THE LAND OF THE SEVEN PLOW OXEN By Daniel Meurois - Part One

CONSULTING THE AKASHIC RECORDS

A column of men is moving across a plain of short grass. I’m walking... Our steps are heavy, but they feel full of a secret force. My neighbors’ faces are hard, their gazes determined. We could seem like a troop of men going into battle, yet the atmosphere is light; we talk, we laugh, and some of us sing. My right hand firmly squeezes a long wooden stake, the base of which rhythmically thumps on the ground. My neighbor, a small being with a strong, blond beard, turns to me:

“I think we should stop; our women can’t keep going like this today.”

The sounds coming out of his mouth are short and a little harsh, but my ears have taken in all the meaning without any difficulty.

“No, a little further,” I say. “The ...[1] said the goal was approaching. His messengers came back this afternoon. They saw the roof of the country, which is good for us. The ... wants us all to see it today, too.”

I turn around and see a long column of men and women still walking behind us. A few hundred meters away, still toward the rear, I also make out some heavy wagons. They seem to me to be made of wood, while large canvas tarps hang over them, distributed rather unevenly. Men on horseback, their hair in disarray, slowly come and go along the column. Short swords hang at their side.

I also notice that many of us are wearing large, heavy, canvas pants. The dominant colors are red, yellow-ocher, and blue. Each person has at least one stake similar to mine, while others have a helmet of orange-ish leather or metal, a short sword, and some kind of wooden shield. The man in front of me walks barefoot, but most of us walk in leather boots held in place by bands that sometimes crisscross above the knee.

Listening to my companions’ conversations, I guess that their wives and children are at the back and walking, too. The wagons are reserved for transporting food. There must not be a lack of water because a strongly built man sprinkles some copiously on his face a few meters in front of me. Yet the trees are dry and the bushes thorny.

I have not been walking among these rough-looking beings for long, but I already feel a certain weariness filling my soul. I think of the tribes of Israel seeking their Land, yet it cannot be that. There is nothing reminiscent of the Semites in these men with fair complexions and imposing builds. The decor itself is not that of a desert but of an uncultivated plain that appears to be often windswept. I do not know if the heat weighs on the bodies; neither my limbs nor my borrowed skin give me any indication. I find it very difficult to direct my thoughts, as if I only have to devote myself to looking to remember in great detail what is happening around me.

My neighbor talks to me again in a joking tone. His words do not stay in my memory because my eyes devour the landscape and then attach themselves to a rider, coming at full gallop from the front of the column. He shouts, and as he gets closer to us, hissing and chanting comes from the crowd.

“There! There you go! Look ahead!”

He passes us like a racing car, clinging to the mane of his mount. Fingers appear on all sides and point at the horizon:

“Yes, over there. That’s surely it...”

A white line appears in places, like a dotted line above the green hills.

“Come back! Come back! Have the will to come back!” The voice of my guide arises in the depths of myself. His power emerges and hits the state of total receptivity that has taken possession of me. Everything is finished! A flash of yellow light passes before my eyes. My friend takes me by the arm and draws me out of the place where Time no longer means anything.

“I didn't need to let you see any more. These trips tire you out, and you wouldn't have learned anything more on that one. Let’s not stay here; the radiations coming from this mountain do not long tolerate a soul whose physical body is waiting somewhere on Earth. We are going to return to a place you already know and appreciate very much. Do you remember that little beach where we chatted a while ago?”

My friend speaks, and that is enough. I find the small beach of coconut palms, its golden sand and rubies, its waves with amazing reflections, and its lilac-colored sky...

“You cannot say I haven’t made you travel!” he remarks, laughing.

I feel that he tries to break my state of euphoria, which sometimes has a tendency to set in at such moments. It seems to me, in fact, that he doesn't want to leave me alone with my thoughts and that his joke is meant to bring me back.

“This world is too wonderful for anyone who still has a shell of flesh. Coming here, you don't think about the physical world. Comparisons are not good for those who have not completely let go of their body. Do not let yourself fall into the trap; take advantage of the astral universe, but do not succumb to its charm. Your place is still on Earth!”

The waves throw their tongues of light onto the red and gold dust of the beach. We walk toward them, and, quietly, they come to lay rainbows at our feet. I look forward to understanding, and, on the advice of my guide, I try to shift my attention away from the beauty of the upper astral. I no longer listen to the sound of the sea nor that of our footsteps on the hot sand. My heart is quite open to the voice of the one who is teaching me.

 CELTICS AND THE HIMALAYAS

“Once upon a time, on Earth, a great people were born one day, over eight thousand years ago, in a country called the ‘White Land.’ This country was also called ‘the Land of the Seven Plow Oxen’ because of the seven stars, which guided its destiny and still form a chariot today. This country is the ‘Septentrion’[2] as you know (before the catastrophe that carried it away), the Hyperborea of old legends, the mother of the Kingdom of Thule. The men of this country lived in a pleasant climate and maintained important maritime relations with the other peoples of the world.

“The day the axis of the Earth was shaken, and the planet started to turn in the other direction, the kingdom of the ‘White Land’ was destroyed when it fell into the ocean; then, the ice covered it. Men on the rest of the Earth almost forgot its name and no longer saw it; in its place was a desert of ice and snow that they called the ‘Arctic.’ Only a small group of refugee men and women who were high up and around the exact pole escaped the disaster.

