My initiation was nearing completion. The process of finalizing my seal, into the mysteries of the ages, was about to commence.
While approaching the Inner Ritual Chambers, we displayed similar matching garbs. They were opulent regalia. Every detail was handcrafted, patterned, and polished with distinction and elegance. From the platinum buttons to thick stitching, all the way down to the fitting, all perfectly tailored to rank and degree, specification.
Every piece of the uniform was in order, meeting the standards and expectations of the elders who commanded our society. My honor and distinction, ribbons and medals, were pinned together at a straight and level angle. Plenty and abundant were my achievements that warranted remark via a pin, badge, or special colored ribbon, suited to the task of the degree. No member could reach the Inner Ritual Chambers without having performed High Honors.
Our elegant dress code mirrored the opulent environment. With sophistication, everything you could see had a meaning driving its purpose.
We walked down the hallway towards the Inner Ritual Chambers. Access was only granted to distinct initiates of higher levels who showed their worth via special tasks, asked of us, by high-level elders to perform in solitude.
I kept my steps steady and measured. Synchronization had a purpose.
Our heavy black steel-toed boots echoed throughout the foray as they struck the solid stone floor. The sound did not merely travel, it announced. It repeated. It reminded.
Thick dark maroon curtains hung from the walls, extending the entire length of the corridor. From the grey stone floor, the whole castle was made of, to the top corners of the ceiling, the silk fuzz drapery stretched smooth.
Soft candles with a dim flicker lit the passage. Hanging from the ceiling were hand-carved mammoth ivory chandeliers, decorative, medieval-like with large branches illuminating our march.
Upon first entering the hallways, leading to the chamber, we walked under a high arch. Two large round pillars, on either side, held up the solid gold arch. Carved into the marble pillars were symbols of our ancient society. From top to bottom, our graven insignia. Perched atop separate pillars were obsidian statues of Greek and Roman Gods, also Nephilim and King Solomon.
These ancient and original Gods were positioned to signal a message for all low-level initiates a gentle warning of no return. Ever so carefully positioned, the Gods had their hand held in secretive sign language positions, specific to our society. These signs and symbols had the purpose of telling stories and giving final warnings to those who entered, all the way, can never go back without eternal retribution.
These signs, symbols, and statues weren’t necessarily warnings to us deep-level initiates. They were historical marks of memorabilia, realizations, and nostalgic significance, and told the story of how the path originally formed the ancient quest from the beginning of our time.
Once the early initiates first took the first steps down this path of unlocking true knowledge of immortality, they knew there was no turning back. The warning is not a warning that threatened us. The warnings were relic symbols of the flame ignited by the first spark of the desire to know more than is currently known. The warning was a distinct symbol that sparked alive the mystery of all mysteries. We know we cannot go back, not because of threats to our life, but a cautionary reminder of how big the flame of desire to know more, may grow.
Upon beginning to know, we always want to know more. Once at the edge of all that is currently known, the hunger and thirst to know more becomes so great that you’ll want, and need, to do more than is required. Low level initiates take longer strides in the desire to speed up the process of uncovering all that can be uncovered.
Which is what the true warning warned us about.
I told myself, as I always did, that the actual reward was the journey. That even if truth be told, the true rewards in any worthwhile goal were not the destination, but the slow unfolding of the destination itself.
Since we are, technically, already eternal creatures, we will always be back in a body to continue contributing to the quest, in ever unfolding and increasingly unique additions, to the forming capstone, to the top of the pyramid of all knowing.
For the mystery of all mysteries is knowing that there will always be more mysteries.
And yet, as we continued our march, something in me did not feel human anymore. Something in me felt like a sacrifice being escorted with ceremony.
The stories of our manifestation, of the endless unfolding nature of the truth of the deeper structures of reality, were displayed on the stitching patterns, signs, and symbols that filled up the empty spaces of the drapery, that filled the length of the corridor.
Threaded onto the drapery were colorful, complex patterns and symbols that told the entirety of our secrets, that only the high-level initiates have come to understand and fully know the entirety of the implications and esoteric knowledge that continues to teach, as one continues to climb the pyramid of the all-knowing.
Marvelous were these patterns, symbols, and stories that decorated the drapery. Bright colors of spirals and swirls, dragons, and treasure chests. Hooded men on a mysterious journey to achieve immortality.
