Four nights after my first son’s birth, I had two lucid dreams or journeys. The first was about a glorious life filled with love, honor, compassion and cooperation. The second was about massive, violent death. This version was edited in 2001 These journeys brought a new perspective. They brought me to an understanding of the nature of existence, which, I knew then, must be guarded and shared carefully. Prominent in these dreams was a beautiful petite woman with dark skin, strong in stature, and wise for her years. She was a Seer for seven tribes. I had subsequent dreams about her tribe and the six other tribes. At times I viewed her in the dreams as apart from me, but for brief moments I was able to sense her emotions and physical sensations as though they were my own. Her name was Rhombi. When I sought understanding of these journeys/ dreams late in the following year, 1989, I went to a spiritual woman, Diane, whose reputation was stellar for her vision accuracy of current life issues that were steeped in past relationship residues. I had no idea whether Diane could help me find out who this dreamt woman represented, whether she existed at all, even though I fully believed she did, and where her planet orbited. I had thought for quite a few months, while in England, that Rhombi’s world existed in another dimension only. Diane surprised me by first saying that I was this woman... that I had a multi-colored aura, having a peacock feather patina... and that these journeys were to a time and place long forgotten. I am certain Rhombi is somebody else. Most importantly though was this message to me from Rhombi: This is not a gift to you... you have earned it.

1. Genesis Dream
Four nights after my first son's birth, I had a dream about massive, violent death:
VISIT I
I was living on a remote island that felt similar to eastern Africa. A protective energy shield seemed to radiate
around all the people of my peaceful tribe. We tended a strange and beautiful creature, like a Llama with horns, but
charged with the mystical spirit of a unicorn. These beasts were valued by our tribe for their fur, for the milk they
gave and for their horns which shed yearly. Horns were used for making tools, musical instruments and pipes for
herbal smoke. "Caught" horns were used for shamanic journeying and other rituals, and with small needles in
healings.
The most peculiar product of this beast was its tears. Once harvested, the tears were used as medicine for
many ailments; were combined with herbs and plant juices as an elixir for youth and strength; and when combined
with plant oils, as a lotion for these small, brown, beautiful people.
It was early morning on the island. It appeared that all the tribal men and women were bustling about,
carrying out their shared tasks intently. One man, very close to me, mentioned that he would take Masa, one of the
lead beasts and his favorite, and was ready to begin the journey. Another young man, either my brother or son, sat
nearby engaging a small group of children in putting the final touches on a musical instrument carved from bone. A
woman and her girl-child rolled up woven reed cloths with special food for the occassion. Everything being done today
was for an annual journey.
As we began herding the docile beasts carefully up the mountain I noticed an overwhelming sense of joy
exuding from all, human and animal alike. After reaching the plateau, the ceremonies began. At midnight, by the
light of the moon on the eleventh day, the tear harvest commenced: the beasts' tears were collected into small flasks by
women and their students, then gathered by others. Many nights later the ceremony was given to thank the beasts for
this harvest.
The people were patient in fulfilling their duties, always mindful of the beasts' well-being. The horns would
soon fall, but their magical properties dissipated at the touch of hand prior to their shedding. If an attentive or intuitive
member caught a shed horn prior to its fall to the earth, much laughter and glee emitted from others working nearby,
for the harvesting of these "caught" horns was considered a sign of very good will from the Goddess. Awkward
leaping methods employed by the catchers sent other tribe members into a frenzy of animation and gut-splitting
laughter. Witnessing these sporadic, festive "catchings" across the entire plateau was music to my soul.
While some people gathered and sorted the horns, others combed the beasts, gathering the tawny fur speckled
with gold and silver strands into their wraps. The beasts were delighted by this ritual, lighter for the giving and
afterwards jumped playfully about.
During thanks-giving at moon's end, the catchers were honored to parade through the tribe so the children
could touch them, while the singers, pipers and drummers played the heart rhythm of the tribe. Through the
fingertips, it was believed, the Goddess' great energy that was bestowed upon the catchers could be shared and, thus,
multiplied. And since the elderly had also climbed up the mountain yet another year, they considered themselves
worthy to be called children, still. EVERY finger of everyone on the plateau touched the catchers.
Music from the lips of our singers and fingers of our drummers married in the autumn air above and around
us all, swirling the tribe's heart-pulse in spirals that reached the proper stars. This music was sung through the body,
not from it. It came up through our feet and traveled into the galaxy, touching the hopes and hearts of all that could
hear and feel it. We were ever grateful to be alive, just then.
