"The secret of a good memory is attention, and attention to a subject depends upon our interest in it. We rarely forget that which has made a deep impression on our minds."
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It’s hard to say when I actually met Amanda. My first awareness of her came while I was in a state, not quite consistent with reality. Nevertheless, it was real to me, the man, but I am a scientist, therefore with reluctance, I will admit, I met Amanda in this accepted dimension at a Las Vegas High-Stakes poker game.
I am an anthropologist, more specifically, an archeological anthropologist. I study, analyze, and hypothesize man’s relationship with, his environment, fellow man, and minutia he develops. It is by no accident that I said man, not woman, because I have yet to understand the female species.
My minute specialization is ancient man, and antiquities. I am well versed in several ancient languages. Convenient to my discovery at the Mountain, I am considered an expert in the area of Paleo-Hebrew pictogram translation. In other words, I study the behaviors of those who are now, dead. There is no doubt that I am far more knowledgeable about the long departed, than the current living. I accept this as a prevalent element of personal truth.
The University of New Mexico is home to my professional allegiance. Even though, I have not taught regular classes there in over a decade, I still play an intricate role in the Department of Anthropology. I give lectures when I’m stateside, and advise graduate students. More importantly to the administration, my work appeals to the departments endowments governing board. None of this should shadow the fact that I am an ardent fan of the UNM basketball Lobos.
I would be remiss if, I didn’t mention the fact that I do not fit the common stereotype associated with my area of expertise. I am a Miami born Cuban-American with Jewish roots, recently coined by pop-culture as Jewban. For fifteen years I was estranged from my immigrant father, and had very few visits with my mother, and seven siblings. My Pop is a retired Miami Judge, whom has returned to the family law firm. By all accounts, I come from an extraordinarily successful family.
Pop always demanded excellence, and I always seem to disappoint his expectations. My other siblings conformed and specialized in law and finance, the family’s customary line of work. In my father’s harsh words, my career as an anthropologist, by design was unconventional and therefore equated with being a hippie. He claimed it was an excuse for educated grown-ups to roll around with one another in the dirt, and then, have the audacity to pretend it was a profession. Thanks to Amanda, my Pop and I have reconciled, and the man actually seems to respect me and my career.
It would be pure negligence not to revisit the events of that one particular day when my entire existence changed. I intended for the only aberrant activity to be a test drive in my new sports car, which I affectionately call, Raven. My taking a trip to Hidden Mountain was anything, but unusual. I couldn’t begin to calculate the number of trips I made down New Mexico’s interstate 25 from Santa Fe to Los Lunas. From the beginning, the Mountain has intrigued me, drawing me back time after time.
Hidden Mountain is one of America’s most unique mysteries. It is a treasure trove of seemingly misplaced archaic evidence. If the area did not disturb so many ingrained beliefs, it would be considered a fantastical expose’ of the era coinciding with the Israeli reigns of King David and his son King Solomon.
At a glance, from across the New Mexico landscape, Hidden Mountain is less than conspicuous; the summit only stands about 1800 feet above sea-level, and spans approximately twenty-two acres. The Mountain is covered in stilt, and ancient volcanic rock. The sparse vegetation is congruent to the area with an assortment of sage, cacti, and Amanda’s favorite prickly pears.
Unintentionally, I’m sure; our civilization has added a couple of sardonic elements to the surroundings in the form of railroad tracks, and a landfill. The area is blockaded by a fence, and the general public must receive written permission to enter the premises. I am a common visitor; therefore I am afforded carte blanche entry.
On the way up the mountainside, a large Decalogue stone stands with inscriptions dating back to around 1000 B.C. The authenticity became a legal battle in the 1980’s. A trial spawned, and ultimately, the inscriptions received verification. The Ten Commandments on the stone are ancient Paleo-Hebrew, and are the same as appear in Exodus, Chapter twenty.
An aerial view of the Summit provides unmistakable proof as to the presence of an ancient Hebrew campsite. The imprint of the landscape perfectly matches its counterparts in the Middle East. It haspreternaturally been left undisturbed leaving virtually no room for doubt as to the validity of the comparison.
I was enjoying the hike and looking forward to my inevitable moments of speculation on the summit. The trip to the Mountain like all the others before it, was status quo; at least until the second the earth collapsed under my feet, and I plunged into a pit within the ancient inactive volcano. I don’t remember the actual journey downward. I do recall the moments after my descent. The images are strange, but vivid. Granted, more than one possible explanation exists for the polarizing evolution of events.
