Asha-Land: The Earth’s Landscape of Truth Arises

Copyright © 2022 Richard Leviton.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

844-349-9409

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6632-3912-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-3913-6 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 04/29/2022

CONTENTS

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Author

For Judith A. Lewis, Silver Boy, and the

Blaise Babies, finally here, changing everything

Asha: Written formally in the Avesta of classical Iran as Aša, it means truth, truly existing, the correct, actual order and design of existence and the intended natural relations between Heaven (Upper World) and Earth (Lower World). An ashavan is one possessing truth, a person imbued with the irreducible truth qualities of asha, who discerns the genuine conditions of reality at all levels, physical to metaphysical. The word is similar in meaning to the Egyptian term ma’at (truth, justice, balance, order), the Vedic rta (properly joined, fixed order), the Greek themis (divine law, that which is put in place), the Buddhist Dharma (the inherent nature of reality, cosmic law), the Taoist Tao (natural order of existence), and the Navaho Hózhóó (beauty, balance, harmony).

An Asha-Land is a Truth-Land, in both material and subtle or geomantic terms, one possessing truth, similar to Buddhist descriptions of a Pure Land, Pure Abode, and a Buddha-Field in which Light and consciousness comprise up to 75% of manifested forms. Other names from folklore and prophecy include the Promised Land, the Land of Milk and Honey, Goshen, and Field of Merit. In religion, this type of landscape is known as the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. Rendering the Earth an Asha-Land is the goal of all geomantic activities.

Foreword

Hi, and welcome to my book. My name is Lars Jaanusson, and my story is about how we helped the Earth birth something momentous out of itself. That possibly outrageous statement requires some explanation, which I will now give.

There were four of us, though, technically, one of our group was officially dead, though she never acted like it. The other two were colleagues from Italy and Bulgaria. Our profession is what I might call field engineers for the energy patterns of the subtle landscape architecture of the Earth. We usually call that geomancy, and this subtle pattern we refer to in the profession as the Light grid. Picture this as a geometrical overlay, like a lace doily, placed around the planet and studded with innumerable temples of Light like lovely glittering jewels.

It’s funny I mention profession in this context, because by day I am a senior book editor for a Boston publishing house, but this other profession entailed visiting various locales around the planet that had been marked by tradition or rumor as having an extra degree of innate luminosity and a certain magnetic pull on one’s consciousness for which the ancients used the term numen and thus numinous. These were special sites in the landscape, sometimes as large as complete towns or sections of large cities like Rome or London, that seemed to emit a vibration much more refined than what you normally found elsewhere. It was a pure and strong frequency, if I may call it that, which uplifted your spirits. People went to such places to meditate, pray, reflect, gain insights or inspiration.

This special landscape emanation is what I refer to as Asha-Land. Think of this as a global condition, a quality of Light and consciousness rising like vapor out of the land everywhere on the planet. Asha is an old word from classical Iran, once known as Persia, and was used to denote a pure original condition of reality that comprised the truth of things, one that was utterly aligned with the design of the Creation and the reputed agencies behind that unarguably well-designed Creation. If you happen to know your Greek myths, to them asha was akin to their Titan Goddess Themis; the Egyptians knew her as the Goddess Ma’at; and the Buddhists used the abstract term Dharma to refer to this innate orderliness.

The ancient Iranians had their own name for a deific personification of this original correctness of reality, a high-ranking goddess called Asha-Vahishta. My point here is to bring up the point that this primordial, perfect, rational order to the design of planet and, by correspondence, the human, taken as a species or phylogeny, has been part of the character of the Earth since its inception 4.5 billion years ago, but has been subject over that long stretch of time to periods of dormancy and primacy, and, regrettably in recent centuries, to entropy.

We live now, and have done since 2020, in a period of its ascendancy, but that unstoppable rise of this purest of planetary conditions requires some input by its customers, people living within its vibrational field, and that input falls to the professionals known as planetary Light grid engineers, and how that input proceeds and what it entails is what this book proposes to recount for you.

People in my grandfather’s day, circa 2020 and a few decades before that, called these extra-numinous landscape locations sacred sites. We prefer the term geomantic nodes. They are like access points for engineers to fine-tune the grid system, and I emphasize the word engineers, for the work requires system knowledge, precision, responsibility, and the deployment of one’s consciousness as the prime maintenance and restoration tool. That may sound odd at first, but the essence of this planetary Light grid is that it runs on and emits consciousness, and the geomantic nodes are like skin cells on this planetary Light body. The geomancer’s job is to add life-force to these cells, linking them with the cosmos.

It is the infrastructure that supports all the familiar nuances of human awareness. As for the grid part, think of a screen door without the doorframe. That is a grid, a simple x-y axis of little identical squares. It has a recognizable geometry to it. The planet’s Light grid is similarly geometric, just far more complex in design.

In a simplified sense, you could say it wraps itself around the globe like an intricately woven and detailed fabric with lines and domes of Light and all sorts of architectural forms resembling buildings, palaces, even cities, all made of Light, quivering, effulgent, and curiously inviting your attention, even suggesting a visit. That’s what mystics, shamans, seers, and psychics used to do all the time, and that’s where the fabulous terrain of world myth takes place. All the escapades recounted in the myths of the world happened in this lit realm.

