Boys Will Be Boys: a big misunderstanding

Sex feels one hundred times better for a man than a woman. I guess that’s a matter of opinion, but there aren’t many people who can have both male and female orgasms. The female O feels like a tiny hand-held rocket compared to a giant firework display that lights up the sky.

When I was pre-T, sex was this sophisticated love-making ritual. I looked down on people who participated in dirty fucking. Then testosterone changed everything.

When I first start taking testosterone, I thought about sex twenty-four-seven. I stopped using the women’s locker room, not as an expression of my gender, but out of respect for the privacy of the women, as I was getting aroused by their pheromones and nakedness –something that didn’t happen when I identified as a lesbian. I masturbated three times a day.

I was afraid I might have been becoming the typical toxic male, and I decided to talk to my shaman/teacher about it.

We did some energy work, of course, but then she told me to stop judging my sexuality. Although I’m an adult queer, I have the hormones of an adolescent boy, and it’s normal for teenage boys to feel that way. She told me it’s important to support my inner-teen-boy and his raging hormones by allowing him to feel and be sexually satisfied.

“Boys will be boys.”

This is the biggest misunderstanding within the feminist movement.

For some people, on both sides of feminism, it means that it’s okay for boys to cat-call, objectify, assault, and rape. Just in case any of my readers might be confused, it’s not okay. It’s never okay.

But for others, mostly on the anti side of the feminism fence, for them “boys will be boys”means that boys will be horny as fuck and need to satiate their hormonal hunger somehow, and that is okay.

It’s not healthy to demean boys, men, and masculines for wanting or needing sex. It actually creates more tension and sexual distortion, which drives boys to act out aggressively. On that same note, boys are not animals and must be taught to discipline themselves, to satisfy their own sexual needs without damaging others.

If boys are taught that their sex drive is okay, that their attitude about their sexuality is positive, then they won’t have to take these energies to dark places.

“All those qualities, capacities and tendencies which do not harmonize with the collective values – everything that shuns the light of public opinion, in fact – now come together to form the shadow, that dark region of the personality which is unknown and unrecognized by the ego. “

Erich Neumann

So, I got busy with film school and stopped working out. My sex drive decreased and I started having female orgasms again. But something was missing. I missed feeling strong and buff. Some people might label my desire to be fit “toxic masculinity,” claiming that I’ve bought some patriarchal template, but that’s not true for everyone.

It’s natural for many people, regardless of gender, to feel balanced and whole while physically fit. Yes, there is a social template that pressures us to look a certain way, but that doesn’t undermine the natural inclination towards physical fitness.

To attack every boy, man, and masculine who works out is an attack on natural masculinity.

So I started working out again. My dopamine and serotonin are back at feel-good levels. But my sex drive has also increased, just when I thought I had everything under control.

Sometimes it feels like I’m famished for sex. It can be difficult to taste all the yummy and subtle flavors of the meal when I’m too busy scarfing it down. This isn’t the most pleasurable form of sex and does not satisfy most women. I am learning to tend my own fire, my own passion, my own impulses. But I cannot do this with judgment and punishment. It is done with compassion, patience, and self-discipline.

I recognize this as a rite of passage from boyhood into manhood, and I am humbled to be in this space.

I think it’s important to share this part of my journey, because the feminist movement is divided amongst itself, and many people who truly love women are sitting on the other side of the fence because they are looking out for the boys and men whom are under attack.

Misogyny is a real thing. Rape culture is a real thing. Patriarchal conditioning is a real thing. But we cannot defeat these atrocities by attacking natural masculinity. We need to separate toxicity from nature and heal ourselves of the damage caused by others.

If we want boys to behave better, we have to hold space for their growth by acknowledging and honoring their natural masculinity, and then nurturing them with Feminine guidance and love.

Hurt people hurt people. When we focus inward and heal ourselves, the work outside ourselves becomes grounded in clarity, love, and so much medicine.

It is medicine that heals toxicity. Thank you for reading. ❤


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Sacred Space 1: From the Inside Out

Chances are, you already know what sacred space is. You may have an altar dedicated to your spiritual practice. You might smudge your self, your crystals, and your living space regularly. You may even evoke the wisdom of Fengshui to harmonize with your space. There are some fun exercises I would like to share regarding the creation of sacred space in your home, backyard, or somewhere in nature. Before we get to that, I’d like to remind us that the most effective beginning to creating sacred space is in the remembrance that our external spaces can only be as sacred as our internal spaces. So, let’s create sacred space within. Let’s examine our inner energetic fields.

I am not an expert on metaphysics nor am I a Law of Attraction guru. I am a writer, a filmmaker, and a shamanic practitioner. I want to share my understanding of energetic hygiene along with some tools I use to boost my vibrations daily, and enhance my spiritual practice towards ease, peace, and joy.

Please feel free to dismiss anything that doesn’t resonate.

