“Stranger in a Strange Land”

In the vast expanse of the Akashic Library, Calliope stands before a shimmering timeline, her fingers tracing the threads of light that mark the year 2003. Peter Fae sits nearby, his photographer’s eye drawn to the way the ethereal light plays across the ancient tomes surrounding them.

“Tell me about your arrival at Ravenhaven,” Calliope says, her voice carrying the gentle authority of one who has witnessed countless stories unfold. “What drew you there?”

Peter shifts in his seat, remembering. “It was the kindness of Oberon and Morning Glory that led me northward. Carl had helped replenish my truck with gas, and I followed the trail of fellowship to their collective of houses near what I called the City of Clouds—San Francisco. Even then, I could see the lines of subtle energy crossing through the property—reds and passions, the blend of Fire and Water.”

“What did you discover there?” Calliope asks, her attention caught by the way Peter’s description makes the air shimmer with remembered energy.

“Morning Glory showed me her collection of Goddess sculptures first. The devotion in her energy field was palpable—a lifetime of appreciation and research into the Divine Feminine. And then there was their publication, Green Egg, focused on the magical arts during a time when such things weren’t nearly as accepted as they are now.”

Calliope pulls a volume from the air, letting it float before them. “A publishing platform devoted to the mystical path? That must have resonated with your own mission.”

“Deeply,” Peter nods. “Though I didn’t fully grasp it then, that devotion to sharing mystical wisdom would mirror my own path with the Mythica. And there was something else—Oberon himself had channeled the Millennial Gaia, a sculpture of the Divine Goddess that I would later see on the altars of many priestesses and allies throughout my journey.”

“When did you first realize this connection to the Divine Mother would be significant to your quest?” Calliope inquires, watching as threads of light begin to weave between the memories.

“It wasn’t clear at first. But looking back from here in the Library, I can see how it aligned with something even more remarkable.” Peter leans forward, his eyes bright with recognition. “Oberon’s Gaea Thesis—his vision of Earth’s biosphere as a single living organism—was published in 1970, the year of my birth. It speaks to the common Aka between our soul missions, though we would express them quite differently.”

“Tell me more about these different expressions,” Calliope encourages, noting how the threads of light pulse with each revelation.

“While Oberon embodied more of a wizardly, community-oriented energy, my path was more elemental, more fae in nature. Yet we shared that deep connection to Gaia consciousness, to documenting and sharing the magical world.”

Peter’s expression shifts then, becoming more contemplative. “And speaking of different ways of being—Julie Woods was there too. In her, I recognized something of myself, though it wasn’t entirely comfortable to see.”

“What did you recognize?” Calliope asks softly.

“A kind of splintered angel energy. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing the thousand-thousand shards of divine light that I was working to integrate. Julie and I shared that quality—being angelic beings learning to forge our way through the bleeding clouds of a stable sense of self.”

Calliope nods thoughtfully. “And how did this recognition affect your journey?”

“It reinforced the importance of what I was doing with the camera—documenting these moments, these patterns, as a way to bring coherence to the splintering. To find wholeness through witnessing and recording the journey.”

Gardeners of Gaea

Wizard and Priestess

“You mentioned something about a fire ceremony,” Calliope says, noticing a warm glow beginning to emanate from the timeline.

Peter’s eyes light up. “Yes—but it was more than just a single moment. It was a full embodiment of the magical arts by both of them. I watched as Morning Glory gathered the fundamental tools of witchcraft—an athame, a cauldron, candles, a pentacle, and other altar objects, all in service to the Goddess. Through my lens, I witnessed her transformation as she shifted her consciousness into her priestess aspect through invocation and costuming.”

“Tell me what you saw in the subtle realms,” Calliope encourages, as the memory shimmers with candlelight.

“I found her standing in her yard beneath the moon, holding candles, her presence itself an invitation into the subtle realms. The perennial priestess moved through her form—I could see the lineage of love and devotion she held for the Goddess manifesting in the subtle fields of the Mythica. She was wrapped in shadows, but not the shadows of distorted personal psyche—these were the shadows of mystery itself, beckoning one deeper into the mysteries.”

Peter’s gaze shifts to another thread of memory. “And then there was Oberon by the fire. As he raised his arm in a spellcasting gesture, the flames formed a perfect arrowhead—a reflection of his Sagittarian essence. But it was more than that. I could see how he had embodied the fire of transformation, yet tempered it with the connections of water through his work with community. His years of living on the land showed his connection to earth, while his books and erudite nature spoke to the quality of air. He had integrated all the elements in his own unique way.”

Calliope nods thoughtfully. “You were witnessing the archetypal patterns manifesting through their forms?”

