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Why Daddy he not comes

Nowadays science-fiction

Richard Trigaux

A young french lady just went 18. Others would celebrate, but her is going to the court house, to ask why her father stopped coming to see her at home. In the meanwhile, in Montana, a scientist is preparing a strange exprience on consciousness... based on electronic circuits?

Science Fiction in the way of Jules Verne: with up to date scientifical data, and generous characters.

Cover of the book 'Why daddy he no more comes'

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Why Daddy he no more comes


(By the author, first person)


This story is first and foremost a science fiction story, opening fantastic opportunities in the domain of consciousness and survival in the afterlife. However it is not some past twentieth century space opera science fiction: it is rooted in the most extraordinary science discoveries of this early twenty-first Century.

It is not either some transhumanist nightmare: it speaks of consciousness, of real consciousness, this thing which experiences awareness, sensations, feelings, happiness, hopes, emotions and human warmth. And without which nothing makes any sense.

But how can I call «science» things which for millennia were considered to be of the domain of religions? Because this book is based on the modern 21st century science, not the old 20th century materialistic science. Especially on NDE, the Dutch Study cleared this domain of all the suspicions and counter-arguments, while complying on all the standard science methodologies.

That this fantastic knowledge is still considered of the «religious» domain however poses a problem, that I address in my book «General Epistemology», proposing a scientifically acceptable frame for the study of consciousness.

This story you are to read is just a more human-friendly way to present this knowledge, which is still somewhat abstract.



The second aspect of the present story is that, just like Jules Verne did, I set my science fiction into a humanly warm story, with nice characters showing moral value and high ideals. This is not a simple presentation trick to make my thesis more attractive: the serious scientific study of consciousness inevitably leads to discover the purpose of life: to be happy. And this is precisely what happens to whoever becomes better, whoever gets more control on the imperfect brain that the unconscious amoral Darwinian evolution brought to us. Thus the main purpose of all my stories is precisely to arise the desire of a better world, and of a better life.



Third, the «adventure» plot line of this novel evokes malfunctions of institutions and characters in which we should be especially confident. The purpose is not to despise these institutions themselves, which are performing an incredibly difficult task. Actually I saw some of these people or centers doing fantastic things, like saving children from dereliction and even from death. But inadmissible and unpardonable problems happen when some of these persons use their functions to terrorize and destroy children, from sexism or from religious disagreements with their parents.

However I could not base such severe accusations on vague second-hand reports: it is things which are well documented by psychologists, specialists, and enquirers on large well known abuses in this domain, like the Outreau scandal in France, or the incredible Dade County forfeits in Florida. In more, I saw myself things like that, which gives me the authority of a witness to denounce these criminal acts.

But, from respect for the victims I knew, I could not tell their real story in a novel. I could not either exaggerate or pose false claims. The solution is this fiction story, where I present facts of equal seriousness than I directly witnessed, or which were pregnant in the news.

In these affairs, children always are treated like furniture, possessions. Nobody seems to bother about their suffering and disorientation in life, from losing their parents, and especially from hearing them defamed everywhere. Especially in large scandals like the Outreau affair or the Dade county affair, no justice was ever given, and the children victims are still seeing their tormentors free and not bothered, see honored.

This is also problematic for the artists and thinkers: nearby all the possible suffering and causes on Earth were described and advocated in numerous novels and art creations, while every artist supported at least one cause dear to him. Even children mistreated by their family have their defenders, like Jules Renard or Hervé Bazin in France. Yet I know few novels or artist presenting and defending children crushed by the heartlessness of the divorce laws and courts. That this was done to children I knew was a personal invitation do do so.



This story also partly takes place in virtual worlds.

Virtual worlds are expected to have a great future for social interaction, training, learning, meeting people. Yet they are still ignored and denigrated. Even the covid epidemics did not increased the attendance! It seems that way too few understood their fantastic potential for freedom and social evolution, leaving the free virtual worlds vegetating without any support.

At the time this novel took place, several collective virtual worlds were operating, like second Life, and Inworldz. The science fiction part was created in Inworldz, for the winter gala 2016. For this reason I claim precedence of the proposed science ideas for this date. The great adventure in the chapter 10 is supposed to take place in 2018. It was unfortunately the last year of Inworldz, which was lost mainly to denigration.



At last, this story also partly takes place in the afterlife.

When we speak of the afterlife, the traditional «happy end» cannot happen, because we all depart to the Great Beyond one day or another. In this domain let us speak instead of happy eternity. Which is much more optimistic than any traditional novel.

