The Twelve Chapters of the Infinite Night

By Traci Harding

IN THE BATTLE OF GOOD VERSUS EVIL, THE WAR IS NOT OVER UNTIL EVERYBODY WINS!

We've been at war with them for our entire existence, yet completely blind to their machinations. Etheric parasites are secretly infecting the world's population, feeding off the c

• Language: English
• Publisher: Traci Harding
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645614114

Traci Harding

Traci Harding is one of Australia's best loved and most prolific authors. Her stories blend fantasy, fact, esoteric belief, time travel and quantum physics, into adventurous romps through history, alternative dimensions, universes and states of consciousness. She has published more than 20 bestselling books and been translated into several languages. 

Book preview

Prologue

The Inter-dweller

We are that beyond I am, yet to realise the potential of those transcended, formless ones who dwell in the primordial light realms of creation. Just as a human form is composed of atoms, so is our form composed of the human soul minds currently embroiled in the physical reincarnation loop unfolding within the earth plane. We dwell on the threshold between heavenly realms and the material world, and within the chapters of our Akashic library, every aspect of the human condition has its place.

We too have endured individual manifestations through karmic cycles of time, life, death and rebirth. We have been pure of heart, abandoned, caring, and warlike. We have explored the depths of our feelings, our own destructive natures, and sought answers to the great mysteries that ignited our imagination. We have coveted absolute power and knowledge, worked miracles, and relinquished all we once held dear. Through this seemingly endless process, we, as individuals, came to understand that time and space are merely forms of ideas that express our cyclic activity. That which seemed an endless process was only an instant, broken down through time for our observation, growth and understanding. Our commitment not to contribute to this delusion liberated us from the illusion of separateness, and we therefore ceased to create karma in the three worlds of our physical, mental and emotional being. The physical temple we had so carefully constructed around ourselves vanished and in shedding all material matters, I merged with spirit to assume the calling of an Inter-dweller.

Attraction is the modus operandi of human beings, for they command the atomic structure of the matter required for form building in their material world. The modus operandi of the Inter-dweller is synthesis with the human incarnations to whom we are a spiritual conduit home. We are their channel for inspiration, imagination, willpower and conscience. In times of darkness, we are to be found within. We are their means to exert influence over the material world for the benefit of the whole.

We move along a similar path to those we seek to guide, only on one higher turn of the spiral, one higher octave in the grand symphony of creation. As our Inter-dweller before us, we are the torch that leads soul-minds out of karmic darkness. In mutual meditation with our human kindred, we draw them into the vacuum of our slipstream, leading towards a greater awareness of oneness. Once the units of our being resonate in harmonious frequency, spirit and matter will sound the same note, and infinite light will illume the infinite night.

Chapter 1

Kambuja 262 BCE Tamous - The Innocent

The gushing of a cascading stream intermingles with the morning buzz of living creatures, drawing my awareness into a singular present moment - from oneness with all there is, into one that is.

My sense of smell awakens me to the sweet scent of the fresh, cool earth beneath me. I roll over, casting off my crisp blanket of leaves, and open my eyes to behold a clear blue sky beyond the canopy. Red and gold leaves fall in long, slow spiraling motions all around. The tree branches and ground are swathed with leaves - nature’s blanket has thickened overnight. A gentle wind sets branches above dancing, allowing shafts of sunlight to pierce through the canopy and warm my face. My eyes close once more in reverence to the splendour.

In this instant, between the unconscious sleep connection to spirit and the physical waking state of one of its many forms, consciousness provides all the information this manifestation needs to feel secure in this present moment.

I am the eldest of twin boys, born into a family of weavers in the village of Desa Ulat Satura ‘the Village of Silkworms’. The silkworm and the white mulberry trees on which they thrive were the gift of my family to this, our adopted homeland. The trees not only provided silk and trade, but food for our animals, tea, medicines, and wood for carving out the tools of our trade. With little tending and no irrigation, the mulberry trees created industry, and where my ancestors had once settled in peaceful isolation, an entire village sprang up. My family, famed for our silk-cottons, had been named the Satura by the local people, as this was their word for the yarn. Our fabrics were lighter than the pure silks of the northern Sinàese, less expensive, and more suitable for the peoples of these warmer southern climes. I was the third generation of the Satura dynasty born into this lush southern land, which in the Shauraseni dialect of the western Hindustani traders was called Kambuja.

