the attic
I ascend. Walking softly I approach a door seldom opened. Pausing I reach for the handle. Breathing out I slowly open the door. Before me rises a staircase rarely trod, its steps silent to footfalls. Cautiously I advance arriving to the threshold and the final entrance to my destination. You can’t cross the ocean by merely standing on the shore and staring at the tide. But then again you don’t need a boat either. I am not afraid of going forward in life, only hesitant of what I might find behind, in a sinister force influencing my thoughts and directing my decisions.
Making an effort to control my breathing I hesitantly reach for the knob, open the door and take a step inside. My intrusion is announced by an unearthly primordial groan and a centuries old shrill sarcophagi moan. Any resident ghouls, ghosts, or goblins were now aroused and at full alert. Standing my left hand still clutching the doorknob, my eyes attempt to adjust. I have just opened a door to things concealed, secrets waiting to be revealed. Two worlds; one we see, one we sense.
Light streams in from a dormer window chasing dust particles like falling snow accumulated over time their somnolence awakened by my movement. Cobwebs stretch their mastery wrapping over the motionless contents, while my arms and hands make a path tearing down these fibrous redoubts, gaining access to my objects of inquiry. The layers of years, each generation adding to the total must be removed to access a perception of the past with a view to the future. Carefully I blow upon surfaces, faces stare back but don’t speak. Captions are barely visible and script is often so faded as to be unintelligible. I examine trunks, tables, and tallboys unsure of what I search for, uncertain of what I might find.
It was in the bottom of a chest that the grail of my quest was discovered. There I found a volume carefully wrapped and protected, strapped and leather bound. It was guarded like the mysteries within the Spinx, Antartica, and the Himalayas and at one time obtainable at the ancient libraries of Alexandria and Glastonbury though only a fragment, never in its entirety. The Vatican library, Smithsonian and others exist to conceal knowledge not to reveal its secrets. And there is knowledge never meant to be unveiled, only known. Thus the Saviour spoke in parables so that the masses would NOT understand.
Trembling I reverently retrieved the volume and finding an old stable cushioned chair I placed it in the path of the radiant light streaming through the upper window, sat and loosed the bindings. Slowly I opened to its contents, the wisdom of the ages secured on pages written by the very finger of God. Inscribed was the hidden history of heaven and earth from its original genesis to the present creation, and all the laws of propulsion, energy, food production, travel, time, space, any and everything. It discussed how to feed thousands with fragments, still storms, find gold in fish’s mouths, and walk through seemingly solid walls, and everything relevant to heaven above and earth below.
It also discussed the failed governance of men and nations with its legion, as in the Gadarene, of lies, contradictions, and distortions. A chronology of events revealed centuries of slavery, namely of white European legacy, primarily Irish, Scottish, and British. It is part of America’s hidden history, neglected and forgotten, easily removed by rewriting it. These true roots, not Hollywood’s hype by the same name, expose American capitalism as viciously predatory, with hundreds of thousands, the poor and their children forcibly taken or seduced by a system of indentureship once engaged difficult to escape. This practice lasted for over 200 years. Thousands died manacled in filthy holds underfed and diseased and sometimes thrown out to sea to insure adequate food for the crew. ‘Convicts’ i.e., political figures, prisoners of war, debtors, and dissidents added to the ranks of the enslaved sent to the new world, Australia and abroad. The mortality rates claimed the short lives of these huddled masses with as many as 60% not surviving the first year.
Behind it all was the Jewish Cabal always attempting to eliminate awareness of their collusion and involvement in the slave trade, while casting blame on the victims forced to bear the burden of guilt for black slavery, another of lives paradoxes as most slaves in the new world were white. I sighed. How many things do I yet believe, taught in the home and perpetuated by the educational system that are pure fiction meant to erase the evil of centuries? I groan, a deep guttural agonizing that echoes through space eclipsing time now resident in the endless boundaries of eternity. My guilt not necessarily from complicity with acts of evil but in believing in its lies. I concede to a divine force unchanged and unabated. It shapes our life experience both individually and collectively. Its conclusions are undeniable, it’s justice inescapable.
The light began to recede with the sun and carefully I closed this the ‘codex sempiternity’ latched and bound as found. Strange I thought for I continued to read its pages in my mind just as if it was open before me. This continuous unveiling once initiated perpetuated itself without my need to return to the ascending staircase and beyond. Upon leaving there was not to be found any indication I had ever even been there.
The Attic……. At once the deep dark recesses of your mind and so much more. It’s contents can only be spoken of in generalities, not specifics. It will never be told in order to be sold. For now the things hidden must remain hidden.
Some of you will ascend embracing your soul’s full disclosure. Others never will……..
Though the writings are often addressed in the first person, they are always a collaborative effort from personages undisclosed…..the authors