Neither Flat, nor Round, but a Flower
Travel Guide through Reality. Part 14: The First Open Contact
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The First Open Contact
Before leaving for NYC, I decided to give my cheerful, ginger cat Scholesy to my Godson. And eleven months since my farewell to Yerevan, it disappeared: on 11.11.11 (November 11, 2011), exactly 27 days after my birthday, October 15. My Godson Bagg’em had made good friends with it, so Scholesy’s disappearance brought him some sleepless nights, as he tirelessly searched for his ginger pal all over the hood. Of course, it was not the first case of a cat vanishing without a trace. Skeptics believe they die, or someone else kidnaps them, but the truth is much more heart-warming (though, unfortunately, some furry little guys happen to encounter the above mentioned troubles).
The emotions of love we lavish on our cats turns them into indeed magical creatures: that beautiful energy absorbed by their emotional bodies helps them activate their own third-eye. And since their physical vessels are forged by Zaranda, the Great Elemental Matrix of Animals, their activated, wide open third-eye allows them to create an etheric inter-matrix portal into a local-planetary platform called Ermastig — an abode of enlightened animals with crystalline-based biological bodies, projected by Zaranda himself. Ermastig is also home to those animal-elementals that once had non-sentient physical body-analogues on Earth — the soft toys cherished by our kids.
Filled by our love, the emotional bodies of our feline pets continuously resonate at the 4density level, thus refining their sixth chakra and giving them the ability to initiate their physical avatars’ teleportation onto the said local-planetary platform in the etheric corridor of Gaia. And it would be rather egoistic of our species to blame them for leaving our world for a better one, that is, for teleporting from this sub-etheric matrix into a crystalline-recognizing, elemental world without hunger, pains and aging. That’s why some cats understandably prefer to avoid the unpleasant seconds of physical death that tends to bring a deceptive sense of fear in front of the illusory eternal nothingness.
In September of 2017, as I finished reading the last part of “The Rose of the World” (and had just recently quit eating animals), I noticed an incredible cloud formation in the sunset sky, seeming terribly familiar, yet the first association coming to my mind was a gigantic hydroplane. Later that night I realized I had seen that thing previously on Fiorentina’s logo. I was sure it was a regular iris — the symbol of Florence where the football club of Fiorentina is based. Next day, while I was on the phone with my Godson (a fan of Italian football), he told me that it was something more than just a simple iris: the fleur-de-lys — ⚜ (Heraldic lily). In Christianity, it is the symbol of the purity of Virgin Mary, whose birthday, according to the Julian calendar, was on September 21 — the very day I saw that cloud formation in the skies over Brighton Beach.
Several days after, right above the same beach I witnessed wings made of clouds — similar to feathered angel-wings from Renaissance murals. Andreev’s book helped me develop appreciation toward all the religions, so I stopped being extremely skeptical, and began considering the human factor: I realized that centuries and limited, human interpretation merely distorted the accurateness of ancient teachings. Believing in something is not always equal to knowing it. When you know what you’re talking about, your words possess much more weight than when you just believe in them.
Moreover, two days after I saw the fleur-de-lys, a rather rare celestial event was underway — astonishingly similar to the descriptions given in the Book of Revelations, “…and there appeared a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the Sun, and the Moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars”. And during this celestial event, the Moon was indeed located under the feet of the woman, that is, the constellation of Virgo, as the 9 main stars of Leo along with the three planets — Mercury, Mars and Venus — stood right above her constellational head, forming a crown, while the Sun at that point was already upon Virgo, clothing her from above.
And as the prophecy went on, “…she was travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered”, in reality, Jupiter, having previously entered Virgo’s belly, stayed there for exactly nine months and exited from it as though being birthed. So, this all spectacularly followed the said appearance of the fleur-de-lys…
In addition to that, the last part of “The Rose of the World” is about the pending paradigm shift, where that Biblical prophecy is mentioned as the symbol of the new beginnings! I was absolutely astounded by the amount of coincidences. And since I already knew about Zventa-Sventana, seeing the fleur-de-lys in the sky helped me not ignore the immeasurable light that was being shed on my skeptical self.
Essentially, the Divine Feminine energy, filling my polluted heart-chakra, taught me to display empathy toward every living being, so quitting carnivorism turned out to be much easier than I had previously thought.