My earliest memories of tending herds of pig and buffalo with all the males of my family, and harvesting berries, silk cocoons and cotton with the women were joyous! I would watch in wonder as the precious fibres were spun like magic and transformed into yarn for dyeing. Like a spirit taking mortal form, I saw it woven into fabric on the looms of our womenfolk. It was a time rich with colour, laughter, and a freedom my people took for granted. That illusion was obliterated in the Spring that marked my sixth year upon this earth, when the Sangdil warriors of Anik Bodi cast their odious shadow over our land.

Sangdil is a Shauraseni term that implies soulless, cruel and unforgiving - this is the creed to which the invaders adhere; this is what they strive to embody. They came from the far north-western region of the Mauryan Empire. But unlike all the Westerners that had come before them, the Sangdil had no interest in peaceful trade. The sanctity of family and the worship of ancestors and nature was abhorrent to them and banned. Those they conquered lived only to serve the Warlord Anik Bodi, his Emperor Ashoka, and the Naga Raja that resided within the temple at the heart of the Sangdil fortress. Their ranks were swollen with once loving fathers and sons, who sold their souls and relinquished their scruples to Anik Bodi to protect their families from the wrath of their own comrades in arms. They recruited the strongest males in every family. My father and the other young married men of our clan were easily conscripted after my uncle challenged the invaders’ authority. My aunt and cousins were all defiled before us and slain, and my uncle lived only long enough to bear witness to the consequence of his resistance. My father’s attachment to us ensured his compliance. Our livelihood became a business of the state, which the remaining family were left to run on the invaders’ behalf.

This instantaneous, brutal eclipse of our kin and culture shattered the sensibilities of all who bore witness. All hope for the return of a happy, peaceful life was scattered to the four winds as we watched the death pyre of our loved ones burn.

Inside my tiny being, the waves of shock shot ever deeper, fracturing my core with fear for the future. In self preservation, I withdrew from my horrendous new reality to stand outside my form and simply observe. Within this deep state of shock, my eyes remained wide open, but my body became lifeless and despondent. Not the pleas and tears of my mother, nor the anger and disgust of my twin brother, could persuade me to come back to the land of the living; this numbness was infinitely better than the trauma that awaited upon my return to my body.

For days my awareness resided in an otherworldly place - grey, barren, and shrouded by mist. In the nothingness of this isolation, there was peace and safety. My spirit form dwelt upon a rocky outcrop, attention focused on the surface of a still dark pool. I desired nothing more than to remain in this void, believing here, nothing and no one could touch me. For a short time my delusion proved sound.

You cannot stay here, young Tamous. The inner whisper stirred my mind into movement, but I was strongly resistant to gathering my wits. I kept my focus on the pool, but beneath the water’s surface the face of an old soul took form. I could not tell if it was male or female, for it appeared the perfect blend of both.

You will die. It said without moving its lips.

The voice in my mind sounded two-fold - a man and a woman speaking in perfect unison. I believed the being was an ancestor, as it knew me by name.

I do not fear death, I fear life. I replied.

If you no longer fear death, Tamous, then you have nothing to fear in living.

I did not agree. The Sangdil will come for me. I cannot be as they are, not even to save my family.

The ancestor rose out the water into full form, assuming a more masculine appearance and voice. If that is what you believe, then sadly there is no avoiding it. However... He came to sit alongside me, not a drop of moisture on him or his robes. If you wish to never be Sangdil, imagine some other more appealing outcome.

I don’t understand? I observed a man, hair white with age and wrinkles inset in his face, yet he radiated with vitality and his movements were subtle and fluid. This is why I came to regard him as ‘the old boy’. Yet his eyes were not dark like those of my kin, they were a pale mauve. I could not help but be fascinated by them, for they were the only colour in this otherwise monotone landscape.

You are using your imagination to draw a destiny in the ranks of the Sangdil to you. But surely you can envision a better life ... not just for you, but for every living being.

Of course I can, but how would I bring it into being?

