Mariana Stjerna
Agartha
The Earth’s Inner World
SoulLink Publisher
©2013 Mariana Stjerna and SoulLink Publisher
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 978-1482733464 (sc)
ISBN 978-91-978399-1-4 (ebook)
Also available on Kindle
First printed in Swedish 2010
Support with translation and publishing: Aaron Rose, USA
Front cover from black and white picture by Max Fyfield, Denmark
Other books in English by Mariana Stjerna:
On Angels Wings (2013)
The Bible Bluff (2013)
Mission Space (2013)
The Invisible People (2014)
SoulLink Publisher
www.SoulLink.se
[email protected]
Contents
1. Saved by Beings from Inner Earth
2. Agartha — A Paradise Inside the Earth
3. An Important Mission for Tim
4. Sad Tidings in Seattle
5. The Trip to Sweden
6. An Impossible Mission
7. Tim’s New Family
8. Back Underground
9. A Tour of Telos and Its Vicinity
10. A Fond Reunion and a New Acquaintance
11. A Fascinating Trip
12. A Real Live Dragon!
13. Nancy and Ellie Return Home
14. Meeting Saint Germain
15. Magical Buildings
16. Shamballa — A Paradise Inside the Earth
17. An Exciting Encounter with Wild Animals
18. The Love Union
19. Back to Normality and Tourists in Agartha
20. The Purpose of Pets
21. Lessons Begin
22. The Temple of Belief and a Meeting with Melchizedek
23. Visiting the In-Laws
24. The Cardinal from the Vatican
25. Festivities in Agartha
26. Visiting an Agarthan Orphanage
27. How the Earth Will Change
28. Indian Wisdom and the Fire of Life
29. Old Mother Sjaluna’s Gift
30. With the Aborigines
31. The Birthplace of Mankind, Africa
32. A Completely Different China
33. Another Encounter with Saint Germain
34. The House of Transformation
35. Author’s Epilogue
1. Saved by Beings from Inner Earth
An escape into eternity, or from eternity? With this thought I awoke from my meditation.
I might have been asleep or awake. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell the difference between dreaming and reality. You can actually experience reality in your sleep. Intangible things become tangible there. For me, it was a strange journey. And for me, it has become reality. But you are welcome to doubt my story — until it can be proved. I have no proof … yet!
A tall, young man with fair hair, cheerful blue eyes, regular features, and a shapely mouth — a handsome, young man, in fact — had appeared while I was meditating. He started talking, and in my head I could hear every word he said. I was amazed!
“Hi Mariana!” he said. “My name’s Timothy, but I’m called Tim. My surname is Brooke. Originally I’m from Seattle, USA, but I’ve ‘emigrated,’ and these days I live inside the Earth. You probably won’t believe me at first, but I think I can convince you. That’s my mission. It’s time for people on the Earth’s surface to know that we exist.
“Now I’m going to tell you my story.”
* * *
My father was a sea captain. He owned a small cargo boat which plied its trade along the coast between Seattle and Vancouver, Canada. I was brought up as a sailor, pretty much against my will, even though my mother didn’t want me to go to sea. She thought her constant worry about my father was enough.
My mother was Swedish and my father of British stock. That’s why I’m bilingual. They met on a cruise in the mid-20th century. Then I came along, and later on, my sister. All three of them are dead now, but I survived a shipwreck when I was nineteen. In spite of Mother’s tears and pleadings that I wouldn’t go to sea, I was father’s first mate by this stage, instead of staying in high school. Father was a resolute but fair man, and I loved him.
A terrible storm swept relentlessly over us, with waves as high as houses. Our little boat had weathered storms before, but this was like a volcano. We were close to the coast, which was rocky and inaccessible. Father wanted to anchor as close to the shore as possible, so we steered towards land. Our cargo was timber and it was heavy, but we didn’t get very far before we were caught in a whirlpool which lifted the boat like a glove and threw it against the nearest cliff. I remember a terrible crash and my father’s otherwise stern face being close to mine.
“I love you, my boy,” he cried, with tears in his eyes. “If we ride out this storm, I’m never going to force you to go to sea ever again.”
Those were his last words. The ship was torn apart, and I was in the sea, clinging to a log floating on the cold waves. I remember passing out. Father was gone, and the four others in the crew had disappeared.
Suddenly, I felt someone human nearby, and a boat was carrying me steadily forwards. Was this death? I lay in the bottom of the boat and tried to raise myself up on my elbows, but fell straight back down again. A friendly face with clear-cut features and long, fair hair bent over me, and at first I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. I soon realized it was a man.
The boat entered a kind of well-lit tunnel decorated with paintings. It wasn’t long before we were moored at a jetty. The fair-haired man and another one with dark hair lifted me up and helped me ashore.
“Where am I, where’s my father? Where are the rest of the crew? Did the timber go down?” The questions gushed from me in a rush.
“Your father couldn’t be saved, nor the crew or the cargo. You were clinging to a log which brought you straight to us. That saved your life. We were on the lookout for wrecked ships because of the storm. You’re inside the Earth now. Welcome!” The man spoke excellent English.
