The Shelter Cycle by Peter Rock Read Free Book Online

Your Divine Self, all blue and purple and white rays, the little person at the bottom with the Crystal Cord reaching up from his heart, up to ascension. Below that was a long golden table covered in flowers. Soon the people on the screen began to decree.
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I AM the Violet Flame
     In action in me now
I AM the Violet Flame
     To Light alone I bow
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    Along the trailer’s floor, mats had been rolled out for us. As the decrees came in their rhythm, over and over, they lulled us all toward sleep. Colville lay on a mat near mine, stretched out on his stomach, drawing something on a piece of paper, whispering to himself. I was working on a puzzle of three puppies, black and white, playing in some flowers. On the screen the whole crowd was decreeing. I could hear it outside, too, from other trailers and maybe even from King Arthur’s Court, half a mile away.
Hail Saint Germain! Hail Saint Germain! Hail Saint Germain!
They raised their hands and chanted louder.
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I AM the Violet Flame
     In mighty Cosmic Power
I AM the Violet Flame
     Shining Every Hour
I AM the Violet Flame
     Blazing like a sun
I AM God’s sacred power
     Freeing everyone
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    The decree came fast, in circles. With every time around, the energy rose. The more voices, the more vibration, the more Light to send out into the world. The Violet Flame decrees shook the bad thoughts and feelings from us, and situations, and other people, far away. If our thoughts vibrated with enough power, we could see and understand things that had been beyond our range before, like the way dogs can hear whistles at high frequencies. If we could balance the dark with our Light, so much more would be visible. For instance, all the Elementals that surrounded us.
    I slowly slid my mat closer to the television. I leaned in toward the screen and stared into all the tiny decreeing faces, listened to their voices. Sometimes in a service, the Light would come down so powerfully that a person would just collapse. I could see that happening, here and there in the crowd, and I leaned close, squinting to be sure it wasn’t my mom. I was always afraid that she would be taken by the spirit. My father, he loved to decree. Once I heard him say that decreeing surrounded by hundreds of people for twelve hours straight was better than putting two hits of acid on his tongue. What he meant was that it took his soul out of his body, happy, closer to where we all came from.
    Someone whispered my name, then. It was Colville, still flat on his stomach, sliding closer. He whispered, his voice along the floor, telling me that the two of us were not supposed to be apart, but that we had to be, for a time, because of his brother. He said that the Messenger had been talking with his brother, even though the baby wasn’t born yet. The baby would be special, a boy of great Light, necessary in the coming trials. I nodded. I told him I believed it, and I did believe it. We both went silent, watching and listening, so close together again.
    All the decreeing had finally cleared enough energy that the Messenger could appear. She entered the stage in a white gown, floating almost, sitting on a blue chair while things settled. Then she stood and crossed the blue stage, flowers all around, crystal chandeliers overhead. There was no sound at all until she spoke.
    She called everyone dearly beloved friends, Keepers of the Flame. She warned that not enough Violet Flame had yet been called forth to reverse the tide, to transmute or stop her prophecies from coming into being. Her voice echoed. She said that she had been on Atlantis and Lemuria and that she was still here, loving us. Her face was fixed, staring; and then her voice went deeper, into a kind of monotone, as she dictated from the Ascended Master Saint Germain. His handsome face shone in the painting behind her—his blond mustache