God’s and Entities
((Part three to: Forsaken God’s) (The Dark Archangel, Armaros))
1
The Tumulus
The following narrative takes place among the great stones of Rujm-el Hiri (other wise known as the: Gigal Refaim; Circle of Raphiam; the Wheel of the Giants, in: Hebrew; and Stone Heap of the Wildcat, in: Arabic; also, the tomb of Og, giant king from before the Great Flood in the book: Deuteronomy: chapter: 11); location, in the Golan Heights of Israel, by the Syrian boarder.) In July of 2010, I went to the Circle of Refaim; I am somewhat of a tourist-archeologist, enthusiast you might say, who has traveled throughout the world, in this visit, it was to investigate the unaccountable disappearance of one of the Watchers, a particular one; whereat, during the period before the Great Flood, this one Dark Archangel, known as Armaros took upon himself to be self exiled. This of course I’d find out later, and would write about it in a two part story called “Forsaken God’s,” this now being the third part to that story, and the part I left out until now which concerns me, and my Peruvian wife Rosa.
It was my first trip to this sight, and I took some measurements, the sheer size of the place was enormous, I had no intentions to stay longer than an hour, yet during that hour, curiosity ignited in me like a bonfire. I had learned the stone circles were in part, an offering—put in place, to give thanks to the gods and entities of that day, some 6000-years ago, or 4000 BC, all the way up to 1000 BC, which was 500-years beyond the time of King Og, and Goliath, being one of the last giants of that era, around 1100 BC; the time the second war of the Giants took place was around 1500 BC, led my Joshua (the previous one was before the Great Flood, foretold in the Book of Numbers; King Og, being the last King of the remnant Rephaim). In any case, the circles I had leaned stood for earthen gods and fertility; along with that there were many ceremonies held here in those pagan days I had learned, and noticed there was a positive energy circle that surrounded the site all the way to the surrounding hills. Furthermore, it was a temple site, astronomy site; I had also become aware of the dimensions, it was constructed according to PHI (1.618), the divine proportion (to: art, design, life, beauty, and mathematics...).
A sinister bright-yellow summer’s early afternoon made my visit untimely by an unexpected cloudburst that had filled the plateau region, and in particular, Rujm-el Hiri. The heaps of rocks along the circle were already blurred more than enough to make out anything clearly, and the gloom of the afternoon to be was met with a slight earthquake, everything said we shouldn’t be here. That the old ones, the Shinning Ones, the world underneath the Great Circle, didn’t want us; I had looked the place over well, knew were the man entrance was, the rear entrance, a separating stone showed me were two rooms were, an large one and small one, in the middle of the structure, I saw where once was a tunnel—the tumulus (a large mound of stones, and an entrance under it, different than the many dolmens I had discovered within the circle). This is where we hid from the storm, my wife and a Jewish man by the name of Shmuel, who was our guide.
With my illness I was woefully tired of the journey, I have Multiple Sclerosis, and we had begun the trip at dawn, and my wife Rosa was fanning me ever five minutes from the scorching heat, and now the piercing muggy atmosphere. While crammed within this opened site of the tumulus, I now had time notice the plants that were growing in this particular location, flowers of some odd shape. The energy level here was at 4 MB; I could feel tingling sensations in my fingers and toes, and even my teeth ((MB, equals energy level in Bovis units) (Basic Vibrations))
As this awful storm rapidity took a strong hold within the plateau reign and nearby hills, and the site itself, a grey twilight seemed to hang over us like a mysterious veil, yet it was only afternoon. It was turning into a nightmare chaos, and this confusion drove Shmuel to near desperation wanting to run off and drive us all back to Jerusalem—in our rented car—back to our hotel, at the spur of the moment, this moment. And the longer we stayed, the more he wanted to leave with increasing pitiless strictness. We could now hear all around us—as this storm, turned into a thunder and lightening, and near hurricane winds: the clatter of horse’s hoofs and flashes of illumed Nephilim (the old giants of old) seemed to appear in the far-off distance as I looked through the opening, some kind of forced visions I presume, from the residue of perhaps great battles that once took place in this area.
At this point I did not want to leave this tumulus, I knew now I could not even trace my steps back to the few footpaths we took to get here, feeling sure that had I gone, I would have gone astray, but not caring to retrace my steps in this horn of darkness, with gray to midnight dark clouds, a tempest at had, God forbid I should go astray. But I told Shmuel to go, and come back later in the evening for us if indeed he cared to. But he said, “I cannot leave you, what would my wife Aviva say should I not comeback without you folks?”
