Birthing the lucifer sta.., p.1
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       Birthing the Lucifer star, p.1

           donna bartley
 
Birthing the Lucifer star
 Birthing the Lucifer Star

  Releasing the Unsustainable Light

  by

  D. E. Bartley

  Copy write 2010

  Acknowledgments

  I would especially like to acknowledge my sister Stacy Bartley and brother Gregory Bartley, who sacrificed time out of their busy schedules to edit and rewrite passages of this novel, and Aunt Pat, who offered moral support. I would also like to thank Maureen, Michael, Laura, and David, my brothers and sisters, for supporting me in this endeavor.

  Dedication

  This is dedicated to all of those seekers who keep the vigil to reveal the truth to all of humanity. Although this is a fictitious work, many words of truth are revealed in this jest.

  Introduction

  This novel was undertaken to answer the hard questions of existence, reality, and duality. The answer might not please everyone, but to bring about change, the tough questions have to be asked in order for the truth to reveal the answer. Many who have gone before and those who have yet to travel through this existence have been called. This book is dedicated to all of those who have heard the call and have chosen to heed it.

  Prologue

  A point in the infinite Universe will send out two other points from itself on each side, and these two points will send out points in multiples of two, until they finally all meet again at their point of origin; this is the beginning of movement. The initial point is female: potential. Potential is presented as the womb. The two emitted points are also female; they travel along the infinite, creating eternity. The three together are one and moving, elongating, represented as the male (phallus). So this is where we all began. You are here in the infinite universe, which contains an infinite number of possibilities—you are! So, in this universe of infinite possibilities, all of which will come to pass, regardless of odds, how can you ever not be?

  Chapter 1: Initiation

  The room was pitch-dark; a small table with strange symbols—perhaps runes, or hieroglyphics—in the four corners seemed to shine with a translucent light. On the center of the table was a form; Shirley could not discern what it was, not yet, as her eyes became acclimated to her surroundings. Darren stood next to her.

  “This is for you; this is my gift to you, here, now,” he mused, seemingly in a self-hypnotic state.

  Shirley felt only contempt. She knew that this was the wrong place, the wrong time. The peyote and jimsonweed concoction that she had just drunk was intended to help her discern the light, not gain knowledge of the dark. The knowledge of the dark was only the utilization of the destructive forces; the energies or powers only came from the putrefaction of organic substance. She stared at the form and realized it was a cat, immobilized by a shot of curare. Darren was dressed and hooded in black garb, along with eleven other people that Shirley hardly knew—and did not want to know.

  Those in attendance began to chant in low, guttural sounds as one of them—Shirley was not quite sure who—lit a torch made of mullein leaf and turned to the cat. She suddenly realized what was happening. Somewhere, her mind fought ferociously, psychically against this ritual, but the concoction of psychotropic stimulants had a strange effect on her, and she could not speak. The Gregorian-type chanting became louder and louder as the hooded host firmly held the head of the cat, pronounced a decree in the direction of Shirley, and in one swift motion slit the cat’s throat, the blood running and pooling at the four corners of the altar.

  Shirley stood dumbfounded as a symbol, perhaps of a double eagle, seemed to be floating in front of her. She grabbed her mouth, but it was too late: she retched all over herself. She tried to run, but hands were now holding her, leading her out of that damned place.

  Darren softly and repeatedly slapped Shirley’s face. She slowly found her way through a daze, trying to focus her eyes on him.

  “Are you okay?” Darren asked. “You’re as white as a ghost.”

  “No. I’ll feel better when we get some air …” Shirley stood up, but swayed and realized she didn’t have her feet under her.

  “Whoaaa.” Darren giggled. “What did you think of your initiation?”

  Shirley stared at Darren. “Initiation?”

  Shirley had spent her young life as a Daughter of Jacob. Sure, she understood the mystic and spent many years studying kabbalah, but this ritual was not part of those mysteries—that she knew. This was the knowledge of Lucifer, the angel of the lesser light …

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Darren whispered to her, “It was good that you cleaned yourself out; you did exactly what you were supposed to do. You were clearing the path, both physically and spiritually.”

  “Clearing the path?” Shirley’s head snapped up. “This is about reincarnation?”