“I’m Mannul Zerpa, and I’m taking you to our world for some rest.”
When I was younger, an old sailor told me many stories. One of these was about a world that existed inside the planet, and it completely fascinated me. Of course, I’d thought it was just a sailor’s yarn. And yet here I was, in the middle of it, right in the middle of an old sailor’s tale! I pinched myself hard to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. This couldn’t be true — but it was.
“When can I return to Seattle?” I asked.
“You’ll have to take that up later with someone else. Look around you! You’re walking on solid earth.”
The light was strange when we came out of the tunnel or hole in the rock where the boat was tied up — a strange glow in a strange summery landscape. I had left Seattle on a dark November morning, windy and drizzling. There had been leaves on the ground, and the sky was gray.
Here the air was clear, with a friendly sun beaming down on us. Glorious flowers lined our path. There were green trees and bushes everywhere. It was like a beautiful morning in a Canadian forest. I had been in forests like this many times with my father and uncle when I was younger, but this seemed sparser and lighter somehow, with more flowers.
“We’re just coming to the village where you’re going to stay,” announced my fair-haired savior, with a smile. My savior, literally!
“I have to thank you,” I stammered. “You saved my life. It’s just that I feel so confused. I’m a
ctually inside the Earth, below the soil, in some kind of village in a farming area?”
“You’ll find out more when we get there,” Mannul informed me. “I’ve saved lots of people from drowning. Your ship isn’t the only one to go down outside these mountains. But it’s only the sea out there which is treacherous, the sea which belongs to the outer Earth. In here it’s calm and always summer.”
And I had to make do with that.
We walked through the most beautiful landscape I have ever seen, before reaching a village with tall, round buildings. They seemed weirdly luminous, probably because of the stones they were made out of. I could hear birdsong in the luxuriant trees, and I saw squirrels and a small hare which crept behind a clump of grass. It was like the outside Earth, yet very different. Somehow, it was too perfect, like a film!
The houses surrounded what seemed to be a small market square, with a well in the center. We entered one of the houses. A hall with an arched roof led into a semi-circular room with floor-to-ceiling windows. The furniture in the room was what I would deem modern — comfortable, beautifully-designed chairs and tables, yet different from furniture on Earth. Everything glowed, as if the furniture itself and the surrounding walls were alive. And the roof! It didn’t exist! It was open at the top, with sunlight filtering softly through woven leaves and branches.
Mannul gestured for me to sit on a sofa by one of the unglazed windows, where I could see the amazing view outside. The friendly, fair-haired man disappeared after placing a cup in front of me. He would return soon, he said. He told me to drink up before his return.
I tasted the drink. It was wonderful, like a pale wine with a slight tang of honey. The first mouthful shot through my body like an arrow of fire, and I came around at once. Good grief, I thought, I’ll be drunk! But I wasn’t, even after drinking it all up. However, I did experience intense clarity of thought and great wellbeing.
When Mannul returned, he wasn’t alone. With him was a man who was at least six and a half feet (two meters) tall. He had gleaming, long, brown hair and was clean-shaven and lithe. His huge, beautiful eyes were set in a youthful face, yet I got the feeling that he was older than time! I stood politely and bowed, and he gave me a friendly smile and hugged me.
“Welcome to Wonderland underground, Timothy,” he said. “I know how you got here, and now I’ll tell you where you are.”
“Are you a Wise Master?” I interrupted, “I’ve heard people like that exist inside the Earth.” The man laughed heartily.
“There is wisdom everywhere, young man,” he responded. “The man who believes himself wise is stupid. Stupidity always tries to mislead wisdom. But if you’re seeking wisdom, you need only look around carefully. Nature is full of wisdom which surface-dwellers are doing their best to destroy.”
“Then, who are you?” I asked, inquisitive as usual.
“My name is Dariel. You don’t need to know more than that just yet. I’m one of the nine on the Committee here. We bid you welcome, and wonder if you would like to stay a few days as an honored guest from the surface.”
I bowed again and accepted the invitation. You don’t turn down an invitation like that.
“Will you help me to get home afterwards?” I asked. “My mother is bound to worry that I’ve drowned like the rest of them.”
“Yes, we’ll help you get home, if you still want to go.” Dariel gave me a long, keen look. “We don’t force anybody to stay here, but few return home, and those who do are never believed when they tell people about us.
“This is a pleasant place to live. We don’t fight about money, and most of our needs are taken care of. We keep track of the surface and the people there. We know that their supposed development has only brought disaster. Everything is easier here. You’re going to love it.”
Dariel stooped and took my hands. He looked right into my eyes, and I was filled with an indescribable inner peace. I was still grieving profoundly for my father and missing my mother and Littl’un, my sister. But, in a flash, the grief and longing lessened, and I wanted to learn more about this peculiar country I was in. It was as if I had been stroked softly by an angel’s wing, leaving me happy and at peace. In the distance soft music was playing, not at all like modern music from above ground, more like Mozart or one of the old Masters.
