The Valhalla Covenant

After a late lunch Reimas asked Sasha if she’d sketch some of the key images from his description to provide visual reminders of the experience in addition to his recorded observations.

As she drew, he made audio notes in rapid bursts here and there during their conversation as he remembered more and more of the details.

By sunset, Sasha had drawn half a dozen or so roughs. They included one of a binary star, several of the aliens from the first world, a rough sketch of the most impressive of the cities, and the last was of the initial outline of land masses and oceans as seen from high in the atmosphere of the first planet.

After some small adjustments, he was more than happy with the results but, by evening, they were both tired. A short walk blew away most of the cobwebs and, with the last light, they carried some firewood in from the woodshed.

Reimas had needed to relax for a while to gain perspective on the significance of it all, but in that realization, he began to feel some strange and intense emotions.

“Once all this gets out,” he said, catching Sasha by the waist and holding her tightly, “it’ll raise a few hats.”

“I’m not sure everyone will believe you,” she said.

“I won’t be telling everyone.”

“Just as well, I suspect.”

“It’s only worth telling those who’ll actually do something about it.”

“Good luck at picking them.”

“I know what you mean. The movers and shakers can be arrogant, and the open minded too often lack resolve.”

“Hey, it can’t be so bad in the Institute.”

“Of course not. They were looking for this, but we’re going to have to get bigger. If Global Unity ever found out anything about this…”

“They’d try to suppress it, of course.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“You’re kidding aren’t you,” said Sasha, shaking her head.

“Okay, okay, I know, but I can never understand why it’s all so stupid.”

“What, you mean delaying the inevitable truth until it’s too late for the truth to do any good?”

“Yes, that and more.”

“I know, it’s hard to believe, but I guess that’s why you’re looking.”

Reimas shivered in momentary disbelief.

“Looking, and found,” he said.

She moved closer to him. “I mean, I do believe you, but the whole thing is so out there.”

“If I can keep doing this at will,” he said, relaxing again with the extra warmth of her proximity, “none of those GU villains will have anywhere to hide. They’ll all be held to account.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. The thought of action at that level was alarming.

“Perhaps you should try again, before you get too excited,” she said.

“Okay. I guess I do need to be sure that I can do it, anytime.”

Initially, on the following day, Reimas experienced difficulty relaxing his breathing and heart rate but once the basics were under control it was only several minutes before he felt the first hum of energy within.

Each time the process seemed to speed up and, on this occasion, it felt like mere seconds before he was free and floating high above the planet.

During the course of the day, he visited many inhabited worlds in a remarkably short time, always marvelling at the uniqueness and beauty of these far-flung cradles of physical life, but he saw nothing that varied significantly from his first assessment.

Inhabited worlds were everywhere and they seemed by and large to be peaceful, prosperous and pleasant. Also, he was surprised by how similar most of the alien inhabitants were to humans, in many respects. Even in terms of their appearance, they were, in most cases, only superficially different to humans. Some were barely different at all.

They talked around meal tables, congregated around fires, sang, ate, were affectionate with each other, and worked willingly without overmuch pressure or worry. Also, they were intimate with each other frequently, and expressed only the most short-lived of outbursts when they became angry.

For Reimas though, it was slow work, however fascinating. On the second and final day he found that he had to return ever more frequently. He needed to walk, to breath deeply, to eat and increasingly, with the energy that was pouring through him, he found himself becoming more and more aroused every time he returned.

Yet there was a job to do and he remained focused until he was satisfied that he had discovered enough about the patterns of behaviour of a wide variety of sentient life forms.

One world in particular drew his attention, perhaps because the inhabitants were so similar to humans. Their sun was a little smaller in comparison to Earth’s, as was the planet itself. Almost totally covered by oceans, there were only three main landmasses. The vegetation was lush and beautiful, and the cities, though small, were exquisite.

Reimas chose a particularly delightful one seated in a sheltered valley next to wide, semi-circular bay, and hung around invisibly with those enjoying a public garden near the beach.