There is no final justice either in this book, where the good guys would be rewarded and the bad guys punished, as in movies. Because this is like that in reality: the problem has not been solved. But in the story we see the victims rebuilding themselves and moving forward, which is the ultimate victory.

And the real victims I knew also rebuilt themselves.

All of them.

So that there is nothing to add.

Chapter 1 Christine

(By Christine, first person)


I so much remember this day in April 2018, my 18 birthday.


For most, this is a day of celebration, of enjoying their new freedom.


Not for me.


I was going to the court house.


Because I desperately needed to know.


I needed to know why, one day, my dear Daddy stopped coming at home.


My beloved, my sweet Daddy, who was taking me one weekend on two, bringing me in his country house, where we always had fantastic things to do: exploring the forest, gardening, or by bad weather playing at games, doing models, or looking at science or hearing music on the Internet.


When I was very young, he was at home every day, the evening. He played with me, or took me in his car for wandering.

Not all the time, because he had to go to work.

Also he always had to ask permission to my mother, to bring me somewhere. In this time I thought it was normal, and that men were another kind of children having to obey to women, just as I had to obey to my mother.

As far as I remember, my mother was always stern with him.

In the beginning, she smiled to me. But when I was telling my good moments with Dad, she frowned. So, I soon learned not to tell. Then she became stern all the time, just speaking of school work, washing myself and such.


What more unwelcoming than a courthouse. Supermarkets at least try to lure us with their sticky music, warm colors and fake neon lights. Courts don't need to attract people to fill their jails. They are dreary, cold and sad. The motto «Liberté Egalité Fraternité» engraved in hard stone seems so far away, like a promise from ancient times which was never made true.

First, who to ask? There was no welcome desk. Ah, «greffe» (registry), it must be that. Okay, there was a kind of waiting room with some people waiting. I needed to wait for my turn. A bad lamp, and the usual meaningless reviews «Paris Match», «Elle», etc. so boring that nobody is able to read them, even after several hours of waiting.


Daddy used to live at home. But one day he was no more here. Why I was never told. I remember my mother stuffing his clothes in a bag. The next day when I went back from school, nothing remained.

I asked my mother why he was gone.

«Shut up» was her answer. And I knew that when she was angry, I had better to keep silent and especially not to cry. If I cried she started to say very unpleasant things, that I had psychology problems and I would go to the hospital.

So that I went straight into my bedroom, and I cried... wiping my tears as they were coming, so that she could not see them while suddenly opening the door as she often did. Then I started to do my school work.

Doing our school work when we lose our only loving support is very hard. However it was the only remaining thing I had to grasp at, like a drowning person clinging at a straw. But My mother never helped me in my school work, as my dear Dad did. So I worked, because my Dad said school was important. It was my only remaining contact with him.


The person before me seemed to have tons of things to discuss. We were waiting since a full hour, and several persons had arrived in the meanwhile. How can people have such complex and difficult affairs that they need so many time to untangle them. Oh well, I heard them laughing, like old buddies together. I understood why this interview was taking so long. I started being afraid that the court closes before I was allowed in this room. Without money for an hotel, I could not afford to wait for another day.



The first and only dispute I remember, was my mother wanting me to learn to read with the «méthode globale» (Whole language method): reading words on cards without learning the letters. I was able to recognize several words. They disputed, Dad saying that this method was useless, while my mother was saying that I learned to read very fast. Indeed I remember I was recognizing the cards that my mother was showing me. For some time I was angry with my dad and my mother was saying me to stay in my bedroom instead of speaking with him.

But once at school, I was ridiculed: I was unable to recognize a single word, even those which were on my mother's cards. I needed weeks to understand that Daddy was right: if we read letter per letter we can recognize any word, even unknown ones, while with the cards we recognize only the cards we learned! Finally my mother did not liked to help me in my school work, so that my dad could help me again to understand the letters and other things.


I was finally admitted in a bureau, where was sitting a lady looking at me with a professional smile. This was not a nice place, with shelves full of limp files and paperwork. The furniture was of chrome tubes and gray-green leatherette, while worn chairs. The walls were painted of this urine color which seems the standard for all the French administrations. There was not a single object intended to be pleasant. I always wonder how people can force themselves in living into such ugly and dreary places. Working in this bureau was probably a worse punishment than all the jails they were sending people in.