“Exactly. The wizard and the priestess stood before me in their pure forms, and coming right after my encounters during the ‘Call of Mercury’ episode where I’d met so many magicians of the current Age, it felt like perfect confirmation.

“Tell me more about that connection,” Calliope prompts, weaving golden threads between the memories. “How did these encounters relate to your earlier experiences in the mountains?”

Peter leans forward, his eyes bright with remembrance. “At that early stage of my quest, I was just beginning to trust this intuitive sense that my inner and outer worlds were perfect mirrors of each other. The synchronistic arrival of these various magicians and priestesses felt like a divine confirmation—a living proof that I was truly walking the path of magic. Each encounter was like a divination through the elements of life itself, showing me that I was embodying the very substance of the magical path by meeting its modern practitioners.”

He smiles, a distant look in his eyes. “There I was, traveling in my white Chevy Blazer—Noble, I called him, like a white horse carrying me through the realms of the modern myth. From the mountain sanctuaries of Santa Cruz to Oberon and Morning Glory’s enclave, I was being led to these pockets of magic, these places where the old ways were being kept alive in new forms. Each destination felt both surprising and inevitable, as if my inner compass was leading me to exactly where I needed to be.”

“The wizard and the priestess stood before me in their pure forms, and coming right after my encounters during the ‘Call of Mercury’ episode where I’d met so many magicians of the current Age, it felt like perfect confirmation. My journey to map the Mythica was unfolding exactly as it should, leading me through a tapestry of synchronicities—the people, places, and events that made up that magical world. Each encounter was another point on the map I was creating, another demonstration of how these timeless archetypes manifest in our modern era.”

Stranger in a Strange Land

Calliope’s gaze shifts to a particular book that seems to glow with its own inner light, floating off one of the Library’s endless shelves. “I notice there’s something significant about Heinlein’s ‘Stranger in a Strange Land’ in this portion of your timeline. Tell me about that.”

Peter’s eyes light up with recognition. “Ah yes. Oberon shared with me how that book had inspired the creation of his Church of All Worlds. But for me, the resonance went even deeper. I saw myself in Valentine Michael Smith—a being trying to grok this strange world I found myself in.”

“Grok?” Calliope asks, though there’s a knowing glimmer in her eye.

“To understand so thoroughly that the observer becomes a part of the observed—to drink it in so deeply that there is no separation between self and other.” Peter pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Like Smith, I often felt like I was experiencing human culture from an outsider’s perspective, trying to comprehend these unwritten rules and customs that everyone else seemed to take for granted. The way I perceived energy, the way I saw the worlds beneath the world—it all added to this sense of being a stranger in a strange land.”

“And yet,” Calliope notes, “like Smith, you were also here to help bridge worlds in your own way.”

“Exactly. Through my lens, through the Mythica, I was working to translate what I saw—to help others understand these deeper dimensions of reality. It was fascinating to see how Oberon had taken similar inspiration but manifested it differently, creating a spiritual community and educational system while I was called to document the subtle realms and create a mapping system for consciousness itself.”

Calliope waves her hand, and the book’s essence seems to ripple through the surrounding memories. “So in a way, both you and Oberon were working to ‘grok’ the divine in your own ways—he through community and teaching, you through witnessing and documenting.”

“Yes,” Peter nods thoughtfully. “Though our expressions were different, we shared that core mission of making the magical more accessible, more grounded in the world. It was another confirmation that while I might feel like a stranger, I wasn’t alone in my quest to bridge these worlds.”

Calliope turns to a shimmering section of the Library where chronicles of spiritual movements float like luminous manuscripts. Her fingers trace through the ethereal pages of the Church of All Worlds’ history. “Tell me about the water sharing,” she says, her voice carrying a note of reverence. “I see here that Oberon founded this tradition in 1962, long before the modern Pagan movement had taken root.”

Peter’s expression softens with memory. “It was profound. You have to understand the courage it took for Oberon to step forward in those times. The early 1960s weren’t exactly welcoming to alternative spiritual paths, yet there he was, barely twenty years old, founding a church that would help birth the modern Pagan movement. And at its heart was this beautiful ritual of sharing water, drawn from Heinlein’s work but transformed into something deeply sacred.”

“Tell me about your experience of it,” Calliope encourages, as the Library seems to shimmer with the essence of water around them.

“One night, Oberon and I shared water beneath the moonlight in their pool. It wasn’t just the physical act of drinking from the same vessel—it was a moment of profound telepathic connection. In the subtle realms, I could see how water itself serves as a conductor for consciousness, for the sharing of essence between beings. The Martians in Heinlein’s book understood this primal truth—that water is more than just sustenance. It’s the element of connection, of emotional bonds, of the flowing together of souls.”

