The Book of Daniel and the Mystery of the Resurrection Machine

by Holloway, Daniel;

  Ever since the portal closed however, the function and relay of that suffering to Heaven have ceased. So while we sometimes retain fragments of past lives, sadly, we still can’t remember our life in Heaven. Again, too much time has transpired. What is it to take hold of something so powerful, so-great as that which lies before us? It is well within reach, yet miles away from the mind of man. Yet all the while, the dark ones will deny, as your own doubt, the might and the power, the miracle that awaits us in the space between space.

  The History of Dark Deceit

  “You hear, but do not understand; and see, but do not perceive.” Isaiah 69:9

  Luckily the outer code of the scriptures supports the false doctrines of this world, thus the liar was himself oblivious to the magic spell beneath those words. The satanic-spirit within humanity lusts for the things of this world even in prayer; thus we gave the devil his bait and he took it—but we got those same vessels to open our portal and ultimately, to give us our victory.

  So we deceived them, but they also deceive you. The lie runs deep: the sheep and the wolves bound together in our midst; a duo of opposition within each and every person. Unfortunately, the wolves often speak, not only within ourselves, but also through the mouths of so-called experts. Even today within the secret halls of the most unlikely nations are those darkened forces, both scientists, priests and politicians, who would stifle these revelations.

  Why? Because subconsciously the dark-element within them realizes the threat an open portal poses to its survival. They are predatory in their hatred as well, yet fail to realize why they stymie the truth. They subconsciously catch the scent of their prey; they instinctively recognize and pursue their nemesis of good. They lust for the blood, the very life of the angels of God.

  There is historical precedence that I myself witnessed: It was not only the Jewish rebellion that led to the Temple’s destruction in 70AD, but also its greatest treasure. Josephus, the Son of the high priest, Matthias, traded the location of the Temple treasury in an effort to save his own life. He promised the Roman Emperor, Vespasian troves of gold and silver.

  Yet with the disclosure of that location also came a warning out of spite. Indeed Josephus also warned the emperor of my conniving—to beware of our wisdom that superseded his own. Thus we were rightly perceived as a threat to his control—now not only to destroy the Temple in the course of warfare, but with its destruction, to undermine the magistrates themselves.

  The dark ones had them; they saw through the eyes of Josephus and the leaders of Rome. With the reins of the human-lie, they used them for their bidding. I never cared for Josephus before much less after his betrayal. Both he and his father were part of the ring of corruption within the Temple at that time and were one of the reasons I returned to Jerusalem just before the Romans’ encirclement of that city.

  Gaining freedom as a result of his betrayal Josephus was thereafter made advisor to the emperor’s son, Titus. The promise of the Temple treasures was the price of blood by which his own people, the Jews, were destroyed, including the death of his wife, father and mother. As I said, only a dark angel would trade an eternal treasure for a little comfort in this world.

  That Josephus hated the magi, however, is revealing. Lucky for me, Vespasian was unaware of my entrapment under the collapsed temple and that I sat among his troops thereafter. Had he known, it would have likely been my end. Faith is funny that way in my lives. Somehow, it always finds a way out…

  Again in 321Ad, the Romans under the dreadful emperor Constantine would also find advantage in our scriptures. He used them, the literal translation and the outer word, for containing his frayed empire. He neither understood nor cared for our magic, yet desired the social control it offered. I can’t deny that the outward message of our ancient magic abounds with dictations of legal obedience to authority. Obedience was something that the magi needed as well. The difference of course is that we used social control as a means to get home, while the Romans only wanted to preserve their earthly domain.

  Constantine thus gathered his sheep, the subjects of his empire, with the weight of religious servitude and guilt, the threat of eternal hell being the consequence of disobedience. And though the hope of salvation was in those same verses, the emphasis was given to Constantine, the self-proclaimed “keeper of the keys to the kingdom of heaven.” Thus he created the Catholic religion to facilitate this control.

  Again, he was directed by the dark element. Being advised by someone, I know not who, Constantine’s very first ruling upon becoming emperor was the Death Edict of the Magi (look it up if you don’t believe me). He sent his legions into the far reaches of his empire not only to kill the remaining magi, but to destroy any and all of our works.