Today we use the term clairvoyance, which means clear seeing, for the advanced development of being merely psychic or extra-sensitive. We call it applied clairvoyance because it is in fact an active deployment of heightened seeing that enables us to interact with subtle, Light-based features of the land. It is not astral travel or any kind of exotic projection of yourself out from your body. We remain very much anchored in our physical form for clarity and safety.

But we have been trained in how to project our awareness outside us like mobile density penetration rays to investigate the mechanical and engineering aspects of the subtle world. You could say it’s like seeing through solid forms to their Light interiors, in this case, landscape features and the subtle Light temples they house. A Light temple is an architectural form rendered in Light, not matter. You can only access it if you can move your awareness through this Light realm.

A great deal of training goes into developing this ability, and that is coupled with a great deal of knowledge about the design and operation of the system. You need both and in a balanced relationship of insight and knowledge. This is not a job for dilettantes or adventurers. Dangers abound in the form of ill-mannered spirits, from this planet and elsewhere, that look unfavorably on this restoration work and will seek creative ways to interfere with your engineering adjustments to the system and, better, to chase you off the field, and, in worst cases, infiltrate your psyche and leave something unpleasant there. So you have to know how to deal with such astral louts, not to mention the often appalling degree of site contamination and deliberate sabotage you may find at them. Just because a site is known as sacred does not mean today it is in a pure state.

Those impure conditions of a geomantic node come from a combination of system neglect and willful tampering. Sites lapse into a degraded condition. You need to know what a given numinous site was designed to do, what quality of consciousness it was meant to emanate, and who its resident good numen are. If we were living in classical times, we’d call these numen a site’s gods and goddesses. Let’s say the subtle Earth landscape is well populated with spirits whose interest in the system ranges from skilled helpers to well-trained enemies. This population is what you’re up against or meant to help when you visit sites.

Starting in 2020, a long forecast upgrade in the baseline condition of the Light grid’s emanation began. You’ll find the calendar for these upgrades in the traditional Hindu time classification model, one that will likely stagger your mind because it straddles a period of 311 trillion years, and that is just one cycle in an apparently endless round of incarnations of Brahma, their name for the chief deity, what Western cultures tend to call God. The Greeks had a similar model but it lacked the sophisticated and dizzying detail. It was more action oriented. They characterized four Ages, including Golden, Silver, Bronze, and Iron, and said they were marked by decreasing orders of magnitude of Light and well-being, until you reached the Iron Age or Kali Yuga, which was miserable.

For the Hindus, the brightest, most desirable, of the yugas was the Satya Yuga. That is a time of extreme sattvic conditions, marked by purity, truth, lucidity, tranquility, high energy (called Qi), Light, and joy. It lasts 1,728,000 years, and the most recent iteration of that cycle began in 2020. During a Satya Yuga, the planetary terrain gets transformed into an Asha-Land, a terrain of truth and unremitting correctness, and while that is mandated and cannot be stopped, it requires some modulation and adjustment for a few decades by grid engineers to assure it comes on strong and properly and gets firmly anchored as a reality.

You have to root out and expunge any residuals of the previous age, the Kali Yuga, the Black Time, a really dreadful period of nonstop darkness of spirit and degradation of spiritual norms that runs for 432,000 years. This finally wrapped up business and mostly left town in 2020. The trouble with a yuga is you get used to it, no matter how awful it is, and take it as normal reality. People got used to the Kali Yuga and barely noticed its darkness. This book records some of these geomantic adjustments and the chasing down of Kali Yuga remnants.

The first hundred years of the Satya Yuga are really still the transition period from the Black Time to the time of Light and Truth. It can be bumpy as you process out remaining pockets of resistance and old ways of living darkly. Certain innate energy patterns still harbor darkened zones and these need to be cleaned out. Think of this as like buying a large Victorian home with plenty of rooms and whose owners were not the tidiest of residents and left it a mess and you even encounter ghostly, gnarly remnants of their former, troubled presence.

It will take you, the new occupants, some concentrated attention to get it livable. Earth’s Light grid is like that, plus you want to upgrade the lighting and plumbing, and maybe redo the kitchen and bathrooms, put in new bathtubs, modernize the floors, replace the tiled counters with more stylish slate slabs.

One thing you’ll note in my narrative and which we were reminded of every day is you cannot help provoke the Asha-Land out of its landscape dormancy without doing the same restoration work on yourself. The landscape still holds Kali Yuga residues, and most likely so do you. It was a globally pervasive kind of psychic pollution. You have to purge both holders of these dark attitudes at the same time. You cannot be an Asha-Land hero and world savior without expunging the enemies of the truth from your own psychic field. That can get unpleasant. You’ll see examples of this self-purging process in my accounts of our experiences. There is no way around this housecleaning.

Let me clarify an even more basic fact essential for understanding this story. Our reality comes from the Light grid encasing the planet. That’s where conditions start and that’s where you fix them when they are disturbed. Physical reality, which we normally so take for granted as the sole reality, is the client of this higher-level custodial and grooming service. It is the recipient of events up there or out there in the subtle geomantic terrain of Light temples and Light lines and its vast population of spiritual beings helping maintain the system of Light.