I had prepared my identity card, because I thought that this lady would check my identity first. But she did nothing such, just asking my name. I first found this strange: anybody could pretend to be me, and learn everything from me. But I was wrong, you will see why.


Sometimes my mother received a group of friend ladies. Usually they were speaking loudly for hours, and I could not do my homework these days. If Daddy was here, he also had to keep in the couple chamber. Sometimes the ladies invited me, screaming how a beautiful girl I was, wanting me to smile, pawing my cheeks, and after drop me, speak again of their adult things I was not understanding.


But I remember some weeks after Daddy was gone, came another strange lady.

She asked me if I was missing «Daddy». Whoever will read this story will find this incredible: we never used the words «Daddy» or «Mommy» at home. I learned these words later, with the school. At home, Dad was «Léo» and my mother was «Francine». This is a classic trap, often set with «questioning social norms» as a bait. But the true purpose is that the child is unaware that his parents are special to him. And social services often activate this trap, out of ignorance or of malice.

So that when this lady asked me if I remembered «Daddy» I just replied «no». At once I felt it was a bad reply, without knowing why: my mother and the lady took a sinister look, but without telling me what I did wrong. Then the lady asked me several questions, if I was working well at school, if I had buddies, and so on. I replied that I liked «Léo» and if I could see him again. The lady replied:

«Yes of course you can see your friend.

-When? I inquired, with a bit of hope.

-Oh, ask your mother for this» and it was all. They started again speaking their adult things, that I understood nothing, just that it was about me, and they looked at me with worried faces. I felt as if I was just a dog poop, and did not dared to ask anything again.

The impolite lady came again several times, and I preferred to hide in my bedroom. But once she insisted to visit my bedroom. I refused, but she replied that she was obliged, to «check» things. She opened my drawers and looked at drawings I did not wanted her to see. Another time, I found that my toys had been displaced during the day. This was clear, as I used to arrange them in a specific way, for my games.


Baloo was missing, the teddy bear my Dad had offered me, and my only memory of him. I never saw him again.


I did not cried. I was starting to get accustomed to see bits of my life going away one per one.


When I requested access to the files about me, the professional smile turned into an angry face.

«We cannot give you such details, Miss. the files and social inquiry reports are secret»

I stared at her with disbelief.

I waited for years to know the truth.

I did an expensive travel.

I waited again for hours in this ugly anti-life place.

Just to hear this skinny bug reply me that I was not allowed to know?


I whispered, in a trembling voice:

«But... but... I am the victim

-Miss, I know pretty well that you are the victim. Everything was made to protect you and your interest.

-But my interest was trampled on... why I was deprived of my father?»

The stern face turned into a merrily sadistic grin:

«Miss, it was for your protection. There has been three procedures against your father. One in May 2010 for mistreatment to children. Since it is the children judge, everything is secret. Second, there was in January 2011 a family affairs judgment fixing the right of your father to visit you or take you in his home. But this right was suspended, when started the third procedure in September 2011: a complain against your father for sexual contacts on you. I am sorry to remind you of this» she uttered with a total lack of compassion, showing instead a strange smile and gleaming eyes at the evocation of child sex. «This procedure did not went to its conclusion, since your father died of a bone cancer in December 2011. So that there are no reports or conclusions at all.»


I was flabbergasted. That he died, I knew, although I was never told any details. But for the pedophilia... This was not connecting to anything I remember or experienced with him. He never touched me, and he never had any remark of this kind. He was the kindest and most respectful of all the Daddies, and the fondest memory of my childhood. The only worthy person I had ever met in this time.


Just as when, child, I realized that I would never more see my Dad, my lips started to wriggle... it was as if my Dad was stolen to me a second time... I was frustrated of the truth, I would never know what really happened, who accused him of such a horrible thing, and why these persons wanted so hard to separate us, to deprive me of his love, smile and education.

What was meaning being 18? For these people I was still a minor, even not a person, just a file, an object not allowed to any feeling.


This woman was manipulating a 12cms thick file, with plenty of papers and sub-files: my «dossier». It contained all the accusations, judgments and «social inquiries» which, I know, were detailing all the lies and sadistic acts against me and my Dad. More the names of all these unknown blokes who worked for years for the sole purpose of ruining my life, cowardly protected from my children sobs in their warm bureaus and mind-numbing ideologies. The truth was here, at 30cms in front of me. But more inaccessible than if it was separated from me by light years of bad will, hypocrisy and pigheadedness.

«May I at least have... a copy of these files? I tried.