Ah, that’s the beauty of co-creation. It’s your job to do the imagining, and it’s creation’s job to bring about the means to realise your aspiration. So you don’t have to worry about how you achieve your goal, just follow every step that creation puts before you to lead you closer to it.

I was only six years old and due to my recent trauma, I already found it difficult to believe life could be so simple.

You think me a foolish old man, he smiled, amused. But, take this place... He referred to our surrounds. It’s so grey and dismal. If you must escape, why not choose somewhere that is beautiful and alive?

This place is in my mind. I was completely aware that I was preventing myself from returning to consciousness.

That is where everything begins. What is in your mind will manifest in your life. The modus operandi of human beings is form building. How do you think Anik Bodi built his army and came to conquer so many lands? He posed.

I shrugged. He made war and won?

Yes, he allowed. But first he had to imagine the possibility and believe he was capable of achieving it. His will and vision is greater than those who oppose him. Be vigilant of allowing anyone to suggest what your truth is, for what you believe determines what’s possible in your future.

When I observed the wasteland around me, the fear of bringing this sad reality into being compelled me to envisage the most beautiful, colourful, and life-filled forest that I could possibly conceive of. With awe and delight, I watched as it exploded into being all around me.

Now, some twenty years later, I reside in that paradise. Through stillness and deep concentration, I continue to commune with the old boy, my Inter-dweller, whom I have come to call Làoshi - a title given by my ancestors to any wise teacher of skill. When I am in the company of Làoshi, I do not waste away, but rather I am filled with vitality. Through him, I have learned how to ground my earthly vehicle through fluid exercise and concentrated breath, to draw upon the underlying life force of nature - undetectable to the naked eye, yet evidenced in abundance when perceived through the eye of the spirit body. This vital life source is the primordial light of creation, existent before the sun, moon, and stars. It nourishes, strengthens, and warms the soul and all its bodies, and is freely available to all who would attune to it. My grandfather, in his writings, referred to this vital life force as qi. He claimed that all matter, including his own form, was composed of tightly knit units of this vital life force. Qi, in an energetic dance of entanglement, creates the illusion of solid form - like water and air when they create a typhoon, or when drops of water combine into a raging river powerful enough to cut through the hardest rock. The path to realisation lay in disentangling from the illusion of physical form in order to see it - something I do on a regular basis. Once my consciousness had stepped outside of my physical transport, I understood that I extended far beyond the one tiny expression of manifestation that is Tamous Satura. Once qi isrealised and the channelling of it mastered, one can employ what my Làoshi calls constructive interference, which is harmonic resonance. This principle may manifest as a miracle healing, a change in the weather, or exerting influence over others or events in your sphere.

Since that first encounter with Làoshi, I have striven to discover a better way of being, and in this pursuit I now realise the interconnectedness of all things. It was my attachment to the self and all its material world desires that was at the root of my suffering as attachment equates to suffering. Once I let go of everything, the delusion of separateness fell away and therein I found true euphoria. I now know there is only one being in existence, so the premise of seeking the approval, love, and acceptance of another is an absurd notion. There is no ‘other’, there is no ‘me’, all are one. Làoshi is not one of my ancestors as first suspected, but a means for this particular aspect of source to link back to itself. This manifestation greatly aspires to return to spirit, and although I have ceased to create karma in this life and have entertained only pure thoughts for many years now, a karmic residue from the past still remains - along with a reluctant yen to share this awareness with all sentient life to end their suffering. A previous attempt to share this knowledge ended in disaster and resulted in me seeking isolation. To impose the way was not the way, for there are as many paths back to source as there are beings upon this earth and all must find their own way - that is the entire point of life of the material world. Should that path lead a willing student into my sphere, then that is in flow with the way.

Seated now, legs crossed, eyes closed, attention focused on the mid-point between my eyebrows, I see Làoshi smiling at me. He advises me to be in the flow with the ‘as-it-isness’ and fades from my mind’s eye.

A vision of a young man, semi-transparent and fairer of complexion than anyone I have encountered in my life, appears in Làoshi’s stead. His hair is paler than raw silk and his eyes, the colour of a clear post-dawn sky, gaze right through me. Your brother is coming for you, he informs, without shifting a single muscle of his deathly serious expression. He communicates directly with my mind, as the Inter-dweller does. You predicted this event unfolding on the same day that the leader of the Mauryan Empire kneels before a holy man.