So similar to Earth people that they could almost have passed for them, the inhabitants were, however, almost universally lean and relatively delicate in build. Their coloration varied within approximately Caucasian parameters — Nordic to somewhere near Spanish.

Children and adults were all there together, talking, laughing and playing in and around a pretty fountain that was the centrepiece of the park. Reimas observed them for quite a while, then in an attempt to find evidence of something less innocuous, sought out the sort of dark urban corners where one might expect to find more sinister goings on.

Although he delved as far and deep as he could, after many hours he could find nothing even slightly comparable to the ever-present evils that manifested on Earth. He could not help but return again and again to the question of why there was so much evil and cruelty on Earth but when he was at last satisfied that he had seen enough he returned.

“I don’t get it,” he said to Sasha. “Things are so damn bad here, and I simply can’t find another world where destruction, mistrust, and deception are so par for the course.”

“Maybe it’s only that you haven’t seen enough of these worlds for long enough to judge. Perhaps they just go berserk every few years, or maybe they don’t have much in the way of creativity. There has to be some sort of weakness or drawback,” she argued, though plainly without deep conviction.

Reimas felt sure he was right and described to her, again, how every aspect of the material lives of the peoples on the other worlds seemed to bear testament to their thoughtfulness and creativity.

“I think the awful reality is that we’ve become conditioned to believe pain and suffering are necessary to get the most out of existence, or that it can’t be any other way. Only, perhaps, with the revelation of some great and profound mystery will we be able to explain it and hopefully turn things around.”

Sasha’s brow wrinkled as she took on board the full extent of Reimas’s disgust. She understood and she shared it.

“How can this be, Blaze?” she asked. “I mean I know how bad things are, but why only us? You should try to find somewhere like a library, or a museum, or something else that might give you a more complete historical perspective. You could watch when people turned the pages of books, and you might learn a lot by seeing any pictures in them.”

“Yes, and the exhibits in a museum, if they have them. That could be an eye opener.”

“Tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he responded. “I don’t think I can take any more. Something about this has begun to get to me, if you know what I mean.”

“Maybe,” Sasha replied. “I do know that watching you lying there hour after hour is beginning to get to me. I’m feeling less inclined to draw and paint, and more apt to let my imagination run wild. In fact, I should confess that what’s been going through my head lately hasn’t exactly been pure and innocent.”

“That’s what I meant,” said Reimas, reaching out to take her hand. “At least it’s mutual.”

“Maybe, then, it’s time we did something about it.”

Reimas drew her closer then encircled her with his other arm. After only moments of gentleness the fire of their bottled up passion took over and they tore from each other the few clothes they were still wearing.

Several hours passed and it seemed at last in the wake of their lovemaking that all they could hear was the crackling and hissing of the dying fire.

On the following day, Reimas tried for an hour to bring about astral transition. He tried every strategy, including using the electronic devices, but something intangible held him back from the complete sense of release that he had come to realize was so essential.

“I can’t keep this up,” he said, getting up.

“What is it? Maybe you need some air.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s physical. It feels more like some sort of mental block.”

Sasha jumped up excitedly.

“You haven’t been thinking — not really thinking, have you?”

“No, I guess I haven’t been. This has been more about experiencing things, kind of like watching TV.”

“We’ll go for a walk, and we’ll talk,” said Sasha.

“Okay. I can’t see any other alternative for the moment, in any case.”

A forest of old exotic trees covered the hillside, above which lay a bare rocky crown. The afternoon sunshine set the varied autumn leaves aflame and it begged to be explored. Reimas plunged in, Sasha beside him, and they walked in silence.

Reimas knew that it was all a question of consciousness but, somehow, after all the dazzling experiences and the built up tension, consciousness was diminishing.

Isolating the essence of it was the key and a long-standing interest in phenomenology helped him tune in to the matter now that he had a better idea what was required.

Many thinkers equated consciousness solely with the steady flow of creative or problem solving ideas but any student of phenomenology knew at least in theory that there was more. Typically, phenomenologists were interested in how and why the ‘brain’ experience of pure intellect differed so much from the unified totality of ‘mind’ experience.

