by Ilil Arbel
The Anunnaki Language
The Anunnaki have two forms of language; one is a spoken languagae and the other one is a written language. The spoken form is the easiest one to learn, and the Anunnaki's population uses it. The written one appears in books and consists of twenty-six letters. Seven of these letters represent the planets that surround their star. Westerners cannot pronounce many of the Anunnaki's letters because of the limitation of their vocal chords. Seven additional letters are complete words, and these words represent the attributes of their God and creator of all energy, who they call All-That-Is.
Phoenician linguists and authors of their Alphabet borrowed many words and expressions from the higher class of the Anunnaki. Ancient Phoenician texts and poems, recorded on tablets found in Tyre and Sidon, included reference to symbols and words taken from the written language of the Anunnaki. Members of an early Anunnaki expedition to Phoenicia taught the Phoenicians how to create their language, and revealed to them the secret powerful names and attributes of Baalshalimroot. They instructed them not to use these words for evil purposes. Particularly, the word “Baalazamhour-Il” is never to be said, spelled, or written.
Later on, the Hebrews religiously observed this instruction and pronouncing the name of God remained forbidden. However, the Anunnaki revealed to the Phoenicians and Sumerians seven important names/attributes of the All-That-Is. If well used, these words can bring prosperity, good health, and salvation in moments of difficulty. The prophet Mohammad learned these seven words from an early Christian ascetic, a Sahara hermit called Raheb Bouhayra. Today, Muslims all over the world are aware of these seven words or names. They call them in written Arabic “Asma’ Al Lah Al Sabha’ Al Housna,” meaning “The Seven Lovely Names of God.” Those names do not have a numerical value or secret meanings as many scholars claim. None of these words appeared in the so-called hieroglyphic measuring tape that the Americans found at the crash site in Roswell, either. The symbols and geometrical signs Americans found in Roswell were biochemical symbols.
The American top military scientists who work in secret military bases and aliens’ laboratories on earth have an extraterrestrial lexicon and use it consistently. In this lexicon you will find variations of Phoenician and Sumerian symbols. Some letters represent maritime and celestial symbols and measurements. The fact that the Americans are still using this extraterrestrial language should be enough to convince you that Anunnaki and Nibiru descendants live among us, otherwise why would anyone learn a language that cannot be used to communicate with people who speak it and write it?
On some of the manifestos of military parts used in anti-gravity secret laboratories underground in the United States, several letters were borrowed from the “Enuma Elish” of Sumeria and regularly appeared on the top right corner of each document. In the eighties, those Sumerian numbers were replaced by an Americanized version.
It is true that the Sumerian ancient texts and records mentioned names of some of the Anunnaki leaders such as Utu, Ningishzida, Ninki, Marduk, Enki, Enlil, Inanna, but the greatest name of all remains Baalshalimroot, also referred to as “Baalshalimroot-An’kgh.” Terah, the father of Abraham, mistakenly worshiped Baalshalimroot-An’kgh. Early Semites made the same mistake when they worshiped the leaders of the Anunnaki as gods who later became Bene Ha-Elohim, meaning the children of gods. The Anunnaki never introduced themselves as gods. The words: El Elyon and Yahweh were taken directly from the Anunnaki’s written language. The original word was “Yah’weh-El’ Ankh” and El Elyon was “Il Ilayon-imroot.”
Monsieur Germain Lumière
Some years ago, I had the rare opportunity to be in touch with a contemporary Anunnaki-Ulema, Monsieur Germain Lumière. He gave my co-author and myself enough information to write his biography, On the Road to Ultimate Knowledge. M. Lumière is not only a Master himself, and a member of the powerful Pères du Triangle but had been the student of some of the greatest Ulema Masters and a very special friendship with an Anunnaki.
Germain Lumière is a man of mystery, and the general public is not even aware of his existence. Before we received his permission to write the book, we only knew about his Ulema connections and his membership in the Pères du Triangle. Since it is a secret organization exercising permanent influence on world events, economy, security, and politics, we had no idea that a relationship between it and the Anunnaki-Ulema existed.
