shadowsatlantis

[shadowsatlantis]

Dreaming up Atlantis- Chapter 3 Evil Imitating Life

When I finally reunited with my dad after years of grudge holding on my part, we had a talk about religion. My dad has been a religious studies teacher for many years as I write this in my 40’s. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. He always cared about my spiritual health, so he asked me about my lack of Catholicism. We discussed Atlantis, and he listened patiently to the tales of my theological adventures. I handed him a crystal and described crystal science. He was into Edgar Cayce and Sci Fi, so he had a broad imagination.

I was raised as a proper nerd with Dungeons and Dragons, war games, Star Trek, Star Wars as a ritual, and Atari, among my land of Barbie Dolls and Breyer horses. My dolls were a family band who were always on tour, which explained why they left their mansion (at my dad’s) and went on regular trips to their latest gigs (my mom’s.) At this point in my life, as a teenager, though my dolls were in my dad’s basement in DC turning green with mold, they had embarked on a permanent tour.

After dad and I got done with our philosophical discussion of the soul, he said I had described the laws of quantum physics. He sent me back to Colorado with a book called “Coming of Age in the Milky Way.” I studied Relativity, and other scientific principles after that. It may have been his way of gently nudging me toward science as a career, like my maternal grandfather. Tricky fella. Grandpa Powers was a man of scientific renown, and I could have been like him. In fact, science was second nature for me. I excelled in Chemistry. But really, I was still just a dreamer. And my parents were both starting to learn that I would take my own path no matter what they said.

Despite their subtle objections, I decided to get married when I was 22. It was a huge mistake. All my high school friends were doing it, even having babies. My family always assumed I would go to college, though, so I escaped that baby trap. I got married and moved to a house with the guy somewhere in Southern Colorado. His mom bought the house for us. He had charm and charisma and he was funny and quick witted. He grew weed. I had birds and dogs and outdoor cats from whom I learned the art of unconditional love. The guy changed the moment all the guests walked out of our wedding. I wanted to revel in the amazing fact that we were married, but he pushed me away and went to bed. He spent the next two years trying every sociopathic trick in the book to get me to change who I was. He hated everything that brought me happiness. He alienated me from my family and friends and destroyed my delicate relationship with my dad. I would be happy for a few days, and he would find a way to dismantle it. He’d sit me down and have to have a “talk.” My heart would sink as he would berate me with all the things I had done wrong that greatly hurt him. I had nothing but love for him, and to know that my very existence was his bane would crush me. Oftentimes I would end up huddled in a bawling mass in the darkness of the closet.

I had a little bird. He was a lovebird I named Coco. When he was a baby, he almost starved to death, so I had to keep him in an incubator and hand feed him. He and I bonded so deeply, it felt like he grew into my soul. He would ride around in my shirt, and no one knew I had a bird, unless he poked his head out underneath my chin. He died one day in an accident. Losing him was one of the greatest heartbreaks of my life. I still had my dog Shawnya. She was my only comfort. But once Coco was gone, I realized he was my only source of joy. He was the one who had kept me in my marriage. Without him, I was no longer happy.

One day, the husband decided to try a new manipulation tactic. I would work nights. He would stay up and wait for me to come home, then grunt and go to sleep. He wasn’t my husband, he was my jailor. I started to write. I’d journal for hours writing down all the horrible things he’d done to me, and how much I hated him. The story I had created about Brigitte so many years before became the story of my marriage. The king she married became the asshole I married. It was my creative catharsis. The fire in my soul had been almost completely extinguished. I was almost empty. Our marriage was built on a faulty foundation. It was a crumbling pillar of salt that I had begun to pour water on.

One day I didn’t come home. I stayed out with my boss and went home with him. I was done with my marriage, and the easiest way to be done was to do the one thing that scared him the most. I cheated on him.

When I got back, he was frantic. He had called the cops. He grilled me for hours about what I had done until I admitted I was with another guy. He freaked out. I picked up everything that wasn’t nailed down and threw it at him. I screamed and yelled about how much I hated him. We signed the divorce papers a few days later, and I moved back home to Fort Collins. He tried to pursue me. He tried to reach out to my family and get them to hate me. My family told him to fuck off. He was a sociopath. I learned that in my divorce therapy. In hind sight, now I see he did me a huge favor by giving me a literal crash course in all the head games sociopaths employ to manipulate people. Thanks, asshole. Sociopaths are naturally attracted to empaths. That’s, of course, what I am. Since then I have taken note of the fact that almost every guy who has ever pursued me has been a slick, quick witted sociopathic Cassanova-type. Yawn.

I have always known how to spot their tactics. It’s so ingrained in me, that it’s an intuitive understanding. Try Googling “sociopathic manipulation,” and see what comes up. Chances are you have experienced it once or twice. And if you’re an empath, many more times than that. It astounds me that they can be totally isolated from one another, and use the exact same methods to hurt people. They may even just have sociopathic tendencies, and not be a full-blown sociopath. They don’t even know it most of the time. It leads me to believe that it’s a psychological disease with very distinct symptoms. It’s the disease of evil. As for college, I did what I thought was the sensible thing. I wanted to study music and film, of course, but I chose instead to do what I wasn’t natural at. I chose business admin. I took a lot of history courses. Not because I loved the huge reading assignments they gave us, but because I was always fascinated with history. When I read, I absorb the words. I don’t skim. I memorize. So it takes me longer. I wasn’t all that cut out for history unless I wanted to spend all my time reading. I was better suited to make an independent study out of it, just like I always did. School rarely gave me the knowledge I was seeking. As such, I found myself again falling through the cracks.