Around the same time, I noticed that helicopters and planes of all types started crossing the sky over my head all too frequently, and sometimes even flying surprisingly low. One late September evening, Goos, who two months earlier had moved from my apartment to Fat John’s, gave me a call to share his latest weird dream: he saw a young, tall guy, with long and shiny blonde hair, leading him to Fat John’s apartment, from where, for some reason, Fat John and his ex, Raoris, were moving out, so Goos was supposed to begin keeping his eye on it. I told him that the same night I too had a dream involving an extremely tall, bearded man, though he looked much older (in the guise of Metallica’s James Hetfield) and was the size of a seven-story building. And in the morning the first post I saw in my Instagram newsfeed was a photo of James Hetfield (liked by 27 people).
About a week later, I, as usual, visited Goos and Fat John. The latter’s interest toward ETs had reached its peak, so he showed us a Youtube video where the narrator was telling an allegedly made up story about some tall aliens with blonde hair, who would continue growing in size as they got older. I then remembered Goos’ dream (and my very own) to finally realize that we were watching a video about tall aliens in the very apartment which the said tall blonde guy had visited in his dream!
Plus, ever since early October, I had been having a lot of synchros with the word Vega (also — Vegas; Vegan). So, I became really interested in that star in the constellation of Lyra, and told Bagg’em (on his birthday, October 22) about my weird telepathic contact with some unknown ETs (back then I didn’t know anything about the star-civilization from Ferazeah, originating, by the way, from the Lyran Star Family root-race of Vega). So, my Godson was one of the first people I dared to share such audacious news with. Yet my voice lacked any confidence, since I myself had difficulties to believe in it. Typical belief defect.
Seven days later, the cirrus cloud formations resembling heads of raptors caught my eye several times while I was biking in the south of Brooklyn.
The same afternoon, in a couple of hours, I came across Al’s, our aspiring movie director’s Instagram stories, where he was taking videos of various birds of prey in some nature reserve in Russia. And that evening, as I was at Fat John’s, my good Belarusian friend, a very nice girl by the name of Volga, texted me asking the meaning of the song by an Armenian rock band she had earlier listened to on my VK page. The lyrics were originally composed by a famous Armenian poet, Yeghishe Charents, so I decided to translate the whole poem into Russian for her once I got home — Fat John lives a few train stops down my place.
That night the wind was berserk: it was blowing from behind so I stormed back home on the red mountain-bike of mine to immediately start writing an approximate translation of the poem called “Perhaps, We Don’t Exist”, where the last stanza goes “in the mist, only an invisible bird spread its wings over us and the wings of it were shaking”, and then it repeats four times “the wings of it.” I was translating that poem right inside the VK chat-box, so as soon as I was done editing it, I hit enter to send my rather poetic message to Volga. Then, I got out of my armchair and opened the window to check out the wind. Once I let my head out and looked to my right, in the direction of the Verrazzano Bridge, I saw a large hawk sitting on the fire escape just two feet away from my face. And its wings were shaking in the fiercest of winds, which seemed to be blowing the whole world away.
I rapidly sneaked my head back inside and shut the window, since I’d had never come that close to any bird of prey before. Soon I managed to calm myself down and got on the fire escape, yet keeping the distance of at least six feet from the raptor, so as to not scary it away, or get bitten by it. I felt like I had manifested that particular scene from the poem. The hawk was silver-grey. I offered it some Armenian lavash as a treat, while it guarded me in the wind the whole night. Also, I googled what hawked symbolized in shamanism: it said something like, “if you have been visited by a hawk, it is time for you to speak up, share your knowledge and take a leadership role.” I considered it as a sign that my fifth chakra was already clean enough, so I began boldly telling my friends (and their friends as well) about the metageography of our hacked planetary platform.
Furthermore, I soon had a dream where I was off the stage at Metallica’s concert, whose frontman, James Hetfield, judging by my previously mentioned dream, was not the celebrity himself, but an ET: when we fall asleep and enter the astral hyperspace, our 3D astral body/intuitive mind interprets the encounters with extra-terrestrials in such a way that our bio-emotional brain could smoothly process these rendezvous, therefore seeing aliens in the guise of celebrities is pretty common. So before playing the next song, Hetfield looked at me and said, “This is the one you wrote…” Metallica's frontman was singing a song with my lyrics to a crowd of people — I did feel flattered to say the least! And I woke up encouraged enough to keep on sharing the knowledge of our multidimensional reality with everyone around.
In several weeks I noticed there was another hawk in our area — a brown-white beauty. Yet neither one of these raptors would visit my fire escape until the late January. And ever since that shamanic, windy night I had been telling my mother that pretty soon the world was going to become a much better place to live in. Something special was underway, I literally could smell it in the early November air. It simply felt that way, as I followed the synchros.
