Souls Unlocked

Thunderbolts, lightning - very very frightening - comets, fire and ice all rained down upon the land. Wind tunnels whipped up pieces of the earth, hurling them through the cosmos like a plaything, a surging panic elevating within the people all the existential turmoil they’d suppressed, a people mind you, who had been progressively losing all of their freedoms in the time leading up to this post-apocalyptic, cataclysmic, transduction of terror that was ransacking the town and leaving no one alive in its wake, not even a fly.

No one was around for miles - the humans had completely gutted the communication channels, wires between their worlds, during the scourge, amongst the wars, resorting to guerilla tactics to disable the organizational structures of the inhabitants. Citizens of Earth: nationalized, dichotomized with labels, departed from the plane without the consent of their soul. Not the situation you’d like to be in, certainly. It had never used to be this way.

Before the weather wars(1), the place had been a nirvana, a heaven on earth, truly spectacular: pristine springs, glorified forests, oceans, and perfection in every way. There was a natural order. The future had achieved water powered cars, tracks designed from the natural magnetism of the elementals to support hovermobiles, and gargantuan lily pads that the ladies of the lakes and lagoons could sit upon in between their mid-afternoon swims. Nothing was exempt from the beauty of the earth - lush, green, aromatically fragrant, blissful skies full of the color of the people’s passion and dedication, undue diligence, brilliant hues of blue-green, orange and violet, casting rainbow spectres throughout the crystalline waters of the world. This was the blue planet, after all. Blue-green, aquamarine. The most benevolent colors there are, the things that put a smile to people’s face. It was supposed to be the Age of Aquarius, a Golden Age of Reason and brightness, a musical renaissance, a brilliant story of spiritual salvation and academic revival, according to the ancient scriptures which inscribed so as to bespeak the salvation of the land. We were supposed to be learning to work together, to play as a team, irrespective of our societally taught biases and personal opinions.

But once you mess with something, you risk irrevocably changing it perhaps forevermore. That is at least how a team of misfits disrupted the universal field, accidentally casting our realm into tyranny and terror. A precious object was moved, disrupting and entangling the lay lines, opening an energy portal to the other side, and from there, chaos got its reign.

The day they’d stumbled upon a very important heart shaped locket at the bottom of a saltwater rock pool off the coast of Normandy, a place for the spirits (their dwelling place, their home) the world had never been the same. They’d been playing, just normal games like Marco Polo, not knowing that in that vortex of the world everything is magnified, magnetized to the Soul of the Ancients, and that their little game of cat and mouse would soon become relevant to the whole world. That locket was the epitome of love, a manifestation of the most beautiful love story the world had ever heard, the one that grossed the top views at the box office when it came out in 1997. Titanic. The greatest ship there ever was… drawn asunder, because the whole thing was a ruse to convert the global economy to the patriarchy of the federal reserve, founded in 1913, the year after the Titanic set sail around the world in 1912.

Yes, they dismantled the divide, accidentally even triggering the Earth to spin out of its orbit with some longer standing stars, whose reflection against the ever-present witness of the sun, what is essentially and alchemically only a burning orb of fire, set the world out of sorts… but they certainly weren’t solely responsible. These ones that were supposed to be saving the world, they...they were just kids at the time, really, on a macrocosmic scale. They couldn’t have known how important they were to the fate of humanity, which hinged upon their choices, too much pressure on the shoulders of youth that had no recollection of their past lives or inclination and hope about the future.

The weather engineering technologies were put on richter, convincing the humans to fight one another over nationalism, political controversies, and fabricated segregation wars encouraging the inhabitants of earth not to celebrate diversity but to antagonize one another and trigger over the identification of differences...

It’s not like the kids were the ones who started the weather wars, forged through fire (synchronistic wildfires across the west), wind (unparalleled thunderstorms, tornados, and cyclones), water (riptides, strong currents, tsunamis and floods) and earthquakes rippling through the fault lines to the northernmost tundras of the wild Arctic circle and Antarctic divides.

That was the work of the curse set loose from the locket, which had been thrown into the ocean long ago during the days of the Titanic, never to resurface again, comprising the pain and heart wrenching devotion of the spirits of its time. It could never revive again, not without also unleashing the agony and emotionally tortured souls of Jack and Rose, bursting out to exact vengeance upon the world for their cruel and callously-stunted relationship caused by organized agencies coalescing to dismantle the free banking systems of the time. Everyone in their right mind knows that the Titanic was a gussied up replica of the Olympus, that was invented as a publicity ploy to be destroyed and to take down the free bankers so that the federal reserve, created the exact year after, would have no competition and thus, free reign to control the people at long last.(2)

