Night Flight To Cairo
by J. Dean Fagerstrom.
The Chamber of Aphax still stands, not as a tourist attraction for no one sees what *Donestra calls a 'molecular domain'. It is the same thing that one might say about a beloved souvenir, some inanimate object cherished by lover, husband or wife. But how 'inanimate' is inanimate ? I am told that a pervading new knowledge is already present in the world, a society of fragmented egos crying out to a golden calf to save their wretched lives. Donestra has no cynicism, and that is only one reason why I know he tells the truth. But the main reason is that he lives where truth is the universal atmosphere. The same knowledge comes to those who are able to perceive themselves in an ego-less moment, reduced to that finest particle of burning light, the last dross gone, the keyhole to eternity illumined in gold fire against the Egyptian night.
Things are being done differently in this New Age. The claustrophobic intellect still hides in a novel, and I did too - long ago. I wrote fifty-five of the miserable things. In the Chamber of Aphax I found material enough to fill every library still standing in the fictional world, and I say this because most history is fiction.
I considered fiction, even recently, and someone from Donestra's world said: Your time is not yours to waste but to use. Characters are someone's imagination; the people I associate with are not characters: they are emissaries with a devout purpose.
So I began a night flight down the right side of the V, back to 11 August 6 B.C., and then down to the final point and up again on the left side. You can go part of the way by winged aircraft, and you may arrive and you may not. You can go in a round craft and you will arrive - except that the last leg of the flight is in darkness by foot. You go there with the Divine Numbers ringing in your mind, the technological apparatus for the entry, the most secret entry ever made by anyone in any world. But you have to know the right numerical sequence. The mind is an interlocking mechanism. There is no separation in the revealed mind. We are connected to all things that ever existed in time and space, but the shadows of those same things still appear in the moon-lighted cemetery of time and space. This region is no one's real home, yet human beings kill one another for an acre of sand or cab-fare. The inanimate ghost of money lives long enough only to implant the numbers in the mind. It is the lie that exists between intent and act and forever afterwards in the sullen memory.
In the loved souvenir, in a photograph, in the gold ring that signifies eternity, the animate truth that cannot die still hovers. And in a crystal cone locked into a chamber filled with a purple radiance the code was interlocked, and you could think that you'd believed or imagined something else when you boarded the round craft that would carry you safely to the unknown and make it known. It would not be Cairo as some pharaoh knew it, but the same hieroglyphs still speak across the centuries even before they were inscribed on the monument of mystery.
It was strange to depart from the midnight rendezvous, and part of it was because I thought there was a sterile way to tell the story. I could have lied through the false teeth of fiction or babble in the toothless cavern of an ancient history and it would have all come out the same. Things are being done differently now, and I was told how, in the case in point, how it would begin. Of all the people in the world none could have surprised me more than Franz Liszt who was designated as enunciator of such wonders. He created the flight-music, and he said: Call it Night Flight To Cairo. At first he'd said from Cairo, but then explained that this had to do with the Divine Child, Jesus Christ, and Joseph and Mary in Egypt at the time. He wanted me to return - not depart.
Herod died of brain syphilis on the fifth of December 5 B.C. The Divine Child left Egypt on the seventh of December 6 B.C. to return to Judea, to Nazareth. The details are are contained in archive which was seen. The Numbers of the mind were given in a book called Anglion, but on this flight I carried them all in my mind. Everything is interlocked, everything in the universe, and nothing has ever been lost except faith in the truth. The only real faith is knowledge. This, too, is being restored, and there will be many night flights; the only ticket required is your life and the Divine Love of the Immortal One.
In a previous book called In A Sacred Garden, there was an account of a departure in the technical sense, related to the technology of the soul and mind. This was a picture of departure, primarily a levitation process liberated from an ego chained by inertia to history as men wish to know it. It was the description of freedom from an ego-person in its life of the mole, pawing around in a dark tunnel. I knew what orthodoxy would say. So in a book of ostensible fiction I could hear the peep-and-mutter of the common ranks because one knows that fiction is not to be taken seriously. Fiction is the benign sedative for truth lest one be infected with an outburst of reality. Any reality outside of God is a semblance of reality, and the image and the likeness one carries from conception to eternity is meant to fulfill the person as an individuated creation of the Creator. Once this transmutation occurs one forsakes the ritual of trying to believe and becomes the truth itself -- the difference between religion and reality.