Deep were these stories, old and ancient. Most of these stories had many variations that were paraded in the public eye. Most of these stories, which we released to the masses, were believed to be fiction. We technically didn’t say they weren’t fiction. However. The level of depth and complexity, and intricacy within these stories made the eyes of the public gloss over and passively accept them as not real.
They had to believe, initially, that these stories were fiction because this was one method we used to maintain our ability to remain secretive, without having any secrets. Our symbols of all that we do are not hidden, and if anyone ever wanted to know just how deep down the rabbit hole went or how high up the pyramid of the all-knowing can go, all they had to do was ask and maintain persistence with asking, forever.
Yet we know that most of the public eye didn’t want to know the truth, about the truth, and would rather be handed down the watered-down versions that didn’t startle them too deeply. Even though some of these truths we give the public, in the form of various stories, we still manage to reveal a good deal of disturbing truths that are enough of a spook to satisfy the squeamish soul from wanting to read between the lines.
Knowing this, and feeling satisfied with heavily edited, watered-down, and euphemized truths, we were able to separate and keep safe those who wanted the absolute truth about the absolute truth. Raw and unedited.
Most couldn’t handle raw and unedited.
As I studied the drapery, I noticed the truth in the way the thread was laid, like a script written in muscle memory. The truth was simple but not easy. There were symbols, movements, and motions that, when put together, began to form the sentences and the stories of the deeper implications of the knowledge, and the knowledge about how the knowledge was revealed to the leading edge of those initiated at the deepest levels.
Thickly stitched onto the drapery that hung down the entirety of the corridor, revealed images of initiates standing, side by side, in circles. Carefully placed within the center of the various layers of circles within circles was a flickering flame.
In one panel, the flame was small and normal, yellow, reddish amber, like fire burning should be.
In the first few symbols the initiated were in circles in a bowing position. In their dark hooded robes, each initiate had their arms, hands, fingers, and feet held in specific ways. These positions were placed to signal, tell, or communicate to someone, or something, about something further.
And then my eyes found the panel that was harder to look at.
Another panel, embedded in the drapery, was several small children, dancing around a steaming kettle. In a circle closest to the kettle showed the sacred pot spitting out an even brighter flame, glowing and pulsating from within.
It should have read like an allegory. It should have read like a myth.
But it didn’t.
Because of the way the stitchwork captured movement, the children weren’t simply dancing, but being drawn in to the flame. Like the steam wasn’t simply rising, but reaching.
As the representation of the holy ritual continued to escalate in the threaded drapery, the next several steps had the highest-level initiate elders standing in a circle around the small children, heads bowed, hoods pulled over their heads, masks snugly placed, concealing identity and expressions.
A leading initiate was shown performing ritualistic steps, dancing the dance of the ritual, between the circle of the dancing children and the circle of the elder initiates. Swinging at the end of the magic rod was a spherical metal chalice. This sacred chalice had just as much decoration and detail as any other object commissioned into the society.
From the steaming chalice hung a metallic serpent, eyes glowing ruby red as if on fire from the steam percolating from the chalice. Thick, metallic, shiny chain links connected the chalice to the serpent. The steam swirled in motions that matched the swinging nature of the leader controlling the chanting and the performance of the ritual.
As the ritual moved forward, the sequential series of symbols altered slightly. One sign moved, one after the other, and communicated something different with each alteration.
And then, as though the thread itself refused to look away, the velvet display began to show fewer and fewer children as the ritual progressed in depth.
As each child disappeared from the velvet curtain, the central flame rising from the center of the large metal kettle continued to grow larger.
With the disappearance of each child, the flame of knowledge grew towards the sky.
I felt tightening behind my ribs, as if my body recognized a truth my mind wasn’t ready to own.
We were taught to admire the elegance, the order, the perfection. We were taught that everything always meant something. Yet here, in thread and color, the meaning looked too much like payment.
As the children disappeared one by one and the sacred flame of revelation grew, each hooded masked man performed a sort of involved dance. A symbolic dance telling the story and communicating proper incantations, synchronized to the dancing motions of the leading initiate, who continued to gently sway the steaming chalice in counterclockwise motions.
What all these series of symbols and motions meant was only known to the deepest level initiates. And yet I knew enough to understand this corridor wasn’t merely decorated, it was confessing.