Even after receiving relevant information directly from him, doing additional research, and writing the book, many tantalizing questions remained. We realized that straightforward chronology might be incomplete. For example, pursuing the notes and discussions, we first met Germain Lumière as a six years old child, right after the end of the Second World War, severely traumatized by the death of his adored father, the terror of the fighting, and the brutal aftermath of war. Simple enough. But how could this be possible if the exact name, Germain Lumière, has been mentioned in connection to events occurring after World War One as well, as a man engaged in doing the same work for the Pères du Triangle? And what about the account of an 18th Century nobleman by the same name, who practiced alchemy and transmutation, just like our Germain Lumière? We assumed, at first, that these two individuals were his ancestors. But it was not so. Studying his genealogy, which was readily available for a member of such a prominent family, proved that they could not be. His ancestors had entirely different names. Was Germain Lumière over two hundred years old? Some Anunnaki-Ulema masters claim to be extremely long-lived, but still, this was strange.
Germain Lumière underwent rigorous Anunnaki-Ulema training from age six and up, and we followed his extraordinary road until he was in his mid-twenties, ready to start serving humanity. During childhood and youth, Germain Lumière was almost constantly on the move. He went from elegant Paris to a luxurious Damascus home, from the streets of Benares to underground cities in Lebanon, visiting mysterious Asian islands and Arab suks. He mingled with masters, practitioners of magical forms of self-defense, evil spirits, Djinns, legendary linguists and even the Anunnaki and the Marradians, never losing his quiet dignity and his ability to accept and adjust. He was shaken at times but always maintained his self-control, proving himself just the right material for his future duties as an Anunnaki-Ulema who would serve humanity not by retreating into an obscure temple or ashram, but by staying and working from within society and in the world, not out of it. He has his doubts, proving to be as human as any of us, but small and great moments of enlightenment made him finally accept his destiny. Much more can be learned about his life, but some will always remain a mystery.
The Kashi V’rim
Like all intelligent lifeforms, the Marradian soul is at war with itself. No one understood that better than the great Egok the Cross-Limbed, who overcame the prejudices against his physical limitations – arms wrapped around his sides as if he were hugging himself – and the larger bigotries of being a lawgiver and man of peace in a militaristic civilization.
Yet Egok found a way. He fashioned a system of mental, physical and emotional pillars to carry him through the day. Once he was able to do these on instinct, he dubbed them the Kashi V’rim, or Going Through Your Door. It’s a straightforward and powerful method for dealing with life’s problems. During his long life, the book was suppressed, copies destroyed, acolytes murdered.
Truth can be bloody
For Egok, mockery was a shadow. A small boy, taunted every day, disdained by his family, friendless, laughed at by teachers. A nightmare.
But hasn’t everyone experienced something like that? Being belittled, scorned. Feeling as if you didn’t belong. As if you were an outcast. A “wori” in Marradian.
Egok’s First Pillar of Resolve is based on the instinctive survivalist sense. Here are his original words.
You cannot escape from them, only yourself. First you must flee who and what you are which is generating the scorn.
For Egok, there was a path to finally accepting himself. A long path.
If it
becomes about you and the scorn, then it becomes about your anger and your pain. The stronger the anger and the pain, the less you can think or feel. The less you can think or feel, the less you can address your thoughts and your agony. You are a mere gennisa (roughly translated, a punching bag).
What’s interesting about Egok’s First Pillar is how it banishes any sense of ego or responsibility, almost confusing perpetrator and victim. That’s his point.
If you are being attacked, question why. To question doesn’t mean to agree, but to understand. For me, it was my arms wrapped around my sides. I could not move my upper limbs. I’d look in the mirror and want to cry and want to kick in the glass. I thought how cruel were the children. How cruel my parents for feeling shame. I felt so sorry for myself. Poor Egok. Look how Cimric has burdened me.
But I realized how ridiculous I looked. I asked myself, if I were a normal boy, learning the use of weapons, what would I think of this creature waddling around? I would laugh, too. Would I shout taunts? Perhaps. Would I hurl Delvecchian radishes at his head? Probably. Would I roll this creature down a hill and watch him crash to a stop against a large tree? Almost sounded like fun. Was I really any better? I had to admit, maybe not. My perspective was that of victim. I needed a perspective of attacker, too.