Peter pauses, his gaze distant with remembrance. “What struck me was how Oberon had taken this concept from a science fiction novel and transformed it into a living tradition. The Church of All Worlds became the first church to legally ordain women as Priestesses. They published Green Egg magazine when few would dare to openly discuss these topics. Through the ritual of sharing water, he created a framework for genuine spiritual kinship in a time when such connections were desperately needed.”

Calliope nods, weaving strands of light between various moments in the timeline. “I see how the timing was perfect—his birth, the founding of the Church, the publication of his Gaea Thesis. Each moment aligned with a greater awakening.”

“Yes,” Peter agrees. “And what’s remarkable is how the water sharing ritual embodies that same principle of interconnection that we see in the Gaea Thesis—the understanding that all life is one, linked through the flowing essence of consciousness itself. In my own work with the Mythica, I came to see how water serves as both metaphor and medium for this unity, this flowing together of individual awareness into the greater ocean of being.”

Modern Myths and Sacred Stories

Calliope’s attention is drawn to a collection of objects shimmering in the ethereal light—models of starships, maps of fantastic realms, and comic books that seem to pulse with their own inner life. “Tell me about Oberon’s connection to Star Trek,” she says, a knowing smile playing across her features.

Peter’s eyes light up with appreciation. “Oberon was a devoted Trekkie, and beautifully so. He didn’t just wear the costumes and attend conventions—he embodied the high ideals of Star Trek itself. I could see how he manifested that sacred triad: Kirk’s boldness, Spock’s logic, and McCoy’s compassion. His dedication to cultural openness and the exploration of new frontiers wasn’t just fandom—it was a lived philosophy.”

“Were you equally drawn to Star Trek?” Calliope asks, watching the interplay of energies around these modern myths.

“I loved Star Trek and its mythos,” Peter responds, “but my deep waters flowed more naturally toward the comic book realms. In Oberon’s sanctuary, I discovered a vast library that spoke volumes about his soul—shelves upon shelves of science fiction and fantasy novels stretching across the walls, interspersed with loving tributes to the genres he cherished. A detailed model of the Enterprise held pride of place among delicately crafted figurines from Lord of the Rings. A beautifully rendered map of Middle Earth hung nearby, its careful framing suggesting years of appreciation. Each item, from the carefully arranged action figures to the well-worn paperbacks, told the story of a life devoted to the exploration of imagination. I had always seen someone’s library as a mirror of their inner landscape, and here was a realm that perfectly reflected Oberon’s passionate dedication to these modern mythologies.

Peter pauses, his gaze becoming more focused. “You see, I had always recognized that these stories, these artifacts of fandom, were portals of consciousness. They were the surface expressions of something much deeper—doorways into the realms of embodied magic that lay beyond the culture and costumes of fandom.”

“Tell me more about that relationship between surface and depth,” Calliope encourages, as the air around them fills with floating images from various mythic traditions.

“The series ‘Promethea’ by Alan Moore and J.H. Williams III crystallized it for me,” Peter explains. “It was a perfect fusion of the surface and subtle worlds, offering readers a clarified portal into the mystic arts through the medium of the modern hieroglyph. That work deeply inspired my vision for the Mythica—this idea of living one’s myth and presenting it through a publishing platform of modern mythology.”

Calliope nods thoughtfully, weaving together threads of light that connect ancient grimoires with modern comic panels. “So you saw these seeds of publishing and devotion to the Goddess expressing themselves even in Oberon’s collection?”

“Exactly. In his shrine of fan-based sculptural models, videos, and literature, I could see the aka of publishing and devotion to the Divine manifesting in a modern form. It was another confirmation that these timeless mysteries find new ways to express themselves in each era, speaking through whatever languages and symbols resonate with the current age.”

Saint Polly

“And there was another presence there,” Peter continues, his voice softening. “Morning Glory’s mother, Polly. She taught me something profound about the nature of spirituality.”

“What was that?” Calliope asks, watching as a gentle light begins to suffuse the memories.

“She was a devoted Christian, living right there on this obviously pagan property. Her only interest seemed to be her pure love for Christ, and the beautiful thing was how naturally she fit into this seemingly contrasting spiritual environment. Oberon and Morning Glory’s acceptance of her showed me how true spirituality transcends these surface divisions. It was a powerful lesson about the unity underlying all paths to the Divine.”

Calliope’s eyes sparkle with interest. “You sensed something deeper there about the relationship between these traditions?”