At last, the final panel, located at the end of the corridor, hanging just above the bright golden door that led to the Inner Ritual Chamber, displayed what appeared to be a serpent of steam rising from the ashes of the now bright and pulsating glowing kettle.
There were no children in this final threaded panel.
The initiates who formed the outer circle had their hoods down off their heads and their masks hanging half off, exposing their right eye.
The right eye was not necessarily clearly displayed to the uninitiate; however, to the initiate, it was very clear what the right eye, exposed from under the mask, was pointing to and looking at.
The all-seeing right eye was looking directly in the dripping ruby red eyes of the serpent of steam rising from the pulsating glow of the enchanted kettle.
As the serpent and the initiate’s right eye locked into place, we inner members knew that those participating in the ritual were creating a synergistic effect with the red-eyed serpent. The initiates were giving energy to the serpent, and the serpent was giving energy to the initiates. The climax of the ritual was the information exchange between the two entities.
This was the information that continued to add to the pyramid of the all-knowing. We initiates were absorbing the message of the serpent. As we absorbed the message, the serpent continued to rise from the flames of the glowing kettle. Step by step, the revelation of information from the fiery serpent continued to give while the initiates fed energy back to the serpent.
The initiates needed the next layer of information from the serpent, and the serpent also needed energy from the initiates. Forming and fusing one another at a mystical level, whose combined effort continued up the mural and came together to form the top of the glowing pyramid of the all-knowing.
The final piece of the story, the mural painted together, was the common narrative that interwove the myriads of secret societies together around the world. All societies were different in form and color, yet once initiated at the highest level, one was able to take note of the meaning within the deeper structures of the symbols that linked together the language of the Gods.
As I looked at these incredible stitches on the soft velvet walls of the corridor, I noticed the deeper mysteries being told. I wondered if this was the story of the ritual that was about to take place, once inside the Inner Ritual Chamber. Why would they have the entire ritual displayed out in the open if these rituals were as ancient and as secret as we were led to believe?
Only one answer to my question popped into my mind.
And that was what made our secrets as powerfully secret as they are.
We are not afraid to tell you the truth. Giving the public our secrets provide them comfort that we aren’t hiding anything. We do most of what we do with the view of the public. This keeps them at bay. They do not have any suspicion or desire to destroy inner workings.
What was missing from these murals, ever so elegantly stitched onto the velvet drapery, was one thing. The key. This key connected all the information together. It was the last ingredient to the recipe that’s still missing.
The chanting began to increase in volume as our steady pace led us closer to the Inner Ritual Chambers of the highest-level initiates.
As we approached the final obstacle standing between me and the inner Ritual Chamber, which was a solid gold door at the end of the corridor, I began to feel a deepening sense of inner knowing and a settling, comfortable confidence.
I have set my path, and I have given my all.
Everything I could give was given in the predictable path of knowing that knowledge was the right plan for humanity and the universe. Not just any knowledge, but the right knowledge. Learning the correct information would guarantee the manifestation of our desire for true immortality, which you could actually experience while living.
Life while living, in this current body, is the only true path to immortality that made sense to us.
What was taught at the first and most basic levels of our secret society was that you were to listen only to the people who had what you wanted. All members in our societies want to live eternal lives, in this body. To enter our society, you must have entered the beginning levels with a core basic belief that there was a higher power. The higher power you had to believe in could be imagined however you desired, thus giving one complete freedom to dream up and add to the GODHEAD that was in the process of forming.
As you continue to dig deeper into the information and climb higher in the ranks, you begin to realize and qualify for access to real information. We want to live forever, and that is exactly what we were in the process of selflessly creating and freely giving to the world.
We are all born as creations of an eternal being, meaning, we are automatically not only guaranteed eternal life, but we are also guaranteed the ability to create and reverse engineer immortality of our current conscious minds in this specific body, or the transportation of our minds into another fresh body.
What was promised to us at the early levels was that we would become superhuman through the aid of implantable technology, live eternal lives, and travel the cosmos.
Each new level of information revealed to me only deepened my belief in our society’s ability to move the ball forward in the achievement of the quest.
And now, I was only minutes away from gaining access to the full, complete RAW and unedited archives to the mysteries of the ages. Centuries and countless millennia worth of secret information were about to be at my beck & call. Secret wisdom of the combined ages accumulating together will eventually lead to placing the final capstone onto the top of the pyramid of the all-knowing.
