The Ouroboros

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. The ones born of smokeless fire, scaled beasts of monstrous sizes that cast shadows so wide in flight the sun bows to the beating of their wings stretched out before its blue sky. The scorched earth that they had shaped into their own domain stood as a testimony that they now reigned viciously on top of the food chain. Humanity reduced to nothing but dust in the wind scattered deep into the corners of the earth. If my memory still has not betrayed me, the last time I counted, less than a few hundred of us remain. I know this because the rest of our planet has become uninhabitable due to the radiation these behemoths leave when they nest.

We are the last city, the last refuge of humanity in this ocean of stars we call our cosmos. Potimia, is the city we now have learned to call home. It’s strategically nestled beneath the Tigris and Euphrates River. In the region we once used to call Iraq. Funny how a land that once used to be plagued with wars now nestles the last of mankind. Befitting in a way; the cradle of civilization being the first and last refuge. They managed to build Potimia during the first few phases of the attack. Drilling beneath the earth and under two river systems, managing to design a series of chambers that could house hundreds of thousands. But alas less than a few hundred of us remain. Empty halls and dark corridors housed nothing but broken dreams of ghosts of those that failed to be rescued in time.

When these beasts first appeared they roared of a prophecy being fulfilled, that they have bested the celestial titans that guarded the veil between our dimensions and come back to lay claim to the Mal’Kouthian realm. Which we now have come to understand meant our current dimension.

They believed that the earth was once theirs that they have always reigned in the background, manipulating and shaping our world to their liking. Crossing dimensions of time to reclaim the earth that they had lost. They called it the great cycle. The Ouroboros, the dragon eating its own tail.

I’ve come to understand the prophecy, and I know that this isn’t the first time they have appeared in human recorded history. The cycle happens every 12,000 years. Humanity reaching…crawling its way to a new technological age before the Ouroboros begins. Only to be reset to a crippled state of base consciousness.

It was said that a veil used to exist between our worlds and that of the dragons. Minted during the creation of mankind, it was placed forth by a mysterious entity; nicknamed the source of light. When it sprung forth between our worlds it divided this physical realm from the astral realm of the dragons. When the source of light split the world into two, it crafted a veil that was placed over every sentient beings sixth sense. This veil served as a barrier that was protected by four celestial champions. These celestials were referred to as the titans of the four cardinal directions.

Over the course of history, gifted individuals amongst the kin of both humans and dragons littered our timeline. Gifted only in the timing of their birth. Sometimes when the correct planetary alignments happens the veil weakens; for but a moment in time the curtain slowly unravels itself, and we catch glimpses of the astral realm, and the astral realm catches glimpses of us. Humans and dragons that are born within these fleeting rare minutes permanently damage the veil placed over their 6th sense, in essence nullifying the veil.

The source of light placed a safeguard for humans unlucky enough to be born within these planetary alignments. Once a child was born a celestial assigned by the source of light would visit them between the ages of infancy and adolescence. They would be visited once but it would be a experience of such magnitude, that it would not be easily forgotten.

Here the celestial would guide the child to an isolated area and begin to restore the veil. As adults, since we often brush off childhood experiences as mere imagination or childlike shenanigans. It becomes almost impossible to decipher between a child's projected idea of reality and what is actually happening.

In very few circumstances something impossible happens. the celestial fails or is deceived into thinking the veil has been restored. Here are where the extraordinary amongst us are born. Ones who champion human or dragon reach towards astounding heights. With the ability to see both the astral and physical they had managed to delay or accelerate the Ouroboros throughout the worlds timespan. A yin-yang cycle of destruction and or birth.

The celestials made of light served what they called the creator of life, the source of lights. they upheld the creators vision for all life stretched amongst and between space and time. They called the dragons Jinn, a race of beings made from a smokeless fire with the ability of free will and independent thinking.

The veil protected us once, but somehow it had fallen when the celestial titans of the four cardinal directions had succumbed to defeat. Their fall ushered in these winged beings into our plane of existence. The window on this cycle was closing fast, which meant that this time around we would cease to exist as a species altogether. There were no titans to restore the veil on this cycle or human champions to defend against the Ouroboros.

