Solstice - Of The Heart (5 page)

An interview with
'Sharula, princess of the underground city beneath Mt. Shasta';
Sharula states that Telos is a primary Lemurian outpost located
within Mt. Shasta, with a small secondary city in Mt. Lassen,
California. Telos means 'communicaton with Spirit.' My name is
Sharula and I come from a city underneath Mt. Shasta, called Telos.
The city was constructed about 14,000 years ago at the termination
of the Lemurian continent. There was an original set of caverns
there. We chose to enlarge these caverns to make them bigger and
more livable.

The authors wrote as though they
believed in what they were writing. One went so far as to claim the
village of Lemurian had been seen through a telescope.

My curiosity wavered.
Where was I headed with this? I was raised in the heartland of
Minnesota. Sure, we had Paul Bunyan and Babe, his great Blue Ox,
but everyone—at least past puberty—understood the story to be
fable. As a child I believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny
too.

By the time one is sixteen years of
age, there pretty much isn’t anything that isn’t met with
skepticism. The computer and the digital age can transform fiction
into fact and vice versa. Who doesn’t, in this day and age, have
this understanding? I realized I was reaching in entertaining the
idea of a hidden city beneath a mountain and any connection of this
mythical city having a connection with Aaron Delmon.

Still, I couldn’t help myself. What
else was I going to do on a chilly Saturday morning? Clean more
lockers? Do chores? This was far more exciting.

I scrolled down.

I found it interesting as time passed,
the authors found new and inventive ways to keep the Lemurian myth
alive, simply by adding another twist to the story. Now, as one
author stated, the inhabitants beneath Shasta weren’t Lemurians,
but Atlanteans and one of their tasks was to guard the Lemurians
who are imprisoned beneath the Caroline Islands.

The Lemurians were
prisoners?

I remembered reading in history class
about some political prisoners who were a patient lot, waiting for
the right moment to bring about change. Think Nelson Mendela, who
spent twenty-seven years as a political prisoner before leading the
way for multi-racial democracy in South Africa. Martin Luther King,
I felt, was a political prisoner in a way, and had he not been
gunned down, he would have been alive to see his dream fulfilled.
Both held out hope for a time when change was realized.

But 14,000 years! The
Lemurian Age, as I read, ended 14,000 years ago. If they were being
held prisoner in Hollow Earth by the Atlantians, their patience was
astounding.

I patted myself on the back. My
history teacher, Mr. Mattingly, would be proud. Here I was, on a
Saturday, deeply immersed in the study of ancient civilizations. To
him, though, my reading of the history of Lemuria would be the
equivalent of reading a comic book or watching a movie about a
super being. My glee fell a notch, but not my curiosity. I read
more, and what I read about the present day mystic Lemurians made
me sit upright.

I found an actual description of these
odd-looking persons. They were described as tall, with long,
flowing hair—nearly always blonde and wavy—with elongated, slender
necks. They were known to be graceful, agile, and demonstrated
unusual balance. One of their most unusual physical
characteristics, the article stated, was a walnut-sized organ
protruding from their foreheads. This sixth-sense, I read, enabled
the Lemurians to communicate among themselves by extra-sensory
perception.

Perhaps that’s why they were perceived
as unsociable, as Cherrie said. Maybe they didn’t need to talk. I
wondered if Aaron could communicate with me by extra-sensory
perception.

The article also talked about the
Lemurians possessing supernatural powers that enabled them to
disappear at will, the reason they weren’t spotted very often.
Well, that would leave Aaron out. Apparently he was spotted quite
often. It was also said their powers allowed them to will an
intruder away.

I sat back and visualized Aaron and
his two cousins. They certainly were taller than most teenagers,
but so was the basketball team. They were graceful (couldn’t say
that about the basketball team) and agile. I couldn’t remember if
they had slender necks or a bump on their forehead. It didn’t seem
so, however, their manes of blonde hair could have concealed those
characteristics.

Now I was torn. Was there something
mysterious and mythical about the Delmons? From what I saw and,
from Cherrie’s account, there certainly was something unusual about
the trio that lived with their older—real older—brother. Mythical?
I didn’t believe so. If they possessed super powers, why bother
with the drudgery of life? Why bother hiking up Crown Dome when
they could easily have disappeared and reappeared on top of the
dome?

I checked the time. It said 2:00pm.
Mom would be home soon and I had yet to do chores. I told myself a
few more reads and I would call it quits.

I began to read the story of M
Doreal’s account of his 1931 visit to Mt. Shasta. I cut and pasted
the story into Microsoft Word, printed it out, and read the hard
copy.

"I am going to give you an
account of what happened to me in 1931. I am not going to ask you
to believe it but it is not a fairy story. When I was lecturing in
Los Angeles, in 1931, two of the inhabitants of Mt. Shasta came to
Los Angeles and attended my lectures and they were there for a week
before they let me know who they were and then, one Friday evening,
they introduced themselves to me and they told me I could visit
them at Mt. Shasta. I told them it was impossible for me to go
there and get back in time for my lecture. They said, 'We have
another way of going,' so we took a car out into the hills, just
off Cahuenga Boulevard, - out through Hollywood and drove out
toward Topanga Canyon. They gave me a little thin mask almost like
cellophane. We did not have cellophane at that time, at least not
much, and it had no chemicals and they told me to put that over my
face and I did. Then they gave me a belt with two little pockets on
the side and a row of buttons. I did not know what was going to
happen, but I knew something was going to happen. Each one took me
by the arm and told me to press certain buttons and I went up
through the air like a rocket plane and we rose until the earth
looked like it was almost fading out, breathed perfectly because
something in that mask over my face condensed the breath and it
seemed that around us there was a shell of some kind of force,
because I could hear a humming noise all the time. When we came
down it seemed like almost no time had passed; probably, fifteen or
twenty minutes. We landed about two thirds up the side of Mt.
Shasta-we landed in front of a small building" The space we came
into was about two miles in height and about twenty miles long and
fifteen miles wide and it was as light as a bright summer day,
because suspended, almost in the center of that great cavern of
space was a giant glowing mass of light"

So there you go. If a Doctor of
Psychology believed in the Lemurians, than why shouldn’t
I?