I think it was Christ who criticized the religious fanatics of his day for cleaning the outside of the proverbial cup, while neglecting the inside. JP Sears does a great job pointing out how ridiculous we can look when we are too focused on the externals of spirituality. It’s humorous when we can make peace with some of the silly things we have done. We’re all learning, and these lessons don’t have to be taken for mistakes.

So how can we get deep into our inner auric fields for daily cleansing? How can we create inner sacred space? Well, what is it that stinks us up in the first place?

Most times, the source of our stink is a low-vibrational story that we are telling. As we examine our state of being and release others from expectations, and when we take responsibility for our vibratory output, we often discover that our thoughts are in misalignment with our truth.

Our belief systems inform our perspective, which in turn generates a vibration that manifests into form.

How often do your belief systems evolve?

Do you believe that ascension is difficult? That the Twin Flame path is impossible? Do you believe that healing is painful and that the best life lessons involve suffering? Do you believe that there is no resolution without remorse? Do you have rigid beliefs about others which seem to protect your heart, but instead causes the other person to act in ways that fulfill your low expectations of them? What are your expectations of others?

Changing your beliefs isn’t about neglecting or denying reality. It’s about reframing your perspectives of reality for a higher vibrational output.

Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?

In the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth.

I was raised Christian. This creation story, from the voice of Yahweh to the Garden of Eden, was the soil that seeded all life in my Universe. Although I left the Christian religion almost ten years ago, the book of Genesis continued to generate my reality from my subconscious mind.

I understand now that creation stories are metaphoric, but more importantly, they inform the energy of everything in my Universe.

The Judeo-Christian creation story is not necessarily a bad one, but I wouldn’t call it a good one either. The story of Adam and Eve is one of forbidden knowledge, guilt, shame, and banishment. Not to mention patriarchal bullshit. These energies showed themselves in my reality everyday that this story was running, whether I called myself a Christian or not.

Consider a Native American creation story about a woman who fell from the Upper World and made her home on Turtle Island (North America). She gave birth to the twins of duality in perfect balance. In some stories, the twins lose their balance and there is banishment and unconsciousness.

There are many creation stories. Some are religious, others philosophical, and some are scientific. Simple minds are satisfied with simple explanations, while more complex minds need complex explanations. I find that artistic minds, like myself, enjoy allegory and its many layers. We are free to choose our creation stories, and the one you choose is continuously creating your reality.

As children of Creator, we are also creator-beings. We have inherited creative energy, and with this birthright, we are empowered to rewrite our personal story of creation. We can be intentional about which energies will be seeded in the fertile soils of our reality. We get to plant our own Garden of Eden.

This is where sacred space begins.

Once you change the creation story running in your subconscious, it’s your story. It’s your Universe.

Here, I will share my personal creation story. If it resonates, you may adopt it. You may revise it however you wish. Don’t bother asking for my permission, and don’t worry about crediting me. My name on this article is all the credit I need.

In the beginning there was Everything and Nothing. The great void was full of infinity. Truth was paradoxical as duality was One.

One day and night, the Source of All That Is got a little bored with infinite Oneness and decided to explore other ways of being.

There was a Big Bang!

Source stretched its lazy limbs into a yoga pose. Breathing in Prana, Source expanded itself across the Multiverses.

Source became galaxies and nebulas, star systems and black holes. Source was pleased with this.

Then Source looked closer at itself. It noticed that Oneness could be broken down into two parts. Light and dark. Good and bad. Masculine and Feminine. Excited, Source experimented with duality.

What happens when duality is balanced? What happens when duality is imbalanced?

Source wanted to look closer, but saw that it was too big to see minute details. It had to fragment itself into smaller parts. It had to forget that it was Source.

So, Source created Earth (along with many other worlds like Earth, and many other worlds unlike Earth.)

Earth was a planet where Source could recreate itself as physical beings.

It started with bacteria. Source watched life on Earth evolve for billions of years. Of course, this was only four cosmic seconds. After watching the animals grow more and more intelligent, Source watched as Earth’s most evolved being begin to discover duality.

Source zoomed in on the Garden of Eden, and watched as the Kundalini snake slithered up the Tree of Knowledge. Source watched the primates taste the fruit of Conciousness, and humanity was born. Finally, Source became human.

As human, Source experienced forgetfulness and imbalance. Source discovered the phenomenon known as suffering. Source raised its human eyes to the Upper World, saying, “Creator, please help me.”

To those fragments of Source in human form, Source replied, “You are me, I am you. You are All That IS. Come on, remember who you are.”

Source, as human, began to create ways out of suffering. Source created many different religions. Some religions alleviated suffering while others created even more. Source observed the contrast between opposing polarities and laughed.

To Source, duality was funny.

Eventually, Source grew tired of duality and decided it wanted to be Oneness again, but its fragmented human parts forgot how to be Oneness and was not quite ready to harmonize with itself. So, Source watched as its fragmented parts began to awaken. Other parts slept more deeply. Source waited to be asked for assistance when a fragment was lost and afraid. Source delighted every time a fragment came home to Oneness.

All times, Source is watching and patiently waiting for itself to remember Oneness. When Source in human form remembers itself as One, there will be Heaven on Earth.