  So consider that the most powerful ruling emperor in the world was threatened by but a handful of scattered priests who, with no temple and themselves somewhat diminished, were once again perceived as a threat by a world power—interesting. But the very fact that the Death Edict was Constantine’s very first ruling, is evidence in itself that he knew the stakes at hand.

  As well, I imagine he realized that we could undermine his misuse of the scriptures with our own counter information, that is, a decoded explanation of those same verses. Regardless, Constantine set about to erase us from the face of the earth: And though he used the Word of God as the tool of demons, it was only in his blind ignorance that he did so.

  Checkmate! For again we won by default. You see, regardless of Constantine’s evil intent, he would inadvertently employ our magic through the mouths of hundreds of millions of Catholic and Protestant adherents around the world. For over 2000 years until now, there has been no greater contributor to the expression of our magic than these believers.

  So basically Constantine got his control and, unknown to him or anyone else, we got millions of new followers to speak our séance. Indeed we all spoke the spell of resurrection. Unto the winner goes the spoils. He used our books to his own ends, but we used him to ours. Do not misunderstand; I thank God for those Catholic and Protestant believers.

  But Constantine did succeed in killing the remainder of the magi—that is, all but myself and two others who fled beyond the boundaries of the Roman Empire into what is now present-day Iraq. There we continued our efforts at producing and promoting the sacred Word, much of which was stored in the House of Wisdom. This was a series of libraries in Baghdad that were nearly the rival of those in Alexandria. Within their halls were thousands of priceless collections from the ages.

  There we incorporated many Jewish, Christian and Greek works before Islam too began its downward spiral into intolerance. By about 850AD the God-Element, far less in the human than in ourselves, had faded into slumber far sooner than our own. The reverence with which people once viewed the magi had faded. Extreme stupidity and superstition became the norm. In this the dark-element, now left unchecked, seethed in its hatred for who we were. As a result, the very cultures we created, now instinctively despised us.

  The Zoroastrian Priesthood declined as well, its adherents trading the pursuits of the eternal for the luxuries of this life. No wonder, as they were themselves leftovers. Their own magistrates had long ago died or been killed, leaving the secrets of the ages within the hands of the ignorant. It was these bastards who committed the “sins of the magi”, as the Muslims coined.

  But I can tell you, we had no part in the worldly pursuits of the Zoroaster. This once noble priesthood now looked into the liver, holding the hand of superstition and foolishness. It was these who lost their understanding, no longer able to consult the images of the Wisdom Wheel as could I. It was these who became the haughty and drunken with their own illusion of magnificence.

  Outwardly even we condemned magic as did the religions we created, yet in fact were all comprised of the real magic of God. We did this to dissuade the attempts of others. We had to ensure that the unlearned, that is, the un-magi, steered clear of this deadly serious art. Bad math makes for bad Word of
which there is historical bad results. The scriptures as written, all of the scriptures we produced, were sufficient in correcting the Earth’s misalignment and thus to reopen the portal.

  Yet through all the outward condemnation of magic, one was still named: Belteshazzar, aka Daniel, as master of the magicians and one with an “understanding of the words”. His purpose was defined, his abilities unquestioned, even by Word of the Wisdom Wheel. Knowing the day of revelation would occur, the Word sent a clear message that you could accept the message of he who broke the seals. Thus my own magic was camouflaged while yet dissuading the attempts of others.

  Zoroastrianism had indeed fallen victim to foolishness and bad magic during the diminishing and was rightly condemned. But of their accusers, what are, pray-tell, the 72 virgins, but a precession of 1° over the course of 72 years measured along the ecliptic through the sign of Virgo? And isn’t this the same format as the 72 names of the Jewish God in code? Why also are their 12 imams, as were their 12 tribes of Israel, 12 apostles and 12 Olympians? Who do you suppose designed these likenesses . . . your prophets or the magi? These are the real equations of infallibility, one and the same, a common, encoded thread that connects all of the scriptures we wrote.