One of my courses was the history of Latin America. I wanted to know more about the pyramids. By then I had already discovered the similarities between the many ancient pyramids of the world. My teacher one day announced that we would have a guest speaker. His name was David Hatcher Childress. He was a modern day maverick archaeologist who had written books about the anomalies of the ancient world. He spoke of Atlantis and Lemuria. Again, the knowledge of Atlantis seemed to be in hot pursuit of me.

My business focus was tourism and resort management. I was always obsessed with Walt Disney. I was sure I was Walt in my past life. I wanted to have a Disney career, and eventually start my own entertainment empire. I had invented this concept many years prior when I was working on a golf course as a beer cart girl. I redesigned the golf course, imagining how I would turn it into a resort of my making. I was putting out a newsletter, which I sent faithfully to all my aunts. I called it the Devas Center. There, one would be able to experience an immersive lifestyle and learn to become one with nature. I had my head in the clouds.

When I left my marriage, I also left college. I realized that building a career in resort management could be done so with practical application. So I started working in resorts. It’s a fitting lifestyle for me because I could work seasonally, and move when the seasons were over. So much for the accepted life path formula.

I was 24. Divorced, and living in my truck in my mom’s yard with my dog. I was truly free for the first time in my life. I drove to the top of the Continental Divide and declared my independence. I would choose to be free for the rest of my life. And thus, my real adventure began…

Mara Powers is author to the critically acclaimed visionary fantasy series: Shadows of Atlantis. www.shadowsofatlantis.com

[shadowsatlantis]

Dreaming up Atlantis- Chapter 2 Through the Portal

If you think New Age and occult philosophy is all mumbo jumbo, perhaps you should pretend to adopt my attitude about it for a few moments. Whether it’s true or not, it’s at least fascinating. Finding these subjects renewed my life and gave me hope that something colorful and interesting exists. It made me believe in magic. For someone like me who has always searched for a doorway to another realm, this became my new focus in life.  

When I was 14, there was a dream I had that I still remember. The color was cobalt blue. We were in an arctic world. I was trapped in a dungeon with a bunch of zombies. The doors would open at certain times and all the zombies would file out to a large arena. All were chained and entranced except for me. The stadium would fill up with zombies, and priests would show up and torture everyone. The top of the stadium was lined with priests who absorbed the pain and anguish of the prisoners and send it to one power source, an evil magician. He grew more powerful. I found a way to escape, and ended up confronting the magician, who had turned into a demonic monster. I had a projectile weapon, and I struck the beast between the eyes. (Yes, I was playing a lot of D&D at the time. I must have rolled a 20.)

Upon waking, I knew that humans were stuck in a similar prison. The world was backwards. Everyone is a dreamer. But we all learn that dreams are impossible, even though our modern mythology encourages us to keep our dreams alive. I knew something was behind it all. And it was evil. So the question became prevalent in my mind… Why does evil exist?

After the zombie dream, I started to write a new story. I didn’t know it for many years, but it would eventually become the skeleton of my Magnum Opus. That means “life work” for all you non-latin-ites. It was a story that originally set out to recreate the dream. There was a character in it named Brigitte. She was betrothed to the king of a great land. Their marriage was an alliance of those who dwelled with nature, and those who dwelled in the city. They battled a great evil that had enslaved the conquered, and amassed magical power from the pain and anguish caused by their oppression. This story stayed with me always, a stack of papers that came on all my adventures.

It was during my research of reincarnation when I stumbled across the works of Edgar Cayce. He was a channeler who became well known in the 1930’s. In a trance state, he accessed the Akashic Records, a 4th dimensional library of all human knowledge. Great concept. Thus, he was called the Sleeping Prophet. In these Akashic trances, he gave past life readings to his clients. “Edgar Cayce on Atlantis” was a record of past life readings that took place in an unrecorded period of human history. He described a highly advanced civilization that lasted for thousands of years, and came to an abrupt end around 11,900bc. I became stuck on this concept.

The basic story is that Atlantis reached a level of hubris in their advancement. Their technology was based on nature, and their misuse of it became a threat to the world, so the elements rose up and destroyed it, sending a tidal wave to swallow it entirely into the ocean. It has since been reduced to conjecture and myth, even considered fiction.

What Edgar said was that America was living out the karma of Atlantis. I often think about us in the future reduced to ruins. When I was about 10, I wrote a short story about the distant future when America is only ruins, and all that is left is a myth. We think we’re so important, so powerful, and yet in geological time, we are a speck of dust. We are nothing but a blink of an eye in the span of time. As a teenager, I already had come to a conclusion... Humans are primitive creatures who have continually misused our abundance of resources, and treated one another like shit.

But I digress.  