I knew something had to be done against this encroaching evil and if it meant that I had to dip the essence of my soul into the darkest knowledge accumulated by humanity. So be it. To find the key to this ouroboros, I would sacrifice anything. Ultimately, I began first with finding the celestials that predated the great floods, and the rise and fall of numerous human civilizations.

Legend has it that these two celestial beings were cast down from the astral realm into ancient Babylon long ago. Crashing forth from the heavens above and bound with man flesh; instilled with all our worldly cravings and deepest cardinal desires. These titans of light wandered the glistening halls of Babylon teaching and beckoning to those who would listen about the vastness of the universe. They spilled secrets of how the world worked before the great flood which was the last ouroboros event that had occurred. They spoke in riddles about a forgotten force that was used to manipulate the very nature of reality. One could tap into this force with phonetics alone.

Pra’ta they called it. The mother of all languages. The phonetics of this speech would somehow vibrate the very atoms around us and cause instant change in this plane of existence. Through the user’s spiritual means, it could be tremendously amplified. It was awe inspiring to the modern Babylonians at the time. The last time humanity had delved into this form of spirit was before the floods had crippled us, reverting our species to mere infants learning to crawl again and suckle on the tree of knowledge in hopes it bears fruit. Before the Ouroboros wiped the slate clean with the element of water and our knowledge of things past slipped from our grasps. But then a golden age bloomed in the blistering heat of Babylon.

Through these celestials humanity was beginning to make bounds and leaps in advancements of the arts, philosophy, medicine, language, the fundamental building blocks of humanity all flowed back like a crashing river that finally broke free from the withering dam that held it at bay for thousands of years; right back into human consciousness. Almost as if recovering from amnesia humanity had learned how to crawl again.

These celestials shared many other secrets of this physical reality around us. They spoke of lost history and epic tales of human champions attempting to restore humanities knowledge of what occurred before the great flood, bridging the gap of lost history to our doomed ancestors of the past. After they would exchange this knowledge they would warn that they were surely only but a trial of the creator and to exercise extreme caution with this privileged occult language. The decades ticked away and the celestials kept on revealing more of our past. Slowly allowing us to shine a light into the darkest parts of our history at an attempt to find the celestial door of our destiny of the astral realm; insuring we stop the Ouroboros cycle from every happening again.

Unfortunately good times tend to create weak men, and oh how weak we became to the un-daunting lust of the material world around us. Eventually society had succumbed to lesser human emotions and perverted this knowledge. We twisted and mangled the power of spirit and greedily readied our bellies for the conquest of worldly materialism. We were consumed by our hunger for power, sex, gold and the blood of the earth. The world whistled an entrancing tune and we danced to every one of its rhythmically lustful beats. But we blindly pirouetted outside the door that led to the ending of the dragons reign.

Our entrancement with worldly pleasure was so great that we could not steal our gaze for the smallest of an instant to turn the knob of this door these celestials offered. We had folded to the system before even being invited in.

With humanity stuck in the mirage of this world, they were doomed to repeat the same mistakes of the people before the great flood. The celestials had failed. With this burden of shame that ached their minds they wandered the deserts of Babylon begging the creator to forgive them. Begging the creator to spare them. The source of all light had given them two options as he ripped the sky open to answer them. “Where would you prefer to be punished, in this world, or the astral realm?” the thundering voice answering from the heavens above.

Knowing that this Malkuthian dimension was only temporary and the astral realm was eternal; they ultimately succumbed to be punished in this physical realm. Here the source of lights fashioned for them a magical well that moved physically from one space to the other in the deserts of modern day Iraq. Inside this well these titans were hung by their ankles and left both to tangle near the bottom of the well only held up by the large silver chains of the creator.