Bad conditions in material reality, symptoms of entropy or degeneration, begin in the Light grid and deformations to its complex geometric structure. That’s why geomancers know to remedy these unbalances they must access its host source, and to do this you need knowledge of how the system works and how to work the controls and turn the knobs and what helpers to call upon. We describe this work in terms of geomantic engineering, but in earlier days the term Grail Knights or Knights of the Round Table were used to describe this. King Arthur’s legendary Grail Knights were service technicians for the Light grid, and their adventures which fill the medieval accounts were field notes of their service calls, notations on parts replaced and difficulties encountered.

The concept of an Asha-Land needs more clarification. The Greeks had a word, apocalypse, which for a long time people misunderstood to mean the big blow-out of planet Earth and the end of the game. It doesn’t mean that. It means the revelation of the original revelation. You get to finally see the actual design of reality. There’s your double revelation. It may shock and upset you but it is the naked, absolute, original truth of reality, in this case, our planet’s, and ultimately anything truthful eventually is going to feel reassuring to you.

You see the formerly veiled subtle architecture of the world and of yourself as a human living in that world. This is how Earth reality was first put together, the revealed structure as originally conceived by the creators of reality. Heavenly secrets are now disclosed so we can make sense of Earthly realities. The classified engineering blueprints for reality are made public. There it is, all its confusing, distracting clothes removed, and you see the world’s pure Light structure. There are no lies; everything about reality is true. That is Asha-Land.

Let’s come back to my metaphor of us working as geomantic engineers. What’s the name of the company that employs us and who do we report to? Here is where you’ll have to be bold and come out on a limb with me. We work for the government, except it is not a secular one concerned with the affairs of a single country. Its affairs are much larger, concern a larger population and landmass.

Theosophical tradition calls this government the Great White Brotherhood. That is a large consortium of advanced souls (membership requires ascended status, meaning they have converted their physical bodies into permanent vehicles of Light) working out of Ursa Major, the constellation of the Great Bear and its famous seven stars of the Big Dipper. This is the seat of the galactic government, and, if you like, of the genuine secret government of the world that everybody used to whisper about years ago in many countries. This is the genuinely secret, as in esoteric, government behind all other presumptive shadow governments, the real puppet-masters behind the amateurish ones.

The Brotherhood oversees developments in consciousness and the Light across the Milky Way Galaxy and operates according to long-range plans for the evolution of all conscious life and Light. That includes our planet, the Earth, and its intricate, very upmarket Light grid. Their prime directors number 14 and are called Ray Masters because they each superintend one of the 14 primary Rays or consciousness emanations that come out of the Great Bear and sweep across the galaxy like strong lighthouse beams. Membership is hierarchical, based on soul evolution, and the Brotherhood contracts with outside consultants and cut outs. You don’t have to be an ascended prodigy to be able to lend a hand.

In case the name of this galactic government troubles you, it means they get along and cooperate (brotherhood), they have ascended Light bodies (white, because that is the color of pure Light), and their membership is huge (great).

It’s not like we have offices in the Brotherhood’s headquarters, like I have in the Boston publishing firm. They send out representatives to advise us in the field. Some of these representatives are from what Western culture calls angelic orders, notably one called the Ofanim, and another called the Serafim, both occupying places of high prominence and responsibility in the angelic hierarchy of 40 orders. I’ll save the details for later in my chronicle, but for now, I will point out angels are not what you probably thought. They don’t even have to look like angels, according to the traditional notions, of wings, white robes, and haloes.

The Ofanim are consummate shapeshifters, moving through a prolific wardrobe of different guises and modes, and it may surprise you, they are often very jovial. To use an academic distinction, they are department deans, we are professors in those departments, in this case, the Department of Geomancy. They indicated which sites needed attention; we went to them and drawing on our own training, made the changes required, facilitated the upgrades, and enjoyed the continuous fun of discovering more cosmic Mysteries in our own backyard.

Forget whatever you thought you knew about angels. These guys will contradict it. They are sublime, funny, satirical, as likely to launch a clever wisecrack as to wax mystical; they are informative, fun, even puckish, like they might have just stepped out of The Pickwick Papers, members of the club. In fact, an editorial colleague described this account, which I let him read in pre-publication form, as a metaphysical picaresque, travel notes on a geomantic working tour of the esoteric state of the planet that was both jokey and serious.

On the other hand, in this account, as the accompaniment to our Asha-Land world restoration tour, as I like to call it, more often than not they appeared with huge swords of Light, meaning business, the Supreme Being’s business actually, as they are the executors and bailiffs of the Big Man’s decrees and innovations. Sometimes, the sweetness and Light approach you tend to associate with angels doesn’t work, and you have to come on hard, strong, and loaded for bear to deal with the pronounced inertial resistance of many old and unhealthy patterns.

An important fact about the Ofanim, whom we avuncularly call Blaise or the Blaise Angels because they call themselves the Blazing Star, is that some of their numbers started incarnating as human babies in January 2020. This was an epochal event that as far as I know passed almost entirely unobserved by anyone except the human Blaise (a close and long-term collaborator with them) and a few of his colleagues. But he had been tipped off years earlier to expect this.