My discovery of Atlantis was only the beginning of my magical journey. A few years later, at 17, I hadn’t spoken to my dad in a long time. I was angry when he sent me to Colorado, and I had inherited from the women in my family, the ability to hold epic grudges. I guess it’s our Italian heritage. One day I wanted to buy the Edgar Cayce book for a collection I was building. I showed it to my mom. A memory surfaced in her eyes. She said that before I was born, before my parents were married, my dad used to listen to a book on tape over and over. He was obsessed with it. He had gatherings where he discussed the book with friends. The book was “Edgar Cayce on Atlantis.” That book then became the vehicle of healing that has kept my dad and I close for the rest of my life.  

I was 15 years old in 1987. That was the year of the Harmonic Convergence. I started my research that year. It was the year I discovered Atlantis. The Harmonic Convergence marked the first time groups around the world coordinated a global meditation for world peace. There was an alignment of planets that also coincided with the Mayan Calendar. That was the beginning of a 25-year period meant to strip down a paradigm built in the previous cycle named after 9 hells, or something like that. If you do the math, the ending of that global “portal” would be in 2012. Little kid me, who used to lay in my bed imagining, always wondered what I would be like in 2012. I got to thinking, perhaps this period of the 9 hells, which basically started when the white men came to the Americas, was why we were stuck in this bass ackwards, evil paradigm.    

I found some other interesting factoids that solidified why I related with it all. I was born on March 20, 1972. That is the spring equinox. My zodiac chart falls on 0 degrees Aries, which puts my birth on the first moment of the zodiac. It’s called the cusp of rebirth. And that is the very cusp we as a species are supposed to be on together in this age. I now had a job. I was part of a great influx of souls who had come to help disassemble the previous age, and prepare the world to enter into a new era of global peace after 2012. I was now an emissary of the planet Earth.  

The fire in the soul burns at the equation of incremental incredulity. It searches for the muse. It reaches for understanding. One can try and grasp the path laid out before us by the established perimeters, or we can choose to pay the price and reach for the path of destiny. What life lays out before us is a choice. Will you choose to follow the life formula? Or make up your own path? Like all heroes’ journeys, I had to go through the steps. I was still a teenager with a penchant for depression and anger, and I was still living in the paradigm of the 9 hells. There needed to be a shift. I was standing at the bottom of a very large mountain, and there was no obvious way up it. I had received a call to adventure, and yet I still had no confidence. I first had to run a gauntlet that would prepare me for my quest to find the answer to that one burning question. Why does evil exist? But in order to know the answer, I first had to truly understand exactly what evil was…    

Mara Powers is author to the critically acclaimed visionary fantasy series: Shadows of Atlantis. www.shadowsofatlantis.com

[shadowsatlantis]

Dreaming up Atlantis - Chapter 1 God Save the Dreamers

What do you want to be when you grow up? The question is asked to every kid. The answer is supposed to be whimsical. I thought that was the point. How can a small child plan for their future when they are still ruled by imagination? That’s what I think now. But back then I was always jarred by the inevitable, “Oh you can’t be a singer without a way to make money.” To be an artist means you will be starving. That was my programming. I have a rebellious nature, so I grew up determined to be ok with being starving. I got off on the wrong foot.

I would always shoot for the moon, but I was keenly aware of the limitations. I couldn’t fly. I didn’t have a space ship. Not to mention, the moon was in space where I couldn’t survive even if I could somehow miraculously escape the atmosphere. But I never stopped believing. Underneath my sad awareness of impossibility, I somehow managed to bumble through being a dreamer. I’m not usually the one to sit and tell stories. I’m usually the one listening. Unless there’s banter to be had, and then I’m all talk. I thrive on small talk and silly quipping. I can’t say as though a good intellectual discussion is out of the question, but when someone goes off talking about their thoughts all the time without room for the volley, I get bored pretty fast. It’s one thing to have something to share. It’s another to have a discussion about it.

Because of this, I don’t talk about my past much. If what I have to say can’t be said in a minute or less, I don’t bother. When people sit and force me to listen to their long winded stories for 15 minutes, inside my mind, I’m screaming, “Are you ever going to stop talking?” The value of telling our stories should be reserved for writing. And so, for all those who have forced me to sit and listen to their constant babble, here is my life story.

I grew up in Los Angeles. It was back in the days where we had high pollution, and couldn’t breathe. My school was full of mean kids who liked to prey on sensitive kids. If you reacted, they would continue their abuse. I reacted, so I was in the pantheon of the teased. I spent my days wishing I was someone else, making up stories in my head. My bubble was safe. My imagination, impenetrable. The school was called Holy Trinity. But I called it Holy Tragedy. The church bells would ring, and I would listen to the music. The sun would shine into the window, and I would watch the dust floating in the air. I was the kid who would sit for hours playing with my little “people” who lived in the perfect worlds I would create for them. I was a god.