Haroot and Maroot, the great celestial angels that hurled Babylon and eventually the whole of humanity lightyears into the future stood bound and tangled in front of my very eyes. The sands of time had not been kind to them. Thousands of years had licked and etched its way into their almost leathery pale faces hanging before me. “A son of Adamite has finally found us – found us – found us…” speaking in unison their voices echoed reverberating through every molecule of spirt in my body.

To understand how I stumbled upon Haroot and Maroot I must go back in time, so the reader of this journal may better grasp why the apocalyptic events that scorch our earth in present time unfolded. Let us go back to the time of the human champions and the Jinns that fought alongside them against their own kin. Let us go back to when these champions risked all they had to insure a balance was created between humans and jinn kind. These champions of our time could better tell the story since they understood it from birth. The folly of jinn and mankind.

Most of these human/jinn champions transcended normal Pra'ta capacity of the spirit. They opened celestial doors that none will be able to reopen. They connected with the source of light at a deeply intimate level and attempted to guide humanity and jinn forward on this mysterious path. But only one spoke to creator. Only one.

There on the steps of Mount Qaf, a man would encounter and speak to a being none have spoken to before and none shall probably speak to again. This being was the source of creation. The creator reaching out to his creation. This being entrusted this human with the tools to be able to liberate his people from a tyrannical king that believed he was a God. Ironically, this man was not the only human who found secrets in a cave.

The cave phenomenon, that’s what I’ve come to call it through the years. Many of these champions have spiritual experiences that touch them to the core within, you’ve guessed it, a cave. When this mere human mortal met the source of all lights in a cave it was just one of many instances that humans have had similar experiences. What he experienced in the cave spawned the historic exodus of his tribe from that tyrannical kingdom and the finding of their holy land, to a secret art that has survived for thousands of years. The man is shrouded in mystery, none know his true name but all know his tale.

He was the only one that was given a book in this other worldly encounter. A book that lets the reader transcend the human condition and break through the spiritual matrix landing them in the astral realm. With this book the reader had the ability to control both terrestrial, and earthly bound spirits, if used right; one could change the course of history, hence becoming the author of their own story. He succeeded in freeing his people from the grasps of the king, hence solidifying his name in the sands of time.

Although he freed his people, he failed at fully interpreting the book, later his kin took on that mantel when the book was passed down from father to son. The great trove of Knowledge is what I’ve learned to call it. There are mentions of the manuscript throughout northern Africa and the Middle East region of the world. Guised under a mysterious Arabian author, and warped through the years with human influences and corruption.

Looking back at how things unfolded, I believe that this book has made its way to my possession, through the occult and ritual means. I could almost feel it ooze and vibrate with energy, leaving a rich scent of frankincense in the already encumbered air around it. For having this tome of secrets I believe my life is in danger. Even as I write away I feel their whispers. They itch within the walls of my subconscious, almost speaking within me. They usher me to release our location, and where Patomia lays. So they may wash away the last remnants of our species.

They tell me of how the earth first belonged to them. How from smokeless fire they sprung into existence and waged war with each other for thousands of years before being driven into the depths of the earth by one of their own. Some of them who smell of rotting sulfur and have oceans of fire as eyes whisper dark and blasphemes thoughts to me of how the source of lights abandoned them after he had sculpted the first Adamite from clay. That he would eventually abandon us after his next creation. Lastly some whispered to me of what they’d like to call, “the Conclusion”, the final act and how I must be the harbinger of the Ouroboros. So it could finally be finished. To understand more about this dark book I must tell this tale from the beginning and the beginning involves entering the womb of the earth. The cave of the prophets that I had found within Patomia.

Growing up within Patomia I had experienced the darkest of what our species was capable of. Fathom and despair quickly has a way to have everyone gunning for each other’s throats. First the passing of provisions was held accountable by more level headed leaders. Women and children were prioritized. The elderly were provided with the best medication to fight the radiation that had poisoned most of them from outside exposer.