At this point, only six years old and with a limited education and virtually no future, Egok recalls the awakening.
My bedroom was on the third floor. I often crawled onto the window ledge to listen to the Fellian pigeons cooing the morning and evening songs. I thought I would like to be a Fellian pigeon and fly. I considered jumping out the window so, before I died, I would have a sense of true freedom, if short. I imagined myself flying and flapping my wings and then the inner door creaked open.
Egok’s life-saving Kashi V’rim
There is no shame in escaping as long as you return.
Egok the Cross-Limbed wrote this when he finished his first Pillar of Resolve. He was merely 18 years old. He was denied admittance to any Marradian schools, which frowned on anyone who carried with them challenges of any kind. His parents hired a tutor, the Segardian Vyetti Hommmailliz. No, this isn’t a story of a kindly teacher taking pity on a bright boy, friendless and unloved, discarded and rejected from the world, and bringing him into the light with love and understanding and respect.
Vyetti beat Egok regularly and would leave the books just out of the boy’s reach. By the time Egok maneuvered over, Vyetti would call that class closed and begin the torture with another book. All that Egok learned from these sessions was hatred. He easily could’ve wallowed in self-pity and rage.
Except he didn’t. There was something to be said for being ignored.
No one on Marradia, the Galaxy, the Universe cared about me. I knew if they discovered me dead, it would be a relief; I was an embarrassing mark against my father advancing in the Diplomatic Corps. They all wanted me gone. Even Cimric, to whom I prayed, ignored me. Either I lived or died as myself. Which gave me a twisted sort of freedom.
Each night, Egok would spend an hour piling up skull conductors ([pillows) as a ladder to reach up to the books in his parents’ library. He decided that he would work his way through the entire 54-character Marradian alphabet, beginning to end, reading everything step by step.
Egok was naturally brilliant, but naturally can only make up for learned to a certain degree. He struggled with the knowledge grouped under the Appas, the first letter in the alphabet. It was when he stumbled over the Catas, the fourth letter, that, as he would later write, his vision cleared.
It was still hours before first sunlight and I lay in this pile of books like someone else’s garbage; half a shelf had fallen on me and it took an hour to crawl out. I used the Saga of Criplack as a skull conductor. An uncomfortable especially since that story described the wholesale slaughter of millions of innocent people who were embraced by the Empire. I imaged the children, like me, except they had arms to use, except they were dead. I was not. I lived a nightmare but understood that there could be worse. I still had my privilege as a child born of high stature. But gratitude for life only went so far.
Egok imagined what those children, crushed beneath the Marradian boots, had suffered. And he floated. He saw himself on the ceiling, looking down. He was terrified. His breathing became shallow. More, just stopped. He wavered in the air and could see the ceiling a foot from his head. An exposed nail nearly scratched his forehead, but he held up his arms to protect himself.
He held up his arms. He could move his arms. He was so horrified that he fell and landed into the books. How had he done that? Could he do it again? And what exactly had he done?
The First Pillar
I fell back into myself. Instantly, to the same Egok. Except not. But I could not quite understand the part of “not.” Because once again, I couldn’t move my arms. Yet a part of me could feel movement. A part of me could feel freedom. A part of me could also feel joy for the first time in my life. How in Cimric’s name could I do it again? I had no idea.
What would become the famous First Pillar of Resolve, a work which transformed parts of the Galaxy, was a night of despair. For Egok, having tasted such unbelievable freedom was torture. He had to return.
He went back to the library the next night and the next, for a week straight, and nothing happened. He pored over the exact pages of the Catas, the book he’d been reading during his experience. Nothing happened. He imagined as he had that night, the horrors of the children under Marradian tyranny. Nothing.
He was despondent. Something good couldn’t happen to him. It never had. The fear built and suddenly – he was back on the ceiling. Looking at himself. He panicked, struggling to understand what this was.
Fear was a fuel, like the Empire’s massive battle cruisers setting out to destroy worlds. Fear had propelled him upward. And left him down there. He blinked twice, astonished. His body was on the ground, by the books, sprawled as if asleep. His body was there and he was up here.