-Miss, you do not have the right», she replied angrily, as if I was asking something dishonest.


-The only public document here is the family affairs judgment fixing the rights of your father toward you.

-But it is not his rights... it was MY rights to see my father!

-This is a philosophical debate I shall not enter in. Feel free to have your opinions, but the law is clear, and it fixes the rights of the parents, not of the children» I had studied a bit of philosophy at school... I knew some basic, especially that philosophy builds the law, not the contrary. Not only this woman was insolent and evil, but she also was a sophist and a manipulator.


Oh, well I expected all this a bit. I had prepared a last cartridge:

«Well, miss, anyway I need this family affair judgment, for my scholarship funding. My mother cannot help me much, you know, since she lost her job and is unemployed...

-If you want a copy of this judgment, you need to write a registered letter to the court registry. If I can be of any help for you, just ask, I will do it with pleasure, she concluded in a tone which was expressing the exact contrary.


I finally went outside of this place, which was supposed to protect me, but which grossly failed to do so, instead torturing me and breaking my life. Even the warmth of the spring sun and the merriness of flowers seemed in vain. So I had to continue living with half of myself missing. Continue to reply hello to people as if everything was right.


But nothing is right when such incredible abuses are possible.

Chapter 2: The experiment

(About Joan, third person)


A wooden lodge, somewhere in Montana, outside of a small western town, amid a fantastic scenery of forested mountains.

It was looking like a trekker's lodge, with planks walls and fiberglass roof. On a side was a shed for a worn out car, more a garden, a firewood pile, and a birds feeding station. It was even looking a bit messy, as many lonely living places in the forest.

However there was a large Internet satellite dish hidden in the low attic, more radars and cameras warning from unexpected visitors.


Joan was living here most of the time. When she was out, she was wearing boots and rugged clothes, making her look like a local. Often, trekkers could be seen around, and even at times some spent a night or two in Joan's lodge. But they not really were trekkers.


Joan was not some tourist or retired nature lover. Of course she fondly loved this place and often wandered in the surrounding majestic forest. In facts she was a scientist, an university doctor. Nothing remarkable yet, many trekkers too had high professional profiles. But she was not just an ordinary scientist either: she was a SETI scientist. And, while the main room and bedrooms of the lodge were looking quite rustic, there was, hidden behind the planking, a concrete safe room with a steel door, filled with computers and other electronic devices.


And Joan was preparing an experiment.


She had received the whole package for the experiment, including the money. First of all, she opened the source code files of the main software. She startled: it was regular C language, but with currency signs ¤ instead of dollar signs $. That an old Soviet compiler was still able to issue code working in Windows 10 amazed her. It had to be still actively maintained. Ah, Russians...


The funds had finally arrived too, in a totally improbable and romantic way. Like many rich Russian entrepreneurs, Vassiliev had to lick President Putin's boots, so that his company received lucrative public contracts. He was still under scrutiny, because they probably suspected something. Or simply because in this paranoid system, everybody was suspect. He had to use contorted means to transfer the funds, and Joan just received her credentials, coded in a .png file, on the site of a flowers retailer in Portugal. Joan did not liked this aspect of things, but on the other hand she did not wanted Vassiliev to have any trouble. She too needed to be discreet, although none of them was doing anything remotely dishonest or even illegal.


The hardware, Joan already had it. It was a collection of REGs, Random Numbers Generators, of the Araneus type, encased in an USB stick. Not sure the reverse biased semiconductor junction was the best method, but to have better they needed to build their own REG. This is what Vassiliev's money was for. Joan had to forward it to Anzu «Apricot», as a private order for her company in Honshu, Japan. Waiting for Anzu's solution, Joan could start tests with a bank of Araneus, each ordered under a different name. At least with all this electronic she would not need extra heating in her cold Montana winter. Indeed she used the warm air exhaust from her computer room to warm her living room, with its bank of powerful machines running SETI@home 24/7.

Electronic analog true random generators were already the base of the Global Consciousness Project experiment and of the PEAR experiment. These experiments demonstrated the influence of consciousness over true random material systems, at the cost however of a massive use of statistics, to detect very weak effects with a large number of chance drawings.