I first had to go to the emissary who had guided me for so many years, and hand my passport to her. She stamped it on the visa page, and yet no one except God and His emissary knew where I was going. You give up the niceties of living in humanity's run-down motel when you hear of the home where the Landlord asks only for love.
I took one lesson at the keyboard in my life. My mother showed me where middle-C was and to this day I could not find it without competent help. The detailed account of this event has already been given, so we skip ahead to New Year's day 1989. This was the day I entered the Chamber of Aphax for the first time. The emissary with me informed that the technical master was Franz Liszt and who was a member of the emissary's society.
*Donestra: A person living on a planet different from earth in the mid-seventeenth century and who arranged an encounter with me on two occasions.
You will hear such music as only heaven can contain on the flight to Cairo at night. We each have a molecular domain, an atomic domain and what Donestra calls the Cositronic domain. The latter is the spiritual self and being. When you come into the cositronic domain you are part of the Divine Proton. At this point you will know that nothing is impossible. You are part of the immediate access to the Infinite Godhead. You will see and hear all things as they actually are, perfect and beautiful, so much so that you will undergo ecstasy beyond comprehension. You will become one with the Divine Person of God.
Much of the universe is being disrobed. I was told that an Ordinance existed. Some may not like the word and yet they may have eaten mushrooms that would make a buzzard puke. The Ordinance is a commandment to love. It is a spiritual progression, one leading from a verbal admonition to a free-will decision, and lastly a purity of joy in having chosen correctly. The only way you can learn this is through an absence of fear.
You begin the voyage by land perhaps, but you are soon flying in a round craft with no wings. Donestra once said that his technology had once played with winged aircraft as playful similitudes but had never taken the advent seriously. They make use of the cositronic domain as replicated in an actual vehicle.
On occasion you may ride in a familiar car as you prepare for the night flight. It will be familiar except that its dashboard instruments have a purple radiance imbedded in its symbols. Usually the first stop is away from any population center. On one pre-flight exercise I was taken into a round craft and it set down near a few others, and a group of people were standing by a tree and talking in a very congenial manner.
The first person you will meet on board the round craft will ask you a question. It will be: To whom do you belong ? If you fail to give the right answer you may have to walk home. The correct answer is: I am part of the Great Procession, and I am returning to the ancient Homeland. The person will smile and invite you in to take your place with the other passengers.
Newton thought he'd made a great discovery about a falling apple, but what he never realized was that the apple was prevented from reaching its destination because of the earth below. The apple would have plummeted, had no obstruction existed, to a point near the center of the earth where a neutral gravity-zone exists. It would have become a satellite orbiting the environs just as the opposing but complimentary situation manifests when a space vehicle does the same thing.
Just outside of the Aphax Chamber my emissary and guardian stood waiting. She told me that the gold name on the Chamber represented a heavenly society of people who were transmitting an angelic language through numbers, and that Aphax was the spiritual leader of this society, appointed by the Lord of heaven because of Aphax' humility and love of heart to share his blessings with all people.
In that portal of being only the humble and the loving survive. The rest struggle with their contradictions until too weary to go on. Some progress up the endless scale of spiritual identification while others settle for what they believe is the safe way. The emissary also said that the Divine Proton signifies the I AM of immortal God. The Divine Positive.
When I boarded for the return home the emissary said: "Read the prophet Isaiah, chapter 19, verse 19. It states: 'In that day shall there be an altar to the Lord in the midst of the land of Egypt, and a pillar at the border thereof to the Lord.' The altar is represented by the Sphinx, and the pillar by the pyramid of Giza.
The emissary left me at our departure point with several words already recorded. A night flight to Cairo only seems to be a place in Egypt. A ride in a car with purple lights glowing from its instrument panel only seems to be a luxury model with ducks on its logo. If you ever see a crystal cone imbedded in a wooden case of polished cedar, and if you withdraw one you will still have to know where to insert it so that the surrounding atmosphere may act as the carrier and screen upon which the actual history of mankind will be displayed for the first time.
They're doing things differently in this day of the Great Procession and the Second Coming of the Almighty God-Man Who once walked along the shores of the Galilee and touched the waters of the Jordan. Nothing shall disappear from one except his egoistic unbelief, and only if he or she allows it because of the greater and only real choice.
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