Greetings Stranger…

Greetings Stranger,

You probably will be as surprised when finding this bundle of papers, as I was at the moment I decided to write it.

When you are surprised that this letter is addressed to you, then you know this has to be sincere. You did not know the existence of the cave you are now in, at least that is my presumption, and that you are the inspiration to these writings. You must know, I am not such a writer.

But I am being rude, let me introduce myself. My name is Amenho-t’e, a man not unlike many others and I am from an area with the name Sastrië. My age is of no concern. I was born on the ‘Plains of Pandersy’, and after the death of my mother I moved out towards Sastrië, magical Sastrië. There I was admitted in one of the Houses and climbed up to the ‘Rung Master’

(In case you are not familiar with this terminology: ‘Rung Master’ is the highest ‘Rung’ one can achieve in a House and actually can be compared with being ‘graduated’. The purpose now is to roam and find glory, fame and riches, or if you decide to turn to ones self. To elevate to ‘Master’ or to turn into one of the many paths that lead to Kirvalestas (enlightenment / clarification).)

My finances I obtain from smaller and some bigger assignments. For the most part, healing (both physical and mental), limited protections against all sorts of essence, placing curses (only on very small scale; this in contradiction with some other mages of wizards), and the interpreting of peoples’ dreams, and foreseeing the near future etc…

In my roaming life I tried to climb up to become a ‘Master’ and am continuing to do so. In traveling is a restlessness that I try to combine by exploring myself. Kirvalestas cannot be achieved in one lifetime, becoming a ‘Master’ also not, but the combination gives me a feeling of rest and balance. But I digress.

Probably you are still surprised about this sudden invasion in your existence. Alas, the occasion is inevitable. On one moment, in previous lifetimes, it was determined that you will read this and that I will write you. I do not know who you are, where you come from, and how you live your life. You are reading this letter, so you are important. Just like my existence has been afflicted by strange coincidences, now it is your turn. This letter is a petition for help. I want you to help me, because you are as involved as I am. If you do not help, even then your life is altered and are you woven into a web that I only suspect.

“A cobweb in the night becomes visible only when day breaks and the fog lifts.” I apologize, I digress again. I keep writing ribbons of word that entangle.

The fact that you are reading this has everything to do with the occasion and the signals afterwards. An event that brings me unrest and makes me shiver. The signals only amplify this and hastens me. I do not know when you are reading this, but as time passed more degradation has taken place. If it is already too late, you will never read this. Then nothing matters.

The occasion of my shivering may come to you as vague or mystical, but do not forget, I am a mage. I walk strange paths using my non-physical self, at least that part that I choose to use.

I will not copy the account for this letter, that I wrote, done immediately after the event. This is foreign to me since I am in possession of a healthy mind, and normally I do not write any of my activities down. I also accounted some of the signals, some nebulous quotes on paper which sometimes are closely related to the event. Sometimes they are not related at all. Here it comes:

‘Slowly I dare to come closer, my fingers stretching out to the consciousness before me. She is open to me and slowly I enter her. I am looking around and I am trying to orientate myself , I see an overview of a large mountain meadow filled with flowers, then a man that picks me up and kisses me. I look around and feel how life is created, she shows me everything. I see all information, but instantly forget. Everything about her youth, puberty, getting older. Everything about her thinking, her doing, and her findings. I lay them down next to me and relax and try to see deeper and discover what I came for. A small piece of dust that is floating in light. The birth of a new soul. Each time the sight of such beauty. I am filled with the feeling of peace and emotion. I sob and float cryingly closer, careful so I do not disturb, careful, because the Sielu is too young for impressions. Formed by light, fed by love from the mother. Softly I slide closer to this dust spec to hear the soft sounds of well known happy sounds of comfort. It is silent. Closer I slide, amazed again, yet different. It is silent. The Sielu is forming. There is no death, yet it is silent. Bewildered I sneak closer and fear grabs me. So close to life that life is and at the same time is death. The tears in my eyes are dried, I see better now and see that the dust spec is not alone. There is fog, a thick, dark force surrounds, embraces the child. It is silent.