As all things happen in the eternal Now, there is Heaven on Earth.

The Beginning and the End.

Homework: Get out some paper and write out your current creation story. Is it affiliated with a religion? Is it scientific or philosophical?  Which energies are seeded in this creation story? Which of these energies are serving you? Which are not serving you? Burn your creation story with gratitude in your heart for all that you have learned from it. Write another. Be intentional with your words and be conscious of the energies and perspectives you include in your story. Print out your new creation story and let it sit for a while. After a month, go back and see if your story needs revisions. Let this story evolve with you as you travel the path of ascension.

In my next article, we will build on this new energy. For now, have fun creating your new reality.

The Divine Between Men and Women

I remember when I identified as a lesbian. I hated that men treated men like a woman because I wanted to be treated like a brother. I longed for the brotherhood between men and now that I have it, and am grateful for it, I feel that I’ve lost the sisterhood between women.

There is a beautiful and scared trust that women share, even straight to lesbian women, that most men are denied access to. Sexual jokes that women may have laughed at before, can now be taken for sexual harassment.

I find blocks where there was once passage, walls of scar tissue, ghosts of men who came before, and the devastating impact craters of toxic masculinity.

I have to be more careful with my language. I have to work harder to make my intentions clear. I have to purify my sexual expression and know that my sexuality, too, is sacred. I have to be stronger, wiser, and much more compassionate.

It seems that men have to constantly prove that they are not perverts, that they don’t have ulterior motives. It’s a little demeaning, and yet I understand that the collective Feminine is just trying to protect herself, as she should.

Collectively, men have made their proverbial bed with women, created a canyon of misunderstanding, hurt, and fear. The divide between men and women is tragic. Repairing the bridge takes some work.

I find myself doing this work, looking for brotherhood while holding space for the collective Feminine, healing my own toxicity, doing my best to show that I’m one of the good guys, and praying that the next generation of Masculine energies are much better than this.

I also hope that my queer, trans, and nonbinary friends realize how much this world needs us to be who we are, as our energy helps to repair the bridge between men and women, to restore balance, and bring sanity back to this upside down world.

Thanks for listening. Bless up.

Toxic Masculinity

I’ve been struggling with toxic masculinity, guys. It feels so weird to say that because when I identified as a lesbian, I called myself a feminist, but now I realize that I was just a man-hater.

I called men stupid pigs, all the time. I had lots of male friends, best friends, in fact, but I despised even them. Now, I’m a real feminist.

I understand what it feels like to be a woman, and I’m starting to understand what it feels like to be a man. I realize how unfair I have been for judging men. It’s crazy.

Now I know what it feels like to need sex on a physiological level. I know what it feels like to skate over emotions that I never wanted to feel in the first place. Now I see why men run when relationships start to get deep and intimate.

Toxic masculinity is more than sexual assault, cat calling, and aggression. Sometimes it’s feeling impatient with the Feminine because you just don’t want to feel what she’s feeling. Sometimes it’s coming up with some clever explanation instead of truly listening with your heart. Sometimes it’s getting caught up in work so that your mind keeps you from being present with your woman. Sometimes it’s wanting to protect her too much, and you don’t even realize that you’re treating her like a little girl rather than a powerful woman.

Masculine energy is powerful, strong, and so beautiful. I am honored and humbled by the experience of my transition, and I am so grateful for every shot of testosterone. Things that cismen take for granted, I thank God for everyday. Yet, there is so much responsibility that comes with masculine power.

We owe it to our selves, our own Feminine energy, and the girls, women, and femmes around us, to take responsibility for our energy. To transmute toxicity, and make the world a better place for all genders. I know it’s not easy, but when I look in the mirror, I see a good person trying their best. That, my friends, is worth it all.

Thank you for listening. Bless up.

#divinemasculinerising

Poem: Why Meditation Sucks

I have always been a doer
to hunt and slay, (and hide)
to remind the angels
why I am worthy of
warmth and clean water
(or chocolate milk).
Maybe.

Too busy to breathe
I’ve been earning
my breath.
Keep your money and fame
I am seeking
my worth.
(Wait).

I had to secure my ticket to Heaven
(like all the other straight,
White,
Christian men)
I – I can’t get in?
What do you mean I’m not a man?
Fuck.

Holes in my rusted chalice,
fake treasure maps, toy swords.
Indiana Jones and the Flat Earth Theory.
(Fall off the edge already).
Fine.

The thirst and salivation.
Cheat codes hidden inside the nightmare,
(but my scars are real),
behind the shadows, along the veil.
Stephen King and the Cave Wall.
Popcorn and limitations.

I never wanted to sit,
to be still, feel, the fathoms
below and die.
Would you trade misery for joy?

Shut up, boy. (Not you).
The Lady or the Tiger?

Place your heart on the scale.
Do it, doer.

End this poem,
(end it now)!