And back then, in November of 2017, my Godson was still thinking it was me who stood behind the number 27, i.e., he suspected that if I had never told him about it, he would never pay attention to its wild, repetitive nature. I kindly reminded him that he had already had his own special number following him daily, #22. While he went on, “Whatever, yesterday I told myself to seek 14 everywhere, and guess what, I am doing a great job! It is now standing out as bright as the 27 itself.”
“14? 2 times 7, that is…” said I.
I finally revealed to him that the number 14 (and especially #144, i.e. 72+72) was also coming across my eyes every once in a while with an increased intensity, though not as frequently as the #27. However, on certain days, I would notice the #14 ridiculously often, for example, one November evening Raoris called me asking why she had been seeing it since the early morning, I told her that I’d been having the same issue the whole day… So this helped me realize that other people too had synchros with not one, but several numbers, like Raoris did with 27, 14, 13 and their mirrored versions.
Also, it appeared that a given number can get astonishingly repetitive on certain days in the lives of people who know each other well.
Around then I noticed rather strange, synchronistic accounts on VK, as well as very psychedelic and aesthetic pages, groups and communities I had never seen before anywhere on the internet. And I finally started sensing the connection between the recurring number sequence synchros and the ET activity. Those were profiles of very artsy people, carrying a particular cosmic/angelic theme full of synchros. And of course the #27 (and her sisters) was bursting throughout their posts.
In the beginning of December, Goos, born under the sign of Aquarius, had another weird dream full of symbolism. He saw a flock of birds above a swimming pool into which he was submerged with a company of semi-naked, nymph-looking girls (though, according to him, there was nothing erotic about them whatsoever). And they were birthing some type of hybrid fish-people. I exclaimed right away, “The Age of Aquarius!” In a couple of hours, I found his dream…on the internet. And I love how lunatic this sounds.
My own dreams too were getting weirder and vivider: my late father appeared in one to show me a physical exercise which would relieve the pain I had been having in my back while walking for long distances — and it really helped! And earlier in 2017, a month before I would read “The Emerald Tablet”, I had had a dream where my father took me to a doctor with an unusual hairdo, who injected something into my hand, and about a year later, on January 27, I found a drawing on the internet, which, in my view, perfectly symbolized the ascension of Lilith: there that very doctor (!) was crowning a lady caught on fire. And as I was staring at my desktop computer in awe, my cellphone rang — it was Raoris — right at 7:27 PM.
In another dream of mine I was greeted by a Latin American shaman who named me Ojo de Bárbar, which means “Eye of Barbarian” in Spanish. It allegedly had something to do with the scar on my right eye; I fell off my bike on the driveway of Prospect Park, August 27 of 2016. And in that very park, about a year later, I had my first synchronistic-shamanic initiation: I came across a fire hydrant, numbered with a thick white 27, and with a clothing brand logo posted on it — a skull with a warbonnet. In half an hour I biked down to the lake. The swans had swum close to the shore, so I approached them. Some jolly little girls ran toward us, excited by those wonderful birds. I asked them how would they call that lovely swan over there. One of the girls exclaimed, “Shaman!”. And again, “Shaman, Shaman.” The other kid, pointing to the swan, joined in as well, “Shaman, Shaman!” It felt like the whole world was speaking to me through everyone and everything.
One day in 2011 I had a thought on the first ever cosmic inter-species contact crossing my mind: I reckoned it would definitely happen via the internet, so as to ease the shock, which our kind — still in some cases falling victim to radical nationalism and racism — could potentially experience.
And as a kid I believed that as soon as one got contacted by aliens, he/she would finally know the answers to all the fundamental questions bothering the brightest of our minds, and eventually every dumb dispute would be vanished forever.
Mythologies of the world try to convey much finer truth…
December of 2017 was the time of my sixth chakra’s, third-eye’s, activation. I began noticing that several airplanes would occasionally appear in one sector in the sky right before my bedroom window — I live with my mum on the top (sixth) floor — and they would just hang in the air for a while, and sometimes, as if following a certain geometry, form an alphabet letter, triangle, square, and even a cross (on January 6 of 2016, Armenian Christmas Day). Moreover, some of them, still suspended in space, would all of a sudden disappear in the cloudless sky. Or, at times, a low-flying passenger aircraft would circle exactly in front of my bedroom window as though to gain my attention, and thereby make me ask what for it did that weird extra loop right before my eyes. Thus, it was not at all difficult to believe that they might really be some sort of ET planes, as the level of anomalies had already sky-rocketed throughout that year.
And as soon as I started seriously considering the verity of my above mentioned, bold speculation, I happened to come across a strange post in one of those aesthetic VK groups: a scenery at twilight with several little dots of light in the sky, and a comment, “Shh, hush. Observe the lights and be silent.”