As they walked, it occurred to him that you could not form a pertinent question about these sorts of things, let alone find a good answer, without first forming a hypothesis about the primary purpose of life.

In answer to that need, he reflected that many things hinted at life being a sort of proving ground perhaps for a more meaningful existence beyond — or at least that something from beyond might kick-start a state of grace in the current sphere. Given the perennially challenging nature of existence, it was a compelling idea, and had occurred again and again in human thinking.

The next step in such a zetetic progression would be to ask if material life could have been orchestrated solely for the purpose of kick starting higher awareness so that people could reach the level of thought consistency necessary to maintain conscious awareness in a non-material existence beyond death.

For something to have been orchestrated required a conductor. There was no proof for that but, equally, there was no proof against it. In the absence of such proof, it would be productive to ask if there was a reason, and the only answer was that life was a pattern of reasons. That appeared to be evidence for the existence of a conductor, and if there were a conductor, the conducting would surely involve guiding consciousness towards higher consciousness.

Sasha’s philosophy concerning the emotion, intellect dichotomy might well shed light on that issue. Reason was important, but from what she’d said, much of it simply took the form of logic, which had nothing to do with consciousness.

So reason could be conscious or unconscious, positive or negative and still never give you a sense of direction. It could take the form of a process of order and organization like the rules of chemistry but have nothing to do with an individual’s act of consciousness. It could solve problems in the path of the fulfilment of a desire but never create a desire.

Emotion, however, almost always took the lead and inspired problem solving along the way, so it would have to be seen as perverse to think it had no place in the processes of thought.

Plainly, conscious choice required both drive and direction just as a yacht required sails and steering, and if such basic elements seemed to lead persuasively towards consciousness, some other similar element, normally missing from the everyday, pre-programmed experience of life, must be present for a person to break through to higher consciousness.

Clearly, not everybody could do it — at least not consistently. Only with this higher conscious in play, could a larva truly become a butterfly and live in freedom.

Increasingly, though he had flown through space itself, he had begun to feel more like the larva than the butterfly. Even within the astral, it had felt as if he was only on some lower level, only minutely removed from the material sphere he had been viewing.

Sasha had nailed it. He had been thinking about things less and less, at least at a conceptual level. She had said as much in her intuitive whole mind sort of way, but there was still something missing. Alone, intellect wasn’t enough, because intellect was plainly never completely absent from human thought. All sorts of life challenges demanded its use and therefore its presence, so what different sort of manifestation brought about vastly accelerated consciousness?

Perhaps, he thought, stumbling across a fallen branch and glancing at Sasha as she caught his arm, the process of awakening from the normal apparently pre-programmed experience of life required a more consistent use of intellect.

Maybe, as he should have expected, the difference lay in nothing more than the way it was used. What was it used for? What did he choose to accentuate with it? Greater consistency and better direction might well determine one’s ability to enter a total mind state.

Interestingly, emotion and intellect were very closely integrated in dreams. Given the possibility that there was a conductor, it was reasonable to think that dreaming was intended to be a representation of the ultimate form of existence.

It was harder to transition into the astral than to dream, but maybe the hardest thing of all was to be completely lucid in either state.

It gradually dawned on him that despite the fact that he had been awake in the astral he had not actually been totally awake, and that, as Sasha had pointed out before, was because he’d been putting the cart before the horse — prioritising intellect over emotion.

In a completely conscious state anywhere, his thoughts would manifest the products of creative expression as quickly as the current plane allowed, and he should be able to directly experience anything.

The main difference between each state — the material, the dream-state and the astral — would be the time it took to create the manifestation of the idea. In the material, there would inevitably be a delay. In the astral and dream worlds, the reality would manifest as and when he thought of it.

Easier said than done, however, he mused. Dreams seemed to involve a more automatic integration of emotions and intellect than the physical, and that might be because they were in essence only motivational experiences. By comparison, when you existed in the material, which was the least conscious of the three spheres, you needed greater conscious expression of emotion to encourage the all-important rational element, which led in turn to an even greater experience of emotion.