The Ascension of Nikola Woolf, sample chapter

After accidentally creating a virus that catalyzes rapid evolution of the human genome, Dr. Nikola Woolf is metamorphing into a fifth dimensional being, capable of traveling to parallel universes. But the complications of the experiment, a mission to define and cure herself of love, may cost her life. While involuntarily traveling the Multiverse, Nikola learns that the extinction of humanity (and her own death) is imminent in many worlds. Will Dr. Woolf survive her own ascension, can she save the human race, and what will she do about her unwanted true love?

CHAPTER 5: Involuntary Travel

I was sitting at my desk when it happened again. My physical awareness faded until I found myself in a dark void, in between places, or in two realities at once. It felt like darkness pressing in all around me, like I had been tossed into outer space, with no point of reference by which I might grip my own sanity.

I tried to reach for my sense of logic, but found myself increasingly lost and afraid. Instead, I embraced both my terror and absolute ignorance. Then, and only then, did I find myself on solid ground again. Still, I had no idea where I was. I took a look around.

It was some kind of palace. The setting sunlight reflected off golden pillars, blinded my sight. I looked down to relieve my burning eyes, and noticed a mosaic of stones, lapis lazuli, turquoise, jade, and obsidian. My feet were barefoot on the cold tile. I stepped into a shadowy corner of the room, and whispered, “Where am I?”

A man walked pass me, and approached the sunlight. He appeared spectacular in a gown of golden threads. He dropped to one knee, and as he bowed his head, I saw her. “My queen,” he said.

The single throne must have been at least twenty feet in height. It was made of gold, mahogany, lion skins, and tortoise shell. It was occupied by a woman, adorned with jewelry and makeup.

Her voice echoed throughout the room. “Where is my son?”

The man stood. “Your majesty, the Roman army is at the gate. Octavius is on his way, right now.”

“I said, where is my son?”

The man tensed with hesitation. I felt my throat constricting. “Queen Cleopatra, please. We are going to die. Our numbers are small and we cannot hold the gate for long. Please speak to Octavius and ask him to spare us.”

The next moment was suspended in the now singularity. Fear, rage, and hope seemed to dance around a surreal carrousel. All of the Multiverse was revolving around this moment. Whatever the queen decided would ripple throughout all parallel universes.

Finally, the queen said, “Charmion, do you still consider me a friend?”

The man nodded. “Of course. Since we were children, you have been my best friend, Cleo. I love you. My queen, you have changed since.”

“Do you mean, since Octavius murdered my husband, stole my son’s birthright, and corrupted my soldiers? Yes, I have changed. Octavius is poised to destroy our sacred city, and you are asking me to bow before this filthy pig?”

Charmion cast his eyes to the floor. “I am begging you, my queen.”

“It shall never happen.”

I felt a storm brewing under Cleopatra’s skin. She didn’t seem to move, and her voice was calm. Her ability to make an ocean appear still during a hurricane, gave me a chill. “Where, Charmion, is my son?”

I heard a voice from across the hall, the sound of footsteps. A young man stepped into the sunlight. I noticed his jawline, wide and definite. It was identical to his father’s.

In that moment, I had a flash of recollection. I saw the young man’s birth, in a sacred hot spring. I caught a flash of his first steps, walking into the arms of his father.

I saw him, Julius Caesar, his face shape-shifted into that of… Kelly.

In this moment I downloaded a file, information of rich sensation, regarding Kelly and our past. More later.

I understood that this boy was my son.

The young man held his chin up. His eyes were honey in the setting sunlight. “I am here, Mother.”

Confusion stole over me, but only for a moment. First Virginia, now Cleopatra? This was a past life regression, surely. No, I could not have been these historical figures. There was another explanation. There is.

The queen relaxed in her throne. I felt her exhale. “Caesarion, come.” Cleopatra’s voice was soft, like the white rose petals, from which Caesarion’s first bed was made. Her firstborn was her favorite.

The young man approached the throne. His heart longed to rush into his mother’s arms and adorn her with hugs and kisses. Instead, he forced himself to stand still, like a man. Caesarion clenched his fists and flexed his chest, back, and arms. He had been training with the Romans, and he wanted his mother to see that he was a man. It was his time to come of age. He felt ready.

“Mother, I wish to sacrifice myself to Octavius.”

Cleopatra chuckled, moving her head more freely now. “That shall never happen, Son.”

“Please listen. I never wanted to be dictator of Rome. I do not care for what Caesar did or did not do. All I wanted was to be here in Alexandria with you. I never wanted it to go this far. I do not wish for more bloodshed on my behalf. I will go to Octavius and ask him to cease the war.”

“Caesarion, my son.”

“Please, Mother. You said that I was destined to be great. You told me to behave like royalty. I believe this is what a regent should do for his country. Mother, do you see, this is why I practiced the Latin tongue, and I studied the Roman religion, and the Roman law. Not because I wanted to be like Caesar, but because I am a Roman. If Rome would murder their own kind, as they did my father, then I would be honored to die for Egypt.

“Mother, let Octavius take me to Rome, let me be his prize. I do not care for appearances. I value truth. Send me, Prince of Egypt, please, I pray thee, my mother and queen. Let Alexandria be spared. Or we shall all be dead by morning.”