The principle is that, when we do random drawings, the accuracy increases with the square root of the total number of drawings. For instance political polls usually question a thousand of persons, for a (theoretical) accuracy of 1%. The PEAR experiments performed tens of millions of drawings, resulting in an accuracy better than 0.01%. In this way it was able to detect a small effect of the will of the operator, between 0.1% to 1%, with many kinds of random systems: mechanical, hydraulic, electronic, quantum. This was precise enough to show that, contrarily to analog generators, numerical pseudo-random generator show no effect ((Note of the author: I theorized this as soon as 2000)). The Global Consciousness Project performed billions of automated random drawings using electronic generators like the Araneus, which made it able to detect a very significant reactivity to a hundred of large emotional world events. After reaching their intended purpose, both experiments are now stopped, waiting for progresses on the theoretical side.

Sadly, these results, despite their incredible philosophical significance, were totally ignored by the mainstream science community. In some instances, they even were «disputed», using bizarre ad-hoc statistical arguments, psychological accusations, or by saying that a result without a theory is «not significant». Especially, the results of the PEAR experiment were removed from the Princeton University site. But they are still visible on the site of the ICRL (


Vassiliev's idea was to multiply the number of random generators, in order to increase these small statistical deviations to usable real time signals, instead of accumulating data over years. Of course they would use several random generators, but instead of statistically averaging their results, they would place them in an electronic neural network. In this way, he hoped, they would multiply each other, instead of just adding together. Anzu would create such an integrated circuit containing several layers of artificial neurons, and train it to each of the desired outputs, mostly the alphabet. But instead of being fed pictures of letters, it would receive random «noise», each on a supplementary «Upsilon» input. In this way, this artificial network would work like a natural brain network does, when we perform a free will choice, as explained in the chapter V-3 of «General Epistemology».

Further, as explained in the chapter V-18 of the same book, in order to emulate the properties of biological neurons, it had to be an analog network, with fully analog signals, where the random generators would inject carefully dosed analog noise. This smart combination of signals in a trained neural network was expected to be much more sensitive than the mere statistical averaging of many random signals. They hoped to increase detection a thousand times in this way.


But this was not enough: they needed a much more powerful boost of the signal itself, consciousness side, before it entered the REG. This was the job of Namgyal, «the Tibetan».


Namgyal was a tulkou. He was born in China, from a Tibetan family. He lived in Shanghai, in an ordinary worker's apartment, and the abundance of ear plugs in his trash was the only way to recognize that he was meditating on a daily basis. Namgyal requested the secret emissaries of Dharamsala not to publicly let know that he was a tulkou. He knew that he was in a dangerous position, but he needed to be safe from his government's suspicion, for his specific purposes in China. Namgyal brilliantly completed high university science studies, and started to work in astronomy. He occasionally worked for the SETI, which in China was much more in favor than spirituality. But he was still a real tulkou and a high level spiritual person, just waiting for his time to act. While waiting, he helped other positive projects, like the one of Vassiliev, or he trained in secret a selected group of students into special spiritual methods. China would need them a lot, when their time would come.


Vassiliev, Joan, Namgyal, Anzu and some others had met in a SETI Breakthrough Initiative Congress. Since SETI was now well accepted in each of their countries, it was giving them a safe cover for a much deeper research: how a consciousness could directly control a material device! When you hear of such researches, you are shown images of skulls covered with electrodes. But this only connects the brain, and its neural impulses, not the consciousness itself. Vassiliev's idea was to connect the very consciousness, which is a totally different endeavor. So that they decided to have no brain involved at all. This was radically removing all the brain activity, which until now plagued such kind of researches with random neural pulses. The ego activity, they used to say.


What they wanted to test was to allow a DEAD person to use their detector, from the Great Beyond.


Precisely, Namgyal had access to one of such places, where he used to take some rest between two of his busy incarnations. This offered him very special opportunities. What they were preparing was one of these great science experiment, of the kind science produces only one per generation. But this time it would be the science of the 21st Century!

Chapter 3: Conditional happiness

(By Christine, first person)


Of course the very next day of this meeting in the court, I wrote the letter for getting the judgment.


Two days later I got the receipt.






Weeks, then months passed without getting any news.


In the meanwhile, I tried several other tracks, like the social services. But wherever I was going, I was always getting the same reply: they all had thick files on me, but no way to only let me look at them, even not have a slight idea of what they contained. In several instances I was proposed «psychological help», to «overcome my trauma». These sickly people were always bringing back the discussion on the fake pedophilia accusations, that they all considered as real. For them, my search for the documents was a disguised demand for obtaining their «help». I could tell them twenty time that nothing sexual happened, they were always saying that I was in negation, suppressed memories, or seeking for help for my trauma. For them, I still was a 10 years old girl.