Such a feedback process could be regarded as mental turbo-charging. If that did happen, the limited ‘brain’ experiences of both intellect and emotion feeding into each other cyclically might eventually resolve into the ‘total mind’ state.

The mystery of consciousness might not be entirely explained if it worked out thus, but the experience of it would certainly be enhanced.

Sasha looked at him, curiosity plain in her eyes. She could tell that he was deep in thought, which meant that she would soon be hearing those thoughts, and she waited with commendable restraint.

“I think it’s a question of filling in the blanks,” he said, eventually. “Consistent disciplined thought is the factor that writes the unwritten in our existence. It’s the one thing we have any real control over. Even within the heavy constraints of the material world, we can write the story to some extent by ordering our thoughts, but the true potential comes in when we order our thoughts towards enhancing our emotions.”

Sasha touched his shoulder gently.

“That sounds a lot like what we talked about before.”

“Yes,” he replied, “but I’m giving you the whole picture, and that was only the preamble. What you said before about thoughts serving emotions does make sense. Every creative action has its source in a feeling, a drive or a desire. If the intellect acknowledges that and steers the mind firmly towards experiencing great depths of feeling, not to mention expressing them, this in turn creates higher purer, more consistent manifestations of thought, and so on.”

“Just like a turbocharger?”

“Exactly what I thought — a turbocharger of the mind, but you have to be totally conscious about your objective at each turn, then the new plane — the state of grace you spoke of — might well be accessible.”

“Would that include a life beyond this one?”

“Who can tell? Yet dreams themselves have that intoxicating aura of completeness, and if they exist thus, it has to be suggestive.”

“Suggestive of what?”

“When we become aware in our dreams that those dreams are just as real as our waking existence and even, in one sense, more real, we would be dull not to wonder why. Humans are ambitious — always wishing to create or experience more and better — and it would seem to play well to that ambition to excite interest in the immaterial with dreams.”

“You’re implying that some creative intelligence beyond the material intended it to be so.”

“I suppose I am. To me it just seems that way, but very often things are the way they seem for very good reasons.”

Sasha stopped and leaned in to smell a beautiful red rose growing wild in a forest clearing, then half turned to give him a sidelong glance.

“If there is another plane, and you know now that there is,” she said, “then I suppose it would be perverse to specifically exclude the possibility of a higher intelligence existing there, wouldn’t it?”

Reimas nodded thoughtfully.

“But for now, it only remains to work out how to properly instigate the process, and for that to happen, given that disciplined thought is the only part of our total experience not provided automatically, it seems blindingly obvious that we need to regularly cultivate more coherent thoughts.”

Satisfied with the rose’s scent, she turned and sat on a stump in a pool of sunshine.

“Yes but it also seems relevant to ask at this point, to what end? Would you wish to make the material world more dreamlike or to find a way to move beyond it?”

Reimas sat, also, on the ground nearby.

“I’m not sure I could commit on that without knowing more about the astral, but either way, it’s the process of bringing about the potential for any sort of change that’s so exciting.”

“You were talking about cultivating more coherent thoughts.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, “and the point is that the total, unfragmented mind experience you were talking about before so lucidly — that state of grace which is so like dreaming, has to be initiated by the individual through his own conscious efforts — yes, driven by desire, by emotional expression, but aided by the intellect. Perhaps, without discovering and refining that process we could never exist in a causal sphere.”

“It makes sense that access to the causal sphere would require some sort of synthesis of the two lower ones.”

Reimas nodded.

“Yes, but it has to be the right kind of synthesis. Intellect has to select alternatives that support emotional strength rather than undermine it, to ensure integration. Otherwise, when intellect is used to deny or ignore emotional realities, consciousness will be degraded and most will regard it with suspicion.”

“Really, intellect suspect?” Sasha laughed.

“Of course. I’m surprised that you’re surprised.”

“No, I’m surprised that you’re surprised that I’m surprised.”

Reimas pushed her off her stump and she giggled.