And so I observed, but given my chronic impatience, soon rushed to tell Fat John and Goos about that secret synchro.
The helicopter/chopper activity too reached its peak: some would fly unusually low over our neighborhood, appearing at the right time, especially when I was discussing ET matters with my friends or Bagg’em over the phone. The same happened several times as I and Fat John were watching Youtube videos about UFOs.
The 918 inscribed on this chopper I read as 9+18 =27, yet refused to fully believe that some of the police; news channel; and other helicopters — well, at least the ones that emerge during synchros — were in fact extra-terrestrial aerotransformers. Obviously, my psyche was not ready to witness actual UFOs at close range, thus such a masquerade was a necessity.
And around then I met my ex-roommate, Gizz, the gambler guy, living a couple of blocks away from my place. Apart sharing with me his dream about the gigantic eagle attacking him, Gizz also mentioned that he’d been having a weird, reoccurring dream where some birds hover around his bedroom windows, as though stalking him, then shape-shift into helicopters…
Meanwhile, the “suspended planes” became rather frequent guests:
So, in December, it marked three months since I became a vegetarian, and consequently, my sixth chakra was more or less cleaned from dense-energetic pollutions, such as codes of fears and sufferings experienced by animals. And midway through the ultimate month of 2017, my great friend from Armenia, Mirik, became the father of an adorable baby girl. I learned from the messages left by our friends in the VK group-chat that his wife had successfully delivered, and Mirik was with her in the hospital, so his phone was off. It was past 4 AM in New York, therefore I could not get hold of him till next morning anyways. And as my physical vessel fell asleep a little later, I time traveled into the past (!) by virtue of my 3D astral body, taking over my 18-year-old self who was having a nice summer day in the August of 2008.
Back then, Miqo, my Godson’s eldest brother, was still alive. We both, plus Levon and a couple of our friends, students of RAU (Russian-Armenian University), were spending our summer vacation in a soviet-style mountain resort in Dilijan, northern Armenia. So that particular day Mirik payed us a visit — a glorious chap who always mixes up things; we once were supposed to meet him at the night-club “Astral” (what a metaphysical name, eh?), but he spent the whole night trying to find “Australia”, so we met up only by the sunrise. In Dilijan we gladly reminded him that and the rest of his failures, but he got a little too much upset and left our mountain resort the same day.
Our astral body/intuitive mind is of quantum nature, and therefore — omni-present, that is, concurrently (synchronistically) existing in all possible parallel timestreams and in the past-present-future at once, thanks to time’s non-linear, spheric-spiral fabric.
So I re-visited that summer day in the past, recorded in my personal astral reality bubble. With my intuitive mind of 2017 I managed to mentally enter the younger-me; that was an odd, yet a powerful experience. And of course I was fully aware that nobody around would ever believe that I actually was from 2017. I urged Mirik to forgive Miqo his childishness and sharp humor, and told him that our good friend was going to die in less than a year, so there was not much time left and he’d better enjoy his company. I also said that he shouldn’t get upset, as he himself was going to have a baby girl in about nine years. And lastly, I added, “I know all of this, since I am from the future.” Mirik just shook his head, not intending to believe in my nonsense.
I opened my eyes next morning with such a beautiful feeling, as if I had conquered time itself. By the way, I, my bio-emotional body-complex to be exact, was woken up by the noise of two or three helicopters hovering around my neighborhood in Brooklyn...
And in the early 2009 Miqo and Mirik managed to find common ground, becoming very close friends. It seems, the principle of retrocausality did work.
The beginning of 2018 was marked by something truly special: it was about forty minutes into the New Year when I witnessed four red flying saucers in the night sky. That was the first time I clearly saw — with my own eyes — unidentified objects abruptly changing the course of their flight.
In January, thousands of synchronistic VK posts — whether pictures or videos — full of 2s and 7s of all kinds were popping up in my newsfeed. I was continuously taking screenshots — both on my phone and computer — to prove myself and, if required, to everyone interested, that I hadn’t gone crazy. Something really strange was underway…
Eventually, I quit collecting synchronistic screenshots after a month, since such wonders indeed became redundant.
Also, January was the month of my crown chakra’s activation, as the first close contact with a highly telepathic individual via the internet was about to occur… The name of her VK account is Maggie Mercer. We started chatting on 01/11; I became her 27th online follower. She is 16, living in Saint Petersburg, Russia, and we are still in touch. She hates poetry and when someone clips the words in the chat—she feels that by doing so, the interlocutor acts like he’s in a rush and just wishes to quit the dialogue.