I watched as Charmion held his tongue, and Cleopatra went inside herself.

Another decision was to be made. The queen could not stop her son, but she would never approve of this plan. Cleopatra’s love for the people was murdered with her dear Julius. Caesarion was all that was left of him.

The queen had watched her son grow in appearance, more and more like Caesar, everyday. In armor, Caesarion might look identical to his father. Cleopatra thought of how the sight of Caesar in full battle dress might strike terror in the heart of Octavius.

Caesarion stood with his hands behind his back, waiting, with respect, for his mother’s decision.

That’s when a Roman soldier walked in. I felt him move right pass me, almost as if he moved through me. He stood beside the throne. “My queen, the tomb is ready. The army is here, we must move quickly.”

Cleopatra exhaled, turning her attention to the man. She ran her fingers through his dark curly lochs. “Marc, my love. I will be there soon.” They kissed, and he walked out.

The queen waited another moment before speaking. “Caesarion, do you remember what your father taught you about warfare?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, Mother. Marc Antony has trained me as well.”

Cleopatra leaned in and whispered. “Your father was the greatest warrior who ever lived. Rome is because of Caesar. The greatness that built Rome lives inside you. Go into my chambers, into my golden chest, and you will find your father’s armor and sword. Listen, son.

“I want you to go to Octavius, but I do not want you to surrender. I want you to kill him. I want you to avenge your father. Do this, for me?”

Caesarion shifted. He glanced at his feet. I felt his throat constrict, his heart grow heavy. He fought the urge to cry. He returned his eyes to the queen, pushing his emotions down below. “Yes, Mother. I will do this for you.”

“I love you, my son.”

Caesarion jumped into her arms, knowing they would never embrace again.

Ancient Egypt started fading from my reality, as my mind was wiped clean of memory. Some force of nature was pulling me out of that world, and into the next. It felt like blood draining from my arteries. I grew drowsy, relaxed enough to allow the process. I had no other choice but to surrender.

Then I was standing in a mission control station. In the center of the vessel, there was holographic map of the Multiverse, countless blue and green marbles of life, infinite versions of Earth, against the dark matter of space.

There were electronic instruments there, all far more advanced than anything I had ever seen. I realized in that moment, that I had been summoned. But by whom?

“Hi.” A young man stood, not ten feet away. He appeared to be a bionic human. He wore a robotic helmet, only revealing his mouth. The left side of his body, from shoulder to foot, was mechanical. “My name is Trayvon Johnson.”

I tried to press his mindspace, but found an electronic barrier. I wondered if it could be hacked. I stood a moment longer, unsure of myself. I had an eerie feeling about him, and could not define it. Finally, I gathered my courage. I went closer and offered my hand. “Nikola Woolf.”

Trayvon, now towering above me, took it. “Dr. Woolf, it’s a pleasure. You can’t read my mind, and if you wanna survive your own ascension, let me help me. I mean, you. I wanna help you.”

Interesting slip, I thought.

Trayvon held his robotic arm toward the corner of a room where a few chairs gathered around a coffee table. “Please sit, we got a lot to talk about.”

He seemed like a child to me, a prodigy. I wanted to study him. I nodded. “Let’s.”

Trayvon sat and nervously brought his hands together on his knees. “I’m not really a prodigy, doctor. I’m just a lucky-as-shit kid. My world was destroyed and I’m the only human survivor. I come from a timeline that stems off yours. I guess you could say I’m from your future, 2084 to be exact. But since time’s not real, we have a chance to save humanity, not just in both our worlds, but in many.

“This station is in a secret pocket universe. I created it after my Earth was destroyed. She’s moved on to the sixth dimension, but those who were left behind, well, it was hell. This place, pocket headquarters, is my home now.”

“When you say ‘she,’ you mean,”

“The life force of the planet. Gaia, I think, is her most popular name. When she left us, the rain became acidic, all vegetation died. The oceans devoid of life. Some aliens landed, World War 3 begun. Democracy was overthrown and the president of the US became dictator, and Commander in Chief.”

“I was part of an underground resistance. It basically failed. In the end, the commander in chief abandoned ship, and nuked the planet. It was kind of like the great flood, except, ain’t nothing growing back this time.”

I knew that he was telling the truth, and I felt inclined to help him. It was not hard to believe that the extinction of humanity was a reality. I took a moment to observe before speaking. He reminded me of Caesarion.

I felt his energy for a moment. I missed him.

“Trayvon,” I said, “you’re the only human survivor of your world. Not only did you survive, but you’ve created a pocket universe with advanced technology. You have grand intentions of saving humanity. You attribute all this to luck. I find that fascinating, Trayvon. You summoned me here, didn’t you? How and why?”

Trayvon lifted his hand to scratch his robotic helmet, then chuckled. “Ah, I’m not used to this thing. Yeah, I’ve been monitoring the Multiverse for humans crossing the threshold into the fifth dimension. The helmet supports my brain development, thanks to your book, your experiment, I understood what I needed to do. I know you’re still writing it. It’ll change everything. I summoned you using a frequency that cannot be picked up by the dark ones.

