Looking Out

Looking out I must be the only person who can see a face in a green bush,  perfect is it.? let me think awhile, ah yes the lonely face of a male, circa sixteen hundred. What’s he hanging about in there for. There are many more. I  will have to look again . I guess more are waiting for the next life stream to evolve. I ask what can we see in nature if we really stare it out. All sorts I guess, for that is what the Devic kingdom is, full of surprises all history and future plans is that we are too busy walking and looking without reason. Too busy to believe, we should be thankful and less destructive in our wake, when we are trying to be something in what ultimately becomes nothingness.

I Am. An Ode to God by Mason Cult

I am the scientist, therefore, I am. What you call God, little did you know till I told you of this. For years you have gone to your church like a lapdog blindly praying for petty salvation on the back of an erroneous sun. I have been watching you and many more besides, as I have nothing else, it is said I have two faces one for today. That of light but tomorrow will be dark and who knows where that might lead.

The Truth

The truth always lies in a minority, it is always hidden, it is never revealed in the way it should. Don’t scream alone in the cities of millions, life looses its juice the vigour vanishes to pale shades, with skin of crinkly paper. All facades now do crack and eyes do weep at the viscous nature of a hearts end.

Till Bricks Do Us Part

Till bricks do us part that is all in today’s mind of life. Not friendship not nature but profit on brick. A national disease judged by size and quantity shaping  the language of modern life in what is a national hell.  When thousands sleep in bags and doorways decanted as rubbish waiting to be collected. Revolutions sorely needed as a rise in anger vent through the seeping wounds of discontent, amongst a nation lost in individual desires and mistrust.

The Door In The Iceberg a Short Science Fiction Story by Mason Cult.

The Door in the Iceberg

Upon Earth time is running out and in Antarctica, there was a crypt, buried in what seemed to be a colossal pyramid shaped iceberg. A lonely research vessel loomed in the bleak distance.

The known world had been in economic meltdown for years and expedition funding in the Antarctic had diminished. Yet, the pyramid and its outer world vibrated its energy molecules, derived from the sun, covertly transitting to planet Earth, where the likelihood of detection would remain remote. They landed on the modified iceberg, which was, in fact, an energy vortex pyramid, with an intermittent beam residing on the top. This magnificent monument of ancient technology was transmitting to their own civilisation, across the universe.

The last survey vessel to come near had a crew of twelve; the captain had sensed a presence. This sensation began to reveal itself in the crew’s disturbed behaviour. They were low on fuel and supplies. Communication was prone to fuzzing at best, solar equipment existed, but the majority of time was spent trying to share rations and making sure dry clothing remained available.

Meanwhile, the mildly glowing iceberg, like a ship from a lost alien culture crept towards the vessel, emitting a low, ambient pulse. The crew had an almost Aryan appearance which could be described as quite Nordic. The current mission was to monitor for change. However, the current situation could be inferred as one of unchanging blindness. A storm loomed, winds of up to one hundred and twenty miles an hour lashed the vessel.

The Earth year is 2030. Despite Twentieth Century science predictions, the opposite of global warming seemed to be happening. The climate resembled the return of another Ice Age. For the crew on the vessel, visibility was diminishing and the life force of the men felt as if it was absorbing into the large and deeply puzzling walls of the pyramided form which moved closer to the research vessel. The energy from beneath the pyramid fired and the top of the ice above the structure exploded with the force of the beam of light it emitted a white vortex, spiralling upwards from the top of the structure upwards into the sky as if without end.

The atomic clock moved slowly and accurately on-board the survey vessel, but crew were in shock as they witnessed the vortex beam shoot skywards and the atomic clock hands began moving irregularly. The crew were occupying only one insulated room and a communication space where one member of crew tried to stay awake, with his head intermittently titling forward as in death. Yet some said he was not dead but slept awake transported to another realm.

Thoughts of Christmas and thoughts of home were irrelevant now, as new forces crept into play. Some crew members used their skills in Kundalini breathing. They appeared to have vacated their physical bodies, save for a band of warmth remaining on their foreheads. They did not know if reintegration to life would happen, perhaps they were being equipped for what was to come.

The remaining crew members sank their tired hands into special warmers to help keep the blood circulating. They stared into vacancy and cynicism and the clock was frozen, functioning with no sense of time. As if hypnotised they gazed at the beam shooting skywards from the ice pyramid.

Days passed by on the forlorn survey vessel, which was logging time, the one remaining discipline that the crew practised on the now mysteriously crippled ship. It was Sunday, the crew realised that some presence of magnitude and potency was about to jar and grate the research ship. They awoke from trance and realised they were being pulled towards the ancient ice pyramid.

The crew having come to their senses had managed to restore power to the ship, the structure still omitting the beam, seemed to ignore the presence of the ship which came close to the pyramid structure, on the side of the pyramid a door the seals of it unlocked. Then they looked upon a jagged vision of a blinding white pyramid of intensity. For a split second the beam it was omitting stopped, and it received as if in reply an elongated, wonderful ray from above Earth’s atmosphere with an accompanying helix spiral descending and coiled around a type of energy field, pushing and pulsing more as it landed at the base. The research crew were almost paralysed in awe and fear.