Against all rules I try to touch the child, to comfort it. I am pushed back, but not by the child that aches for me when it feels me. And sweating now of exhaustion I try again and again and…. Then the silence stops. Softly the fog starts to hum, increasingly louder and louder. Humming becomes growling. Louder and louder. Growling becomes shouting. Deafening. Louder and louder. I am beaten back and to a jelly. Shouting becomes roaring, ever louder and louder and desperately I try to close the doors to my consciousness while I am beaten back. The roaring is so loud, AAAAHH…….”

I find myself back on the remains of what used to be a chair who thought the excess weight was exaggerated and gave up. Exactly the way I feel: a loser. Soaking wet of the sweat I sit on the floor in terror and disillusion. “The dawn is pushed back and a dark blanket covers the remains”, I found myself mumbling.

The event I described here is impossible, interference with the newly conceived is impossible. The woman whom I entered did this on her own request, this is apparent I might hope, and she was not in the room at the moment it happened. Hours later when she asked why she still did not feel her child she sounded distressed, and when she asked why her lower stomach became so senseless, and whether these strong cramps were normal during such an examination, I could only look at her. My look must have been compassionate, but above all a look of deep sympathy and a little fear. I told the woman that her child is alive, and that it will be a special child, but not like she would have hoped. Women always have hope for their child. When we parted I had difficulty not to cry, and averted myself swiftly.

Later in my room at the local inn, it all kept running in my head. I dreamt about it, I read back my story, even though that was not necessary, and I became more scared by the second. That this was an act of magic that was obvious. I clearly recognized the meandering ring that embarrassed the child. Or did it detain it? But a power that blocks out the Light? Shivers run down my spine still when I think back about the event. Maybe stranger, you think it all sounds meaningless, or not enough to be scared for. Maybe you cannot imagine it, if it makes a difference, neither can I. But I am dealing with impressions, not of eye or ear or scent. I am, I experience it as if it were a deep black sea, where everything is possible and where every drop gives an infinite amount of indentations. It is actually indescribable to a layman. Fact remains that a force that can do this can also carelessly dispose over life and death, over all life and death.

Aye, I am afraid. A power is at work, cunning, sly, and unnoticed. It undermines and fills holes and collapsed values with the same, only imperceptibly altered. “The spider I call him for he weaves, observes, conserves and consumes”, a king once praised his counselor. It turned out to be fatal, spiders can not be trusted. Aye, I am scared. Scared of a enemy who I, by lack of better name, will call the Spider. But maybe you are still not convinced and do you not believe in magic and the art of practicing magic. Also, I cannot help thinking that later events are links to this event and with each other. A few examples:

– After a quite period of six centuries fights emerged, whole wars appeared. Just like that.

– Big scale nature disasters occur with no reason. They are also larger than usual.

(Mountains, volcanoes, streams, seas, forests, etc… al give host to their own spirits or consciousness or

however they are called. Nature looks to be lock, stock, barrel, but they are the regulators and do not likepeople. They can be invited for a conversation, but only the simplest of forms can be bound and made usefor the concerns of people.)

– Also there are shifts in religion. More often there is a deviation from pure Gods, who are worshipped forcenturies. Worshipping of Idols is more and more into vogue. In the thereby shifting period more Gods inthe form of a snake are worshipped. In these deifications frantic and mad rites are practiced and scandalous sacrifices performed.

In my personal sphere I have noticed that some of my gifts were blocked, slowed down. I hear these sounds also from colleague-mages, especially the gift of Seeing, and what was even more remarkable, simple spirits like for instance water-spirits did not or very sporadically entered into conversation. Let alone could perform favors while being bound. The conversations were very unclear, but a repeating pattern is aggressive oppression. With simple assignments I sometimes meet high resistance, less often I am helped with my occupations. Every once in a while I lose my gifts all together, and that is terrifying, I can tell you that.