In the summer of 1984, when Blaise was living in Somerset with a few friends and investigating Grail and Arthurian Mysteries, the Ofanim announced that when the Golden Age or Satya Yuga began in 2020, they would start incarnating in human bodies on Earth. They had never done this before, and only a few other angelic orders, principally the Elohim and Nefilim, had ever been granted this privilege. The Elohim took human form mostly before any humans were on the Earth; they appeared as giants and Cyclopes and set up all the megalithic aspects of the Earth’s Light grid. The Nefilim are the angels infamous (and misrepresented) for cohabiting with human females in Lemurian times, but something good came out of that, a genetic-spiritual upgrade to the species.

You’ll find the full account of this plan in My Pal, Blaise. That was the human Blaise’s memoirs on the eve of his departing the planet. Their descent into human form of course was commissioned at the highest level. The point is they did incarnate, taking on plausible human form, though in a pure, Edenic condition without souls as we know them because they had no karma and they had no need to evolve having been created perfect, the benefit of all angels, and their chakras were undifferentiated, all coalesced in the brow as the Third Eye, which is better called the cyclopean eye, a single-all seeing unified chakra.

The human Blaise, whom the Ofanim called the first Grail Knight in modern times, the start of a new lineage of geomantic workers in this tradition, was a magid, according to my own teacher, Edward Burbage. That is a Jewish term that denotes a human who receives teachings directly from an angel or an angelic order and not through a living teacher or by way of a received tradition. In Jewish lore, the magid receives mystical secrets and instructions directly from an angelic mentor who works with him directly and personally as his own tutor. It is not a common occurrence, and usually the magid is a fairly private person.

As forecast, starting in 2020, the Ofanim covertly insinuated themselves into the human population to help raise the general psychic atmosphere of Earth and its human population, which as it turned out, certainly needed any help from the celestial world they could get along those lines in the early terrible 2020s when the planet was embroiled in crisis. I say covertly not because it was a classified secret, but because very few knew about it or, as Edward Burbage, my mentor and former book-editing colleague, told me, had ever asked the human Blaise about it so hardly anyone knew about it or even suspected it. The act was unprecedented and therefore inherently strange if not shocking even to consider. Probably it was also because the Ofanim prefer to operate in the background.

Our work in this cycle of Light grid maintenance took us to quite a variety of locations, in Europe, Africa, out to Pakistan and South Korea, back to Armenia, up to Finland, and finishing in Luxembourg where we tied things up nicely from a lovely bridge affording a detailed view of Luxembourg City, its capital. If you think of us as like housecleaners wielding vacuum cleaners, then part of this narrative is a clinical description of what was in the collection sack.

You would be surprised to see the diversity of interference factors that get caught up in the complex weave of the Earth’s Light grid pattern. Old left-overs from earlier human epochs, alien contaminants, even some quirky, puzzling examples of divine ambivalence and contrariety from the Supreme Being Who still likes to keep a Hand or ten thousand in the affairs and intricacies of Earth.

You have to work with colleagues beyond the human spectrum to get the jobs done. The reality of geomancy is it spans many categories of intelligence. The angelic realm and the domain of the Great White Brotherhood are principals. You need some human pals to share the work with. The more people you have involved the more likely you are to see the full picture of what you’re dealing with, and, I’ll tell you, it makes the proverbial elephant palpated by blind people as obvious as a brick wall two inches from your nose. Some of the phenomena you encounter in the Wild West of the Light grid defy normal explanations.

I come from a country, Norway, and a part of that country, Lom, near to the Jotunheimen Mountains, where mythology and the psychic landscape are closer to the normal world of many people. The Eddas came from here, and they are a playbook for actual geomantic facts and events still relevant to us millennia later. When I was growing up in Lom, I could almost hear the Frost Giants rumbling around in the mountain range named after them, The Mountains of the Jötunn, Old Norwegian for those lumbering giants of blistering whiteness.

The myths say they were the enemies of Asgard, the enclosure of the good gods, tucked away in the Rondane Mountains to the northeast of Lom by about 50 miles, but they weren’t. They were colleagues, part of the Ragnarok support team for old beleaguered Odin, Norse mythology’s name for the top deity. Asgard, the subtle domain of the Aesir, was the Norse name for the Great White Brotherhood. Ragnarok was the name for the end of the known world.

I must prepare you for something that may come at you as a surprise. Most of what the world’s myths recount actually happened. The places, gods, and events are real. Yes, much of the mythic narrative seems fantastic, unlikely, improbable, at best the subject of pretty vivid dreams. What you need to realize is all that takes place in the psychic realm, not the physical. It takes place in the same materially insubstantial but metaphysically completely real Otherworld, the same place where all the geomantic structures lie, the Earth’s Light grid.

I’m sure the old cultures and their seers knew this, took it entirely for granted. But until recently, our Western culture has been largely physical-world centric, and science, religion, and education routinely ruled out the possibility of any of this. People looked at myths as odd, juvenile artifacts from an outmoded past. They didn’t realize they were chronicles of real-life psychic adventures.