My thinking was “…well-founded,” Shmuel said, and we stepped back into the tumulus deeper for safekeeping. As I dared to step down some stone steps, several steps within the tumulus, everything was—for the most part, indistinguishable against the bulk of the granite stones. Doubtless a grave or temple, and perhaps should we descend even more, into catacombs or vaults, at lower levels—this was my thinking. At about twenty-five feet below, from where we started, a sound suddenly and unexpectedly came, and increased at every foot we went from that step onward and downward, it was loud and echoing, with aftershocks, we all had goose bumps, and were shivering involuntarily, with—out of character, alarm. And there before us was a great hole, deeper than we could see its bottom.
A hooded creature appeared, an imp of some sort, and as he spoke he simple unarmed me with profound curiosity (outside the tumulus the storm continued, we could hear the gusts of rain, and ever-nearing thunder, and lightening lit up the entrance above us somewhat, as if light bent its way around the top of us, down to this hole to let us know, we were still visible).
Said the little imp, “My name is Keveq the Tenth… (and behind him were many eyes peeking upward from the opening of the great hole, one step below each other, for umpteenth steps, Keveq would tell me later there was 4000-thousand of these imps in line to come up and participate in a gathering for the teachings of sacred sciences this evening) it is fortunate (continued the Imp) that you found us now and not later, I cannot be your host, or if you remain here, it will be ill for you and all, hell-brew, if you know what I mean.”
Rosa
Rosa, my wife, looked at me, she knew I was hungry and as well very tired. “Well,” said Keveq the Tenth, “I can offer you some food but I doubt you’d like what we eat.” And I had heard what they ate, from the murmur from the hole, and I said, a little mollified, “I think I’ll pass the offer, but thanks anyhow.”
There was a certain refinement about Keveq, some good breeding emanated from him, and I thought right then and there of the legends and myths of Great Circle of Giants, “Are you related to the Keveq that dates back to the times of the Black Archangels, and in particular, Armaros?”
I had to say it; no doubt, my expressions gave it away anyhow, if not my curiosity.
“Yes, he was my great grandfather many generations before me,” said Keveq the Tenth. “I am he! And we are of the Armarosion Order.”
“Legend has it; Ur’el the holy archangel came down in the days prior to the Great Flood and buried all the Watchers, under the sand and stones and elsewhere, did Armaros have such a fate? Legend leaves him out somehow, and to my understanding, still in the underworld.”
“In our order, and there now are several orders in the underworld, we do not hold that the spirit is enriched if we tell our sacred secrets, then they’d no longer be secrets, is this not so?” And he went on to say, “If you do want to know, we have a rare library in our underground city, it has taken thousands of years to accumulate the scrolls and books and tablets and so forth, and it also has taken a thousand-years for us to dig out this hole, and make clear and safe this stairway, as it once was. All you have to do is climb down it to find out whatever you are seeking, and you will also find out if Armaros is there, and if so, he will not let you return.” Then all of a sudden three more imps joined us within the upper part of the tumulus, by the names of: Vameb, Mechi, and Shaah (a female imp).
“Not a very appropriate way of saying welcomes to our home, and take all our hospitality at your own risk,” Said Shmuel.
“Without delay,” I said, indicating I wanted to go, but only after the science meeting.
And then Rosa pulled out some beef jerky for me to chew on, and same water. And during the light meal I was having, I quickly discovered my somewhat of a host was a scholar of rare if not unheard of abilities, with an sophistication, a different kind of reality, a cosmic and supernatural reality, unfamiliar to us humans. Now I had emptied my water bottle, and ate my piece of beef, and Rosa was chatting with Shmuel, and Keveq with Mechi, Shaah and Vameb; all turning out to be old familiar friends quickly.
My fatigue had now drifted off, and I was in some rare sense of well-being, perhaps the site itself and its energy source. I had heard this site was good for respiratory illnesses, and it was proving so, I now could breathe much better, less gasping for air. There was a physical comfort united with mental awareness and intensity to my being. So when Keveq, suggested a second time to pay a visit to his library and see if the Black Archangel was still there, I agreed with eagerness. But my wife sternly said, “You got to be kidding, what about me?” And I simply said, “You’re with me, right?”