VISIT II
Everything had changed. The tribe was gone. The island itself had been assaulted. Nothing grew. The beasts
had been shaved, their horns were cropped to within half an inch of their heads. They had been beaten and stampeded,
many had fallen and were being butchered on the spot. The fury within me welled to unfathomable proportions at my
inability to stop this slaughter. An army of men in drab clothing zealously herded the remaining beasts onto waiting
cargo ships. The beasts were nothing but shells, for with their tears drained their souls.

2. The value of their tears diminished until they became as poison--staining the skin black below their eyes. As
they wept, they made no sound of their own. Their mourning and desperation was instead manifested in all other life
forms that witnessed their imminent transport.
A barely perceptible stir occurred as the ghostly ships left the island. Though intending the beasts for trade,
some of the men grew faint at heart in fulfilling the beasts' fated doom. The imminent slaughter was spoken through
the vigorous swimming of the fish alongside the ships, in the undulating blackness of birds hovering above and in the
distance, thick weeping of the primates. And in the ships' wakes the dolphins were screaming. "Was the sea more
fierce today?" the men wondered.
When the ships reached the harbor of the mainland, the hum of horror crept slowly under the traders' skin,
festering there by stares from the inland people, from the gathering blackness in the clouds above and the incessant
whistling of the wind. With a hurricane's force, word was carried to the fenced stock. Beasts of burden, sheep and
goats burst through the barriers, trampling and scattering wares in every direction--an explosion of chaos as the
energy spread. That energy vibrated through the tiniest of insects, birds, animals and the inland people. It oozed from
every cell. Like drops of lava it burned into the traders' conscience.
The low vibration became a chant, roaring in my ears. As though in doubt, I denied its meaning. I began to
search for the vortex. In the sky, the branches swaying directed me onward, then a bird flying quickly through forest,
tunnels and darkness with mist and clouds swirling. Then a passage through brush and fog and suddenly, I stood in a
clearing of soft, lush, green grass swaying in occasional beams of sunlight. Out of nowhere a door appeared.
The vibrations stopped. The door opened. Down a dimly lit corridor I walked hesitantly until at the threshold
of an awesome columnar room. In the center, suspended from beyond the clouds and shining deep into the earth, were
thousands of gold, silver and leather strands. Loops of carved wood hung from some of these, and all swayed gently
around a beam of yellow-white light.
I puzzled over the familiarity of the humming sounds which emanated from the light. It resonated through
the fibers as the volume increased. With intense curiosity I walked around this temple of light, listening for meaning
in the chant. Louder and louder it rang in my body, while the swaying of the strands became thrashing, much like
trees in a violent storm as you watch from below.
Instantly, I found myself in the center of light. The chant was deafening. The temple had become a tower of
whirling fury until...I began to feel the meaning, I began to remember. I became a tiny resonating fiber in one of the
strands. The chant became my breath which welled up from the core of my being and struck the tine of memory from
centuries ago...and I knew them again.
It was the collective spirit of the missing tribe. They'd been massacred for their piety, for their belief that
there was no separation between themselves and God/Goddess; that they were co-creators with the One and that every
thing, plant, animal, rock and the very air they breathed was God. Their spirits were reborn in their familiars (the
beasts on the island) in order to transmute the knowledge of that existence back to the One.
The chant became a trickle of light that crept through obstructions in my body, through an eternity of apathy
and ambivalence, until it lodged in my throat. My consciousness, a tangled, gnarled mass of barbed wire straining
against the force of history, would not allow this energy to move. I began to resonate violently in the gold, silver,
leather and wood as it swirled furiously, faster and faster, louder and louder until the parasystolic map carved through
my body, mind and soul, through the history of all that I ever was, crystallizing instantly with my fear of letting go the
old.
Then, one liquid tone...at the eye of my throat, sang through a cell wall and continued, one by one,
dismantling these walls. And as the throng of voices rose up through my throat, the dissected parts of my
consciousness fell away to reveal the exponentially expanding awareness of it ALL. All darkness and fury, pain and
hatred; all love and beauty, innocence and light; ALL language of tongue and without chanted its memory through
me.
The chant became my own words. At first just a whisper, "my house" and again, recognition, "is your
house"...of spinning in the vibration and light as I struggled for a separate self, but the whispers became strong voices,
"my house" in every language, "is your house" speaking through me...this energy is mine, not just the tribe I knew, or
the beasts or other lives I've lived...they're coming through from all points of earth and beyond, "MY HOUSE"...this is
home, my earth "IS YOUR HOUSE" screaming through me, "MY HOUSE IS YOUR HOUSE...MY HOUSE IS
YOUR HOUSE...MY HOUSE IS YOUR HOUSE!!!"