Ashoka kneels? I am shocked because Ashoka is the emperor who holds Anik Bodi’s leash. I do not doubt the honesty of the vision, although such premonitions are usually delivered via Làoshi and are always accurate. But this fair youngster is obviously another expression of my Inter-dweller and therefore just as trustworthy.

The lad in my vision nods to confirm. Ashoka seeks spiritual redemption. The image fades back into the darkness of my mind’s eye as I detect a human presence entering my energy field - my only pupil is early today.

Limrani has come a long way since first we crossed paths, but she cannot resist trying to sneak up on me every time she visits. This rather speaks to my failing as a teacher, but I have to admire her persistence.

‘Good morning, warrior.‘ I call her out of hiding.

‘Argh.’ Her footsteps become perceivable to the ear as she stomps into the clearing.

She employs the deportment of a man, dressing as a warrior with a staff in her hand and a sword holstered on her hip - the latter of which she stole from a bandit who intended to attack her. Her long dark hair is unbound today, but when it is strung up on her head, she could be mistaken for a man; her height aids this disguise. ‘You astonish me, monk.’

‘I have told you many times, I feel your presence.’

‘With your spirit.’ She regurgitates the explanation I’ve given her before. ‘Your spirit must be very large to detect me all the way over there.’ She points back in the direction she has come from.

‘Spirit is limitless. When you pursue a connection to the Inter-dweller, you will understand.’

Limrani sucks in her cheeks and shakes her head in such a way that it is almost undetectable. ‘Although I envy you this skill, your inner path exercises put me to sleep. Best that I just stick to learning to master your way of fighting.’ She seems eager to begin the day’s lesson in the external method, yet it is the internal method that she needs to master.

‘The postures I practice are not for fighting or self-defence, they are for my own good health and connection with the infinite.’

‘That didn’t stop you whooping me when first we met.’ Limrani poses, indignantly.

‘I did nothing but stand there and deflect your own force back at you. It was you who whooped yourself. I only observed.’

She musters a smile. ‘My point is, the external method works a treat when the occasion demands.’

‘The internal method leads to mastery of the self, which is the only true form of self-defence.’

‘Half as good as you will be good enough.’

‘Have no enemy and you will never need to defend yourself.’

‘I have a need and well you know it.’ Her glare implies that my suggestion is preposterous. ‘I had the need in the past and I will have it in future.’

‘Then you allow your life to be ruled by fear. Give evil nothing to oppose and it will disappear all by itself.’

‘Anik Bodi and his Sangdil are not going to simply disappear.’

If my prediction is correct, she is wrong about that.

She nears, going down on one knee before me. ‘But one day they will fear me. On that day I will be safe and free.’

‘You are safe now.’ I point out. ‘You are free now. Kill Anik Bodi and you will become the twisted soul he now is, a slave to your own misdeeds. And quite probably you’ll be jailed and executed, who will that serve?’

‘Then so be it.’ The determination in her words and expression pain my heart.

The Sangdil wounded her deeply, but it is Limrani herself that has kept the wound open and has allowed the injury to fester and disease her soul.

‘You might be prepared to sit meditating on a mountain while the people of this land suffer, but I am not.’ The warrior withdraws to stand. ‘You have infinitely more skill with any weapon than I. You could defeat Anik Bodi without even raising a sweat! Just because you have been fortunate enough to avoid his wrath, doesn’t mean you should turn a blind eye to his insatiable ambition and cruelty.’

‘I have felt his venom many times.’ I never mention this, as I have no desire to antagonise those sleeping dragons.

Limrani gasps. ‘You never said.’ She comes to sit cross-legged in front of me, eager to delve into my shadowy past, as we had delved into hers.

It seems only fair that I share my experience with her, then perhaps she will better understand the way of my teaching.