“From this handful of isolated beings, who had even forgotten the existence of other creatures, the white race would emerge. The small society that they formed managed to live, thanks to the zones of heat that exist around the physical pole of the Earth. Little by little, they became a real people in search of a larger land. The men landed in handfuls on a land whose area was then larger than it is today: Great Britain. From there, they emigrated to present-day Poland and Germany. The white race, with its men of large stature but rather heavy shapes, then clashed with the black race. Although, on the decline of their power, the black armies won, thanks to better organization and more elaborate weapons.

“A good part of the white people, that which later took the name of ‘Celtic,’ was then reduced to slavery and put me to work with chains on my feet, in the mines and fields of their conquerors. This situation would have continued without the enlightenment of a woman named Muriga.

“Endowed with perceptions that your contemporaries would call ‘paranormal,’ she gave invaluable information to those who became the future Celtic chiefs, allowing them to bring their people to the revolt and making the blacks of Western Europe flee.

“But things should not stop there! Under the influence of other women, Muriga gave all her power to a small group of priestesses to turn it into a veritable College of Druidesses. Unfortunately, this college, which aimed to gradually establish a matriarchal society, very quickly fell in with temporal powers and began to commit the most reprehensible crimes, so often repeated by many groups of people: human sacrifices.

“Thus, after a few decades, under the impetus of a young druid, ‘his’ people rose up. The man was called Reem, but his friends and soon the entire nation named him ‘Ram,’ which means ‘the one who goes forward’: the Aries. This being was to become the great leader of the Celtic people because, as such, his body indeed housed one of the Envoys of the Spirit on Earth.

The subtle forces and angelic powers therefore guided his steps from his birth to his death. Ram was one of those predestined beings, these Mahatmas who came down among men to accomplish a mission and of whom we only keep a vague memory. You know how it goes, so better that I continue my story!

“After the rejection of the authoritarianism of the druidesses, the Celtic people began to ‘explode.’ Some scattered in Europe, and another rather important group moved toward the South, in particular, toward North Africa and current Arabia. By mixing with the black populations, this Celtic branch gave birth to the Arabs and the Hebrews. If you think about it, you will notice that they have kept a character trait that was for a long time that of the Celtic nation: the quest for land. What they wanted was their land. What Ram wanted was his land, the land whose communications with the Invisible had given him a precise vision.

“Crossing the countries of Central Europe provided him with the opportunity to increase the power of his people, who followed him. Thus, he captured whole hordes of wild horses to allow his army to move more efficiently. The journey lasted for years. What I have shown you through the Akashic records is the end of the long march of the people of Ram.

“I wanted you to see what this race of men looked like, led by a being who could be said to be the ideal sovereign for his time. What the last moments of your vision allowed you to contemplate is none other than the snowy chain of the Himalayas. The highlands of Tibet were therefore the promised lands of these ‘men of the chariot,’ according to the expression, due to their origins and means of transport.

“Surprising as it sounds, the Himalayan highlands welcomed Ram and his people. Fighting was rare, and Ram's personality quickly and peacefully conquered the inhabitants of these areas. Once his power was in place, and people were settled, everyone appreciated the merits of the Celtic leader, who quickly established a kind of theocracy. He wanted temporal power to be adjusted to spiritual power.

“Consequently, he had to change his name. He threw away the clothes of Ram, the warrior with the ram's horns, to take those of ‘Lam,’ the lamb that gives to others. Throughout the millennia, the British people have kept intact in their language, without knowing it, the memory of this mutation by the word ‘lam(b).’

“Like Jesus Christ, Lam was therefore ‘the Lamb of God.’ He gave his name to what became, much later, the future religion of Tibet: Lamaism. Buddhism did not appear until later and contributed to the initial Lamaism to form the version we know today.

“Examine and compare the various religions and you will see that the Lamaism has always practiced the cult of the mystical lamb. Did you know that it is for one of these reasons that the Christian missionaries who tried to evangelize the Himalayas encountered total incomprehension? The Tibetans could never understand the motives of the priests who wanted to impose a sacred lamb in place of theirs. What is the point of replacing a symbol with its equivalent?

“Not even the Eucharist surprised the Tibetan people: since time immemorial, great lamas have been preparing small balls of dough with miraculous virtues. These ‘hosts’ are today called ribu, and their making is the subject of very particular religious rites whose scope is highly spiritual. Do not be surprised by this fact; the Divinity has always granted grace to all those who asked for and sought it. Christ Jesus did not invent the Eucharist; he adapted it to the religion of which he is the origin.

“Long before his arrival among men, the cult of Mithras, Spirit of Divine Light, had already established the Eucharist in Asia Minor. Everything that is from the Creator of all things is One, do you see?

“Like the Atlantean religion, Ram's faith was even felt across the Himalayan border. Its people invaded the territory of present-day India by pushing back in successive waves the last leaders of the black army stationed along the Ganges, which then withdrew to the south of the country. When Ram died, he left a solid empire. His throne, placed on the roof of the world, has dominated this part of Asia for more than three millennia, and it is only a stupid quarrel that came to end the spiritual unity that he had been able to cultivate.

“Remember this to make no mistake: the disciples follow their master, but the disciples of the disciples betray the master's word.”

Part two will be published in February and the final Part Three in March.

This blog “The Land of the Seven Plow Oxen” is an excerpt from “Récits d’un voyageur de l’Astral” by Daniel Meurois and Anne Givaudan. © Daniel Meurois

[1] Here should be a name whose sonority I cannot remember

[2] “Middle English from Old French from Latin: septentriõnes, seven plow oxen, the seven stars of Ursa Major, or Ursa Minor septem in Indo-European roots “—from the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 5th Edition