“Yes,” Peter nods thoughtfully. “Throughout my journey, I’d encountered the psychic tensions between those who identified as pagans and their relationship with Christianity. There was often this… reflexive resistance, this almost inherited prejudice. But sitting there with Polly, watching her interact with Oberon and Morning Glory, I could see how this tension arose from ignorance of the actual nature of Christ’s teachings—the profound messages of love, charity, and inclusion that formed the heart of his ministry.”

“Tell me more about what you witnessed in their interaction,” Calliope encourages, as the memories shimmer with a harmonious light.

“In the subtle realms, I could see how their hearts operated on a level beyond these surface divisions. Oberon and Morning Glory’s expansive kindness, their ability to see past the dogmatic distortions that had accumulated over centuries, met perfectly with Polly’s pure devotion. They all recognized the truth of love beneath the turbulent surface of people’s minds. It was beautiful—this living example of how genuine spirituality naturally transcends the artificial boundaries we create.”

Peter pauses, his gaze distant with remembrance. “In a way, their relationship was a healing balm for the collective wound between these traditions. Here was Polly, deep in her Christ consciousness, being completely embraced by two of the most prominent figures in modern Paganism. And here were Oberon and Morning Glory, recognizing that the divine love Polly embodied was the same force they celebrated in their own way. It was a powerful testament to what’s possible when we look past our preconceptions to the unified field of love beneath.”

The Fae Perspective

The scene shifts, drawing back to the vastness of the Library itself. Peter and Calliope stand in one of the libraries many hallways, gazing down at the gleaming pages of his timeline stretched out below them like a river of light. The memories of Ravenhaven shimmer with particular brightness—moments captured in photographs that seem to pulse with their own inner radiance.

Calliope leans forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. “From your perspective in the Akashic realms, how do you view these different traditions?”

“They… they occur for me as shapes. As geometries of color and sound around which orbit all kinds of things,” Peter replies, his hands moving as if tracing invisible forms in the air. As he speaks, the Library’s atmosphere shifts, filling with translucent figures in flowing robes—a Buddha seated in meditation, a mystic with raised hands in golden vestments, sacred geometries floating like crystalline snowflakes in the air around them. Each form seems to pulse with its own inner light, yet remains gossamer-thin, like patterns in morning mist.

The forms change, ethereal figures blend and flow into one another, their edges softening like watercolors in rain. “Yes. It was all sculpture to me. Shapes of the prima materia. Mortal ideas occurred for me as shapes interpreted through shapes, like water looking at water.” The figures around them respond to his words, their forms becoming more fluid, each tradition flowing into the next—geometric patterns of Islamic art merging with Celtic knots, Sanskrit characters dancing with Hebrew letters, all suspended in the luminous air of the Library. “It’s … traditions occur to me as people learning to draw.”

“Like in the ‘Colors of Art’ episode from 2002?” Calliope asks, drawing forth a shimmering photo from the timeline and he nods, “Yes. It was all sculptural to me. All shapes made from primal substance.”

“And this shaped how you perceived these different traditions?” Calliope asks, her fingers weaving together threads of light.,

“Yes, exactly. Even early in the Quest, I had this intrinsic knowing that everything was One Thing manifesting in endless forms. I would see these various shifting forms on the surface of the world as different arrangements of the same substance.” Peter’s gaze grows distant, as if looking through the veils of reality. “Before I began documenting the quest, I had felt into the substance of the various traditions and spiritual institutions within the ethers. I saw there was a progression—Divine inspiration flowing through one avatar or another, shaped by the lens of their perception, their karmic architecture, their appropriateness within that particular Age of the Akasha. This inspiration would then be distributed to the people, filtered through these various lenses.”

“Was this clarity present for you so early in the quest?” Calliope asks, her question gentle but probing.

Peter smiles. “While my awareness would flicker and drift across the underlands, this understanding was intrinsic to my being. It defined how I perceived the outer forms of various spiritualities and the way they were interpreted by people in the mortal plane. It wasn’t something I learned—it was something I knew, even when my consciousness was scattered across the various realms.”

He continues, his voice taking on a tone of deeper revelation. “All spiritual insight truly comes from gnosis—from direct perception of the elemental substance of life. The outer forms we see are more diluted and deluded versions of the prime language, reflections of the various shapes of humanity’s pantheon of selves.”

“You know,” Calliope says with a slight smile, her eyes twinkling, “your perspective sounds almost… Martian.”

Peter laughs, a sound of delighted recognition. “Yes! Even then, so early in the quest, I could see that aspect in the mythos of our meeting. I was embodying a character in the Great Story that shared the same aka as Valentine in Stranger in a Strange Land, with Oberon playing the role of the publisher helping me land into this world. These patterns appeared to me as echoes rippling across the ether, visible even through the fracturing splinters I was working to resolve.”