‘Anik Bodi tore my family apart.’ I begin by filling my heart with compassion and love for my enemy, so as not to be affected by the recollection - a gentle stoke for my inner dragons to bring them to a calm awakening. ‘They took our menfolk, my father included, and killed those who opposed them. The proceeds of our livelihood were handed over to the state, and every month they sent my father and a large force of Sangdil to collect their spoils. If our family didn’t deliver as much as expected, my father was forced to beat us - the threat of a massacre ever hanging over his head. Father pushed us hard and we survived. For six long, horrible years this continued, until news came of my father’s death. It was never made clear whether he died of natural causes, by his own hand, or at the hands of others. The only thing that was clear was that the Sangdil had come for his eldest son ... me.’

Up to this point, the most terrifying day of my life was the day the Sangdil took my father. The deep trance state into which I retreated thereafter lasted four days. My mother was overjoyed when I returned to consciousness, but my younger twin, Bào resented how mother fussed over me, for it was clear to all that I had been touched by the divine ancestors. Through my association with Làoshi, I sprouted wisdom beyond my years and my mother recognised much of the terminology as being aligned to the philosophical tradition of our ancestral home. Mother believed I was Fangshi, as her grandfather had been. I learned how he had once produced works of great literary merit to adorn the shelves of the universities of the mighty northern empires of Sinà, and was highly prized for his prophetic skill. But the warring dynasties were more interested in the quest for immortality than spiritual enlightenment, unable to see that these quests were the same. The rival kings grew evermore dissolute and incapable of valuing virtue, so my grandfather packed up his family, his saplings, seed and silkworm, and travelled south beyond the borders of any established kingdom. Here, in the byway lands that lay between Sinà and the western empires of Maurya, Scythia and Macedonia, were a far more hospitable people, residing in self-governed and self-sufficient mandalas.

Fangshi in my ancestral tongue of the Sinàese meant ‘method, recipe, formula master’. The term encompassed all manner of highly trained technical specialists; the alchemist, immortalist, astrologer, diviner, geomancer, necromancer, doctor, monk, mystic, psychic, prophet, technologist, thaumaturge, wizard! Although Fangshi usually only specialise in one or two of these fields, they are all scholars who read, write, and leave records. These skills had passed down to my mother, for she was the accountant in our household, and although she conversed in many different dialects, she still wrote in the old tongue.

The Sangdil insisted Mother switch to the Shauraseni script of the Hindu’s - with which they were familiar - for her record-keeping purposes. With all nature and ancestor worship also forbidden, they hoped to repress the spirit and the culture of my people. However, I was quietly forging a new path of individual connection to the divine within that could be practised in silence, anywhere at any time, no ritual worship involved. This practice of coming into alignment with the Inter-dweller, I came to call the Way. For it was the way back to source, the way of nature, the way of mastery over the self and the mundane world. The Way had an inner and outer path to bring balance into being. I would sit and discourse on my revelations to the womenfolk as they worked, lifting their spirits and, as a side effect, heightening productivity. Other people from nearby villages got word of my awakening and came to hear me speak also. Even the village elders agreed that my knowledge was extraordinary and divine in nature. Unbeknownst to me, my mother began to transcribe some of my discourses, despite the fact that writing was forbidden beyond noting accounts and figures.

The day the Sangdil came for me, I was in the fields tending to the feeding of our flocks with my brother. My mother was more distraught than ever I had seen her as she ran towards us. ‘Your father is dead!’ She howled and fell to her knees, unable to stand the weight of her bereavement. ‘The Sangdil have come for his son.’

The shock of her words shot through my body, heating my core with such trepidation that I could no longer feel the morning chill. ‘How can this be? Làoshi said I would never be one of the Sangdil.’

‘And you never shall.’ Mother gathered her sensibilities and looked to my brother. ‘I am sending you, Bào, in your brother’s stead.’

‘What?’ His expression turned from mild delight to betrayal, and as his gaze shifted my way I saw pure hatred in his eyes. ‘He is the one they have come for.’

‘Your brother will never survive the Sangdil conditioning.’ Mother rose and grabbed hold of my brother to reason with him. ‘You are a warrior by nature, Bào, you are our best and only hope of survival.’ She appealed to his ego, but he saw right through her.

‘You just want to keep your precious little prophet safe!’ he recoiled from her. ‘You have always favoured him over me!’