The kids at the saltpool had no idea that claiming that very locket (the supernatural divider between the living and the dead) would unleash a flurry of ancestral curses, nor that bridging the two worlds beyond the veil wouldn’t create unity and peace: how could they have known? Nothing can ever be known until it happens, which is the best dramatic irony that the spirits of Earth could have ever dreamt up. It’s a way of saying that a true thing’s expression or character cannot be really known until after it is revealed. After all, the Titanic wasn’t the world’s most powerful ship, simply a Trojan Horse in emperor’s clothing. Who could have known? At the time, nothing cataclysmic happened, nothing so perfectly powerful, profound and impactful so as to set them on their toes in wonder upon the wake of their fates, nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. Not even a gust of wind. Nothing foretelling, foreboding, revealing, in which to revel in in ecstasy or in horror (or perhaps some mix in the in between). Maybe they were all dreaming up some adventure, and a story does tend to rest upon the overcoming of obstacles, or curses, an environmental upset (ecosystemically speaking) or some blocks residing within the Force. Something that might jog them out of the blase existentiality of normal, morose, early adulthood. They were already messing up, from the eyes or perspective of society: They failed to meet expectations of their hierarchical financial superiors and early ancestors alike by the various mistakes of outwards neglect and internal self-aggrandizement, pretty much in the same way that timeless generations of people get suckered into the system or escapist habits at either end of the spectrum of societal engagement because they’re too afraid to use the enlightenment they glean through art and literature to create some practically functioning holistic culture, something self-sustaining and which allows for the survival and self-actualization of its citizen constituents. In short, cast down by the weight of their own ideals and expectations, irrevocably unkempt, and really, simply afraid of the blank slate, carte blanche, that soft scienced syndrome of artist’s block, plus thoughts of scarcity and inability to survive in the hard wild, the kids had all banded together to camp in various odd places and chronicle their adventures. Well, an interesting diary entry this little ditty might have made… if they’d any idea that they were responsible for the ancient curse from what happened that day.

Money is magic, black magic if mindlessly followed, white magic if wielded with purpose, creativity, and peaceful collaboration. Integritas en veritum: in integrity lies the truth. The sublimation of impure wits can occur under such a circumstance, the group function overriding the blindspots of the few, a new poignancy and brevity, a honing in upon purpose. Simplicity, honor, prosperity: Virtues that surround the soul in coziness, a spice more aromatic than pumpkin lattes in the fall, which warm the tops of too-tattered fingertips underneath tethered gloves in the crisp fall air.

It was once upon a time on one of those remarkable occasions when the sky seems to reflect back to you the perfect sunlight, the perfect radiance, the least oblique, most obvious, sensations of contentedness and prosperity for whatever the occasion, for the mere subtle act of inhabiting this space, of just being alive, that a miss Margaret Mellows happened upon something extraordinary.

Ordinarily on her walk back from school, big spectacles on, sparkly shoes walking her safely home, she would stop to talk to the local homeless people at a well-kempt park as a halfway point in her walk home. It was a tiny space of time wherein she had the opportunity to unwind, relax, and think about someone else’s problems apart from her own. Some of them had really funny looking guitars that they’d play admirably, painted up or broken down, whatever the case. It really didn’t much matter; they all had talent.

Today was different though; for some reason or another, the bums weren’t at the park that day. As a matter of fact, no one was at the park that day. No one was there to play music, talk the talk, or vibe. It just wasn’t like that, it wasn’t to be. For that day, not anybody was at the park to play with or to talk to. Not a single soul, chirp, or peep profoundly and really animated that place, not any whatsoever.

It was the day of the unravelling, and the awakening of lost souls from the deep. The pending transition, a souls swap between worlds, caused from the gateway and forged by the sacred item, the locket of Jack and Rose, created mayhem and that very day not a soul stirred and the world became still. In perfect stillness is the option to choose anything, and very conscientiously, that day it was decided by the waking of the underworld that the veil would be lifted and something mighty and terrible might be irrevocably released from its former resting place. Unhinged, unguarded, untethered and untamed. Not of this world, now to be.

It’s a world of mirrors out there, of profound interconnectedness, butterfly and domino effects - the mycelial network amongst the fungi (some of which poison and some of which cure, everything from pollution to cancer, through stimulating the immune system and helping immune cells bind to tumor cells, reducing cytotoxicity and slowing down cancer cell growth - Reishi and Maitake) as well as the tree network (which pass around nutrients and information about the environment, which druids can actually tune into). And on that day before the apocalypse happened, caused by the merging of the world of mortals with the underworld of lost souls, these networks did try very hard to fight back against the supernatural attack. But because the antagonist was not of the 3D world and not fighting with 3D applications and methods, there was no reprieve for the finite universe as the immortal undead and their syllogisms slowly took over the minds of the impressionable and zealous elite and caused profound havoc, claiming the souls of the upper and lower class alike.

All thanks, to the accidental discovery of a little heart-shaped locket.

(1): https://awakeandaware.ca/heat-waves-and-haarp-joseph-p-farrell/

(2): https://theunredacted.com/titanic-conspiracy-the-ship-that-never-sank/