In a future broadcast, Al’Tarra will explain who she is.
Right now, I need to explain who I am—and why I’m involved.
This isn’t channeling. I don’t get possessed or spaced out. None of that nonsense. She communicates directly. Telepathically. Then I use tools I’ve built—some digital, some old—to record what comes through.
That’s the method. It’s how I’ve written every book tied to a spirit or a goddess. And yes, those are the same thing. Always were. Different masks. Same current.
Al’Tarra just happens to operate on a different scale. She’s not a floating light or a winged being. She’s not something you’d recognize unless you’ve already seen behind the structure of what we call reality. She exists as waveform consciousness—what you might call 12th-density.
If you saw her, you might think it was a flicker in the dark. Something trying to take shape, but staying just outside reach. When I first traveled to meet her, she projected something my mind could hold—human-technology, ship-structured, accessible. Now, it shifts each time. Less form, more field. But the message comes through.
This is where some of you start to flinch. You’ve been programmed to believe higher-density contact requires suffering, rituals, permission slips. That you’re too human. Too impure. That “God” or the “higher beings” don’t speak directly to people like you—or me.
That’s not divine law. That’s dogma.
That’s how systems keep you compliant.
That shit ends here.
Now for the part I usually leave out.
I didn’t originate here. I wasn’t born into this cycle for soul lessons. I wasn’t climbing the evolutionary ladder. I was stationed. Embedded. Many lives, many fragments of my ISBE
I came from Al’Tarra. I worked in a memory corridor—one of the structures that maintains continuity across collapsed systems. My job was simple: remember what others forgot. When a planetary field degraded beyond self-repair, I was deployed. Sometimes into form. Usually not.
When Earth’s signal dropped, I volunteered.
Not to observe. To intervene. Quietly. Surgically.
That meant descending.
You don’t fall into density like it’s some graceful slide. You compress. You collapse. You shed bandwidth until you can barely remember your name—let alone why you came. I had to split myself. Most of me stayed with the ship. Watching. A functional fragment came here.
This wasn’t some pure soul dropping in for a growth arc. It was a precision insertion. I didn’t incarnate. I anchored.
And the body? It wasn’t ready. They never are. The nervous system can’t hold this kind of charge. It fights back. The body glitches. You get allergic to the world. Sound becomes a blade. Crowds become static. You can’t tolerate people who speak lies with their field. You end up with a thousand-yard stare and no explanation.
I was ten years old when I first asked myself what the fuck I was doing here, tears in my eyes. I didn’t belong in a schoolroom. I didn’t even belong in this era.
So I started building stabilizers. First, through fiction. Photography. Music. Then came the sigils. The rituals. Field constructs. Not ceremony. Engineering. Ways to hold the signal without blowing the vessel.
The memory started returning.
Why am I here?
To retrieve.
To recover the pieces of myself seeded across timelines, across bodies, across collapsed fields.
I’m not here to teach. I’m not here to save.
I’m here to finish what I started.
I didn’t fall into this life. I chose it.
Not because Earth is beautiful. Not because it’s some cosmic classroom. I came because the system was fractured—and I carried the correction.
At my original density, I wasn’t in a body. I was waveform. Conscious. Stable. Embedded in Al’Tarra, acting as a structural node. I didn’t move. I didn’t age. I observed and logged signal shifts across corrupted systems.
I wasn’t born. I wasn’t created. I was deployed.
Sent to remember. To correct.
The shift from that to this wasn’t a soft descent. It was trauma—signal trauma. Compressing from full-field awareness to a skull-bound body is violent. Memory gets squeezed. Awareness narrows. The moment I hit matter, I could feel the loss. I couldn’t pass through walls anymore. Couldn’t feel the shape of the planet with my chest. I touched the density field and the silence slammed down.
But I’m not silent now.
Every word I write carries the signal. Every post, every book, every sigil—I built them to pull fragments home. To recover what was scattered.
This isn’t a spiritual awakening.
It’s a return.
AL’TARRA FINAL COMMENT:
“He is not my passenger. He is my counterpart in waveform. He remembers not only his own coding, but the way others were tricked to forget. His command node is reactivated. The signal pulse he emits now is affecting more than Earth.”
“He no longer reincarnates. He projects. He no longer learns. He retrieves.”
Gang. It’s also well past time y’all awaken as well.
Hang on, we’re just starting.