One day we had a creative writing assignment. It was an essay on the family pet. I had a goldfish. So I had the brilliant idea of writing from its POV. My way of personifying a fish’s life was unique and funny. The teacher read it out loud to the class. Everyone laughed and cheered. And when it came time to reveal the mystery author, the class gasped in awe that it was me, that weird, dirty kid with divorced parents and a cool older brother who played on the flag football team. From then on, somehow I started building up a rapport with the kids I had grown to despise. One of the “popular” boys who sat behind me in class kept asking me what I was writing in my journal. I would lean in and cover it so he wouldn’t be able to see it. I didn’t trust him. But eventually he pestered me enough that I told him I was writing a fantasy book. We were in the 5th grade. He was impressed, and from then on he started defending me, and telling everyone I was an author.

That was when my dad was transferred to Washington, DC, and we moved away from L.A. So much for finally being accepted. Dad was in the Airforce, but we never lived on a base. He was in the aerospace field, working on Titan missiles. Apparently, he was a minuteman in Montana when I was born. I must have been about 4 when my parents split up. Half the week was spent at one place, and half at the other. To me I just had parents who lived in different houses between San Pedro and Long Beach, the harbor area of Los Angeles. My brother and I were tricksters. My mom would get out the wooden spoon to “punish” us, and we would leap around out of her reach, taunting and saying “oooooo the wooden spooooon.” Even though it was a broken situation, I liked my two homes. But when that DC job at the Pentagon arrived, our fragile existence was blown to bits.

My dad had gotten remarried, and my little brother came into the world. My mom took the opportunity to move to Colorado, where she had always wanted to be. It was 1984, the year the Olympics were in Los Angeles. Having to start over as a 12-year old who had finally earned acceptance with my peers was a contributing factor to my continued psychosis. Teenagers are fragile creatures. It is a time of developing hormones, and deciding how we fit into the world. My stepmother and I never got along from day one. She was a hard-headed woman, and I was a troubled kid turning misguided teen. It was a bad mix. While home became the clash of the titans, I had no choice but to make the best of school life.

I spent the first year watching the way kids did things in public middle school. I wore my brother’s heavy metal shirts, even though I didn’t like the music. I had been in a Catholic private school before with a uniform, so I never knew how to dress to impress. When I came back the next year, I had been to see my mom, and visited my fabulous granny in Austin, Texas. I got a makeover. The women in my life were determined to help me fit in.

I had new clothes, makeup, and a new attitude. I was popular for the first time, even considered pretty for the first time. I participated in the weird games that teenagers play with each other. I needed to fit in. I changed my very nature to become popular. I was even mean. Sometimes ruthless. It was my way of lashing back at the world for being so cruel. I became even more cruel. More manipulative. Me as a villain was a very bad thing, because I found I was better than everyone else at it.

One day, one of the girls I knew said I would make a cute couple with the most popular boy in school. I watched him for a while and calculated my conquest. Then I made my move. It was entirely strategic. I did it just for the challenge. But what I discovered was love. We actually did make a cute couple. And he was nice. And he genuinely liked me. So we had a semester of perfect love. It brought out the real me.

When summer hit, my parents decided I would move to Colorado to live with my mom. The conflict at home was just too much to bear. I denied it at first, preferring to believe my version of the story. I wrote to my boyfriend, saying I would be back, and we would start high school together. But when summer was over, my belongings showed up in a box, and I was now a Coloradoan. I grew up with a broken heart. But that was my first real heart break.

At first I tried my technique of changing who I was, and being ruthless. But the wind was gone from my sails. I no longer cared what people thought of me. I started to drink. I was now a party girl. My older brother was always good at making friends. He was a musician. His buddies became my buddies. I was the one sister who was part of their crew. I dressed how I wanted, did what I wanted, talked to people I thought were interesting. I auditioned for the top choir at school and made it, so choir became my life. Every year I went to high school, everyone thought I was a senior. I had lockers in the senior hall. We had an open campus, so I would leave school with my friends and smoke weed. I would empty out half a bottle of juice and fill it with vodka.

My mom was an international journalist, so she would travel. My brother and I would stay at home alone. Naturally, we had giant keg parties. We got in trouble a few times, but ultimately, our teenaged years were the essence of freedom. Everyone looked up to us. My brother’s band would play at the house, and people drove by every weekend to see if our little “underground venue” was popping. 6 times out of 10 it would be.

My brother moved out before the end of high school. His buddies had a big house in downtown Fort Collins on Mason Street across from Avogadro’s Number. Much to my mom’s relief, that became the place to party instead of our place. The train went down the street. We would put pennies on the tracks and find them flattened later. We played music. Dungeons and Dragons. And we drank. I suppose they did harder drugs. That was just what happened in that town. We owned Fort Collins. Every street belonged to us.

I fell in love with my brother’s best friend. He was a genius. He would serenade me with classical guitar. He was incredibly hot. The manager of Avogrado’s. I was in high school still. At first he was cautious about his best friend’s sister, but over the years, he had to submit to our chemistry. I would leave school and crawl into his window. We laughed a lot. But he liked drugs. He would disappear for days with his lesbian drug dealer, and show up again without an explanation. I would be upset, but he would fall back into my good graces immediately with his charm and good looks.

When my senior prom came around, I arranged a beautiful pink princess dress. He backed out. I tried to go with some other older guy I had met, but decided I wasn’t inspired. I didn’t attend my prom. I got drunk instead. I knew he was depriving me of an important American rite of passage. I decided it didn’t apply to me anyway. I cut up the princess dress into a mini skirt with a tank top, and rocked it at a concert instead.