If after reading this story your butt has gotten cold because of the rocks under you, then in my opinion that cold symbolizes the future. After these events I feel dejected and shivery. Like I am cold.

Stretch your legs for a little while and walk around, if needs be, sit in front of the cave in the sun, warmth does well. Warmth that will glow through you, because of the sun and the view. It lets you forget the dangers. So also in my life.

Even since my limitations in my gifts I have the distinct feeling of being watched by the perpetrator of all this. It is like I am being checked, spied on as you wish. But the feelings of warmth are unexpected, and came more often with the nearing and ever devouring danger, or sometimes after peculiar visions or after reading back automatic writings (I will write down some of the ones I think are important). And also when I think back of some of my dreams, dreams after which I wake up in the morning smiling and crying. Still alternated with horrifying nightmares, of which I will describe one as well.

The night is a stranger, and alternately friend or foe, but needed, so it is wanted.

One of the most recent nightmares goes as follows:

My position is under the Ternce surface. Above there are people walking, people living. They do not know that I am here. They do not know that I try to save them. It is hot, it is here very warm. Strong arms are working here, and also me. I occasionally command and work silent. It is very noisy here, there is a lot of noise. The surface is not strong. Above me there are people walking, people living. Big steel beams are supporting the surface, but sometimes they fall. It is very gray here and sometimes fire shoots past me. The beams fall sometimes, we work, I work. We repair, we take care that the surface does not fall. That the whole planet does not fall, and disappears. The walking people do not realize, the living people do not realize. I am tired, but more beams are falling. We are with to little, even though more join in. Beams are always falling, always small parts collapse, but it happens more and more often, more often. It gets warmer here, we are working harder. More beams are falling and take more beams in their fall out of the structure that continues under me, more deeper.

Fire shoots past me. I command more, more beams are falling. People do not realize. I have to go in all directions, everywhere more beams are falling. It starts on the top where the most workers are, and their number increases unnoticed. “We can not hold it anymore”, someone screams. He is supporting beams with his back. Steel on flesh, blood in-between. More people have to support. More often beams are falling. People who walk, and people who work sink sometimes. More beams and I try to catch them and to support, it does not work. Slowly the structure crumbles, it collapses. People who walk and live do not understand, panic. Beams around me. “We can not hold it anymore”, someone yells, “we can not hold it anymore”. And just when everything falls in, I wake up…

I have had this nightmare several times and I wake up every time with the feeling of haste, that something has to be done. Unsatisfied I then catch my sleep. Luckily there is a antagonist, I just spoke of warmth that also refreshes. Refreshing warmth. There is a term in the practicing lore of magic that literally translated means just that: Frisslämmen. Frisslämmen I feel after my visions and sometimes during. The visions are of peculiar nature, an example:

I am sitting on a mountain, the air is fresh and before me is growing something, something of stone. I speak with this, out loud:

Greetings sielu,

Thou who is kissed in a ring of fire,

Greetings sielu,
Greetings sielu,
Thou who liberates,
Greetings sielu,
Thou who is eternal,
Thou are Greeted sielu.
And the sielu answers: I am beloved.

Another example:

I am laying in trance and smell roses around me. Roses everywhere and drops of blood are falling on the ground. No puddle is forming, the ground is drinking. This can take hours, laying on the ground. This condition of trance repeats itself. I have experienced it at least five times, it is a very peaceful performance.

A last example:

I am with someone who I know very well, I think. I just can not remember who. It is like it is myself. I am walking though a valley of only rocks and stone, with at the end a glacier. I stumble over there. All of a sudden I am there and I behold. Melting water of the glacier mixes with dust of pulverized stone. On the left there is a girl standing, she is peeing. At her feet the formed puddle mixes with the melting water and the dust. On the right there is a boy, he is also peeing in this strange mixture. When they are done they walk away hand in hand, and I cry. One tear falls in the puddle and it becomes hard as ice. From this a flower starts to grow, a rose. Delicate and friendly it unfolds its leaflets. When in my haste I try to grab the flower, it pulverizes in my hands, it appeared to be made of stone.