I need to qualify that everything happened blanket statement. It is not quite accurate. In many cases, with myths we are confronted with a 3D slowed-down edited rendition of a much faster 4D hyper-reality where spatial and time distinctions tend to get blurred, if not dissolved. Some of the myths were created deliberately by advanced teachers of humanity as instructive tableaus that revealed essential structures and processes and acted as practical user maps to particular Light temples or Landscapes of Light, like the Eddas’s Rondanes. You could say some myths were conceived as pictorial codes for landscape initiation.

Others portray archetypal situations and confrontations, like a hero confronting a dragon in its treasure-hoard cave. They are archetypal because you could go to that place and have the same experience today. The mythic picture remains viable as a guide for how you should approach this site. Stories like Beowulf, on the other hand, are cautionary; the hero Beowulf got killed by the dragon he confronted because he hadn’t mastered the safety protocols of dealing with dragons. Their energy is real, though their form ultimately is a metaphor.

In whatever mode the myth was generated, they are as relevant today as whenever the long ago time was when they were created, either deliberately or as records of actual events. The curious, even exciting, aspect of modern-day mythic adventure is that should anyone record your geomantic outings or conversations with site numen or angelic mentors or angels armed with swords, they would be adding to the mythic lore about particular sites. This is how myths are made. Psychics told people what they saw and did in this Otherworld. You just have to remember myth doesn’t mean unreal or fabricated. Somebody was always taking notes when great mythic events in psychic reality happened.

This is the spirit which I hope you bring to my, admittedly, geomythic tales. If ours was still an oral culture, no doubt some of our exchanges with the Ofanim and Serafim would enter the picture book of outrageous tales you pass on to subsequent generations as accounts of unusual experiences people had. Like Rip Van Winkle’s 20 years with the gnomes in the Catskill Mountains. Did that really happen? Yes and no. Maybe not the 20 years part, but knocking back psychic beers with the gnomes in their natural habitat, definitely yes, it did.

I’ve done that. Hung out with the gnomes. Though not the beers part. Think of that as the substance of their jollity. They are prolific in Norway and I grew up with them as subtle friends. The gnomes don’t occupy our 3D timeline so your adventures with them might seem to span 20 years when in fact they only took 20 minutes. Myths are like that. Their timeline is open-ended and uncertain, and so is the calendar chronology of our geomantic engagements.

You may find the actual time frame on a daily or monthly basis in these reports of working various sites a little vague and blurred. That’s how it felt to us, too, though I’m pretty sure it all transpired during the middle temperate months of the year 2095. Most of the time, you see, we were over there, in 4D geomancy land, wrenching the ley lines into place and upping the wattage at numinous sites to facilitate the arising of Asha-Land, which, as a resident of Earth, I hope you like because it is the new, improved condition of our planet.

—Lars Jaanusson,

Wesak, May 26, 2097

1

The Light temple towered before me like a mountain of blazing gold fire. Imagine seeing an architectural form from the subtle world so bright it nearly blinds you, and that’s when it’s not astounding you with the majesty of its design. This one rose at least ten stories and oddly appeared wider at the top so that it seemed the entire building was leaning over dangerously towards you. It didn’t have windows, but its sheer walls were ribbed with thin golden pillars.

The fact that this monstrously beautiful otherworldly temple occupied most of The Common in the heart of Boston didn’t surprise me at all. It belonged here. That meant this building in gold fire spanned the full 50 acres of this city park. I wasn’t surprised because Light temples like this had been springing up all over the world in the last five years, like long dormant seeds sufficiently watered at last now leaping out of the landscape into gorgeous summer blooms. These forms in Light had always been here, only awaiting the right growth conditions, which means growth in the psychic ability of people to see what is already here.

What goes on inside such a large building? Major affairs of the cosmos, all of which directly affect humans and, in fact, invite our wakeful participation. I say wakeful, because when you’re inside one of these bright structures it seems dreamlike. So it’s important you try to stay wide-awake and lucid to get the full benefits. Speaking of dreams, I was certain I had dreamed of this Light building before, many times, but now I was meeting it full-face in the bright daytime. I reached out my hand to touch the shimmering surface of this building. It tingled. Then it surged, wavelike, like a steady, sustained, oddly pleasurable, shock, the kind of jolt that would make the little hairs on your arms prickle and stand up.

When I placed both palms flat against its sheer surface I was immediately inside the temple. Somehow, that contact instantly shifted me to the interior. I could have walked through the front gates or deliberately moved my Light body through the nonmaterial walls to reach the inside, but this way was even quicker. It was my Light body because you cannot enter a subtle building like this in your physical form because the building itself does not have physical substance.

But I was used to that. I had been dealing with architectural forms of Light for years. The intensity of the Light emissions inside were so strong they hummed loudly. Whatever human activities were taking place now outside on Boston Common were as if they didn’t exist once you were inside this structural immensity of Light. You were in effect in another world inside this building.

I was inside this structure with my palms on the walls, but it was the inner ones. It was like I had reversed my stance in relation to the wall. I turned around. The interior was vast, its circumference lined with pillars alternating with arches. I had to squint. The Light was so bright it was almost visually assaultive, and this wasn’t even my physical body and its physical eyes enduring its influence. Before I could take in any more of the Light temple’s features I was swept up in the experience it was designed to deliver. The Light temple was a state of mind, and I now occupied that state which seemed to fit over my head like a helmet.