Since they were the few that had remembered what our world used to look like, they were placed in ruling positions over the civilians of Patomia in hopes that they could bestow knowledge from the old world they used to inhabit before the dragons. As provisions started to dwindle people became on edge and closer to madness. Soon after that, goods and materials started to be hoarded by certain elders, allowing access only to those of their blood. Entire medical wards and chow halls were slowly becoming off limits to thousands of people within Patomia.

It is funny how even in the darkest of times human greed finds a way to triumph, and forces us to fight amongst each other. Greed and unrest had erupted in our city beneath the earth. The Jinns above oblivious to our suffering and war cries for blood beneath their very feet. I watched my mother and father slowly die by a dream they had envisioned for the last of us that remained alive. Even though I was but a mere child, what I could vaguely remember haunts me to this day. My parents believed being part of the rebellion would ultimately usher forth peace and justice within Patomia.

They dreamed ostentatious dreams and it didn’t take long before they attracted and stirred the masses to this vision of unity, that blood and riches did not adhere to the rights of life. A dream that they had hoped to make a reality. The elders felt pressured by the rise of this opposition and quickly amassed a force and made martyrs of my mother and father. They made them suffer for their position, only for that suffering to cause others to sympathize with their dream, thus strengthening their cause.

Civil war erupted after they had passed. Entire colonies destroyed within Patomia within months. The war raged within our halls brought on by the will to survive. These battles and skirmishes decorated most of our halls with blood. To prevent disease the sick and dead were burned within the great furnace. We didn’t need Jinns to be the end of us. We managed that all on our own. As our numbers dwindled to historic lows people began to lose the will and moral to fight. So many leaders of the elders and rebellion factions had been killed and replaced over and over again that people had forgotten why they were fighting when the true enemy was above us.

A party of twelve were assigned to rule over Patomia. These twelve reshaped the dream to include every man, women and child. They also rekindled the flame for the possibility to reconquer our planet or die trying in the process. The idea was ludicrous, but the people rallied behind them, and cries of hope rang through our kingdom. Years passed and the city of Patomia started to regain a glimmer of hope. Food was being grown successfully and supplies started to flow back into the people’s hands. Although a few hundred of us remain from the clash of the civil war, we approached this idea of achievable victory over the dragons with committed seriousness. The brightest of our minds started creating tools to push back radiation and heal its poisoning effects. Peace and hope finally was a possibility at least within our walls. At such a beautiful time strange headaches stirred within me, making me question life from the result of the throbbing pain it caused in my frontal lobe.

I’d come to find myself waking up at night in random places throughout our city drenched in sweat. As I wandered areas of Patomia that were off limits, I found a corridor that had given way to some sort of roots that had pushed their way through the limestone that lined most of our city. I slept there entangled in what I only imagined as roots of some ancient tree. Something long forgotten to me for I only heard of trees through stories and moving pictures. The pain of the headaches had broken that night, ceased its endless array of agony around my already encumbered mind. I dreamt of prophetic dreams as I tossed and turned. I dreamt of a being of such magnitude of spirit that my child mind could only fathom it was the source of lights, and that he had come to recall the spirit of my body.

Instead it took me effortlessly into its arms and rocked me slowly, lulling me to an even deeper state of sleep. It brushed back my dark unruly hair and I could feel it weeping silently. Its tears crashing into me. Though many years have passed I can still recall its tears washing me anew. It held me closer as it began to fashion magnificent doors out of the energy that pulsated from its celestial body. “Awaken” it whispered. It did not say this with a physical voice for my ears to pick up. I could hear the words from within my chest, within my very being it ushered me to wake from my slumber. I awoke and brushed my hands across its celestial face and whispered with all the energy I could muster, “Who are you and why do you weep?” And it responded with a thunderous yet the softest of voices.