I was in love with my genius, high school sweetheart, and he had decided not to be my prince. We stayed together for 3 years. That’s a long time in my world. Eventually my brother lashed out at him. He was mad that his “best” friend treated his sister like shit. Somehow years went by, and the genius never really understood why my brother betrayed him. So much for the awareness of dudes. I graduated in 1990, and joined a band called Perspectives. That was to be my future. It lasted for a while until they all decided to kick me out. I was kind of a slut. Guys don’t like it when a girl sleeps around in a group. Lame. My future was in ruins. I got my first place. A nice one bedroom apartment at Horsetooth Reservoir above Fort Collins. I had a dog named Shawnya. She was the love of my life, a beautiful Australian Shepard/pointer mix. She stayed with me through thick and thin, always my emotional support.

She got hit by a car once and fractured her pelvis. I brought her into the vet. They said they needed to operate and cut off the ball of her femur in order to get the pelvis back into place. But when they went into the surgery, they had cut at the wrong angle. They closed her back up and sent her home, scheduling another surgery date. They didn’t give me pain killers for her. They wanted to discourage her from walking on it. For weeks, her leg dangled lifeless as she hobbled on three legs. Otherwise she would lie in the bed and cry.

I spent hours holding a heating pad on her hip. I imagined light coming out of my hands. I had read about light healing. This was my first experience with it. When I brought her back in, she was limping on her leg. They said that shouldn’t have been possible. They took an x-ray and were amazed. They brought in specialists. The bone had grown back into its socket. They didn’t need to operate after all. It was a miracle.

I went in and out of depression. I was a miserable child turned angry teenager. But I had a hunger for knowledge. I was raised with religion. But the church didn’t practice what it preached. In Catholic school the kids were cruel to me, and the teachers never did anything about it. I would cry, and they would ignore me. I would have my revenge. When I was confirmed, and my adulthood in the church consecrated, I announced that was I was no longer Catholic. I prayed every night like I was supposed to. But more often than not, I would end up meditating. I would leave my body and travel through the cosmos. I would contemplate death for hours. I would wonder where the universe ended. I would try and remember where I was before I was born. I would reach out across the world and feel people on the other side of the planet.

I always believed in God. But I couldn’t wrap my head around the finite depiction of heaven and hell. I couldn’t imagine that church was the only way to reach an understanding. I went to the public library and took out books on theology. I liked Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoist philosophy. What struck me about Hinduism was their concept of time, and above all, reincarnation. It struck a chord in me. So I branched out and found New Age philosophy and occultism. I had struck gold…

(Stay tuned for chapter 2)

Mara Powers is author of the critically acclaimed series Shadows of Atlantis. www.shadowsofatlantis.com

(Stay tuned for chapter 2)

[shadowsatlantis]

The Underground Faces The System

The recent tragedy at a warehouse in Oakland, California has put a secret youth culture in the global spotlight. It cringes under the uncomfortable scrutiny, while mourning the loss of its friends. And yet there’s more at stake here, the danger of a crackdown on their way of life. As with anything secret, once revealed, will it ever be the same again?  

The Oakland Ghost ship was part of a global network of artistic luminaries who seek acceptance away from the constant scrutiny and restrictions of “The System.” They are artists at heart, in a civilization where there is little approval of the artistic lifestyle. While the art may be valued, the artist is not. And so, like all things that exist on the fringes of The System, it finds a way to survive against the odds.

Why don’t they conform to the rules? Well, because the rules literally do not apply to them. There are no concessions for artists. It is next to impossible to afford rent in urban centers where the arts thrive. So they migrate to the abandoned, polluted industrial sections of cities. They are the nobility of these urban backwaters, where they live in dilapidated buildings. These empty, expansive spaces are a blank canvas which they eventually fill with their outrageous creations. There they live in relative freedom until gentrification sets in. Artists boost the reputation of these areas until buildings are sold to developers, which then prices the artists out of the neighborhood. The artists not only improve the quality of an area that eventually benefits the owners, but they risk their lives every day doing it. It’s a vicious, ironic circle.

Artists should thrive on attention. The better known they are, the better the market for their work. But in this day and age, the obscurity of their lifestyle is a plus. Free of scrutiny from landlords and city officials, they spend their days in the throes of creativity. If landlords are aware of what is happening in their buildings, as long as rent is paid, it’s to their benefit to turn a blind eye and let the artists increase the value of the neighborhood. That is why this secret culture is called The Underground.  

And this leads to the real culprit of the Oakland inferno. It’s easy to cast blame on the building owner, or the lease holder. But the real cause is The System, which doesn’t include a niche for an artist’s lifestyle.  To be an artist is to be a rebel. And it becomes necessary to find alternative ways of making money, which usually involves a wider community of those who want to participate in a social network.