This helmet put me inside the consciousness of the ensouling intelligence, what we used to call the god or deity, the numen, of this particular Light temple, and I began sharing its quality of attention and perspective on cosmic and terrestrial affairs, its relevance to the design of the human and our awareness. It was as if I had eyes all around my head, which meant the deity was seeing Boston reality, Earth reality, and for all I knew, cosmic reality, from multiple vantage points at once in this fabulous panopticon of duplicated eyes. The eyes were like windows that lined the circumferential walls of this Light temple, like portholes, but they were also for fine-tuning and zooming in on what you saw.

I was now a two-headed Janus raised to an exponential power of heads, firmly anchored into the landscape, not just of Boston or the planet, but reality. I realized I wasn’t looking out at the landscape. I didn’t need to. It was looking into me. I was like a mother dog who gracefully submits to the suckling of her fresh litter of a dozen hungry puppies. The puppies in this analogy are people.

I don’t mean that in any diminutive sense. Light temples are a source of food for the psyche; they enrich consciousness when you use them properly. In a sense, all the star god is doing when the Light temple is active, open, and broadcasting is saying Hello! to any people or sentient life-forms who visit it. The deity of the temple doesn’t have to do anything; merely being here is enough. Its being, its existence, is the spiritual action itself. Then you realize you are that. It activates something in you that corresponds to what this Light temple entails.

Here’s another way to describe the experience. You’re climbing the rock face of a mountain. You see yourself from the outside, just a grappling speck of arms and legs slowly clambering up the sheer rock wall. Then you enter the rock. You become part of the mountain; you become the mountain itself. You are not climbing anything. You are this monstrosity of adamant rock in the landscape. You don’t even regard yourself as solid, dense, and massive. You simply are. The mountain doesn’t say to itself, Look at how big I am. I am so big. No need to. Its size is reflected in the intensity and depth of its concentration, its big Mind.

My point is the fluidity of access and the richness of identification of the Light temples across the Earth today is transforming our human sense of self-identity. As a human, you find you have to start redefining yourself, not just your individual personality, but the phylogeny itself, the species of the Earth human. If part of who I am includes being the god of this temple, then who, truly, am I? And that is not only me, but anyone interacting with this feature.

Who are we? I don’t mean to suggest some new state of cognitive scrambling, but a radical broadening of the parameters of what we take ourselves to be. That’s the mature fruit of the huge changes started in 2020 as the Satya Yuga. We are now, 75 years later, living out the full implications of that upgrade. Humans are big; they are cosmic; our consciousness can be godlike.

I feel the heat and Light of this head I am growing rapidly, like a sun is rising from within me or I am in a room with a dimmer switch being nudged on. This will sound odd but I felt like I was starting to consume reality around me, like a whale, its mouth wide open, taking in vast allotments of plankton. I was eating reality except it wasn’t like it was food; it was more that I was welcoming it into my house, my awareness, this burgeoning spectacle of Light I now am.

This is a way of describing how an activated Light temple starts to infuse local reality, warming it like a sun, ushering all sentient life-forms into its livingroom. I trust this doesn’t sound too weird. These days you can’t help but wax cosmic. As if proof of that, I now seemed to be out among the stars amidst a crowd of heads. It put me in mind of being a dandelion amidst a lush lawn of dandelions, all blooming outrageously yellow among the fine green stalks of grass. But here it was the heads or countenances of other star deities, each of whom presumably has a Light temple or several across the lawn of the Light grid of temples and geomantic features that covers the planet like a grass carpet.

The outside of this building was suddenly covered in what looked like bees in a hive. Then they looked like birds crowded onto the building’s sides. Then I saw what they actually were. Angels. Angels of fire and on fire and each holding a big sword also seemingly on fire. They looked tough, as they assumed what looked like defensive positions, like samurai poised to leap and slash as required. Serafim. That’s who they were, the warrior angels of fire, from seraph, the burning one, and also known as the Valkyries, the fierce female horse-mounted guardians of Odin’s Valhalla as extolled in Norse myth and Wagnerian opera, Odin’s Wish-Girls who brought the worthy of the war-slain to Valhalla.

Angelographies say they have six wings and burn with the all-consuming fire as a testament to their passion for doing the justice work of the Supreme Being. In my experience, I know them as the guardian detail surrounding the ascended Christ and anything to do with the Christ Light in the world and around people. I heard that when Jesus ascended from Mount Golgotha, 1,080 Serafim rose with him, flanking his gloriously manifested Light body on all sides like seagulls around a fishing trawler. Humans potentially have a Serafim detail.

I wasn’t surprised to see them flanking this Light temple. They have sufficient numbers to flank a lot of temples at the same time, as called upon. The number I heard from my mentor, Edward Burbage, is 1,259,712,000. Angels on the job get to make a copious number of copies of their form. The Serafim could spare a hundred copies of themselves to flank this building as a protection detail.

These hundred Serafim seemed to be hammering on the sides of the Light temple with their sword edges, as if trying to steadily slice through its walls. Except they probably could have done this in a single stroke if they wanted to. Their intent must be different, possibly to create receptive notches in the temple, like innumerable irrigation channels for their Light on the skin of the building. I looked through the inside walls in all directions and saw the Serafim intently peering down, their flaming heads and sharp eyes at the far ends of their swords. I saw the blade and the face repeated a hundred times around the inside walls.