“Long story short, doctor, my world was destroyed by an aggressive alien race. The dark ones are slave masters and they run the world in many universes. Humans are like cattle to them, and our species is in a state of arrested development. Kinda like how people used to tie a baby cow down so it couldn’t move? Then eat it? That’s basically what humanity is, a chained child awaiting slaughter. Anyone who crosses the threshold into the fifth dimension is hunted down and killed. So, your welcome. Now you know your life is in danger. And, welcome to the adolescence of human kind.”

I knew this. His words resonated deep inside me. That otherworldly terror, it was always real. “Wait, you read my science papers? How did it help you, exactly?”

Trayvon leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hands. “I shouldn’t have said that, no. It ain’t really safe to tell people their future.”

I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully. “Trayvon, you said it for a reason. I would like to talk about it. I need to make a breakthrough. Please tell me what you read.”

Trayvon looked up at me, surprised. “You wanna cure yourself of love, because you’re scared of being destroyed. So you wanna calculate an understanding through observation, but you won’t ever have enough data if you don’t experience it first hand.

“It’s not possible to love another if you don’t love yourself. That’s the general rule, but for twin flames, it’s scientific law. But Doc, this twin flame thing is not what you think. The Multiverse is bigger than you can possibly imagine. And we’re only five steps outside the 3D.”

He leaned forward, looked deep into my eyes. “You and Kelly Perez are in a state of quantum entanglement. This can be measured, tested, predicted. You’re about to learn much more about quantum energy, and you’ll unlock the unified theory the world’s been waiting for. Your mind is not ready right now. You need to follow your heart and allow the experience to transform you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Doctor,” he went on. “These visions your having are of events that impacted infinite universes. Just like your experiment. You’re in a classroom, better yet, you’re in a laboratory.” Trayvon waved his hand in a particular way. I took it for an electronic command.

A droid, far more advanced than the robots in my world, approached us. It actually looked human. If it were not for its blank stare, its appearance would have passed for a person. It set a bottle and two glasses down.

Trayvon picked up the liquor and poured. “Thank you, Rosie.” He slid one glass toward me as the droid left us. “This is an elixir containing a biogenetic supplement. Can you guess what it’s for?”

I paused a moment, feeling the liquid in my hands. I could ask my mind to bring me the answer, or, I could go for the feeling in the glass. I chose the feeling.

I felt tiny conscious beings, swimming about. They tickled my palm, joyful in nature, as they were programmed to be. Their purpose, I felt, was to feed my blood cells the energy needed to initiate rapid mitosis. For, I feared, I may die soon.

Trayvon chucked, “Dropping blood is normal at first. The bionic cells will multiply as the crystalline alchemizes to carbon again. There’s a trigger in the protein sequence.”

As I drank the concoction, I learned its recipe. I would recreate it in the lab.

I folded my hands and took a good look at my companion. One half of his face was human. He still had baby fat, light facial hair. I guessed seventeen. His wisdom was ancient. “Tell me who you are in relation to me.”

Trayvon’s smile widened. “Let’s just say I’m the Rebel archetype.”

Trayvon leaned in closer, blinked, and said. “You’re fading. Listen, the dark ones are hunting us, you need to-”

Then I was sitting in the passenger seat of a sedan. It was nighttime, and the car was in motion, reckless driving. Kelly was in the drivers seat. She appeared much younger, her mid-twenties, I guessed.

The car was littered with water bottles, fast food packages, gym clothes, and trash. I remembered this car. This must have been fifteen years into the past, maybe 2006, before we had met in person. Kelly was not so sloppy anymore.

She glanced at my direction.

“Look, Nikola, I know that I’m crazy. But it really feels like you’re sitting here in my car with me. I don’t care what it looks like to anyone else. I may as well embrace the crazy, right? I mean, it’s just me.”

Kelly seemed to look deep into my eyes, then threw a glance at the road, swerving away from the curb. “See, it’s like you’re invisible.” She laughed. “I love being psychotic because I can talk to invisible people in my car.

“Anyways babe, I feel bad for not calling you back or texting you. I know that’s what you want from me right now. But it’s just that you keep spitting game at me, and that’s not gonna work, boo. Please just tell me something real. I want to know how you really feel, like, show me your heart.”

I let the silence set in for a moment, as I watched Kelly run her fingers through her short, boyish hair. Her eyes moved from the rearview mirror, to the side views, to the road, then back to me. I realized that I liked watching her when she thought she was alone.

I said, “Kelly, I can hear you. I’m here in the car with you.”

Kelly nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m psychotic. If you knew I was talking to you in my head, you would probably call me psycho and never speak to me again.”

“You have a gift, Kel. Your exes called you psycho, and maybe you’ve done some unhealthy things, but that’s not who you are. You can communicate with unseen entities. That’s brilliant.”