While comparing other visions with each other, it seems that love, peace, blood, but especially roses, stone roses are most present. It is like a transparent puzzle that fits all of a sudden after you remember the pieces.

Thinking about these messages, because that is how I experience them, I remembered a saga. A fairytale that my mother used to tell me when I was little when I tried to convince her that I will never die, like my father did (although now when I am older I believe less and less in his death and I am in doubt). And that the whole world would be for me alone and that I never have to feed the pigs again.

The story speaks of Isandrea, a empress of the Low Lands, who allegedly was pricked by a stone rose. The story goes like this:

‘Isendrea succeeds her beloved father and starts a reign of terror, which turn the once peaceful land into a mud pool of suspicion and intrigue. She is so driven in her ambitions and lust that she does not notice that she is adored by Gerwein, who, blinded by love does not see what she is doing to her people. Her motivations are not monetarily, but immortality and eternal beauty. She tries to achieve this objective by concerning herself with doubtful mages and charlatan. Gherwein notices that after a few hopeless attempts she does not notice him, and contrives a guile to lure her to a quite location to seduce her. He disguises himself a mage and when he stands before her he speaks the following words:

“Thou beauty is truly unsurpassed
Eternally this will last
Whilst thou kiss a rose of stone,
In a ring of seven fires, all alone
Thou love to be my prize”

Isendrea, blinded by greed, goes with him to a valley called: ‘The Valley of the Silent Sighs’. Of course Gherwein’s story is made up and she finds no roses of stone. Angry she leaves with the announcement that she never wants to see him again. Gherwein stays behind being very downhearted. He is discovered by a Faery who listens, surprised by his story, and teaches him how to cultivate stone roses. The story is not clear about the method, but what is known is that it took him fourteen years before The rose is fully grown. Very carefully he takes The rose to his loved one and dressed in the same attire as fourteen years earlier, he repeats his words:

“Thou beauty is truly unsurpassed
Eternally this will last
Whilst thou kiss a rose of stone,
In a ring of seven fires, all alone
Thou love to be my prize”

Isendrea agrees, but in no way wants to share her love with Gherwein. She orders seven fires to be laid in a ring and accepts the rose. In the ring, when she hastily tries to kiss the rose, she pricks herself and when the drop of blood mixes with the soil she drops dead. The people are liberated and happy. Gherwein is inconsolable and retracts himself in ‘The Valley of the Silent Sighs’ as a hermit where he cultivates stone roses till he dies.”


As if infected by this, well what is it actually? A saga, a fairytale, the truth maybe. I tried to find the answers in literature. Infinite libraries I searched in, even in some of the oldest Houses in their cellar-cave-libraries: killuolakirjasto. In all those years I only found two fragments which refer to what I am looking for. In an unbelievable old book, I suspect one of the first magical dictionaries (my guess is between 30 and 40 centuries), listed under the S:

– Stone rose: noun [s] physical or symbolical relic of unknown origin which is thought of to have magical powers. Function unknown.

Later I found an even older book in one of the deepest and older caves. Caves that were used by the first mages, when there were no Houses yet, when the stars were touched with firemagic. A book completely leather, thick leathered cover, letters burned in leather pages and illustration painted in with blood, gold and excrement. A book written in the old language, of which some of the terms are still used in magic, like sielu, it means soul.