Many years ago, I moved to Los Angeles. I ended up living in one of these warehouses in downtown. This was right at the cusp of gentrification, when the homeless still burned fires in trashcans. What is now called the Artist District was still empty streets of grime, graffiti and blowing trash. The building I lived in was different than the modern artist collective because it was created by artists from the previous generation. They were from the Rolling Stones era, and to them, gentrification had already taken over, and their glory days were past. They made fun of the youth underground, which was my generation. But somehow I ended up running the place, and leading it to a new day of glory.

What I found was an ongoing war between the building owner and the guy ruling over his urban empire in the building. The owner wanted the rent paid and the operator wanted to create and be left alone. I created a business plan to conceptualize how a space like that could create a win/win for both of them. Most of these spaces rent out their nooks and crannies to other artists, and form collectives. This often leads to disaster, as this lifestyle attracts intense personalities that tend not to mix well. Another way to make rent is to throw parties. The space I ran made a lot of money as a film location. I’ve even seen some people make rent and bills by growing marijuana. Back when it was illegal, it was easier to make money after costs, because it sold for much more. Nowadays, Airbnb has been a lucrative means of making ends meet.  

I found the quickest and more enjoyable way to bring in the dinero was the party route. These underground events are speakeasies where a community of like-minded individuals can gather and dance all night. There are very few rules. You can even choose to run with scissors, or risk life and limb to dance on the bar. It’s like Neverland, a trip down the rabbit hole into an alternate reality. I used to get a kick out of breaking glass just because I could. The risk involved here is the attention of many cars parked in the neighborhood, and disturbing the neighbors with noise. But this is why they are in industrial areas. If loud music plays all night and no one is around to complain… is it really happening? Plus you can create an economy by giving all the cans and bottles to the local homeless who take them in for cash.    

But there are costs involved. Some use volunteers to staff the parties. I wanted to provide income for the talent, production, door people, and security team, so I paid everybody. Everyone who comes to these parties wants to get in free, because we rely on a wider community of artists, and yet the all-important cover charge is supposed to be the main reason for the event. The door people need to be strong and not let anyone in for free, thus paying them well gives them the incentive to guard your money. I always said to let anyone who was broke pay on a sliding scale, even if all they had was $2. It takes a brave soul to enter a deserted urban wasteland. Turning them away with no reward for their quest was just inhuman.  

There was a time when artists had patrons, but today many are considered to be homeless or vagrants, and really, this needs to stop. I imagined turning the building into a private club with various levels of membership, one of which was a patronage level. There would be monthly dues based on one’s level of income, and once these dues were paid, they would be able to gain access to all parties, and even get a discount on any art they wanted to buy. It could have worked in a place like that, because it was established, and very popular. I couldn’t realize my dream, however, because I got sick from living in a polluted environment, and had to leave. There is a formula for throwing an underground party. I took my knowledge on to other venues and developed the rare skill of mediating disputes among art collectives, as well as applying the formula for events.  

If you include The System in this plan, all chances of income go out the window. The System seems designed to eliminate The Underground, and so it remains just that, underground. After paying to apply for a permit, inspectors would descend on the establishment and more than likely shut it down and force everyone to move out. Provided the permit is granted, the permit would have to be purchased, and a fire marshal would have to be hired to attend the party. Not only is it a major bummer to have some dude from The System there defeating the entire purpose of having a domain unrestricted by the rules and judgements of our elders, but the fire marshal has to be paid upwards of $200 an hour. There goes any chance at making any kind of profit whatsoever, not to mention, paying anyone to work the party. For the interest of basic safety, there is a bare minimum that could be applied, such as installing exit signs, and having fire extinguishers in every room. But unless the landlord installs sprinklers, or you set up a hose in case of emergency, you are gambling with lives every time you have a party.

The inherent danger of the whole thing has come to light with the horrendous tragedy of the Oakland Ghost Ship warehouse fire. I retired from warehouse life a number of years ago due to the inherent danger. I’ve had a friend or two die every year, and my own health has suffered tremendously. Yet I understand why we take these risks. It’s the cost of artistic freedom. I would rather die young having achieved this freedom than live my life as a slave to The System. If I can help reveal a cure through my unique perspective, then perhaps all those toiling years can be worth something to humanity.

Instead of cracking down on the entire underground, perhaps the cities in which they reside should begin to recognize the value of this culture, and bring it to light in a more tolerant fashion. The city of Oakland alone is rich with these secret cultural treasures. They are literally bringing value to entire neighborhoods. So why would the city want to push them out? There needs to be an acceptance rather than condemnation. Oakland has an opportunity to put itself on the map by leading a campaign to embrace the people who embody its unique and powerful charm.

Perhaps a concession would be better than making it impossible for artists to survive as a community. Making it more accessible, rather than inclusive and secret would be the better route. Why alienate the artists? It’s sheer folly. Artists are one of the most important aspects of civilization. I would suggest that the city should pay to bring these buildings to code. It would allow the artists to come into the public eye and offer their lifestyle to the wider world around them. Bringing it out of the underground into the light is an evolution, and it would mean embracing the practices of the youth culture. Tragedy can then be learned from, and allowed to create an avenue of change for the benefit of all.    

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Atlantis gets its own #amino app. Join me!