“I am Metatron a champion of the celestials, of the one source of light, and I weep for the quest I must set you on little one, I weep for the pain you shall bring and carry, I weep for the burden that has been placed unto thee, and lastly I weep for the loneliness you shall endure in the end” as it spoke it carried me through one of its celestial doors that it fashioned from the roots that engorged the limestone walls. "I have been assigned to you, and i shall remove the veil on your 6th sense in all its entirety." There he showed me the future I would usher unto mankind and the Jinn. He showed me an endless number of souls weeping, clenching on to their loved ones as the war with the Jinns unfolded before them. I could make out a shrouded figure in the distance shouting incoherent words into the sky as it rained fire and the flames kissed the earth. The celestials words vibrating through my body, “That is you little one” as he pointed to the shrouded figure. “This shall unfold in the near future, and together we shall tame the green dragon, the lord to all Jinn; to insure the final trumpet will sound from the celestial Israfiel and end the Ouroboros once and for all.”

Metatron spoke of a fiery creature, stating that he was the darkness that ached to be let fourth. Whatever alias he may go by, I believe you all have a name for him. He existed far before you and I. He is the essences of true evil. The adversary of the sons and daughters of mankind.

Sculpted by the plasma of creation, this fiery creature rose from the smokeless fire as a jinn. From birth he witnessed his species destroy and ravage the Earth with a scorching hunger. Born into an elite Ifrit tribe he quickly ascended the ranks with the dreams of uniting his species under one banner, attempting to bring peace to a war ravaged earth.

As the wars he led to unite the jinn caused more bloodshed than unity. His moral steadily faltered. With the years passing and peace nowhere in sight, age started to etch across his face. Though the jinn could live incredibly long, everyone succumbs to the unwavering hand of time. Especially if thousands of years have passed since his initial advancement to chief of his tribe.

You see it was in their nature to war with one another, to lose themselves to their lesser emotions just as us. A flame will always bend to the wind. And the emotions they embodied thrashed their fiery essence like a ragging hurricane. Before old age could catch up to the green dragon he knew, passionately, with every fiber of his being, that there must be more to this existence than the burning nature he was destined to be ruled by. The green dragons tribe held control of the celestial body that rotates around the earth, the moon. The moon would shed its skin and bloom full with every lunar cycle. This gave his tribe enormous sway with the jinn that were still earth bound. Through the moons gravitational pull on the earth he managed to climb through the layers of the astral realms and even further explore the nature of the celestials that called themselves servitors of the source of light. The celestials, although high in the astral realm, the green dragon could still vaguely witness them prosper with peace and unity and lead almost flawless lives. The green dragon rose from the realms every full moon when the lunar energy was at its maximum, to watch and learn from these celestial creatures made of light. But what he could garnish from their existence was fruitless, the celestials led private lives and guarded their secrets to prosperity ferociously. Even pleading to the celestial champions to help save his species was received with distain and scrutiny. They turned a blind eye to him, as they busied away with their prayers.

Through extensive spiritual prowess and the exploitation of the lunar energy the green dragon managed to break past the realms that the celestials dwelled in. The only way was up. Nine hundred years he travelled through the sphere of the astral in constant diligent spiritual advancement to reach the source of creation. “No longer will I be a slave to my nature” stamped on the forefronts of his subconscious. After striking a deal with the source of creation he came hurling back into his realm of existence accompanied by the mightiest of celestials, one of them being Metatron. He had the word of the creator, and the fiercest of celestial champions behind him, nothing or no one could challenge him. Swiftly silencing all opposing jinn tribes; he achieved total solidarity. He had won and most importantly he had brought peace to his war torn world.

Once again the source of light began its mysterious work. And it began fashioning and sculpting the body of an Adamite (Human) within the sphere of creation. Before breathing life into the first human, he sounded for all the celestials and the green dragon to come forth to witness his miracle of creation. Just imagine how beloved this dragon/jinn was by the creator at this point in time. Granting him almost all his hearts desires. Granting his people peace. Allowing him an audience not once but twice. Granting him a title passed that of its own celestial champions. But fire will always bend to the wind. Bend to its hidden emotions.

The Adamite body lay lifeless before the masses of celestials shifting around it probing the body of clay and curiously questioning each other to what this new creation of their creator was. The astral bodies creaked from the weight of the angels in attendance. The green dragon hovered near the body examining its nimble state, running his talons across the cold flesh. He was intrigued by the design and the ability of how much spiritual Pra'ta it could house. It was flawless. A thunderous voice then sounded from the skies. “This is my creation, this is why I have called all you beloved to me to witness. And when I breathe life into it, you all shall fall to your knees and acknowledge it as a superior."