I also tried the associations for helping single fathers victims of court abuses. But most were closed, save one which turned to be a mere front face for an extreme right political party. Of course they would «help» me... if I agreed with their dark objectives. This was really scary, and I left the representative dangling with just a cold good bye.


I tried some lawyers too. The replies were more nuanced, but no more useful. Of course they all said me that they could help me. But not for getting the documents! It was the law, and I had to «understand» that I had to abide to it. Of course it was still possible to reopen the files... but for this I had to prove that some irregularity had happened. Which of course needed to know what was in the files! I understood that they just wanted my money. Or not, since I still was depending on my mother for my studies, so that I could just bring them the basic legal aid. For them I was just a too little fish, that they rejected in the water, without worrying if I was still alive or not.


Nearby one year after Daddy disappeared from home, I had started to redo my life otherwise. Although nothing could really replace his kindness and support. I also avoided to love objects like toys, as several others also disappeared. Once I complained to my mother: as I expected, she just replied that I was paranoid. In her mouth, this was a serious implicit threat, to send me in psychiatry. So that I avoided this discussion. Anyway, she had become Miss Silence, never speaking of anything with me, save trite life things. Happily, she stopped receiving friends and making noisy party with them. But at times the impolite lady was showing up, and they whispered conspiracy words in the living room, while I was in my bedroom. I could not understand what they were saying, save my name from times to times.

This usually ended by the impolite lady showing up in my bedroom, speaking to me like to a baby, making great smiles and pawing my cheeks. She complimented me for being a nice girl and asking me if I needed something. The sadistic wreck knew it very well, what I painfully needed above all, that every child in the world needs exactly in the same way. Only once I replied «my dad» (I had learned this word at school). I never did it again. The impolite lady had a step backward, taking a stern and threatening look. Then she made again her hypocritical smile, saying that I could ask for psychological help if I wanted. This was again a new word, but I was now wary of anything coming from this person, as of a new threat or torture. I just made a shy no, and never replied her again. She looked pleased with this.


One day, my mother went all angry and excited, scolding me and prodding me to «do my luggage». She had bought a travel bag, and I had to fob in all my tooth brushes, socks, many undies an especially a lot of warm clothes as if I had to go to Siberia. This was the very first time ever I did such a thing, I needed some time to understand what I needed to bring, and first of all what all this was this meaning.


Then the door bell rang... and I heard a voice...




First I could not believe... he was not smiling, and clothed all in gray like the impolite lady. He had the cold of the winter air on his cheeks. But it really was him! Silently, he took my hand, and my bag with his other hand. My mother did some angry remarks, that he did not replied. While we were climbing down the stair we could hear her, yelling loud in front of all the neighbors that Dad would have to check that I was properly washed and my undies clean. We were still hearing her voice fading as he started to drive his car.


Dad drove me silently to his little home. He just asked me general questions, but was not smiling as before. Later I understood that he had been broken in some way, and he was now unable to smile. But he still was my loving dad!


He had prepared a little bedroom for me, still smelling the paint. There even were some of my ancient toys, but they looked too childish now.


Then we spoke.


For hours.


Until past 1 am.


He explained me.


My mother had stopped loving him.


He was so sad saying this.


For some years, they could do as if they had a normal life. But it became too difficult for her to hide her hatred.


«Why she stopped loving you?» I asked.

He just had a sad look. There is no conceivable reply to this.


So my mother asked for separation (not divorce, as they never were married).


Starting for this point, a lot of characters stepped in the story: the social workers, the enquirers, the lawyers, and finally the judge. All the grave diggers who only come to dissect families, instead of helping to solve the issues. Each time Dad introduced a new word, I imagined a new one of these gray impolite ladies, which only purpose in life seemed to make children unhappy and lonely.


It took all these people more than one year to figure out that I needed my father. And still, they granted me this right in a very reluctant and skinflint way: only one weekend on two, and half of the holidays. As if I really not deserved such a favor.


This is how I started a double life. The week, a silent life in the gray world of my mother, where the only thing I could do was homework, or reading (school was a good pretext for this). In more, she started to order me to do housekeeping, often interrupting me angrily in my bedroom when I was in the middle of an exercise. And of course no Internet or anything like this, we even not had a computer. Happily the impolite gray lady was no more showing.