2
The Underground Library
The Underground World
Here, in the library, were the hidden fragments of Socrates (450 BC), on God and Man, and Plato’s secret papers on Atlantis (400 BC), those never seen before, and the fragments of the 365-books Enoch wrote (200-years before the flood, 4800 BC)wrote while in heaven, and the secret scriptures of Josephus’s (100 AD) and the books saved from the fire at Alexandra, Egypt (396 BC, or thereabouts), and weathered documents once kept in the dry cellars of Timbuktu, and the Manuscripts of the Tiamat, and the Book of Light by Jews and Death by the Egyptians, and I saw books on black magic and white magic, and the Sumerian Kings list, in stone, dating back 241,200 years, and writings on and by the First Dynasty of Kish, and Erech and Ur and Babylon, and an ancient Chinese Text, and sculpted hieroglyphics dating to 1700 BC and beyond, and the secret writings of the Underground Empire ((of Aliens) (which I read: “For within these strange caverns and terrifying tunnels that go throughout South America all the way to and throughout Mongolia and Antarctica, resides here within this text for the safe keeping of taking over the world when the time is right; this is in part, my long lost hidden race, the remaining Black Angels, and the Shinning Ones, and the Reptilian Race, for all the Archangels but Armaros did not escape, yet there are one-hundred and eighty of us left…” written by Armaros.”))
Having read that, is when I stopped, knowing now, he was alive and here within the crust of the earth, or perhaps we might have even been lower than the crust, in some safe pocket. Armaros evidently believed he belonged to the angelic brothers he had once left, and betrayed, and perhaps won back their devotion. Although they were not archangels, but Powers, so I had unlocked the mystery I had sought after.
Worlds of the Draconian Race
I had forgotten to look after a week of reading, the dimensions of the library and now I had, it had an iron door, twenty-feet high, and the ceiling was twenty-feet higher, truly an enormous amount of man power it took to build this library, as it did for the Circle of Rephaim. Especially in a world that their major concern was survival for the imp race, yet, the shelves were overcrowded with books, one in particular on the “Dragon Race,” and the race of the Archangels before Earth, also known as the “Draconian” actually it was the human race all over again, being watched over by the Watchers of that day, and the Draconian Race, before the Earth, 40-millin BC. This book was most interesting: although more on the reptilian race than the angelic, who also lived in Sumer, this race lived within three levels of existence: hyperspace, astral, and physical: and at three differed levels of awareness: conscious, subconscious, and super-conscious. Part of this race was winged reptilians (4-million BC). And then I stopped reading, and heard: a voice, as I gazed with mingled awe and curiosity at this tall being now standing in front of me and my wife to my side.
“These are unheard of treasures,” he suggested. I thought it was better not to speak, and what would I have ask him anyhow, it was Armaros, he crossed his arms, crisscross, across his chest, like the Egyptians do, as he spoke and his voice was no longer mellow, “You can’t stay here,” he said.
“Why,” I asked, a bit melancholy, with a troubled expression on my face, wanting to know more about everything, thinking this was going to be our new home.
“You bring a curse with you,” he said, “It is an evil spell to me.” He implied. He took the volume from my hand ‘The Draconian Race,’ and said: “You don’t understand, how can such things be, you are a sanctified Christian, I am an outcast to the Most Highest, and how can there not be any danger in you being here for me? There are things beyond your understandings. The evil of Lucifer himself would befall me if I left you stay here, and consider me a devious plot, as I did many years ago to my compadres, he is the only one of the angelic forces that know where I am, other than those that have joined me from those far-off days, also renegades. I do not even dare to slay you, lest I face a dreamless existence wondering if the Almighty will come down and have someone put a heel under me. Thus, all these manuscripts are forbidden for you to read, what you have learned is very little…”
When Rosa and I awoke, we were resting in our beds in Jerusalem in our four-star hotel, with a golden sun melting through the window glass of our room. It was like we had vanished from the underworld, on a cloud. I jumped out of bed, walked to the window, there it was, the world at large, the rain was gone, and all was beautiful, and I asked Rosa, “Should we rejoin our tour from Peru, today?” She was already up. “Sure she said, Father Manual was looking forward to going to…?” and she had forgotten where. But charming as it was, my feet was very sore, and we went down and had breakfast, and joined the other thirty-eight other guests, and Father Manual.
Note: part one and two, to the story “Forsaken God’s” were written on: 6-11-2010/No. 621; and part three, written 6-21-2010.