Kelly reached into a paper bag in the center console for a french fry. Her mouth half full, she said, “Well, thanks. That means a lot coming from a figment of my imagination.” She laughed. “See, why can’t we have conversations like this?”

I recognized the city of Las Vegas, the neon lights of Fremont Street.

Kelly ran a red light, as a car swerved to miss us. “Listen, Nikola. You’re so hot, you probably get every woman you want. The only reason you want me is because you can’t have me. Not until you give me something real, at least. When you’re done being a player, let me know. Until then, we will have imaginary conversations in my car.”

It was no use trying to argue. She was convinced of her insanity, and according to the DISM, she really was psychotic.

I asked. “So, you are attracted to me then?”

“Hell yeah,” Kelly glanced at me. “I think about you when I masturbate.”

“Really?” I was surprised to learn that this is the kind of information I so longed for.

She chuckled. “Yeah, I have a pretty intense sex drive, and you take me there. It’s too bad you think you’re a player.”

“What if I told you I’m not a player?”

Kelly shoved another fry in her mouth. “I would call you una mentirosa. You lie.”

Mentirosa? Seriously?” I leaned back into my seat, arms crossed. “The truth finally comes out. You really don’t trust me.”

“Nope. You lie about your age, your relationship status, what else? Everything you say is game. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. But if you want something real with me, you gotta get real with me.”

Kelly’s phone went off, and I watched as she reached into her pocket. “Hey, what’s up? …No dude, just talking to my invisible friend.… Nope, we broke up on Wednesday.… because fuck her, that’s why. The point is I’m single until next week.… Remember that one chic that kept buying us shooters that one night? Yeah, it’s her birthday next weekend. I’m gonna take her out and make her my new girlfriend. But that gives us one whole weekend, bro.… Ew, that’s my ex, but go ahead.… She’s all yours, dawg.… Girlbar, for sure.… Alright, yeah, I’m down.… Okay, late.”

Kelly tossed her phone on my lap and shoved another fry into her mouth.

“And you call me a player.”

Kelly glanced over again. “Oh, Niko. The difference between you and me, is that you lie to people, you hide things. That’s called playing. But everyone I fuck with, they know what’s up, and I’m faithful.”

“Excuse me? I’m faithful, too. Look, if I’m not in a relationship with that person, I don’t owe them anything, and furthermore,”

“The point is, you lie and hide shit, that’s called being a player. But when you’re straight up and give people the truth they deserve, and they still wanna stick around,” Kelly popped her collar. “That’s called big pimpin, Mami. Feel free to take notes.”

I scoffed. “Wow, you’re conceited.”

Kelly looked straight into my eyes again. “Yeah, I know. My ego is all I have. The truth is I’m psychotic, I hate myself, and no one else loves me either.  That doesn’t exactly attract a whole lot of chics. You feel me? What about you, Niko? What’s your truth?”

Then, I was being yanked out that world, violently, it seemed.

I woke up at my desk, groggy and confused, to the sound of Lisa’s thoughts. She stood above me, a manuscript in hand. She’s love sick. That’s the answer. My best friend is love sick and that’s why she’s losing her shit.

As I came to, I noticed the clothes I was wearing, trying to remember when I had put them on. I wondered how long I had been out for this time. I reached for my glasses, but before I managed to put them on, I realized that my vision was perfect.

“Hey, best friend.” Lisa pulled a chair up beside mine. She flashed a fake smile, angry and sarcastic. “Remember when I told you I would send out an inquiry for love stories? Now I understand what you meant when you said, ‘the story is true’.” Lisa dropped the manuscript on my desk. The title page read:

THE LOVE PAGES

by Kelly Perez

Lisa went on. “But how did you know that she was writing it? Don’t answer that. I think her philosophies align with yours. You know, your idea of soulmates. Or, dare I say, twin flames? Coincidence? She named her story ‘the Love Pages.’ That’s intense, don’t you think? But the coolest part about it. There’s this character named Nadia Roof. I think I can convince her to change it to Nikola Woolf. It just has a better ring to it. What do you think?”

Vertigo took hold of me, as the urge to vomit creeped into my chest. I let my head fall onto my desk. I felt a sharp pain in my heart, twisting my guts. Then everything went black, again.

I regained consciousness in Lab one. I heard the voices of Luke and Lisa. I decided to eavesdrop for a moment.

Luke tried to keep his volume low. “You might think that she has this all under control, but I’m telling you. Whatever she’s doing is dangerous. I will not take the fall for any illegal, not to mention, immoral acts. Talk some sense into her, because once I leave the institute, there will be no one to cover her tracks.”

There was a moment of silence before Lisa spoke. “You know what, Skywalker? If you’re that concerned about your career, don’t let the door hit you. I’m worried about her life.”

“I am, too.”

I heard Luke walk out, and felt Lisa shift her attention to me. “If you don’t wake up and get your shit together, bestie, I will contact Kel…”

The next thing I knew, I was standing in a dark cell made of rock and iron. Torches along the walls cast moving shadows everywhere. Moonlight shone in through a window, onto a hooded figure, huddled in the corner. The stench of urine and vomit came to my awareness. Outside the iron cell, I noticed the guard fast asleep, sitting upright in a chair.