In the midst of a dry mist, from a deafening silence an ancient man appeared. He communicated with me, but without the need for words; it would be later before I would understand his revelations. In a flash, the archaic man dissolved out of existence, only to be replaced by a woman, whose gemstone eyes both frightened and intrigued me. Her faceted gaze pierced through my chest, to wrap aroundmy soul. I wanted to touch her; the need was so strong, my body cried out in pain for the longing. I understood her telepathic message, but I couldn’t then, nor could I now, translate it into a language any man could understand. An enormous pain ravaged through my gut as she faded into the cloudy abyss.
My torture continued as I was teleported through a vacuumed tunnel, back to this common reality, a place, I was not sure I wanted to be.
I spent the next few minutes rolling around on the cold hard rock within the dead volcano in utter anguish from the physical pain and the misery of my soul from being wrenched away from thewelcoming vision before me. The pain of my body was compounded by the greatest moment of disgusting self-pity, I had ever known. In my darkest moment of abasement, I groped for the familiar and, Ireached out for my glasses; but instead felt the familiar texture of an ancient animal skin. Searching with one hand for my elusive glasses, I kept one hand on the skin just in case it too decided to disappear. In disbelief I stroked the surface, and put on my recovered glasses, and fumbled for a flashlight.
Yes indeed, it was a bundle of scrolls and once illuminated and unfurled the true depth of its value was discovered for it was authored by none other than King Solomon I emerged from the bowels of the volcano with a mission to find the woman in my hallucination, understand the intentions of the ancient King, and discover the rightful home for the treasures.
I found the woman, and the hold she has on my soul is the only reason I am still here. The adventures we have shared were only the first steps on a path we must follow in order to share the King’s journey and find out what the end may hold.
Later during a return visit to the Mountain Amanda found the final scrolls. By this time, I had discovered, translated, and analyzed thousands of artifacts. Many possessed a prophetic undertone. My job as an anthropologist required I make conjectures about the meaning. Prior to finding King Solomon’s Scrolls, I avoided the seductive temptation of linking archaic meaning to modern society, at least in any significant way.
Solomon’s Scrolls were different. Despite the cabalistic nature of the message, it was clear the advice was meant for the present population. OPERA’s explicit violent communication towards me supported my assumption.
After I authenticated the relics, Amanda and I put King Solomon’s trustworthiness to the test. After all, The Scrolls were the most solid proof supporting his existence. Written off by many, his reputation had suffered brutal assault in recent years.
We worked for hours compiling a collection of ancient references to the popular King. Practically every culture in existence during his reign referred to him. Myth or reality; accurate or exaggerated; the King was an ancient rock star.
The eerie omen among the warnings garnered my attention. The Cosmos was about to emerge into an all-out war. Without protection, the Earth and the human race would be nothing more than pulverized collateral damage.
According to Solomon, twelve open nexus’ existed around the planet. The thirteenth, not yet activated, was an imperative piece of the synergistic energy puzzle. The increased power would strengthen the protective magnetic field.
Complicating matters, opening the thirteenth gate demanded a Chosen One from each of the thirteen Tribes. Identifying this group would require me to test science, and ultimately disturb the beliefs of many.
At the same time, the mystical message tested Amanda and I personally. Humankind’s relationship with one another as well as nature was an inescapable part of the King’s journey. We were not excused from his lessons. For in the abyss of so-called coincidence, we were forced to face the wrath of our demons.
The nearing convergent cycles sparked my fears. The sun, the moon, and the earth would line-up forming The Galactic Alignment and end the 26, 000 year cycle. No one on Earth knew the impending results of the anomaly.
According to the ancients, the 13,000 year cycle hiding Isis would also end, soon. The spawning would trigger the beginning of a violent birthing cycle in the Cosmos, and once again, the beloved Isis would be unveiled to earth’s inhabitants.
The night sky would light up for a 1000 years creating a magnificent spectacle for all to experience. The question weighing heavy on me was; could Earth’s magnetic field protect us from the nuclear fireworks in the Heavens?
The wise King Solomon saw the escalating energy as a problem. If the energy penetrated, the waning magnetic barrier would dissolve anything it contacted, and radiation would contaminate the rest. The thirteenth gate had to be opened to create the additional force field.
Signs of escalation were already in progress. The rising level of energy from the heightening Solar Cycle was already creating pockets of disaster. Our technological lifestyle was becoming a target of the constant threat.