‘No,’ she shook her head.

‘So good with words and advice.’ Bào eyed me over like an insect he meant to squash. ‘If you are so in tune with the spirits, then you go confront the Sangdil and save us all!’

‘Of course ... you are right.’ It was time for me to put my faith in source to the test. I put down my shepherd's staff and began my walk back towards our little village for perhaps the last time.

‘No, Tamous!’ Mother appealed to me and then my brother. ‘The villagers will not allow the Sangdil to take him without a fight.’ This was her true fear.

‘You encouraged this!’ Bào exploited her guilt.

‘I know!’ She sobbed. ‘But we all needed someone to believe in.’

‘You backed the wrong son!’ My brother said spitefully.

‘I love and believe in you both.’ My mother moved to come after me, but Bào overtook her.

‘Idiot!’ He grabbed hold of me, swung me around and punched me fair in the face. ‘You’ll get us all killed.’

I hit the ground, delirious.

‘Tamous,’ Mother was on her knees beside me, caressing my throbbing face as I observed my brother stride away to assume my place among the Sangdil.

No! I wanted to stop him, but my mind and body were not connecting.

‘Bào, my son, wait!’ She left me to pursue my raging brother.

‘You are my mother no longer!’ He turned about to roar. ‘From this day forward, I have no kin.’ He threw his staff away and walked on.

‘Your brother is Sangdil?’ Limrani’s mouth hangs open in shock.

‘Anik Bodi’s right-hand.’ I feel the discontent of my inner dragons as long dormant recollections fill my heart with pain. ‘He killed our mother for recording my insights, and attacked our village when no one would disclose my whereabouts. These acts earned Bào his dubious honour.’

In meditation I have seen my mother, smiling at me, telling me that I did the right thing. I have asked the Inter-dweller many times whether this is her generous spirit assuring me from beyond the grave, or my wishful imagination attempting to ease my guilt? Làoshi would say, it is all an illusion of my own creation. These days I have learned to accept all as it is, knowing it is not for me to judge the will of creation. In my soul I feel that my mother is in a happier place now, and that knowingness brings me peace.

‘You have as much reason to hate the Sangdil as I do. How can you be so complacent? Why have you not sought justice?’

‘It is as it is. I follow the way. When creation wills that I confront the Sangdil, they will cross my path.’

‘Out here in the wilderness? Not likely.’ She doesn’t have to call me a coward, the accusation is conveyed in her expression.

Her opinion is of no bother to me; I am no longer moved by the views of those who do not understand the oneness of all things. ‘I have foreseen the event.’

‘When?’ She is so eager to confront the Sangdil.

‘I have told you, when-’

‘Creation wills it!’ She finishes my sentence, her dissatisfaction with the answer made plain by her abrupt response.

I smile. ‘Today we focus on breath. The one constant that remains with us all through this illusion we call life. In stressful situations, it is the breath that changes. Learn to control it and you…’ Over my student’s shoulder, I spy an entity.

At first glance, I believe it is a ghost, as I can see the woodland right through him, and yet he does not lack colour. A bolt of shock permeates through my being as I recognise the fair young man from my vision this morning. He is dressed very strangely, with all manner of oddity upon his person.

‘Monk?’ Limrani queries as I rise up and move past her.

‘Who are you?’ I ask, and the mysterious visitor is astonished.

You should not be able to see me. He backs away, fearful of my advance.

I halt, not wishing to alarm him into departing. ‘I see you quite clearly, and understand you very well.’ Just as in my vision, his mouth does not move when he speaks; he converses directly with my mind.

‘Who are you talking to?’ Limrani pursues me, curious about the breach in her lesson.

She cannot see me. The visitor seems relieved to observe.

‘You cannot see him?’ I look at my student.

She looks to the place of my distraction, eyes glazed in nil recognition. ‘Are you toying with me? There is no one else here.’

I look back to the visitor to find he has fled, foliage swaying in the wake of his swift departure.

‘I stand corrected.’ Limrani draws her weapon and pursues the anomaly through the woodland.

I follow, confident that if the entity can be trapped. Limrani willsee to it.

I join my student at the mouth of a large cave that has served as a shelter during many a wet season.