“What about the proverbial mad professor?” he asked, stealing her seat. “Intellect created the atom bomb, and all those other poisons killing our world. And we’ve all heard people use the word, ‘deliberate’ in a way that’s intended to be an indictment of selfish and anti-social behaviour.”

“You pushed me off that stump deliberately,” she laughed as she gently insinuated herself on him and sat on his lap. “Yes, I get it. So, you’re saying that the true integration of intellect with emotions can only be brought about if there’s a conscious intent to use both to support each other in turn.”

“In a nutshell.”

Sasha began to tickle his face with a twig.

“Do you really think it’ll work?”

Reimas caught her hand and held it still.

“Yes, I do. I began to see it after a dream I had in Laurence’s lab, where I was doing battle with a set of strange, shadowy chessmen. In it I had to strive to become aware of the bigger picture before I had any chance of defeating them.

“Only when I realized that I was actually fighting with my mind rather than my body, and understood the importance of how I felt at any given moment, was I able to defeat even the first of them. A clearer realization was required with each one and only with the defeat of the last did my emotional confidence sufficiently empower my perception to see that I’d been fighting chess pieces.”

“Cool dream.”

“Even cooler when I had this amazing insight into the meaning of the mark on the side of the spire of the bishop.”

“That little slash?”

“Yes, it suddenly became clear to me, and the constant threat of attack changed to an experience of sheer joy and beauty.”

“So you actively chose to bolster your emotional strength.”

“I guess so.”

“The slash is interesting now that you mention it. I never thought it signified anything special.”

“Neither did I before, but suddenly I just knew that it was about duality, which is really interesting when you consider what you’ve been telling me about it — you know with the work and pleasure deal and this whole mind dichotomy thing as well.”

“I see what you mean, but why do you think it signifies duality?”

“Well, for starters, it’s obvious that the spire of the bishop, where the mark is found, points the way to heaven, and the resolution of duality is supposed to be its best doorway. As for the tilted slash, consider what it means in our language.”

“It’s used to divide two associated elements.”

“Yes, the work, slash, play dichotomy, for one.”

“Also, it’s like an open trap door, which is what would often have been used, traditionally, between different levels in a house.”

“So it is. The levels in the house are like the planes of manifestation. That’s clever.”

“There’s also the fact that it’s angled half way between the perpendiculars of the pagan cross — the cross that signifies the spiritual and material planes — which would be the way between them.”

Sasha shook her head, astonished by the purpose that had manifested in the sequence of his recent mind experiences.

“Ah well, it was you that helped me fully understand the significance of it all, in the end,” he said, perceiving her thoughts. “The work and pleasure dichotomy is also a good analogy for intellect and emotions. Before, I didn’t fully understand how important emotions were and therefore how the intellect could actively be used to support them.”

“And do you, now?”

“You’re teasing of course, but yes. It’s just about exploring, with emotions providing the impetus.”

Sasha considered his words carefully.

“I see what you mean,” she replied eventually, “but remember, we’re talking about the real, flawed world, here. In an ideal world it might be that simple, but in ours we can be held back by all sorts of presumptions and inhibitions that come from prior negative experience, no matter how precise our thought processes are.”

“Disciplined thought could demystify inaccurate assumptions, but I have to agree that strongly implanted inhibitions are the real foe. They have a terrible capacity to stifle the ultimate experience of consciousness, and of passion.”

“Disturbing, isn’t it, to face the real world, every so often, in our little intellectual paradise,” she laughed.

“Yes.”

“Even so, those rotten inhibitions will yield eventually to careful and sustained thought.”

“Well, we do seem to be getting somewhere,” he replied, “and we certainly have been developing a careful train of thought.”

Sasha kissed him on the cheek and resumed her caresses with the twig.

“All right, but have we reached a total mind experience?” she asked.

Strangely taken aback, he realized a moment later that she had, with her physical intimacy, ever so gently challenged his inhibitions.

A dual purpose? Perhaps.

The subsequent pleasure he felt in appreciating her subtlety wasn’t a total mind experience, but it was surprisingly close.

With that, and the insights leading up to it, he felt sure he could return to the astral at any time and find whatever he wished.