Only one passage refers to what I am looking for. Here it is:

kívi rusu kûkia ikkinen
píki väristua
maa ja ver, kuole ja elämä
ajoivat surullisûs, luoivan valistous

Translated it says:

Stone roses bloom forever
The thorns coloring red
Earth and blood, death and life
driven away somberness, created/made enlightenment

Also in far off regions of Sastrië, regions one can only reach in Midtzömr, circulates a word: civirûûs (ûû is pronounced with a lowering of the voice, from the back of the throat. The g is pronounced normally). When you compare this word with kívi rusu, it is clear that civirûûs is a corruption of the original term. civirûûs has a different meaning however. The meaning is somewhere close to ‘purification of the sielu’ .

You see that by combining puzzling, and sometimes plain guessing I am forming a picture, getting closer to an answer of the threat that I feel. That ever-present threat that is becoming more and more present. It is just that the threat works faster than me, it takes me years to find little information, while my powers are slowly eaten away. While the world like I know it, becomes more and more chaotic and everything around me falls away.

Maybe now you are sitting in the last dying rays of the sun, which you expect to rise and die again. Ebb and flood. Light and dark. But what if this is the last time that you can see the rays and feel them? Would you not fight and not only for yourself, but also for the lizard next to you cherishing the warmth, so that there can be life again? I will, but alone and for so long, its weight slowly makes me desperate. Maybe there are more people like me, but in all my roaming I did not find one.

The last weeks before I wrote this, about fourteen days earlier, I have been in this cave. Discovered by accident, or subconsciously sent, I took my recess here. Here I found rest and re-found myself. Meditating in the sun, which you may still see before you, I balanced myself out. In all that time I did not have any visions, I had the time to straighten it all out. What is strange, and maybe you felt is also, is the cave’s sphere. Rest by old age, almost melancholy, a lullaby, comforting. It gives the feeling of being charged, and the Frisslämmen that I had after, or sometimes during, my visions and good dreams, came here almost naturally. Enjoy a few more day of this rest, but report yourself afterward, please.

After reading this letter a lot of questions will rise, and a lot of these questions I am afraid, I will not able to answer. One question I can answer for you beforehand: why did I write a letter here, without reason, and left for whomever find its way in it. Well, I started the letter with that this moment must be determined centuries ago. This is true. I must have been here more often, and in other lives. The signs for this are very clear, but I will not tire you with technicalities. Large areas of my knowledge are under some kind of professional secret and violation of these can result in the loss of all my powers. But this is not the reason that I wrote you. I know that you are present in my lives, this cave has a large part in that. Help me!

I also wrote in the beginning of this letter, that even if you do not help me, you are entangled in this web, just by reading this letter. Help me please! I do not know how, but you do, even if you are not aware of that yet. My last hope is established on this cry of distress. I feel web threats stick and I do not dare to move to much, because then I awake the spider. Cut me loose!

Thou are Greeted Stranger,


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2 thoughts on “Greetings Stranger…

  1. I always have vivid dreams. Some people tell me that they don’t have “colored” dreams. I find this odd. Mine are always colored. Some of my best friends I only meet in dreams.
    I had this dream that I kept waking up to. It splintered my day like no other. The first dream was about falling. The next about flying. But this wasn’t your everyday “flying-this-is-cool-flying”. It was more like being swept up by this unyelding and relentless force and being send towards – something. The familiarity of control was there (I pride myself in my ability to lucidly dream) but it eluded me as I rose higher and higher at the same time wishing for slower and more safe ride. I felt that I could harness it – my flight – if I gathered my willpower sufficiently. To my delight and to certain degree chargrin (horror) I realized that this was an unstoppable of a force as any I would face in the reality of the waking world. I was assaulted by the exhilarating feeling of weightlessness while fearintg that I might hit the trees and hurt myself. My prayers turned to hope that I would wake up before anything -happened- to me!
    The third dream was about the cave and… well I must say that I was amazed that this place was real when I found it – right there that my dream had shown it would be. My old childhood haunting, my playgrounds if you will, near the house that my parents – and I – used to live in.
    But unknowing what would lie ahead, in I went. My insecurities hugging my torchlight, sucking its ebbing light step by step.


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