“Mannul will take you on a tour of our borders, beginning a few days from now. First you will visit Telos, which is where surface-dwellers end up if they happen to fall into our world.
“Timothy, I’m your friend. Please call on me if you need questions answered or help of any kind. We’ll meet again when the time comes.”
2. Agartha — A Paradise Inside the Earth
“A country where sorrow doesn’t exist!” I exclaimed, as Mannul guided me through a village that was laid out like a huge smile. Mannul grinned too.
“You’re right,” he replied. “But most people who live here are just ordinary people like you and me. There is sorrow, but it is treated differently here. You allow it to dominate you, but we take control over sorrow and setbacks. Friendly hands reach out when you need help — physical or psychological.
“On the surface, you haven’t discovered the joy of helping each other. Your thoughts are on money. Help costs money, and not everyone can afford it. But Tim, everyone has a heart, and that costs nothing. You only have to listen to it. Your heart gives you good advice, but you have to talk the same language. Experience and understanding will help you.”
I don’t know what happened next; it all went so fast! Mannul held my hand and I felt like an apprehensive, expectant seven-year-old, going off to school for the first time. I didn’t have much time to see the scenery which whisked by. There seemed to be water below me at one stage, and small, white geese (as they were known at home) bobbing on the dark-blue water. Then there was sand on golden sandy beaches, and finally emerald-green grass. At last, with a slight thud, we came in to land.
“Look around you!” Mannul burst out.
I did. If Mannul hadn’t been holding on to my hand, I probably would’ve fainted, but there really was cause for my confusion. The air and lovely surroundings were alive — not with a peaceful, eternal breathing, but completely tangible, lively, and almost wild. Every single bush, tree, and flower produced noise, bordering on a cacophony. Small figures sailed smoothly to and fro and round and round. They wound their way between the plants and onto the plants and inside them.
The summer meadow was alive in more ways than one.
Elementals and people crowded together here. I could see people — adults and children — and I could hear rousing music. Everyone was dancing.
“Are they having a dance right in the middle of the morning?” I asked, slightly shocked at such enthusiasm so early in the day.
“Of course!” replied my guide, looking at me as if I was weird. “When someone wants to dance at work, we organize a hop and sing.”
“Does anything get done, then?” I ventured to ask.
“More than if we didn’t dance,” was the retort. I sighed. This was another country, and I needed to be open to new ideas. All countries have their own customs, and this was as true on the inside of the planet as on the outside. There were huge differences.
We stood awhile, watching the dancing. It was like folk-dancing really, although I’ve only seen Canadian and Swedish folk-dancing, so I don’t claim to be an expert. The musicians danced as they played, and their fiddles and other instruments that I didn’t recognize sounded like folk-music from Dalarna, Sweden, where my grandmother lives. I hadn’t visited my grandmother for a few years, but I remembered how wonderful Swedish midsummer was. This was similar, but without any drunkenness or fighting.
I looked inquiringly at Mannul, and, chuckling, he took my hand and swung us out among the dancers. Soon I was holding a soft, female hand and watching a smiling young girl swing me around. But the dance didn’t last forev
er, regardless of my desires. My “underground” guide pulled me away.
“We have to get on!” he exclaimed, laughing at my disappointed expression. A completely lovely landscape passed before my delighted eyes, and we arrived at a village. There were fewer houses, but built in the same style: beehive-style, as I called it, although rounder than beehives and without tops. I wondered if they had rain, storms, or snow here.
“No,” Mannul read my mind (that too!). “We have a perfect climate here. We have what you would call early summer all year round, and pretty much full bloom.”
“How come you have a perfect climate when we have rain, snow, and storms on Earth?” I wondered in surprise.
“Doesn’t our weather seep through somewhere?” Mannul guffawed. I couldn’t understand what he was laughing at. There was a bench nearby, and he gestured for me to sit down. This is how he explained the amazing climate underground:
“Everything has to do with belief,” he said. “We feel completely safe here. There is no fear, worry, evil, envy, or jealousy. We have learned to live in complete safety and believe in an eternal Force which is always here to help and protect us. Negativity disrupts the lower atmosphere and the stratosphere. Weather patterns reflect patterns of thought.
“Destruction on the Earth’s surface means that meteorological forces are equally destructive. They are affected by the ambiance on Earth, which is far from harmonious. There is religious conflict. Envy and suspicion, fueled by money and drugs, destroy rather than build up. If we weigh the good and bad on Earth, my dear Tim, good loses every time.”
“Good grief!” I exclaimed incredulously. “You don’t mean that the weather depends on how people think? Surely the weather is regulated by other forces entirely.” (I couldn’t think of anything other than the National Weather Service, but felt that wasn’t quite what I meant in this context.)
“Here you could say that we’re in the lap of the Earth,” said Mannul, smiling. “This in itself represents security, because your adverse conditions can’t penetrate the thick crust between us. We honor, thank, and caress Mother Earth literally every day, and in return she provides protection and love. You surface-dwellers would feel better if you focused on your counterparts in Agartha (the name of this interior world) and took strength from here when you are depressed or troubled. If only you would ask us for strength.”
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