  It’s difficult to comprehend the culture of another until you walk a mile in their shoes. I’ve walked the paths of many since the beginning. I understand more than you know. But we are all the same, believe it or not—the people of the sands, the great plains and of the mountains. The shallow differences in how we were raised and our outer-circumstances matter little. In the end however and by the science of the magi, we find that both the blessed and infidel are not without, but within ourselves; the wheat and the tares together…

  Yet I must say that I was fond of the Arabs, the Bedouin as you may call them today. I admired them more than Islam itself. I came to know the tribes quite well over the centuries and they loved the echoes of the desert canyons as did I. This was the familiar groaning of the call, its reverberations; a lock-pic of the pineal gland, was modeled this way. I too longed for the comfort of its frequencies as it cried. This was the music of surrender to God. Five times each day it divided the circle of the sun, the pattern for our 5-sided star. They didn’t know this of course, but I do . . .

  And like the Arabs, my seclusion produced its own form of madness; I relate as a man of the hills. Yet there is no blasphemy in me, only the insanity of one who wanders the imagination. Like them, I too belong to a little people; some say, a silly people; in my case, an imaginary people—yet I say, a mighty people within. You see, we both roamed the trackless expanse, both of us banned from the greenery of Eden, the emerald color of the aurora and the lush dwelling of my portal. I too crossed the Nefud of my mind, as must all who come to God.

  This journey destroys many, the loss of the familiar, unbearable to the meek. Yet such trials build the soul of the divine within us. It is here we are forged into finding the distant horizon of who we are. It is in the great nothing where the meaningless becomes the priceless, a miracle of the crossing and, I dare say, a love that is otherwise not easily found. To be great we all need what no man can provide; an open portal and the power of God.

  I pine for the rising sun. On many nights I toss, awakened by my own screams, with the knowledge of my seclusion, a constant torment in this horrifying creature I’ve become. I trembled in my madness each morning as the burning truth of my separation arose. Believing is a daunting task when alone and in a foreign land. But by faith . . .

  Yet the same God rules us all: the Muslim and the Jew, the Hindu, and the hillbilly. These are the silly tribes of the Earth and we will remain that way so-long as angels pretend, so-long as they are bliss to who they really are. Do we not all gather around our fires at night, the same, as is our light within? Indeed we all walk our deserts until the day of resurrection. Can you say this to yourself as truth? Can you see within what I say? Can you believe it as if it were so? Walk with me, dear friend, and I will cross this barren land of forgetfulness with you.

  Ah, the tales through which we alluded: Ali Baba and the forty thieves, the forty lashes of Jesus, the flood for forty days and forty nights and was not Muhammad forty years old when he wrote the Koran? Interesting . . . And what opened Ali Baba’s cave in which lay the “gold” of the sun and the “silver” of the moon? These are the treasures of gravity, the alignments that open the way and the same treasures of darkness to which we eluded to in Isaiah 45:3.

  Yet it was a den of thieves, this darkened universe, the cave that sealed the life of God within the tomb of the human creature, its entrance now shut by the portal’s closure. Aha! But by my magic: “Open Sesame!” Sesame, the Hebrew name for Heaven. Yes, open Heaven—the portal itself. We weren’t trying to get in to this cave, but to escape. We tried to tell you in so many ways . . . Now perhaps you can hear my call.

  And who is the mighty angel Gabriel and the savior—Jesus. What of the lawgiver Moses and Lord Vishnu? Have I not already shown you these founding images? Wisdom is power; it changes things: what we believe and how we perceive ourselves and the world in which we live. Now that the seals are broken, what will we all do? To know the truth and yet turn from it is the greatest blasphemy of all. This is the one sin God will not forgive. Our damnation is in our choice to remain blind, to continue to walk the ruinous paths of our past. Indeed our own dogmas are the hells which await us. Awake to the light in front of you! Open your eyes!