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Ice Age Source

This is a photo quote from a book called National Geographic Atlas of the Ocean: the Deep Frontier. I intend to read the book from cover to cover (because I’m a huge nerd). But since this quote supports my previous blog post http://shadowsatlantis.tumblr.com/post/151459334128/where-was-atlantis-anyway , I figured I’d share since I didn’t cite any sources.

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Where was Atlantis, Anyway?

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It’s one of the first questions most people ask me. Let me tell you, it’s got a doozy of an answer. Are you sure you’re ready for this? There are many scholars who have advanced great theories. It’s hard to choose just one. My favorite answer is always D. All of the above.

Here’s why. There have been theories placing Atlantis in the Caribbean, the Azores, off the coast of Morocco, the Canary Islands, in Spain, the Mediterranean, and others. I mention these places chiefly because it stands to reason that the Atlantic Ocean is perhaps named for Atlantis. (Chicken... egg..?)

If you check out one of my previous blog posts here: https://shadowsofatlantis.quora.com/The-Basics-of-Atlantology?srid=SW7h&share=55cf5a4e, I introduce the two most famous resources for Atlantologists, Plato and Edgar Cayce. Both of them placed Atlantis in the Atlantic, though the Mediterranean theory has been long argued. But I digress.

Now to the nitty gritty of my “all of the above” theory. To first answer this question, the time period needs to be established. Edgar said the final downfall of Atlantis was around 11,900 BC. Just assuming this to be correct, it would mean Atlantis was in its decline at the end of the Ice Age. During this time, the oceans were about 300 feet shallower (or more shallow?) than they are today. There is also said to have been a rapid melting of the glaciers (sound familiar?) Which caused the oceans to rise suddenly… the great deluge.

If you check out the handy map I included in this post, borrowed from www.mappery.com, you can get a good look at the bottom of the ocean. Imagining the tops of the Mid Atlantic Ridge to be above water, it would be easy to imagine a chain of islands. Let’s just assume this same deluge also deepened the Mediterranean, then all the sites argued to be Atlantis there could have also been flooded at the same time as those in the Atlantic.

True, Atlantis has been seen as a single city. And scholars have been arguing for many long moons over which site was home to the fabled city. But can’t we all just get along? Let’s all hold hands and sing “We are the World” in chorus together, and imagine that perhaps there were many cities that made up one advanced culture. If we wrap our heads around the concept that these islands traded with one another as far away as the other side of the world. Then all of a sudden coffee from South America found in the tombs of Egyptian Pharaohs has a plausible link. And perhaps they traded knowledge of, oh, say pyramid construction for instance.

This is the world I have defined in my book series Shadows of Atlantis. I have used fantasy to showcase my research. Come and join me. The water is great ;)

Mara Powers is author of the Shadows of Atlantis saga.

www.shadowsofatlantis.com

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Did Nubia and Atlantis Merge to Form Ancient Egypt? www.shadowsofatlantis.com

The study of the great mystery of Atlantis is best served by following ancient legends around the world. Most accepted world history doesn’t span far enough back to record the megalithic monuments that are often dated at over 10 thousand years old.

My recent fascination is with the continent of Africa. This is said to be the cradle of humanity… the original location of the Garden of Eden. I have been tracing African history through the legends of ancient people. There have been many occult references to Egypt being a colony of Atlantis. And so I have developed a theory that Atlanteans and Ancient Nubians created a synthesis that eventually became Egypt.

It’s really all just a theory. But in order to really discover any satisfying answers, I have had to delve into the journey of the Berbers, as well as the ancient legends of Nubia or Ta Seti, Khemit, Kush, Kerma, Meroe, Punt, Sheba, and even the the Aterian of the North and the Mande tribes of West Africa. Michael Tellinger, a fellow researcher has been on the trail of some fascinating research. I highly recommend googling his name. But that’s a whole can of worms that deserves it’s own post.

If one follows the RH anomaly in bloodlines , the Berbers are the ones who hold the key to Atlantean history in North Africa. They are part of a mysterious cro magnon bloodline with white skin, blue eyes, red hair and sometimes larger skulls. It is in their oral history where we can get a clue to Atlantis. They speak of a time when the Sahara was verdant with rivers, lakes, forests and bountiful agriculture. Above is a map of what supposedly Africa could have looked like then.

It would have looked like this toward the end of the ice age before massive melting of glaciers brought about flooding that displaced entire cultures. Naturally any of the island people from the Atlantic would have moved to this country. It is a vast discussion that becomes hard to tie up into a neat little package. But I did find a great website on my search with an abundance of obscure Atlantean information, from which I harvested this map. I highly recommend perusing it. Prepare to have your mind expanded. http://www.ancient-atlantis.com/middle-east-green-before-flood/

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The Blue Dream Awakening. www.shadowsofatlantis.com There are many psychological insights in my work. When a particularly insightful friend in Boulder, Colorado read my book, she sent me the attached article. It touches on what I call the Blue Dream Awakening. In my account of Atlantis there is a genetic upgrade in the populace called the Children of One. When they consume the blue elixir it awakens them to the blue dream frequency which allows them to undergo an inner initiation. They can then see their divine lineage and awaken their innate human powers. I invite you to unlock your own upgrade and know that you too have the ability to unlock your own understanding. Here is the article. The Spiritual Awakening That Could Save Our Planet — PrimeMind https://primemind.com/the-spiritual-awakening-that-could-save-our-planet-8c7267994c4a#.q3t814nm6 www.shadowsofatlantis.com“>Www.shadowsofatlantis.com

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It’s amazing how deeply ingrained Atlantis is in Popular Culture. There are so many depictions of it, and yet I think that none have really captured the essence of the research. Actually the Disney version did the best job, drawing on Edgar Cayce and hollow earth theory that was made popular in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

check out the link above for a fascinating journey through Atlantis in pop culture.