What an honor and a privilege, I kept repeating to myself in the privacy of my head. And still, the children on the drapery clawed at the back of my mind.
Two gentlemen in the exact same uniform as the rest of us, with slightly different honoring ribbons, pins, and medals, stand at attention on either side of the large shimmering golden door barring entry between the corridor and the Inner Ritual Chamber.
As I approached the doorway, I signaled the specific hand sequences to signify my rank, business, and authentication. Only an initiate would notice these subtle signals revealed by the various parts of my body. My specific symbol involved certain motions of my hands with certain fingers held in a certain way, with a specific foot motion as my head and eyes quickly twitched, signaling the final motion of authentication and high-level initiation.
These hand, foot, head, eye, signs, symbols, and sequences were a safe and secure method for recognizing and authenticating another initiate. We knew who we were, even if we were in public and we never met the other members. As we moved through our public lives, we had ways of constant signaling to members we were near and ready to engage when necessary.
What gave our signals security was how the meanings of the motions changed at seemingly random intervals. The ones who secured the meaning of the signals varied among the higher-level members. We could never be too careful.
There were always those who desired to infiltrate our organization in the hopes of controlling the direction. Learning and exposing our secrets to the wrong people who have their evil purpose, which involved destroying what we have spent countless millennia building.
We were not arrogant, but we were certain no outside force could penetrate our organization. We were safe from anyone who sought to destroy us from within.
Both the doorman and I were mutually satisfied with each other’s signaling. The other doorman handed me a nicely folded robe, made of fine material. Thick and quite soft. It had a hood and an elegant mask suitable for the situation.
At the same time, one doorman grabbed the handle of one side of the door and the other grabbed the adjacent side and proceeded to open the door in unison.
As the chamber doors opened, a faint mist-like vapor latched onto my sense of smell. It was the ancient scent used in rituals since the beginning. A smell I had not yet had the privilege of experiencing, up until this moment.
The ritual chamber up ahead was dark, much dimmer than the corridor that led to the large ritual chamber. With the chanting reaching its peak, I stepped into the chamber, and I witnessed for the first time the gathering of the elders forming a circle and chanting the ancient ritual songs.
As I proceeded forward, the doors closed behind me. This moment was mine. I made it. I have finally done it. With all my patience and steady discipline, all leading up to this moment, the time was now.
I took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of the burning incense radiating from the steam chalice, slowly swinging around in counterclockwise motions in a carefully sequential patterned circle.
Everything always meant something.
This was the power of our secrecy that kept our secrets safe, as long as they have. Every wink, every motion, every scent, and every shade of color had a different combined meaning that formed together the secret symbols and communications of the initiated.
The Grand High Master, leading the ritual, glanced up and signaled me to join the circle of deep chanting. I changed into the dark red robe, donned my hood, secured my mask. I stepped forward to close the gap.
“Welcome to the Inner Chambers of the Highest Order to the Ascension Of The Grand High Lair,” chanted The Grand High Master.
Somewhere in the dark, beneath the chant, beneath the incense, beneath the ceremony, something in me waited to learn what the key really was and what it would cost.
I began to hum the ancient chant in rhythm. As I joined the circle, the steam chalice slowed, just slightly, like it noticed me. The vapor near it lifted higher. The red glint sharpened into an eye.
Not stitched. Not painted. Alive.
The serpent of steam turned its gaze toward my face, toward the right side of my mask, and the whisper returned, not from the corridor now, but from the center of the circle itself. “Show me your eye… and I will show you the key.”
My right hand rose on its own before I could command it not to. Two fingers found the edge of my mask. The chant around me did not grow louder, it quieted. As if everyone was listening for the sound of a seal breaking.
Somewhere behind my ribs, beneath the honor, beneath the privilege, beneath the lifelong hunger to know, another thought finally surfaced, sharp and simple. If the tapestry wasn’t the full story… then I wasn’t here to learn. I was here to finish the picture.
The moment my mask began to lift, the serpent’s ruby eye widened, and the golden door behind me locked, one final click, softly, like a latch catching.
This was the final moment of no return.
The tapestry was never meant to be a warning. It was meant to be a mirror. And now I understood, the children weren’t taken. They were given. By those who loved them most.
As the exchange began, and as the serpent’s knowledge flooded in… my humanity flooded out. I finally understood what the missing key had always been. What it always is.
Consent.