Limrani stands poised, sword raised and ready to strike, her eyes darting from one side of the cave opening to the other. ‘The spirit is in here somewhere.’ She states confidently, indicating the low lying foliage across the entrance that would be disturbed if the entity tried to backtrack past her. ‘Can you see it?’

‘No. He must be further within.’ The gap in the rock narrows into a natural corridor, then widens into a large inner cavern. I lead her through the crevice.

Our target is inside. He notes our entry, but is preoccupied inspecting the cave wall. This place is known to us. Why haven’t you written your teachings upon the walls here?’

‘My teachings have a way of getting people killed.’

‘Very encouraging.’ Limrani trails me, unsure as to whether I am addressing her, the spirit, or Làoshi.

‘When written down,’ I clarify for all those listening.

‘I cannot write or read.’ My student is happy to be ignorant and immune.

You don’t understand. The teaching that led me here, is not here! So how then can I be here?

I stare back at the fair lad blankly, at a loss for a response.

The piece you carved into this wall. He motions to the smooth stone rock face next to him. You know …. why man and woman? Why a dualistic universe, blah, blah, blah… He scours the wall with a strange glowing stick, as if expecting words to suddenly appear - what a curious being he is.

The visitor exhibits such distress that I endeavour to impart my understanding. ‘I imagine the dualism of man and woman, or any being apart from the self, is the opportunity to love that which is not the self.’

Yes! He clicks his fingers at me. That was part of it.

‘You see him?’ Limrani assumes.

I nod, my attention fixed on the ghostly figure. ‘He believes that one of my teachings should be recorded upon this wall. But I think who he is, and why he is here is a more pressing concern.’

He ceases his fruitless inspection of the wall and turns his attention fully my way. I am Herodotus, a Seeker sent to find you, as your teachings are pivotal to future generations.

My shadow-side is flattered, yet easily bypassed by curiosity. ‘Is this prophecy, or are you implying that you hail from a future time?’ This would explain his mysterious attire, appearance, and tools.

‘Are you crazy, monk?’ Limrani lowers her weapon. ’Or is this a test to gauge how gullible I am?’

Master Tamous, you have to believe me. The visitor is too impatient to allow me to indulge my student’s insecurities. If you don’t write that piece on duality on the wall here and now, we’ll never know you were here, or about the prophecy.

‘The prophecy that you relayed to me during my merge with Làoshi this morning?’

I did? Herodotus frowns. Who … is Làoshi?

I am stunned he does not know. ‘The Inter-dweller who binds all of us together.’

‘So you keep saying.’ Limrani is sceptical of all aspects of the inner path, including our spirit guide.

The visitor is baffled, and now it is he who stares at me blankly. So you know your brother is coming for you? You predicted this event unfolding on the same day that the leader of the Mauryan Empire kneels before a holy man.

‘Ashoka kneels.’ I nod, as this confirms the premonition I had earlier.

Herodotus moves closer to assure me. Ashoka seeks spiritual redemption for all the killing done in his name … his conversion is a well-documented event that has been accurately dated in my time.

‘What do you mean Ashoka kneels? Before whom?’ Limrani’s interest is struck in the conversation that - it must appear - I am having with no one. She moves around in front of me to collide with Herodotus and, startling each other, they both back up a few paces. ‘Your ghost has mass.’ Limrani’s weapon is on guard again.

Please tell her that I mean neither of you harm. Herodotus holds up his hands in truce. In order to be in resonance with your three-dimensional world, my form needs to be of the same vibrational frequency. Thus I can be physically harmed, so I’d really appreciate it if your novice would cease swinging that huge, razor sharp shard of metal about.

I motion with my hand for Limrani to back down. ‘You will not need the sword, we are in no danger.’

Limrani replaces the weapon in its sheath, frowning all the while.

Thank you. Herodotus relaxes.

‘So, my friend, I feel quite sure that you’ve not come all the way from the future just to warn me that my brother is coming for me today.’

‘Today!’ Limrani is horrified and appeased in equal measure. ‘He will not take you. We can fight him together.’

She must not be here when the Sangdil arrive. Herodotus warns. Your student is the channel for your legacy.

I look back to Limrani, so suddenly that I