He had left his body. Would he die? He really didn’t care. Talk about freedom. Then he caught a flicker of a silver cord floating around his side. He reached for the cord – he, Egok, reached for something! – but the cord eluded him like a Manassian Snake. His panic deepened.
Fear and panic were as much a part of me as breathing. Why not try the same calming method I had used back in my body during periods of beatings and bullying? I inhaled through my nose and pulled on my ears – perhaps because I’d never been able to pull on them before. Something warm and cavernous swept over me as if a channel had opened to my mind, connecting me directly to this world; was it even the same world or an illusion? The glittering silver cord stopped floating and seemed to watch me. I realized it really was watching me. What was it? Panic returned quickly when I realized the cord was attached to my lower back.
Telepathically, the cord introduced itself as a Qi’za, a nanobotic lifeform, one of the Guardians of The Other Self. Egok had heard of them. He didn’t believe they existed. Microscopic creatures opening doors into other dimensions? Mystical superstitious nonsense, a residue of Marradian encounters with lesser civilizations who believed in such rubbish. Floating below the ceiling, Egok leaned on his racial arrogance for a moment until the Qi’za laughed. Or what he thought was laughter. More like a fiendish bell. Egok panicked again, worrying the noise would surely bring his parents or the servants rushing in. But the silence remained.
The Qi’za explained no one but Egok could hear. As no one but Egok could hear his Other Self, feel his Other Self, be his Other Self.
Nonsense, I scoffed. You’ve drugged me, cast a Farsakkian she-witch spell. Then the words floated in front of me like a silver cord: Everything is nonsense until you understand.
I had written the true opening of The First Pillar of Resolve.
YAHWEH
The name YHVH or YHWH is written with four consonants only; it is the holy Tetragrammaton, or in Hebrew, Shem Hameforash. Hebrew has no vowels. In ancient times, it did
n't even have vowel points. These were added much later, and at that time pronouncing the name was already forbidden for generations. So no one knows how the most ancient name of God was pronounced. The vowel points make it sound like Yehova, and later it was anglicized to Jehovah. The reader may not say it. He or she must say instead the name Adonai, which means "My Lord." The name occurs about seven thousand times in the Bible.
Every taboo has a reason. In ancient times, names had power. If you knew the real name of an entity, you had power over it. Often, an entity had two names, one widely-known and one secret. It is quite possible that in the very early stages, Yahweh was God's secret name and was used to influence or even control Him. Later use of the Shem Hameforash in the Kabbalistic tradition points to this direction, and will be discussed later in the article.
This practice is close to magic and idol worship, so as monotheism developed and broadened, the magical use of God's name was objected to. So while the name Yahweh remains written in Jewish liturgy, Jews felt that an invisible, omnipresent, omniscient part of reality cannot have a name. Only titles are allowed: God, Most High, Holy one, etc. Today, among the Jews, Yahweh or Jehovah is never used.
To understand the relationship of the name to the entity, one must pay attention to the historic and mythic development of the concept of God, and particularly to the development of monotheism in Judaism. The most important document for such a review is the Bible. It is the core, the major source of Judaic mythology. It covers a period in the development of Judaism which was transitional between Polytheism and monotheism. The Bible is full of demigods, monsters, giants, and larger than life heroes. Animals talk and angels roam the earth, discoursing with common people. God is supreme - there is no argument that He is the Almighty, but he is not alone. This is not only part of Genesis, where creation myths would allow it, but even in the books of the prophets and in the poetry. Nor did the myths stay there. They went on into the two Talmuds, completed around 400 and 500 CE, and on to the Midrashic literature and the mystical literature, all the way to the thirteenth century. These later traditions actually allow more latitude than Genesis, being considered less sacred. In Genesis, God creates the entire world by speaking. In the later literature, he commits heroic deeds and battles with such evil entities as "The Prince of Darkness," "The Prince of the Sea," and various monsters that actively object to His creation. He either kills or imprisons them, thus sealing His supremacy as the fiercest warrior God; he is not, however, the only one.