((Part three to: Forsaken God’s) (The Dark Archangel, Armaros))
1
The Tumulus
The following narrative takes place among the great stones of Rujm-el Hiri (other wise known as the: Gigal Refaim; Circle of Raphiam; the Wheel of the Giants, in: Hebrew; and Stone Heap of the Wildcat, in: Arabic; also, the tomb of Og, giant king from before the Great Flood in the book: Deuteronomy: chapter: 11); location, in the Golan Heights of Israel, by the Syrian boarder.) In July of 2010, I went to the Circle of Refaim; I am somewhat of a tourist-archeologist, enthusiast you might say, who has traveled throughout the world, in this visit, it was to investigate the unaccountable disappearance of one of the Watchers, a particular one; whereat, during the period before the Great Flood, this one Dark Archangel, known as Armaros took upon himself to be self exiled. This of course I’d find out later, and would write about it in a two part story called “Forsaken God’s,” this now being the third part to that story, and the part I left out until now which concerns me, and my Peruvian wife Rosa.
It was my first trip to this sight, and I took some measurements, the sheer size of the place was enormous, I had no intentions to stay longer than an hour, yet during that hour, curiosity ignited in me like a bonfire. I had learned the stone circles were in part, an offering—put in place, to give thanks to the gods and entities of that day, some 6000-years ago, or 4000 BC, all the way up to 1000 BC, which was 500-years beyond the time of King Og, and Goliath, being one of the last giants of that era, around 1100 BC; the time the second war of the Giants took place was around 1500 BC, led my Joshua (the previous one was before the Great Flood, foretold in the Book of Numbers; King Og, being the last King of the remnant Rephaim). In any case, the circles I had leaned stood for earthen gods and fertility; along with that there were many ceremonies held here in those pagan days I had learned, and noticed there was a positive energy circle that surrounded the site all the way to the surrounding hills. Furthermore, it was a temple site, astronomy site; I had also become aware of the dimensions, it was constructed according to PHI (1.618), the divine proportion (to: art, design, life, beauty, and mathematics...).
A sinister bright-yellow summer’s early afternoon made my visit untimely by an unexpected cloudburst that had filled the plateau region, and in particular, Rujm-el Hiri. The heaps of rocks along the circle were already blurred more than enough to make out anything clearly, and the gloom of the afternoon to be was met with a slight earthquake, everything said we shouldn’t be here. That the old ones, the Shinning Ones, the world underneath the Great Circle, didn’t want us; I had looked the place over well, knew were the man entrance was, the rear entrance, a separating stone showed me were two rooms were, an large one and small one, in the middle of the structure, I saw where once was a tunnel—the tumulus (a large mound of stones, and an entrance under it, different than the many dolmens I had discovered within the circle). This is where we hid from the storm, my wife and a Jewish man by the name of Shmuel, who was our guide.
With my illness I was woefully tired of the journey, I have Multiple Sclerosis, and we had begun the trip at dawn, and my wife Rosa was fanning me ever five minutes from the scorching heat, and now the piercing muggy atmosphere. While crammed within this opened site of the tumulus, I now had time notice the plants that were growing in this particular location, flowers of some odd shape. The energy level here was at 4 MB; I could feel tingling sensations in my fingers and toes, and even my teeth ((MB, equals energy level in Bovis units) (Basic Vibrations))
As this awful storm rapidity took a strong hold within the plateau reign and nearby hills, and the site itself, a grey twilight seemed to hang over us like a mysterious veil, yet it was only afternoon. It was turning into a nightmare chaos, and this confusion drove Shmuel to near desperation wanting to run off and drive us all back to Jerusalem—in our rented car—back to our hotel, at the spur of the moment, this moment. And the longer we stayed, the more he wanted to leave with increasing pitiless strictness. We could now hear all around us—as this storm, turned into a thunder and lightening, and near hurricane winds: the clatter of horse’s hoofs and flashes of illumed Nephilim (the old giants of old) seemed to appear in the far-off distance as I looked through the opening, some kind of forced visions I presume, from the residue of perhaps great battles that once took place in this area.
At this point I did not want to leave this tumulus, I knew now I could not even trace my steps back to the few footpaths we took to get here, feeling sure that had I gone, I would have gone astray, but not caring to retrace my steps in this horn of darkness, with gray to midnight dark clouds, a tempest at had, God forbid I should go astray. But I told Shmuel to go, and come back later in the evening for us if indeed he cared to. But he said, “I cannot leave you, what would my wife Aviva say should I not comeback without you folks?”