And as soon as she exposed her subtle mind-reading skills a little too much, I successfully strangled my belief defect, realizing that she couldn’t be a regular human being to say the least. Here’s her profile picture on VK:
I also googled Maggie’s nickname — it appeared that there was a book called “Mossy Creek: A Maggie Mercer mystery”. According to one of its readers, it is a “fun murder mystery that takes place in a small town, that you can’t help but love.” When I asked Maggie about that story, she stated she’d never heard of it before.
On а surprisingly warm January afternoon, I hit the road and biked to Prospect Park, where I had earlier discovered some lovely spots with evergreen weird-shaped trees. So I headed there again and parked my bike beneath one to enjoy the scent of that miniature forest; a beautiful spring day in the heart of January. It smelled like I was in the middle of a mint-wood. The soil beneath the trees was pretty soft, so the kickstand couldn’t prevent my bike from falling down. Тhe tree I was chilling under reminded me of a broccoli — Maggie Mercer calls Brooklyn that way. I decided to make a video for her, since I knew she loved mint and Nature. And while filming it, I exclaimed that my bike fainted from the freshness of mint. Then I hit “stop”, adding in my mind, “the iron just couldn’t stand it.” Once I shared that video with her, I noticed she had already sent me the following message minutes before, “Yes, each, even the most soulless piece of iron, faints from such trees.” She just beautifully re-phrased the thought I’d earlier opted to not speak out!
And one day prior to that synchro, I woke up from a dream where I had been rambling in the fog, which then turned out to be made of dust, as I realized I was in a desert. I grabbed my phone to check the VK newsfeed. Maggie’s latest post from 11:27 AM left me speechless: “The Fog might turn to dust.” I refused to believe that a regular school-girl could be that telepathic.
She loves literature, and is very articulate; I find her style quite remarkable, yet Maggie humbly claims to have no talent for writing.
Another post on her VK timeline — I once ended up scrolling all the way down to the early days of her profile — that gave me goosebumps was a series of subtitled screenshots from the movie called “Scott Pilgrim against the world.” When Goos moved to Fat John’s, the latter had a large box with dozens of various teas, so Goos was offering me a cup of tea whenever I would visit them (by myself or with anybody else). And since they had tons of different colors and flavors, he would simply go through the whole list—at that point I didn’t really care which one to drink, so I would always try to stop him by agreeing with his most latest flavor suggestion, yet he would never listen, listing on until there was nothing left but Earl Grey — he knew it used to be my favorite.
Thus, that post shared by Maggie (around a year before Goos would move to Fat John’s) was a scene from the said movie where one of the characters lists a bunch of tea flavors to her friend…concluding with Earl Grey:
Тhis little episode from a movie none of us had heard about, was somehow depicting a scene from our very own life. Somehow…
To my questions why she never confesses her alien origin, Maggie Mercer simply answers, “I am an average human being.” In fact she is well aware how traumatic it might be for any unprepared psyche to fully grasp the magical, telepathic abilities of hers or of any other entity with more than two active DNA strands and a wide open third-eye.
I once sent Maggie a video where I was shooting the sunset sky, and she wondered if I would like to fly in it. While I asked her: “Should I consider it as an offer to be boarded on your spaceship?” She just changed the topic of our conversation.
It is more comfortable for us to believe that they are mere humans, so our rational mind, coupled with our psyche, could easily dismiss all those potential threats that entities of higher intelligence and better self-awareness — and, consequently, more powerful — may pose.
Besides, our dualistic mindset would rather consider it as an attack on our privacy, whereas to such enlightened beings our whole life is as though a planetary reality show. They precisely know that everything is interconnected — we are them and they are us, so it’s no big deal for the Ferazeahns to look at existence from the perspective of one Absolute Consciousness. Their own notion of privacy is of much subtler nature: they don’t really care about it like we do. And they comprehend well enough that all is one, nothing is external, and this is just a collective dream/matrix-game of the sub-etheric light-density upon the 3D floor of our multidimensional cosmic flower, Gaia.
To be continued
Credits for the inspirational artwork of this, previous and all the following parts go to:
Rizky P. Soedarsono
Jeremiah Allen Welch
Bryan Lewis Saunders
Hai Phung Tran
Bliss n Eso
William A. Coulter
Errol le Cain
Robert Anning Bell
James R. Eads
J. Kirk Richards
George Frederic Watts
Edward Willis Redfield
Waldemar von Kozak
Alessandro “Talexi” Taini
Herbert James Draper
Ilya Nikolaevich Zankovsky
James R. Eads
Peter Paul Rubens
Abbot Henderson Thayer
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec
Anton van Hertbruggen
Dan Elijah Fajardo
Daniel F. Gerhartz