Hunting the Hallowed Chrysalis

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

I had just landed back into human form after an exhausting galactic battle. All I wanted to do was enjoy the mundane existence of a simple and quiet life.

Carrie, my ego, had a gift of softening life on earth. She lived placidly on the outskirts of Earlham, Iowa. A sleepy farm town offered the perfect pace for someone with a kind soul, gentle eyes and soothing voice. She had few friends in human form but nature embraced her in such a way that she never felt alone. All of her free time was spent tending to her garden and exploring the woods that lined the family farm that she’d inherited from her late parents.

Her afternoons were spent communing with the mini beasts and laborers in her garden. She applauded the work ethic of the ants and would praise the majestic garden spider for the speed and prolific spinning of her zig-zag stitched web. She would bow to the bees for pollinating the land and protecting their Queen. Caterpillars were her favorite though. She knew their fate was ominous with a beautiful twist. She could relate to the disintegration of one life in pursuit and longing for a freer, more colorful existence. She’d ask the butterflies if they ever missed the slower, less erratic pace of life but they never stuck around to answer. She presumed that they did not remember their life tied to land. She felt envious of their inability to be plagued by memories of their past life.

The willow trees would dance as she slipped into the lore of trees each evening. She would spill her secrets as if the land were her living diary. The birds would chirp as if to gossip about what they’d seen and cackle at her jokes. She was perplexed on how the birds had the ability to fly anywhere yet they chose to create homes and raise their babies in these trees. She would meander until the lightning bugs would emerge to light her path back to her humble abode.

We made quite the pair. She would befriend the mini beasts on earth and I would wage war against the more dangerous beasts in other dimensions, seemingly far away. I must admit, I had found a gem of a human to evolve with.

The veil of consciousness may have been thin for her, given her attunement with nature and depths of compassion for all sentient beings but she was not consciously aware of our dynamic. Earthlings have a limited understanding of the unseen forces that protect the layers of reality as they know it. For the most part, it’s better this way. Human egos have free will but cannot do too much harm without the Galactic Federation stepping in. Aside from nuclear war, they are pretty much left to play unattended within their own ignorance. Beings like me, most often referred to as the “higher self” are multidimensional. We can shape-shift and experience many levels of reality simultaneously. We do assist the ego in the evolution of consciousness though. Some “awakened” humans are more aware of the “signs” we offer to help guide them into higher states of consciousness. We must abide by the universal laws or immense consequences ensue. I was about to see how far I could bend before breaking these laws.

I had not only returned to the sweltering heat and brutal humidity caused by evapotranspiration also known as corn sweat. Only those who have lived through a midwestern summer would know the intolerable mugginess caused by millions of acres of corn and soybeans perspiring.

I didn’t consider for a moment to remote-view Carrie’s life prior to re-emerging into her body. We’d been adjoined for over 40 earth years and she’d never given me reason to question her life choices.

The stargate makes it pretty easy to slide back into 3rd dimension. I’ve found that re-entry is easiest while she is sleeping. Typically, I glide back in and she doesn’t even flinch.

The only flinch this time was from me. I immediately heard a strange sound to my right and felt what seemed to be a weighted blanket across the bottom of our legs.

I turned my head to see what the sound was. It was too dark to see anything but I smelled the stench of a sweaty man and I quickly realized that wasn't a weighted blanket but rather that man’s leg draped over ours. Carrie had a man in her bed!

This man had the snore of a 1987 Jeep Wagoneer without a muffler and the wretched stench of an insecure man. In fact, if he were a vehicle, it would be this one. Oversized, outdated, brute of a man, piled up on Carrie’s petite frame.

My best hope was that I’d wake up to realize that he was not sticking around. I knew better though. Carrie was quite the prude when it came to sleeping with men. She carried a lot of shame around her inability to bear children so she did not date throughout the child-bearing years. She felt that any man of similar values would desire children and given her inability to produce them, she would leave the good ones for other women.

My next thought was perhaps we could alchemize some things in the sheets. I could make the best of the situation and use some tantra to restore some of the life force energy that was lost in battle. I knew that her cycle paired perfectly with the full moon and that was upon us the following day so that was not happening either.

Upon waking, she slipped into the kitchen and began cooking a meal. This was not a part of our normal routine. She bypassed her good mornings with the houseplants, in fact most of them were drooping as if their leaves were hanging sadly from not being greeted. There was an unfamiliar density to her. Her breathing was more shallow and symptoms of a taxed nervous system were noticeable. I’d later come to realize that the tension and pain in her shoulders were from carrying a proverbial shovel around to clean up after this man’s shit.

She only prepared one plate, poured a glass of milk and put a slew of vitamins in a small dish next to the meal, then went back to the bedroom to wake the brute. She gently caressed his arm and whispered “Honey, it’s time to wake up”.

After he was done with his meal, he groped her breast as if to say he wanted dessert after breakfast. Her breasts were tender and sore to the touch. She knew her cycle was moments away from breaking through. She reminded him of this and he made a snide remark “What is that bitch doing here again? It’s a good thing your mouth isn’t broken.” I could feel an electrical surge of emotions surfacing atop my own restraint. Her throat was constricting as if to swallow the repressed collective rage towards men who are oblivious to the sacredness, ferocity and beauty of a woman's cycle. I knew that we could end his existence with one breath. My words could slice through his weak and impotent nature, yet I knew that he wasn’t worth it. I only gazed at him and allowed her eyes to prophesied to his higher-self. His soul beckoned his cowardly ego to stand down, tail between his legs, he fled toward the bathroom. We need not emasculate him. There was no need to perpetuate the fragility of his ego. As long as I was around, he would be fruitless in his attempt to domestic her.