The hooded prisoner, cast off its hood, and gazed at me. “Guardian angel, you have come, at last. What news from Saint Michael?”

I stared in astonishment. It was Kelly. Except that her hair was blond, her skin light, and her eyes blue. Otherwise, it was an identical match.

The prisoner wore a tattered and bloodstained cloak. The agony in her soul, the confusion, the fear, they invaded my reality like a ominous mist on a dreadful morning.

Kelly got down on both knees, and pressed her forehead to the floor. She returned her gaze to me. “Guardian angel, I am Joan D’Arc, knight of France, and messenger of the holy Christ, in this life and the next. I have kept my sacred vows and confessed my sins. Please, sweet angel, they are going to kill me if I do not give false testimony.” Joan turned toward the sleeping guard.

When she faced me, her blue eyes glistened with tears. Her lips trembled as she spoke. “Why do they hate me? Why do they not love me? The king has abandoned me. My only desire was to serve the holy Christ, the same God they also serve. I do not understand. Please, I pray thee, help?”

I was struck by her innocence. Did Joan not understand that their love was not real? That she was only a pawn to her government? That people use each other everyday?

I recalled the story of Joan D’Arc, and wondered how much truth was preserved by history. I accessed a stream of information.

It was during the Hundred Years War between France and England.

After serving the king of France as a messenger of god, and a fierce warrior, she was taken by French traitors, handed over to the enemies. There in English custody, the Catholic Church accused Joan of heresy, murdered her, and then made her a saint. Joan was burned alive at the stake.

I caught a vision of her body engulfed in flames. It struck my heart and took my breath.

I felt a surge of rage energize my nervous system. My body was exploding with heat, as I heard Joan’s voice, screaming, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

Torture by fire. Hell on earth, by authority of religion. This was a system designed to lure innocence, monopolize absolution, and control populations.

The moment passed as I grounded myself in the prison cell. My body was not on fire. Yet, this was Joan’s imminent future. It would be unwise to change this fate. Or would it?

I recalled how Kelly helped Virginia. I would help Joan.

I knelt before her and took her into my arms. Joan rushed into my embrace, like a child, and broke down into a bawl. In that moment, my carbon body materialized, and I found that I was flesh and blood. Warm tears streamed down my face, in silence. I don’t remember the last time I allowed myself to cry. I didn’t think I could be this strong, but for her, I would.

I leaned back onto the stone wall. Joan fell asleep in my arms.

If I wanted to change her fate, I could.

Wait. Why could Joan see and touch me now, but Kelly, in our world, could only hear?

Suddenly, the entire prison was blinding white. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust as the being came into view. It was Metatron.

They looked into my eyes and spoke telepathically. Well done, Nikola. You are evolving nicely, right on schedule.

I glared up at the angel. Isn’t it your job to protect us?

The angel folded its great wings, and knelt down before me, to let me see their face, glowing a golden hue, a symmetrically perfect statue. Their white and yellow eyes shone brilliant with intelligence and peace.

Yes, child. I am here to protect you both. However, I cannot save you from your own will. Joan chose this path everyday of her life. If she wishes, she could appease the priest to spare herself. Joan is willing to die for her honor. Her sacrifice is of benefit to countless others, and she knows this.

She is destined to die, then?

It is her choice, Nikola. She is accustomed to suffering, but this is not permanent.

You’ve been manipulating her sickness for some divine cause?

Nikola, please understand. Joan D’Arc is not a child., neither is she sick. She is a sovereign soul. Joan is a mighty warrior, and this is a warrior’s path. When Joan chooses to die for her honor, because she will, you may help  guide the soul out of the body with minimal suffering.

The angel stood. You will take her to her medicine father of the Apache land. Take her to Geronimo. You will learn much upon arriving.

You are exhausted, Nikola. Save your questions. Rest now.

I closed my eyes. After a few moments, I opened them. We were surrounded by glowing angels. Their light was like a hot, relaxing bath. I fell asleep.

Poem: Father Geronimo

Daughter, to you I write this medicine song.

 

The world you know is crumbling

Our great grandfathers thundering

I pray, Usen, let the rain fall

Like tears down her pretty face.

 

Your roots are strong

You will not die

Your wings, like Eagle

Meant to fly.

Daughter, I feel you suffering.

 

The four winds change

The sacred wheel turns

Great knowledge and wisdom

Every medicine man must learn.

Daughter, I am proud of you.

 

The love you feel

And pain you heal

Balance and discipline

Heavy news from Raven.

Daughter, this is medicine.

 

You have outgrown this cage

They cannot hold you back

Now that your heart is filled with rage

Like Apache warrior under attack.

Daughter, I know. I know.

 

I want to be your father again

I want to try again

Draw back your bow, my daughter

Draw ink for your pen.

 

I am here

I have always been

I will stay with you

Until the end.

 

You will see

My sweet daughter

 

This is medicine.