Then slowly, before failing eyes a transparent ice bridge materialised between ship and pyramid. A horn sound grew hypnotically louder and drew the crew across the transparent bridge. They moved, unarmed, through the door into a white, expanding cavernous place that seemed to go on forever. No instructions were given, so Captain Hornet Veste and first mate, Illyuze Illumen sent forth Morse code streams as far back into this white space as possible, hoping that any form of recognisable intelligence would respond, resonate and return the old style form of communication.

In the background of a deafening silence and in the slowest motion they heard similar black dot signals that were returned to the crew. However, there was no appearance of the beings.

The research vessel had originally been commissioned to spend time in the Antarctic to monitor climate change and covertly watch to see if one of the many snow pyramid theories were in any way true. Pyramids had been observed in many parts of the world, including Europe. Many theories had evolved, the most popular theory was that the pyramids are part of a chain of energy assisting new changes upon Earth and increasing molecular vibration. Some had suggested that they could be Nordic Alien reception centres ready for Earth capture and colonisation. Captain Hornet Veste and his crew deep in Antarctica were probably about to find out if the initiation had begun.
Hornet Veste and the crew from the research ship slowly entered at the base of the white colossus of pyramidic splendour. Through the door, there was revealed a crystalline white pathway that was an ever expanding honeycomb, crystal, prismatic, pineal shaped, frozen in time an echo of ancient technology stood before them. It became more obvious that the crew had entered a place of conditioning and initiation. As yet, no one had greeted them.

In the recesses of the walls, coloured chakra inspired bottles of different sizes were displayed. They were filled with liquids which tempted the crew. They listened for any trace of vibration coming towards them. Then after an hour, metallic voices were heard coming towards them. They stood still in trepidation.
There appeared a large arch. It was pure crystal and led to a giant classroom with at least a hundred white, round chairs and small lecterns. There was a stage and a plinth with a larger golden lectern. The background to the stage was large golden balls spinning at approximately thirty thirds, the old Earth record player speed. The balls kept spinning and then, within violet ovoid’s, there appeared white figures, somehow stuck in purple resin. White light was attempting to enter from the top of the violet ovoids, but nothing made any noise at all.

A tall ring holder was stacked upon the stage with what seemed to be cosmic crystal initiation belts. Hornet Veste has read metaphysical works and identified these as crystal belts for new cosmic adepts and the crews’ covert mission, it seemed, was realised.
The new realm of silence did not last for long. A tall image was appearing on the stage. It was manifesting in front of their eyes. The image grew to completion and slowly features emerged. A deep, dark voice, which contrasted with the whiteness of the scene, spoke.
“I am Lord Ventruss from Planet Vixor and I believe that with your metaphysical knowledge, you who are standing before me will be aware of why you are here. You are here for the cosmic initiation to the higher realms. Your life on Earth is now over. Take note that you will not go home, for a new life on Planet Vixor awaits. This is because your own Earth. Due to reckless atomic activity will soon implode as did the former planet, Maldek. A planet similar to your Earth, the Great Ventruss anticipatory, for The Absolute who you shall never see, he is the creator of all. I need new cosmic adepts or teachers for our expanding mission on Planet Vixor”. Ventruss continued, “Vixor, my friends, is a product of the Alien Village, which many years before, was earmarked by our system of analytical golden spheres, which monitored those suitable to be taken from the village which you may know as Earth. Please, my initiate brothers, stand still and imagine yourselves, your ovoid violet flames summon down, through your heads, pure white shafts of light.”

“Relax, open up, and receive my dear children. Push up from your solar plexus, your image of your own golden sphere. You will make this rise up through your head and beyond the spheres. From thereon, you will sit in protection above your head, as the Godhead. Brothers, when I fit to your bodies the energised belts of crystal, you will become God-men and through the energised light above this brilliant white crystal ice pyramid, you will walk for all time for the unseen but all knowing Absolute, who as on Earth before, is your God.”

“You will become his new ether sons upon the emerging Planet Vixor. You must learn, brothers, you must teach, you shall send a mist to envelope only new violet forces and temptations, other forces have corrupted humans, we now have only dead, former planets. You are sons of the Sun. Adepts to guide your living relatives who will be told why you left and I Ventruss, Cosmic Adept to The Absolute, who is unseen God (AUM) will have them join you along with other chosen ones, left on the dying Earth. They will be seen in the other light, upon a world resplendent in colour and energy. Meditate, oh crew of brothers. See the metaphysical white, trans-formative light. Transmute, I say. God-men initiates now go and start again in love, energy and glory for God. For he is never unknown. As he is always with us. Go, adepts, go..!.”

The door in the white pyramid was closed. It faded as white within white and the research vessel had no more responsibilities but for Hornet and crew a different destiny awaited.

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive