The stage is set ...

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Christine
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The stage is set ...

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She relaxes some, stretches her legs and settles in. The wind rustles the leaves in her bamboo hide away. She sleeps… one eye open.

A good story needs characters, so let me introduce you to the rather motley crew of the Mandato in the order that I met them. Rosendo, Mexican man, short in stature, simple by nature, someone you wouldn’t look at twice unless you glimpsed a piece inside him. He carried himself defiantly aloof, thought he was Napoleon in a past life and ported himself that way.

He read tarot cards from the back room of his cubbyhole esoteric book shop. I visited him often over the years, took care of his girls before I became aware of his other side. Respected him and over time became more impressed as my observations were that he really didn’t use the cards much during a reading, he tapped in to another source of information.

Here she pauses in remembrance, looks around his little room, the typical accouterments of an esoteric ambiance, a candle is lit, incense burns, the Indian print curtain that divides the two small rooms flutters in small current of air.

She is aware now of something not perceived then, he uses the psychic tricks of a charlatan. Not saying he was, just aware that one who can read energy and is practiced at it will give off an air of mysterious authority, it entices one to trust and reveal.

She has been aware of this aspect in herself during recent years, how so many want to find their answers from other, how easy it would be to impress them with abilities seemingly other worldly. She knows this happens even without the intent on her part to do so. This is a pitfall she is wary of, in other and in self.


My world had been a whorl-wind of the strange for many years, I had stepped into the other side through an encounter with a shaman-reiki energy vampire, we named him Oreo and his wife Lorna Doone. Rosendo was repeatedly visited for support and advice at this time. During this period I introduced him to Cate, a friend who I shall introduce here. Cate played a part in the Oreo episode too, a story for a different day.

Catherine, corded to Christine almost from the beginning, as far back as we could see. It was a double twisted thick rope that bound us, we played the role of adversarial opposites in life after lifetime. This at times was good, later it became a battle of life and death.

She is the one who hand wrote the curse.

I was born in a small regional hospital in northern California, just a short of two years later Cate entered this life in the same hospital. At one point we both studied this in a session and concluded that she came in chasing me. That was while we were still friends.

I, Christine, was bright, enthusiastic, socially accomplished, at the height of my presence in a our adopted Mexican town. I laughed a lot and wasn’t afraid to cry. I had been seen dancing in the cobbled streets alone under the moonlight in a moment of pure delight.

Cate, introverted, dour and smart. She painted deeply evocative and magical works, using her friends as models even though she denied that adamantly. Her talent was to see through them and bring a piece of a person’s essence to the canvas. Her face a permanent grimace, she feigned victim quite readily.

Cate had been married to Pete, a semi-mysterious man of psychic acumen who she seldom spoke of but when she did it was a mix of hissy unresolved disdainful anger and a barely perceptible hope he would return. It was obvious he never would and if he did she would spit him out.

Pete was my second marriage. Yes, the plot is thick. [see amendment above, not yet divorced only estranged when I entered the Mandato.] We will leave Pete out of the story right now for at this juncture he is in South Beach, Florida licking his wounds, having recently been shot on our rural hillside property, he has a bullet in his buttocks still.

Here she will pause to let the reader into her inner recesses. She loved Pete, he had arrived to rescue her from the evil Oreo. She wants to tell this here to illustrate that things really are not what they seem. During the astral battles she endured with Oreo and worse they became when Lorna Doone stepped in, Haitian voodoo trained. Two horses died, a hawk flew into her car’s windshield, she barely could eat or sleep for weeks that ran to months, she lost fifteen pounds, friends worried. The only things keeping her in this reality were walking and running in the country side, trees and the wind were her best friends. And she had a daughter to defend.

One day in a bit of mirth, always she managed to laugh somehow. She asked for help, she knew she was in dire need. An old fashioned flip book appeared in her minds eye, as the pages turned in rapid succession a variety of men one might interpret as hero types were seen. A knight, a prince, a guru … don’t remember how many now until it stopped on one. A man sat in a pickup truck looking back at her, he wore a black cowboy hat. She chuckled and made a plea, not a cowboy! Really?

Not too long after that Pete appeared, unexpected at Cate’s door. No one knows how he found her house. Yup, you guessed it, wearing a black cowboy hat. She later learned she had appeared to him in the flesh in his bedroom in Arizona crying silently for help. She didn’t know how she did that, still doesn’t today.

She introspects a moment here. What hand played us? This triad of highly charged emotional participants, the die was set, we played our parts. This is hard to say, but if she is to succeed she must admit, she reveled in her role. It was so easy for her to assume an air of superiority, poor Cate. She wasn’t all bad and really loved her friend who was compelled to play her part too; more retracted, more bitter Cate became, one could hear her mind scheme.

Queenie first appears to her here, layers coming off to reveal. She is a haughty, wild flamenco dancer in one royal Spanish life, sly and manipulative in France, she recalls the games played in the French royal court, knows too well that dangerous liaisons is more than true. What was done in the name of a game was cruel. Part of her had this proclivity, seductive, alluring with a dangerous edge. She can be superbly arrogant, though to be fair that is a covering for something else. We will get to that with time.

She later spent years dismantling Queenie, who still appears from time to time, she likes to make herself known and hasn’t completely abdicated the throne, though a faint shadow of her former self. She is on check, close check.


A good place to stop today. Tomorrow I will introduce Lorena and Victor…
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The journey, the challenge is to step into the
projection room and stop being lost in the script.

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Re: The stage is set ...

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She decides to take this road, not sure where it will lead, the way of tiger is toward the unknown. Shakes off the wary state and heads out feeling fierce and free.

La Tigra, Lorena and Victor gave me that name.

We met on Tuesday evenings in Rosendo’s house. Punctuality expected we arrived with the countenance of acolytes. There was an verbally undefined order to things, we were expected to know this and we did. So we entered his door, heads slightly inclined, one would let whom ever held a certain detectable presence pass first. Humility was required and respected.

I hadn’t met Lorena and Victor until the first time I was allowed entrance to these meetings. Rosendo had spent time with me privately, a testing of my intent. Mostly he would give me questions and I would write my answers from a source of communication I had but barely tapped. He never commented so I can but assume I must have passed.

He later said that my entrance to the Mandato was known and predicted.

She arrives a mixture of nervous expectation along with an aired sense of privilege, she is hyper alert. Walking up the long outdoor brick stairway she notes that both Victor and Lorena give her precedence, she leads.

We reach the door and Rosendo opens it, sitting to the right in a chair is Cate, a scowl on her face. She bristles at my arrival. We move to what are to become our accustomed seats. Lorena to the left of me on a narrow sofa and Victor on a chair to her left. A loose circle is closed by Rosendo.

That is all of us now, there are others but they are not yet known. Only Caroline, Rosendo’s sister who I know, she lives in a town close by and doesn’t attend these meetings.

She recalls how bolt straight she sat, feet planted squarely on the floor, side by side. No crossing of legs allowed. She recognizes the value in this, the required discipline to hold her energy intact. Attent. She is pleased to be so confined.

She doesn’t remember the lesson that day, though it followed a certain flow that they all did. A teaching is given, a discussion and then a series of questions is dictated and copied in open notebooks, we would then respond. She sees the blue ink of her pen move silently on the blank lines. She wonders if her answers are correct. The edginess of the unknown, it followed her the whole time.


The relief of release as we descend the brick stairs to street level, laughter and flashing eyes. Lorena and I connect. Short compacted ball of energy with long black curly hair, much younger than me and we laugh and laugh, instant friends. Victor watches carefully, a warning flash of red escapes from his eyes.

After that first meeting you couldn’t keep Lorena and me apart, she took me in to her confidence and self determinately drew me deeper into the workings of the Mandato. She was always afraid of them, maybe thought I could somehow protect her, a substitute for a mother too.

We would meet once or twice a week in her and Victor’s simple home. They had been partners for a short time and now co-habited to save on rent. I would visit and Lorena and I would study, open our notebooks and write to our heart’s content. Lorena had a magical, deeply rooted power, she packed an energetic punch, she could move energy.

Victor stays in another room not moving from his computer screen. Silent.

She recalls now, one day lost in the musical notes of a Celtic piece, immersed in a field that had opened a remembering. Reality shifted and she was again part of the wind, the sound, the magic of Earth. Such a longing opened in her.

Lorena pressed in, she never knew what promptings she followed but from this magical place she spotted another part of her, dark and foul. She is disturbed and feels suddenly afraid, unsure not wanting to see. She escapes to the small cold stall of the bathroom, shaking. Cold blue tiles press in. Hands grasp the small sink to steady her and she looks up to the mirror, flash, flash, flash she sees a man staring back. Bitter, cold self righteously supreme. Deacon, he condemns. Then he peels off and evaporates into nothingness. She knows this was part of her. Relieved he is gone and feelings of deep shame envelope her.


Such were the days we spent, things developed quickly. All of it felt like a great adventure unfolding. Life no longer mundane or ordinary. Life on the edge. Tips of the spear.

Before I leave off today I should bring Victor out of his room. I am not sure how many times Lorena and I met before he burst out one day and took his place at the table. I chuckle inside remembering this.

A tone of exasperation rang from his voice as he said, “You both are like a team of runaway horses with no idea of where you are going, time I take reign.”

She wonders now if he ever accomplished that goal, though she knows he tried and was needed. She knows that the power of the feminine is emergent and full, both Lorena and I were founts running full force.

The dynamic changed, we are now three not two.
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The journey, the challenge is to step into the
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Re: The stage is set ...

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She takes a sit, pondering the deep waters today.
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The journey, the challenge is to step into the
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Re: The stage is set ...

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She takes care of the little one today.
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Re: The stage is set ...

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She slowly swims into deeper waters, knowing she will need to take the plunge. She isn’t sure yet if she has the needed stamina. Breathing deeply. There is danger here in this revealing.

... continuing

I am going to toss out a word, one I seldom see addressed. It is seduction and it will play a larger part of the story I am about to tell. When we think of seduction there is always the sexual connotation, as in our whole matrix is based on the total seduction of the senses, and in most cases in a very hidden manner.

Our first root vortex is circumvented, uprooted from our Earth. The second sexual center is over stimulated in a constant mirage of images and sound.

This game is all about energy. And it just so happens that the way in which our body vessel is designed that the most powerful energy is felt as sexual. It seduces the senses.

And Power seduces completely.

Out of sequence she tells a waking dream. Again in the torpid heat of the tropics laying on her bed one afternoon, drifting between worlds she is suddenly alert, her sight riveted to one eye. It stares at her, takes up the whole of her visual field, it is a greenish yellow reptilian eye, side slit non-blinking. It pulls her in.

Held she can not move. She feels the totality of Power and the Seduction of it, she experiences in a manner that she can never fully tell, visceral sensations of pain mixed with ecstasy, encompassing and enmeshed, grabbing for the very soul. Non-relenting this gaze continues to hold. She detects a mocking of all intent to be free from it, It KNOWS. Repelled and shaken to core, she returns to her self bit by bit, piece by piece. One thought only, “no one can escape this once held. An elixir a thousand times the strength of any heroin and a thousand orgasms in a field of dreams, an opium den of iniquity.”

She knows that she can not capture what she has experienced, it was meant for her alone. A warning or a curse, she did not know.


Right now though, I am still playing in a field of rebellious joyous discovery. La Tigra is unleashed and encouraged by her friends. The days are filled with adventures and passions and fun. Laughter is the most common sound we share, perhaps a needed therapy to keep the terror that lurks from our door.

Pete remains exiled in Florida, suffering his own demons hold. Our Mexican country home is visited, slept in by me but life is in town so I rent a small apartment just down the street from my uptown shop, Diva.

Caught in the swirls of fantasy, past lives mixing with the present one I decorate, old French style colors and furnishings, an antique crystal chandelier casts diamond lights on fleur-de-lis gold stenciled walls. This pied-à-terre is in a 500 year old building abutting a monastery of the same age. During a time when the church was separated from state many of the holdings were given to French aristocratic families for safe keeping. One speculates at what occulted deals were made. Such was this darkened room when I moved in. I don’t recall now that I ever spent a night there, all my actions at that time seem possessed.

Dark it was, the walls oozed a substance of centuries of torture, an incestuous family lineage passed down. After my craze was complete, Victor and Lorena moved in.

She recalls how she felt this was a test, to let go of her decorator self, always possessed by a need to control the spaces around her she decides to let go, to let them in. In and out of this space she went, enjoying the challenge of the unveiling. Power surged in her veins. She is aware she emits a certain vortex field, she doesn’t question it, it just is.

Many plans were made during this time. We had so many ideas popping in, the field of energy around us grew. And we studied, yes I forgot to mention the first mandate was; El estudio es primero (The study is first). This wasn’t always easy, to sit still with so much energy being whipped around. Three force fields, we often laughed and made jokes. Lorena was the Tasmanian Devil, I was Psycho Bunny (oh, my what she reveals) and Victor well he was already steering, unbeknownst to us at the time.

So the days turned to night and back again.

She will add detail as she moves through this chapter. Wonders how to fit the pieces in.

And there was Pete, still marooned on the farthest reaches of the southern US shore. He would call, the chaotic drama of his life often pressing in. He had a way of short circuiting reality and would often find himself on the other side of normal dimensions, slipping into a world of demons and Djinn. A crossing of the street corner and a minor accident would hurl him into a world of deaths, blood running down the pavement and from his hands. He would run home and call. Hours spent talking him out of the spaces of horror he would so easily slip into.

She grows tired of this, as it seemed to have no end. She worried and pondered too; just how responsible she was for his state of mind? A force of guilt pulled at her, gnawed itself into doubt. She was in need of acting in some way to cut these bonds, soon she would.

At this same time the small banda de weirdoes (my daughter’s not so fond name for my new acquaintances) and I were summoned. I wasn’t aware enough then to be afraid but Lorena and Victor were. Alejandro called us to his home. Over the course of that year it was shared with me who Alejandro was, only in glimpses and innuendo but now we were going to meet him in the flesh. Flurries of energies erupted, preparations were made.

It is made apparent to her that her arrival to the Mandato has activated it again. She doesn’t know why or what is meant by this and yet doesn’t question it. She is told that the Mandato had been mothballed for another life time, apparently past attempts (at what she doesn’t know) were met with defeat, so another is to be made.

Preparations continue …

She is aware this telling is for her, she writer and observer both.
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The journey, the challenge is to step into the
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Re: The stage is set ...

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Tiger tries to wink - continued above.
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The journey, the challenge is to step into the
projection room and stop being lost in the script.

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