My thinking was “…well-founded,” Shmuel said, and we stepped back into the tumulus deeper for safekeeping. As I dared to step down some stone steps, several steps within the tumulus, everything was—for the most part, indistinguishable against the bulk of the granite stones. Doubtless a grave or temple, and perhaps should we descend even more, into catacombs or vaults, at lower levels—this was my thinking. At about twenty-five feet below, from where we started, a sound suddenly and unexpectedly came, and increased at every foot we went from that step onward and downward, it was loud and echoing, with aftershocks, we all had goose bumps, and were shivering involuntarily, with—out of character, alarm. And there before us was a great hole, deeper than we could see its bottom.
A hooded creature appeared, an imp of some sort, and as he spoke he simple unarmed me with profound curiosity (outside the tumulus the storm continued, we could hear the gusts of rain, and ever-nearing thunder, and lightening lit up the entrance above us somewhat, as if light bent its way around the top of us, down to this hole to let us know, we were still visible).
Said the little imp, “My name is Keveq the Tenth… (and behind him were many eyes peeking upward from the opening of the great hole, one step below each other, for umpteenth steps, Keveq would tell me later there was 4000-thousand of these imps in line to come up and participate in a gathering for the teachings of sacred sciences this evening) it is fortunate (continued the Imp) that you found us now and not later, I cannot be your host, or if you remain here, it will be ill for you and all, hell-brew, if you know what I mean.”
Rosa
Rosa, my wife, looked at me, she knew I was hungry and as well very tired. “Well,” said Keveq the Tenth, “I can offer you some food but I doubt you’d like what we eat.” And I had heard what they ate, from the murmur from the hole, and I said, a little mollified, “I think I’ll pass the offer, but thanks anyhow.”
There was a certain refinement about Keveq, some good breeding emanated from him, and I thought right then and there of the legends and myths of Great Circle of Giants, “Are you related to the Keveq that dates back to the times of the Black Archangels, and in particular, Armaros?”
I had to say it; no doubt, my expressions gave it away anyhow, if not my curiosity.
“Yes, he was my great grandfather many generations before me,” said Keveq the Tenth. “I am he! And we are of the Armarosion Order.”
“Legend has it; Ur’el the holy archangel came down in the days prior to the Great Flood and buried all the Watchers, under the sand and stones and elsewhere, did Armaros have such a fate? Legend leaves him out somehow, and to my understanding, still in the underworld.”
“In our order, and there now are several orders in the underworld, we do not hold that the spirit is enriched if we tell our sacred secrets, then they’d no longer be secrets, is this not so?” And he went on to say, “If you do want to know, we have a rare library in our underground city, it has taken thousands of years to accumulate the scrolls and books and tablets and so forth, and it also has taken a thousand-years for us to dig out this hole, and make clear and safe this stairway, as it once was. All you have to do is climb down it to find out whatever you are seeking, and you will also find out if Armaros is there, and if so, he will not let you return.” Then all of a sudden three more imps joined us within the upper part of the tumulus, by the names of: Vameb, Mechi, and Shaah (a female imp).
“Not a very appropriate way of saying welcomes to our home, and take all our hospitality at your own risk,” Said Shmuel.
“Without delay,” I said, indicating I wanted to go, but only after the science meeting.
And then Rosa pulled out some beef jerky for me to chew on, and same water. And during the light meal I was having, I quickly discovered my somewhat of a host was a scholar of rare if not unheard of abilities, with an sophistication, a different kind of reality, a cosmic and supernatural reality, unfamiliar to us humans. Now I had emptied my water bottle, and ate my piece of beef, and Rosa was chatting with Shmuel, and Keveq with Mechi, Shaah and Vameb; all turning out to be old familiar friends quickly.
My fatigue had now drifted off, and I was in some rare sense of well-being, perhaps the site itself and its energy source. I had heard this site was good for respiratory illnesses, and it was proving so, I now could breathe much better, less gasping for air. There was a physical comfort united with mental awareness and intensity to my being. So when Keveq, suggested a second time to pay a visit to his library and see if the Black Archangel was still there, I agreed with eagerness. But my wife sternly said, “You got to be kidding, what about me?” And I simply said, “You’re with me, right?”