The phone rang. I heard Dierdra’s
voice.

“Hi Julissa.”

“Hi Mom.”

“How’d detention go?”

“Where are you, Mom?”

“Coming into town. Going to stop by
the grocery store. Wondering what you want for dinner.”

“Anything. Maybe some more salad and
fruit.”

“Okay. I’ll grab something. You didn’t
say. How was detention?”

“Okay. They had me scrub
lockers.”

“Sounds interesting. See you in a
bit.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Interesting? What’s so interesting
about scrubbing lockers?

Except it was interesting. The thought
of rifling through Aaron’s locker excited me. I hadn’t felt this
energized in a very long time.

Coming into town?

That left me little time to do chores.
I hurried through the dishes, rinsing them under the tap and piling
them up on the strainer until it overflowed. Laundry came next. No
catching up there, but I did dial the washer to the shortest cycle
possible.

I grabbed the wood box and, for the
first time, realized how cold it was in the cabin. Uncle Mickey
liked living rugged—no central heat, just a wood fire place insert.
It worked well...if one fed it wood.

I stepped outside. The sun hung low in
the sky. I realized I had been on the computer for hours. I dug
wood out from under the tarp, carried it in, and got a fire going.
Since moving to California my fire starting skills had increased
dramatically. While in Minnesota I had never actually started a
fire. There wasn’t a need.

After checking on the laundry, I
returned to the computer. This has got to stop, but the
just-one-more-thing allowed me a reprieve. I typed in meaning of
names and added Aaron.

I wasn’t at all surprised to find
Aaron meant mountain of strength. This is the way I saw Aaron when
he stood just below Crown Dome. He looked invincible. I was
surprised though, as I searched further, that all the Delmon names
were associated with mountains. Delmon, itself, meant of the
mountain. Beaumont and Belmont both meant beautiful mountain. I
even found Bernard’s name in the mix. The patron saint of mountain
climbers, I read.

Coincidence? I didn’t think
so.

I heard Mom’s car pull into the
driveway. I turned off the computer and waded back into my chores
with the thought of tomorrow and Cherrie’s and my visit to Mount
Shasta.

4 CLOSE CALL

I rousted Cherrie out of
bed early Sunday morning, if you want to call 8:30am early. As
usual I practically had to dress her. I found searching for a pair
of jeans and suitable shoes for trail hiking in the mess of her
room a challenge, but with Aaron within striking distance, I felt
charged. That, plus I downed a cup of instant coffee. Yuck. But it
did the trick. I placed a beanie hat on Cherrie’s head and ushered
her out the door.

As we walked out front to the
driveway, Cherrie threw me the car keys.

“What?” I said, knowing full well her
intent.

“You drive,” she said.

“Cherrie, I’m not
licensed.”

“So?” She looked up and down the
street. “You see anybody who cares?”

True. Shasta City at 8am on a Sunday
morning isn’t a haven of activity. I could hear truckers on I-5
making their way north and south, but no traffic on the city
streets.

“What about Garl?”

Cherrie shrugged. “You want to drive
or not?”

“Sure. Why not? I’ve already been
corrupted. Served detention in my first week of school. Why not go
for bust.”

Guilt hung heavy as I thought about
Mom. She wasn’t happy I’d spent the best part of Saturday on the
computer when I had chores to do. She brought up the
house-without-a-father thing again. In response, I closed the door,
climbed into bed, and pretended to fall asleep.

“That a girl.” Cherrie climbed into
the passenger seat. She pushed the back of the seat down and closed
her eyes. “You’ve driven before, right?”

“Course,” I said. “Last year. My
boyfriend—and I use that term loosely—taught me to drive his
Cherokee Jeep.”

“Then have at it.”

I didn’t know one Lincoln Continental
from another, especially those older than me. What I did know was
this model looked, with its slab sides and squared off fenders,
like a tank. The only thing missing was the gun barrel.

Cherrie was comfortable in the
driver’s seat. I wasn’t.

I turned the ignition and felt the
power of the huge engine. As I backed out of the driveway, I
couldn’t help but notice a puddle of oil on the concrete
driveway.

“Is that normal?”

“What?” Cherrie said without opening
her eyes.

“The oil leak.”

“Grandpa said its power steering
fluid. Not to worry.”

Not to worry. Okay.

“Run by Starbucks.” Cherrie winced as
she readjusted her position in her seat. “Got to get my Mojo
going.”

Only a half mile lay between us and
Starbucks, but a crooked half mile. By the time I pulled the
Lincoln Continental up to the take out window at Starbucks, sweat
rolled off my forehead. I pulled free from my coat and beanie. I
suppose, with my hair all in disarray, I wasn’t much to look at,
but at this time of the morning, who’s looking?

“What do you want?” I asked
Cherrie.

“Black as it comes.”

I recognized the boy in the window. He
was in my Spanish class, which seemed odd since he was, by
appearance, of Spanish descent and, in stereotypical fashion, I
just expected him to know the language. I learned later his mother
was Caucasian, his father Hispanic. He sat one row over and two
back in class. I had, on a number of occasions, caught him staring
at me. For the first two days I assumed it was out of curiosity for
the new girl in school. By day three and beyond I was pretty sure
he had other things in mind.