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My Current Morning Read

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Every day when I get up I like to read with my coffee. Lately I’ve been reading a biography about Cicero, Rome’s great politician. But as usual, Atlantis called me again so I dove into my library. This book has some fascinating suggestions, and reads like an encyclopedic history. She gets a lot of her information from Cayce and Plato. But she also draws on the history of indigenous peoples around the Atlantic Ocean who have claimed that their ancestors came from Atlantis.

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Manly P. Hall and his Global Atlantis

In this thoughtful discussion by Manly P. Hall we are reminded of the global effect of Atlantis. Manly was one of the mystic philosophers who rose in 1930’s America and revitalized Atlantis in the hearts and minds of the world.

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The Basics of Atlantology

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I have been researching Atlantis for over 2 decades. Not every day, of course, but ever since I discovered it in an Edgar Cayce book, I was hooked. I used to collect books that reference it, finding obscure metaphysical sources that almost seem like science fiction. I have come to decide that there are two camps of Atlantology… The Secular (derived from Plato’s Timaeus and Critius written in about 360 BC), and the Esoteric (which has its roots in the Theosophists of the 1900’s, and has been popularized in the modern age by Edgar Cayce in the 1930’s.) I study both camps. There are similarities between the works of Plato and Cayce. I find it ironic that the secular camp stems from a philosopher. But the scientists who have attempted to label one submerged city or another as Atlantis, follow the criteria set in Plato’s Critius.       Plato was the main student of Socrates. His works detailed conversations between Socrates and various scholars who came to converse with him. The Timaeus is mainly a philosophical text, contemplating the order of existence. It suggests that the world is a conscious living being, a god, whose soul exists at the core of its circular body, which is a perfect form in nature.     The Critius then goes on to discuss Atlantis in great detail. From the layout of the city, as a perfect circle (representing the perfect form), made of alternating rings of land and water in a target pattern, incorporating the sacred balance between elements. He described a fertile island beyond the Pillars of Hercules (Known today as the Strait of Gibralter). The landmass was the size of Libya. This translates to a large continent in the Atlantic Ocean. I always said that the Atlantic was named after Atlantis. Seems to make sense. This landmass was a natural habitat for elephants, whom the Atlanteans used as beasts of burden. I would like to think they loved the elephants, but that’s because elephants are wonderful creatures. It would make sense that they are Atlantean. The architecture was highly advanced, and made of white, black and red stone. They also mined precious metals, of which a coppery Orichalcum was highly abundant, and second in value to gold. No one knows what the metal is, although a recent find in a shipwreck revealed a metal consisting of copper and zinc.       For many ages, they were a people of great virtue until they began to lose sight of this, and degraded into evil and greed. They waged war on Athens, (suggesting there was civilization in the Mediterranean simultaneously,) and became very aggressive. Then Zeus punished them by sending a flood, which would be their famous demise.       Edgar Cayce’s work mirrors many of the same things mentioned by Plato. He was a channeller known as the sleeping prophet. He would go into trances and access the “Akashic Records.” This is a 4th dimensional record of all knowledge that can be accessed in a dream state. He did past life readings by entering a trance and tapping into this knowledge. His readings were in the form of detailed descriptions of the past lives of his clients, many of whom had may lifetimes in Atlantis. The main difference is that he described a highly advanced civilization who possessed what could be described today as ancient alien technology. They used crystals for many functions, much like the home world of Superman. Pyramids were their power generators, and they flew machines that seem more advanced than even what we have invented in the modern age. He even describes a type of android they created called “things,” who did their menial labor. He also described a global culture, expanding Atlantis into a civilization rather than a city, with thousands of years of history, including a series of natural disasters marking their various ages, which split up the continent over time into islands.     I have looked into the changing geology of the Atlantic, and this all makes perfect sense, considering the volatile nature of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Even Cayce’s date of the devastating flood at 12,000 years ago matches with the end of the ice age, when the oceans were said to rise 400 feet.         Once I discovered this information, my imagination was hooked for life. To me, this is a fabulous mystery that I will never stop thinking about. I love the secular research, and I don’t discount esoteric theories. People tell me about their past lives there, and post articles they find on my wall. I have studied it so much, I can close my eyes and imagine myself walking on the streets. And this is what has led me to create my Atlantis Saga. Shadows of Atlantis incorporates my many years of passionate research.  

Mara Powers is author of the Shadows of Atlantis saga. An Atlantis researcher for almost 3 decades, she incorporates all her knowledge into an epic fantasy saga set in the final age of Atlantis. www.shadowsofatlantis.com  

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