2
The Underground Library
The Underground World
Here, in the library, were the hidden fragments of Socrates (450 BC), on God and Man, and Plato’s secret papers on Atlantis (400 BC), those never seen before, and the fragments of the 365-books Enoch wrote (200-years before the flood, 4800 BC)wrote while in heaven, and the secret scriptures of Josephus’s (100 AD) and the books saved from the fire at Alexandra, Egypt (396 BC, or thereabouts), and weathered documents once kept in the dry cellars of Timbuktu, and the Manuscripts of the Tiamat, and the Book of Light by Jews and Death by the Egyptians, and I saw books on black magic and white magic, and the Sumerian Kings list, in stone, dating back 241,200 years, and writings on and by the First Dynasty of Kish, and Erech and Ur and Babylon, and an ancient Chinese Text, and sculpted hieroglyphics dating to 1700 BC and beyond, and the secret writings of the Underground Empire ((of Aliens) (which I read: “For within these strange caverns and terrifying tunnels that go throughout South America all the way to and throughout Mongolia and Antarctica, resides here within this text for the safe keeping of taking over the world when the time is right; this is in part, my long lost hidden race, the remaining Black Angels, and the Shinning Ones, and the Reptilian Race, for all the Archangels but Armaros did not escape, yet there are one-hundred and eighty of us left…” written by Armaros.”))
Having read that, is when I stopped, knowing now, he was alive and here within the crust of the earth, or perhaps we might have even been lower than the crust, in some safe pocket. Armaros evidently believed he belonged to the angelic brothers he had once left, and betrayed, and perhaps won back their devotion. Although they were not archangels, but Powers, so I had unlocked the mystery I had sought after.
Worlds of the Draconian Race
I had forgotten to look after a week of reading, the dimensions of the library and now I had, it had an iron door, twenty-feet high, and the ceiling was twenty-feet higher, truly an enormous amount of man power it took to build this library, as it did for the Circle of Rephaim. Especially in a world that their major concern was survival for the imp race, yet, the shelves were overcrowded with books, one in particular on the “Dragon Race,” and the race of the Archangels before Earth, also known as the “Draconian” actually it was the human race all over again, being watched over by the Watchers of that day, and the Draconian Race, before the Earth, 40-millin BC. This book was most interesting: although more on the reptilian race than the angelic, who also lived in Sumer, this race lived within three levels of existence: hyperspace, astral, and physical: and at three differed levels of awareness: conscious, subconscious, and super-conscious. Part of this race was winged reptilians (4-million BC). And then I stopped reading, and heard: a voice, as I gazed with mingled awe and curiosity at this tall being now standing in front of me and my wife to my side.
“These are unheard of treasures,” he suggested. I thought it was better not to speak, and what would I have ask him anyhow, it was Armaros, he crossed his arms, crisscross, across his chest, like the Egyptians do, as he spoke and his voice was no longer mellow, “You can’t stay here,” he said.
“Why,” I asked, a bit melancholy, with a troubled expression on my face, wanting to know more about everything, thinking this was going to be our new home.
“You bring a curse with you,” he said, “It is an evil spell to me.” He implied. He took the volume from my hand ‘The Draconian Race,’ and said: “You don’t understand, how can such things be, you are a sanctified Christian, I am an outcast to the Most Highest, and how can there not be any danger in you being here for me? There are things beyond your understandings. The evil of Lucifer himself would befall me if I left you stay here, and consider me a devious plot, as I did many years ago to my compadres, he is the only one of the angelic forces that know where I am, other than those that have joined me from those far-off days, also renegades. I do not even dare to slay you, lest I face a dreamless existence wondering if the Almighty will come down and have someone put a heel under me. Thus, all these manuscripts are forbidden for you to read, what you have learned is very little…”
When Rosa and I awoke, we were resting in our beds in Jerusalem in our four-star hotel, with a golden sun melting through the window glass of our room. It was like we had vanished from the underworld, on a cloud. I jumped out of bed, walked to the window, there it was, the world at large, the rain was gone, and all was beautiful, and I asked Rosa, “Should we rejoin our tour from Peru, today?” She was already up. “Sure she said, Father Manual was looking forward to going to…?” and she had forgotten where. But charming as it was, my feet was very sore, and we went down and had breakfast, and joined the other thirty-eight other guests, and Father Manual.
Note: part one and two, to the story “Forsaken God’s” were written on: 6-11-2010/No. 621; and part three, written 6-21-2010.
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