The green dragon was taken aback. The emotion of jealousy seeding within his mind. He presumed that he was the source's chosen one. His favored champion, and this creature that lay lifeless and pale was to replace him? After the thousands of years that he had served the light, now he was being replaced with this clay being. These negative thoughts festered within his mind. Enraging him ever so slowly. The source of light could sense this, like he could sense all things. He could sense the green dragons hatred brewing inside him towards his new creation. Nonetheless the source pushed forward and breathed life unto the first human. “Arise,” he whispered. “Stand and become witness to your domain.”

As the breath of life seeped its way into this human, he slowly rose up to the existence around him. Wide eyed he stared out unto the crowds of celestials of different shapes and sizes from all across existence gathered there to meet him, staring back at him with awe. Instantly the celestials all fell to the ground acknowledging the creators power, acknowledging the Adamite made of clay. An unfathomable amount of celestials bowing all in solidarity. All but one being stood defiant, enraged with jealousy.

“Kneel!” thundered the creator inside the fiber of all the beings who were present. At this point the green dragon could no longer contain his anger, his wicked jealousy lashing out within the chambers of creation “I will never kneel!” Raged the Jinn. Defiant in the face of his creator and flush with jealous emotion.

None of us will truly know how close of a relationship the source had had with this jinn, but throughout the green dragons existence the source of all lights loved him enough to help put a stop to the pain that inflicted him and his people. The green dragons ascension to the sphere of creation was just one of many examples of how close and dear he was held by this creator. I will not pretend to know what the source of lights might have felt during this heated exchange. But one things for sure. Pain was felt everywhere in the audience. The celestials could sense the anger and sadness emitting from their creator and the jinn that stood defiant. The relationship between the two was built on thousands of years of worship, the creation worshipping its creator. And the creator indulging the creation with love and strength to accomplish it's desire. But alas, what this jinn choose to do next echoed into the chambers of time. “I will not bow,” He screamed into the void. “You have fashioned me from the purest of fires, and this creature, this man, from clay! I will not bow!”

The source thundered with anger, “I have given you everything, and now you shall turn your back on my command?!” The green dragon could feel he was losing grasp of the ability to stay in the upper reaches of the astral realm. Semi-invisible forces quickly worked around him slowly severing his link with the realm. Severing his link with everything he fought so hard to ascend too. Fighting back with all his might to stay he shouted out one last thing to the source.

“Give me strength my creator, my father, my mother, the sole being of my existence. I was made to serve you!” The jinn cried out, his voice echoing one last time through the chamber of creation. “Let me show you that this Adamite is not deserving of the title you bestow upon him! Not deserving of the love you so readily give to thee. I ask of one last prayer that I beg you grant, give me the ability to unearth mankind to what it truly is, and give me the ability to crawl into their skin and manipulate and study them. Let me see into their souls to test their resolve for you my lord.” The celestials shifted and rustled between themselves. They grew uncomfortable. They could feel the dragon’s plea filled with such emotion. They could sense a great divide coming between him and the source and so they wept. They wept because they knew now that this dragon had fallen to his lesser emotions, they had lost him as a consultant that walked amongst them as brother and ally within this realm. Their tears started to wash away all love they knew for this jinn, all emotion. Rapidly being washed away and replaced with anger and distain with every tear drop that struck the ground. How could he question the sources command?!

“Your final wish is granted dragon. Leave this place now, leave my heavenly realm and never return” the source answered back with a gentle, soft voice almost with a hint of sadness within it. “You have made your decision my beloved creation, you have turned your back on me, and you have failed me, now I shall turn my back on thee. The last tears were of the jinn, they struck the ground of the upper astral realm as he was ripped fiber by fiber from its gardens never to return again. That was the creation of the source known as the green dragon.