  Forgive the ramblings of a ruined mind. Increasingly we became outcasts in Baghdad, the prior esteem we held for generations now lost to the narrow views of those who lacked understanding. There we hid within the slums, safe among the impoverished. In their daily bid for survival, they had little time to bother with a few lone magicians who wandered amongst them. We were running out of options however; nowhere else to go, no home and no priesthood.

  Our work continued upon the rooftops. There we could still somewhat view the voice of the stars. Occasionally, over time, we donated new Word to the House of Wisdom. But within these final writs you could now see interruptions and inconsistencies. As with the writing of the Koran, the glory of the heavens, the Super-Aurora, was now completely gone. In turn the color-coded altimeter of the Wisdom Wheel was of no further use, thus removing a critical facet of Word production.

  The Koran does include, in code, the colors of the sun and three moon phases, yet only alludes to the green of the portal in its mentioning of Paradise. So not only was the Wisdom Wheel going dark, but so too was the final gasp of God Element within creation. The spirit was never strong in man, ever, but it was now ever-more evident that it was completely asleep. It was surreal to watch the darkness of that age.

  The ignorance, the intolerance, the suspicion and superstition. The wars of sleep from the age of Taurus till my last memory. The stupidity got worse with time; each nation, each tribe, each religion insisting upon the death of one another and even their own, for but petty differences and misunderstood scriptures. Muslim against Muslim, Christian against Christian, and even the Hindu as well—and for what? Yet I knew full well this would happen as the last remaining intellect of God went dormant.

  I can’t say for sure how long we stayed in Baghdad or whether we traveled elsewhere, but I do remember our capture by the Mongols. It would have been 1258AD, and I suppose the excitement imprinted the details upon my memory. Death was a given for those who resisted these savages, but the glimmer of Heaven within our eyes was still a powerful presence. You could see in us a fearlessness, a fact that did not go unnoticed by our captors.

  As the hordes ransacked and murdered the rich and poor together by the tens of thousands, it finally became our moment to face them as well. Yet our unshakable persona gave them pause when no other human in the city did or could. They stared us in the eyes, swords drawn, they glimpsed into eternity. They stumbled at our visage, as did all to who beheld our faces uncovered; they fell backwards, unable to process what they had seen. Their hesitation led to mar
vel, then questions; and while they spared not the life of our companion, the lesser priest, they yet stayed the blade for myself and Ithiel.

  Instinctively able to speak their language we quickly gained their admiration and, as a result, an audience with the Kahn himself. Unlike the sack of Jerusalem in 70AD, we were not the only survivors of the siege of Baghdad, but were in fact the only ones in good form. Behind us lay ruin; the books of wisdom were all but destroyed, a treasure of infinite value forever lost, thrown by the thousands into the Tigris.

  With them, another 800,000 dead and many more homeless and orphaned humans. Similarly the destruction of the great scrolls in Alexandria in this same era is, to my knowledge, evidence of the demonic push at that time. Indeed the dark-element was overwhelming in the age of Pisces.

  However, within a day of our presentation before the Kahn we were treated to the highest honors that Mongols could muster. Hulagu was taken by our spirit. Even without our former luminance, he could tell we were different; the eyes, the elongated head, the undeniable intellect. Torn between admiration and execution, he mused at parting us but ultimately could not bring himself to the task. As fortune would have it, we became his personal advisers and traveled parts of the globe that even I hadn’t roamed in all my years before. Thus we served the Kahn until 1261AD.

  Finally, through discord among our captors as well as a bit of craft, we eventually made our escape. The Mongols, known for infighting, left us unattended on a branch of the Silk Road. The route itself being heavily patrolled, we instead traveled the trackless Gobi desert until arriving in China.

  There we found that other magi had been to the Orient long before, as far back as 1600BC and now, over 2800 years later, here we were again. We recognized the calling card of our brethren, the ubiquitous-image of Shangdi, the ancient dragon itself. But by now I too was weakening, doomed to sleep and the death of my aging body. It was time. I faintly remember the end: Ithiel, my millennia-old friend, standing over me, talking, smiling, and beaming with joy. I do not recall his words, yet the promise was in his spirit and expressions; the opening of the Books and the day of the return. I remember nothing else; this is where the images end for me.