When I say their Light I mean the specific Serafim vibration. They were adding that like an ingredient, a spice perhaps, to the innate flavor of this place. It might have been required for the full stimulation input they were giving it, like the way you once needed a key to start the engine of a car. This Light temple needed the input of the Serafim; maybe they all do these days in the Satya Yuga.

The angelographies say the Serafim are perpetually intoning Holy, holy, holy, something like workmen humming an opera aria while they work. I can’t say I heard them intoning this, but they were emitting a sound, like a rising then falling cascade of trilling syllables, evocative, oddly, of a rollercoaster in motion. Their sounds rose then fell, got louder then softer. I didn’t mind the pattern, and anyway, the Light temple seemed to need it, sucking it up like a dry sponge. The official accounts say Serafim sing this to the Supreme Being, but I don’t think He needs it. He’s sufficiently self-confident, I should think, that He doesn’t need troops of fawning angels reminding Him daily of His awesome amazingness. The Old Boy needs these angels to go into the world and sing to the temples.

For a moment, the Light temple disappeared, leaving only the Serafim. They formed a bright circle around me, like my attention wore a tiara of angels. Maybe that is the point of this place, to conduct your awareness into the Serafim. Their swords were raised and they stared intently at me from all directions. They seemed to be baiting me to raise my sword; they weren’t aggressive about this. They were like martial arts instructors waiting for me to make my first move; then they would show me the flaws in my execution and probably deck me too.

It felt like a friendly invitation to joust around a bit, meeting sword edges as a test of mettle and concentration. As Valkyries, they were charged by the high god Odin to troll the battlefields to select worthy candidates for admission to Valhalla. They called those selected the Einherjar, the self-slain ones. That didn’t mean suicides or even people who were technically dead; it meant those who through spiritual striving and privation and field training had mastered the waywardness and contradictory aspects of their own selfhood. They had gained a transcendent neutrality position with regards to their own individuality. The term is also translated as lone fighters, from the Old Norse einn (one) and herjar (army). The one-person army in the brave fight against one’s own self.

The Einherjar had slain their own selfhood, so full of contrariness and obstinacy. Slain meant they had mastered their own personality and its claim to seniority over the affairs of a person’s awareness. They had defeated that, balanced it, then transcended the whole nuisance and now occupied the senior position. The battle was against their own personality, their horoscope, their precious individuality curated carefully over the decades and presented at the incarnational award shows for the most accomplished, truly impressive human selfhoods. Everybody does this; we so take it for granted we hardly notice it.

Let me draw your attention to the fact that the Celtic version of the Einherjar were King Arthur’s Grail Knights of the Round Table. It’s the same business as the Norse picture of Valhalla; they just left out all the metaphysical bits and made it seem like a surface 3D action story, armored guys on horses.

I had the impression that when I matched my Grail Knight sword against the Valkyries, their movements would form a mudra dance around me showing me new ways of moving energy and attention. I would probably also experience, again, the futility of defining myself purely based on the details of my selfhood, the familiarities of body and mind, regardless of any horoscopic mandate.

I didn’t feel like I was even still in this Light temple. I was somewhere else, in Serafim-Land, doing a sword dance to cascading music with these angels. Holy, holy, holy shit, was more like it, coming out of my beleaguered mouth. Our slashes and parries were leaving sword tracks in the air around us, like we were inscribing the ethers with lines of Light deriving from our adroit moves. These lines were building a pattern, though visually it was a complex one, most likely a hyperdimensional shape like some Calabi-Yau manifold space or some kind of consciousness architecture familiar to the Valkyries, like their auric field. I was romping with this bizarrely beautiful shape like a dance partner, which meant I was gradually entraining my consciousness to conjoin this special form.

A voice was calling out my name from, it seemed, everywhere at once. Lars. Step back and turn around twice. Hold your sword at the diagonal.

I couldn’t think of any reason not to comply, plus I recognized the voice, even as I disbelieved in its possibility. It was my Irish colleague, Aoife Byrne. I hadn’t seen or heard from her in five years since she died on Mount Cook in New Zealand. She hadn’t fallen or frozen to death; she had dissolved before our eyes by some adamant cosmic disassembling force and entered the Higher Worlds bodiless. All that had happened in a matter of seconds, though it had been foreshadowed during the latter days of our expedition. We just hadn’t recognized it properly.

It was like the way Sophocles described how the blinded, exiled former king, Oedipus, turned into a blaze of Light at Colonus near Athens and then vanished. Aoife went out that way. I should tell you, she is as tricky to handle as her name is to pronounce. You say it EE-fah, and watch out for the red hair.

My colleague, Edward Burbage, and I had looked at each other in sad astonishment, especially as Aoife said, her voice fading quickly, I’ll be with you in a few years. She meant she was deliberately dying so she could work with me from the Other Side, as people usually call the disembodied, non-incarnate state, and that I should expect her reappearance on my next significant mission. I couldn’t see her, and she probably was not going to manifest even in an etheric form, but her voice was rich and ubiquitous, as if coming out of all the whole Light-slashed hyperdimensional figure I was dancing inside with the Serafim.