  Darren smiled at Shirley. “You know that you took the first step to be with me … into infinite eternity.”

  Shirley rose up on her feet and walked to a nearby door. “It’s time to go,” she announced. What had he been thinking, bringing a Cohen into a Masonic temp

  Darren got to his feet and helped Shirley out to their SUV. She was silent as she plotted the demise of her fiancé.

  “Where are we headed?” Shirley queried.

  “I have some fieldwork to do in Idaho. Would you like to come along?” Darren half begged.

  “No,” she answered. “I have a seminar in Butte, Montana, and I will be speaking to a crowd of rabbis.”

  Shirley knew that Darren was physically weak; she could easily overtake this scrawny, blond-haired man sitting next to her. She even remembered when, shortly after they first met, they had gone to the Badlands. Darren was a paleontologist, and a cache of prehistoric dinosaur remains was neatly layered in the bedrock near the Yellowstone River. They had camped near the strange rock formations, where she had taken many photographs. Nearby had been a mountain pass with steep cliffs and a fissure in the earth that some said went into the bowels of hell itself. She did not know why her mind continually dwelled on that particular geological area, but her thoughts continually wandered to the Badlands.

  Darren brought her home, to her house. “I gave you the gift of immortality tonight. What are you willing to give me?” Darren teased.

  Shirley climbed the steps and opened the door to her apartment. “Anything your heart desires, my knight in shining armor.” She giggled. “Just let me slip into something a little more comfortable.”

  God, she loved that old cliché. Shirley quietly went into her closet, removed her little .22-caliber peashooter, and went back into her bedroom. Darren was lying naked on the bed. Shirley never spoke; she just went to him and favored him with one last kiss—the kiss of death.

  Jesus! She had made a mess of the room; she spent all night cleaning it with peroxide. She washed the bedding in bottles of peroxide, bleach, and ammonia; she scrubbed everything at least five times. Luckily, only the bedding was splattered and messed up—nothing on the floor, and only a little on the headboard and walls. Shirley decided that she would get the lead paint from the cellar. She repainted the whole wall behind her headboard, making sure to let it dry before adding another coat. She wanted to be sure that there was no blood.

  Afterward, she retrieved a dolly from her garage and placed Darren’s body upon it. Using plastic garbage bags and electrical tape, she bound Darren to the dolly and then secured the tape with rope. She had only a few vials of mercury; it would have to do. She uncorked the mercury and poured it into the exit wound at the back of h
is head; she wanted to make sure he would never reincarnate onto this earthly plane again. She felt like a modern-day Moses, killing her pharaoh and placing him in a hermetically sealed tomb. Mercury weighed down the spirit of the exiting soul, as instructed in the Lesser Key of Solomon.

  Shirley looked at a map. She was eighteen hundred and some odd miles from Montana. She easily rolled the wrapped body into the SUV. She then went into the house and prepared a half dozen pistachio butter and black raspberry preserve sandwiches for the trip. This was what she and Darren had done when they first hiked in the Badlands so many years before.

  Shirley drove like a maniac. Once she hit the open road, she easily did 100 and kept that speed all night. There was no one on the road through the Dakotas, so she played with the speedometer, sometimes getting up to 120 miles per hour. She reached Makoshika State Park and paid the entrance fee, using cash only. She slowly circled the Badlands, looking for the best place to park. She drove to the edge of the steep cliffs and finally scoped out an area where she could stop and unload Darren. She perused the area; the steep fissure was only a few hundred yards away.

  As Shirley unloaded the dolly, she was immediately surrounded by a dark presence; she felt an odd burning in her spine, and a tingling sensation slowly ascended to the top of her head. She realized that she was protecting herself against negative energies or bad spirits by raising her kundalini.

  She wheeled the lifeless body of Darren, who was now taped to the dolly, to the great fissure. The nearby plaque spoke of some unheard-of depth of the true fissure; twice, pioneering adventurers had tried to descend to the great crevice’s end, but after going down thousands of feet, they never hit bottom.

  Shirley said good-bye to Darren. “This is truly where you belong: in a bottomless pit with the other dark discarnates,” she mused before dumping his body into the deepest fissure on earth, with maybe the black hole of Calcutta being the exception …

 
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