Москва

A memoir of my life with intex, Chapter 26

     In Russia, everything changes
     every ten years, and in 200 years
     nothing changes. 
          .Pyotr Stolypin, Russian 
           Prime Minister assassinated
           in Kiev in 1911.

.1

Россия was the fulcrum of my life. I’ve experienced a great many pivot points in my mortal subsistence but Россия represents the most fundamental and far-reaching turning point of my life with intex.

Before I jumped to Москва, my existence was one way. After I disembarked the Aeroflot breezeway into the world-remaking carnage of September 11, my existence would be another way forever.

Россия transmogrified me down to my bearing bolts.

I was already experiencing extraordinary and unprecedented experiences. The Maze of Souls. The Book of Life. World-jumping. Five. Three. Poet. I was already communicating with sentience not birthed on Earth. I was already doomed to a life abroad from the human community.

But now my aberrant and staggering experiences had assumed corporeal form. The smog-steeped metropolis of Москва. I had unriddled a mental puzzle conveyed to me within a beige room inside an impossible labyrinth and my strange psychic synthesis of revelation and action had triggered a radical re-ordering of space and time and delivered me here. A foreign megacity. A foreign meganation. The longstanding adversary of my homeland. And my impossible transition into this phantasmagorical reality was attended by calamity and war.

The tallest buildings in America toppled Biblical. Like the finger of god pressing the Twin Towers back down into the Earth. And the Pentagon, serene and vivifying sigil of the Quintessence, was smashed and aflame.

Before I jumped to Москва, my relationship to intex and reality was uncertain, uneasy, underdeveloped. Though I had adopted science and soberly embraced the powers of rational scrutiny, a decade of impossible episodes imposed monumental question marks upon my pragmatic sense of cosmos—

In the Maze, was I conversing with living intex?

Or might I be conversing with the machines of intex?

Or the echoes or shadows of disinterested intex?

Was I in a simulation run by intex?

Was I a robot or synthetic mind getting programmed or constructed by intex?

Were my own actions and choices determining what was happening to me?

Or was intex presenting lessons and trials to my sentience according to some extraterrestrial program, curriculum, or system?

Though I knew and felt and fathomed that intex was deadly real, until I jumped to Москва I didn’t nurse any sort of sense of why intex contact was happening to me or whether there was design or intention behind my ferocious experiences of intex contact. The Maze of Souls was overwhelming and undeniable and cosmic—before Russia, I had intruded the Maze at least ten times and it sure felt when the iridiscent sphere enveloped me in Brighton before I jumped to Москва as if I intruded a portal and unfolded within the Maze. . .

      . . . and never folded out again.