Federal Reserve, cut federal borrowing, and provide 0%, one hundred year federal credit for production: Seize the Federal Reserve and bring it under the US Treasury as the National Bank of the United States, no longer the preserve of unelected and unaccountable cliques of incompetent and predatory bankers.

Repatriate the foreign dollar overhang by encouraging China, Japan, and other dollar holders to place orders for US-made capital goods and modern hospitals. Revive the US Export-Import Bank. Set up a 10% tariff to protect domestic re-industrialization. Nationalize and operate GM, Chrysler, CIT, and other needed but insolvent firms as a permanent public sector. Maintain Amtrak and USPS.

3. Measures to re-industrialize, build infrastructure, develop science drivers, create jobs, and restore a high-wage economy: state and local governments and special government agencies modeled on the Tennessee Valley Authority will be prime contractors for an ambitious program of infrastructure and public works subcontracted to the private sector.

These science drivers will provide the technological spin-offs to modernize the entire US economy in the same way that the NASA moon shot gave us microchips and computers in the 1960s. These steps will expand and upgrade the national stock of capital goods and enhance the real productivity of US labor. Return the federal budget and foreign trade to surplus in 5 years or less.

4. Measures to defend and expand the social safety net: Restore all cuts; full funding at improved levels for Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, food stamps, jobless benefits, WIC, Head Start, and related programs. Offer Medicare for All to anyone under 65 who wants it at $100 per person per month, with reduced rates for families, students, and the unemployed. Pay for this with Wall Street tax revenues and TARP clawback, and by ending the Iraq and Afghan wars. Seek to raise life expectancy by five years for starters. No rationing or death panels; savings can come only by finding cures. Quickly reach a $15 per hour living wage. Repeal the Taft-Hartley Act and affirm the right to organize. Pass card check to promote collective bargaining.

5. Measures to re-launch world trade and promote world recovery:

This program will create 30 million jobs in less than five years. It will end the depression, rebuild the US economy, improve wages and standards of living, re-start productive investment, and attain full employment with increased levels of capital investment per job. Most orders placed under this program will go to US private sector bidders. Because of the vastly increased volume of goods put on the market, inflation will not result.

A NEW DAWN FOR HUMANITY, FOR THE WORLD, FOR MEDITATION!!