As I said, it wasn’t dancing in any formal, human-style manner, but moving energy, more like Sufi twirling, and I could swear I felt Aoife grinning at me from every direction, that cocky Irish freckle-faced, almost impish, mischievous grin we knew her so well for. If she were alive, she would be 45, probably giving me instructions and butt kicks while reminding me many times until I got it that the way you properly pronounce her name is EE-fah. I botched it often before I got it right. She insisted I say it properly, like it was an invocation.

So, it is I, EE-fah, her voice declared bossily from all directions, and I’m here to set you boys straight. I guess that meant she would be explaining this Serafim concatenation I was embedded in. I didn’t mind it; I rather liked it, but I couldn’t account for it. She implied I soon would be joined by a few others on the next expedition. I’m glad I had flexible hours and accrued vacation time at the publisher’s because it sounded like I would be using it soon with new friends.

I was beginning to understand what all the Serafim swords were for. They were hacking away, paring, slicing, nicking through all the resistance a person coming to this Light temple would have to get past to experience its full scope. It was like a one-way joust in which they knocked you definitively off your horse but in slow motion before you even got your lance aligned with them coming at you, and, like you were a warrior fallen on the battlefield, they stripped you clean of all your flesh, which I take as a metaphor for your preserved selfhood. They were introducing you to the requirements and rigor of being an Einherjar.

Your selfhood, or let’s say your insistence on its primacy in all affairs, gets in the way of experiencing the Light temple in full and keeps you from gaining Einherjar status which is required if you want to enter Valhalla. Why would you want to enter Valhalla? It’s a peer group assembly hall, in a sense like one of those posh London membership clubs of Henry James’s day. It’s like London’s Reform Club for Grail Knights. Valhöll, Hall of the Slain, is a privileged membership club for the self-defeated; it is a privilege for you to enjoy its ambiance because you must earn the right to that privilege, and to do that you must squirm out of the straitjacket of your own self-definition, like Houdini escaping from yet another complicated binding wrapping him up tightly.

There are no inherited memberships through aristocratic privilege. It is entirely merit based. Your fellow members are all here in this glorious hall in Asgard, the Enclosure of the Gods, because they proved themselves worthy of it, so they might be available to aid the chief god, Odin, at the moment of Ragnarok, the End Times. For Odin, substitute Supreme Being, certainly a worthy employer. One episode in that momentous, prophecied struggle was the advent of Satya Yuga. Its birth was assured though difficult and still needs some help. In this incremental episode in the long-term change of the world called Ragnarok, we had to help the Satya Yuga birth an Asha-Land out of the planet’s Light grid. The Serafim had to make sure I was up to the task of helping out in the field.

That time has already transpired, and did so starting 75 years ago at the advent of the Satya Yuga in 2020 amidst almost no fanfare or public recognition. In fact, those very old today will remember it started out quite nastily. Granted, it’s only an episode in the full high drama. Ragnarok is a big event, and it gets doled out in small increments. It needs some trained Einherjar to help usher it through its birth.

The myths say you’re nominated for membership in Valhalla by the Valkyries, the Valkyrja, Choosers of the Slain. Odin is Lord of the Einherjar, whom he also knows as Osksynir, Wish-Sons or Adopted Sons. They practice their fighting arts all day long, then feast and drink all night, and thus they pass their timeless days in this paradisal post-life club. That’s all an analogy.

What actually happens at Valhalla is they hone their consciousness, clairvoyance, and concentration every day so as to be better fit to aid Ragnarok, and they exude the Christ Light which they imbibed in the course of slaying themselves, lower self for Absolute Self. I hope you can follow this mythic code. Also, when I say Christ Light I do not mean they are Christians. There is nothing doctrinal here. The Christ Light refers to a direct empirical exposure and assimilation of a fundamental condition of consciousness. It’s a tool you use in geomantic work; there is no dogma entailed, no religion to join, no catechism.

The Einherjar have pledged themselves to Odin to assist in the prolonged struggle of Ragnarok, which is basically the slow, steady upgrade and enlivening of the planet’s Light grid against the inertia and resistance of the world itself. Ragnarok is not the twilight of the gods and the end of reality in a blaze of fire but rather the sense of the slow dying of the old order and tired structures of world ignorance of the Light grid and the lack of its required maintenance by people. In the morning, the cries of Gollinkambi, Gold-Comb, the official rooster of Valhalla, wake them up to a new day of the same ever-enjoyable activities, which might in fact include a trip to selected geomantic nodes to smarten them up.

The Norse myths give us a visually detailed picture of Valhalla. Outside before the gates is the tree Glasir with golden leaves as well as the stag Eikbyrnir and the goat Heidrun. This goat produces the precious mead, the Norse version of Soma, from nibbling on the leaves of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, while the stag’s antlers exude droplets of a precious liquid which continuously adds to the volume of the Hvergelmir spring, source of all waters of the world. The River Thund surrounds the hall; in it swim Thjodvitnir’s Sun-Fish. Valgrind is Valhalla’s outermost gate, presumably the first one you encounter and must pass through.