On the bad weekends, I was bored, not allowed to go out, save for the «sport» like playing badminton, another of those lifetime-wasting non-activities invented by wacko life-hating adults. So I was reading a lot. Happily my mother did not checked my readings, as I was not «disturbing her» while reading. I never understood in what she spent all her time. I suspect she was looking at porn movies in her bedroom (strictly off limits for me), and this is the only reason why I was not submitted to the torture of hearing her TV all the time. Still I had to bear some series, during which I could not read and had to wait that it ended.

The good weekends, I was happy with my dad, thinking of games, nature, wandering in the forest. At home, he was inexhaustible on science and geography. My mother wanted me to bring my homework here, but I much preferred to be with my father, so I arranged to do all my homework while I was with my mother (since I had nothing else to do there). Well, I often asked him to explain some points I was not understanding, especially in mathematics. Maths are so hard for children. Especially for children deprived of the loving support of their parents.

Daddy still had his computer, and Internet. He never let me alone in front of it, as, he said, there were «bad sites» harmful to children, which may pop up unexpectedly. But there were a lot of fantastic things, like Google Earth where we can literally fly above far away countries. This was 1000 times better than school, where we just speak. He allowed me here for hours. We could even explore Mars as if we were astronauts!

There were also virtual worlds, like Second Life, and especially Inworldz. Sometimes he was showing me the fantastic landscapes in this place. There especially was one called «Eire», in Inworldz. I felt an intense desire to also have an «avatar» and explore these places, meeting the Elves and Fairies I was seeing on the screen, and speaking with them of beautiful and magical things. It was as if the whole world of the tales was becoming real, the world of our games and imagination becoming visible and permanent. I understood that virtual world have this fantastic power, but Dad was saying that they also are useful for his work.

But when I asked Dad how to create my character, he replied that children were not allowed in Inworldz, and barely in Second Life.

«But why?» I asked, facing again the absurd adult rules, the anti-children racism. He hesitated, and took a sad look to reply at low voice:

«Because these people think that sex is more important than children».

Sex, I learned this word recently, at school, with sexual education. Once, despite Dad's caution we stumbled on a strange image of a stark naked lady looking goofy, her waist bizarrely bent, and big red lips making a O. If adults were hiding of children just for looking at boobies, they had to be really idiot. And no, sorry, I was not shocked of seeing boobies. All the children see boobies, when they are breast fed. If this was so deadly, then there would be no children at all.

What put me not at ease were not the boobies, but this image of a bizarrely distorted, unreal body. This left me in a state of diffuse discomfort, that I could not identify at this time. Today I understand that it stole some part of my desire to love a man. Pornography, this corrupted caricature of love, has this dreadful power, and this is why it must be forbidden everywhere as of a crime, and Internet must be accessible to everybody, just like the streets are.

The fact that children were not allowed in virtual worlds, just for the sexual fantasies of a small minority, hit me like a huge injustice. It is from this kind of discrimination that arises this pervading feeling in many children, that they are rejected by the society. Feeling which continues where they are adult: fear of being inadequate, more the terrible fear of failing, engraved in the brain as with a red hot iron, by all these years of threats and guilt at school.


I was happy with my Daddy for some months, including for a fantastic summer holiday where we lived in nature, with even a journey to the sea. We could stay here only three days, because it was «expensive». But I keep a fantastic memory of the summer warmth on my skin, with the freshness of the ocean water. The smell of the wind, the sand sticking on my skin, all remains as fond memories. I could go to the sea again since, but when we lost the original happiness, we never really find it back again.


When the holidays were over, Dad brought me back to my mother's home, saying good bye for the next weekend.


This was the very last time I ever saw him.

Chapter 4: Léo

(About Léo, third person)


The double blow of cancer diagnosis and pedophilia accusations had struck Léo at only some weeks of interval.


At once Léo had his computer seized, without any warning, without leaving him a second to say good bye to his friends or to save his data. This is what makes pedophilia laws so special, like the inquisition: a false accusation is enough to be considered guilty, punished and removed from society, prior to any inquiry or even base fact checking. So, if ever somebody falsely accuses you, friend reader, you may not even read the end of this sentence: the door bell will ring, and you will have all your computers and safe copies confiscated. Jailed in your own living place, you will suddenly lose all your friends and social life, and become as isolated as a Middle Age peasant in his thatch barn. And no way to recover your computers for years, even if you are cleared of any accusations. This is what happened to Léo, interrupted in the swing of a conversation with a lovely Fae in Inworldz. ((Note of the author: I know a real case of falsely accused innocent, who remained punished several years in this way, even if the very day of the accusation he was cleared by his supposed victims. Justice finally declared him innocent, but not wikipedia.))


But this was not the worse: he knew that his beloved daughter Christine would never see him again.


He was first interrogated by a police officer, who spoke him in a stern way. To reply questions on the sexuality of his little girl, in front of several unknown men, was beyond the forces of Léo. He cried and begged them to stop. In the end they did not looked convinced of his guilt. But they were probably the only ones.

The judge in charge of the inquiry remained vague, neutral, insensitive. He shielded himself behind «the inquiry». «How long it will take» asked Léo. «Some months» replied the judge. «When shall I recover my computer» he asked again, without any reply this time. He offered to get back at least a copy of his data, with a memory stick, but he was never replied to this.

Right while leaving the office, he heard the judge laughing on him with his secretary. That was so unreal that he could not react on the spot.


Léo was not sent to jail, but he was forbidden to take care of his daughter. This is how Christine was the first punished, by whoever had made the false accusations. Léo never knew who did them, but he suspected it was her mother's revenge, for the happiness he gave to his daughter during the summer holidays. Or perhaps some social worker, he knew one woman especially, who was really wicked and sexist.


Léo never felt so useless and abandoned than during these weeks.


So that when the diagnosis of cancer came, it looked like a lesser annoyance.

And even a liberation.

Indeed having the very meaning of our existence threatened by defamation is much worse than having just our life threatened by disease. The torture of painfully slow and uncertain procedures is worse than the physical pain gnawing our body from inside. At least, cancer is just a naive evil, an unconscious thing, without any intent, that the doctors sincerely help us to fight. But all these inquirers, lawyers and judges were knowingly torturing him, and behind their closed doors they laughed at his desperate face, and congratulating each other to feel fair and right.

Just like the hate of is former spouse, the tumor had crept silently for years, and it was already advanced when the first pains came. Treatment had to start at once. Léo went in the hospital, where he passed through the ordeal of chemotherapy. For one month or two, the tumor stopped its spread, and even seemed to recede. But the pain came again, needing a second chemotherapy, and more pain killers.

But this second attempt failed again. This time, Léo had no illusions: several metastasis were now clearly visible, and growing fast. So, he was not astonished to be finally sent to a palliative care unit. Léo knew what this was meaning: he only had some weeks left to live.

And his daughter would never see him again.

Something was telling him that all these cowards were just waiting for him to die, to skip the effort and responsibility of a real inquiry, leaving his innocence forever unproven. As a matter of facts nothing more happened while he was alive.


The palliative cares service was a bit better than the standard hospital rooms. Although Léo still had to fight against a nurse wanting to impose him a TV set, another frustrated nurse speaking to him as to a baby, and some other inconveniences. On the good side, the service was more calm, they gave him better pain killers, and he was relieved. But these drugs left him unable to really meditate, just doing visualization.

His family went visiting him some times, but he ended to find depressing these scared blank stares and empty discussions. So that he took pretext of being too tired to avoid seeing them. They jumped on this pretext. These people were not compassionate, they were just scared for themselves, knowing very well that at any time they could be in turn in Léo's room.

And of course, his ex-wife never came, and his daughter Christine could not see him since months now. This woman first told him that she loved him, but she started to stalk him as soon as they lived together. At a point, she became so angry after him that she asked for a separation. It started a one year fight against the social services and courts, before the judges allowed Christine to see Léo again, and still only for some weekends and a summer holiday. Then came the dreadful accusations of pedophilia, and now, they were even not telling him how the girl was doing, always saying that they were «protecting her». Useless to say that after such an ordeal, Léo was wary of anything related to love, and he would be unable to only approach a woman. He was thinking, if ever he survived, rather ending up this days in a monastery, than going through all this hypocrisy again.


Léo could not really meditate, but, at night, when the chatter noises of the hospital were off, he could think. He still had some spiritual practices available, like «accepting the situation»: why to add worries and revolt, it never changed facts. So his life was ending much sooner than expected... Fine, he just had to prepare for after.

Well, easy to say. This is a good advice in a nice meditation course, with young people and a comfortable margin of several tens of years. But now it was a matter of weeks, locked in a cold hospital and with rapidly declining capacities. Not to forget the physical fear of death and agony... it would be a rough passage, certainly.


Another worry is that he was still unable to connect to his friends in the Inworldz virtual world. The hospital service seemed unable to understand that he had to keep in touch with his friends. When he insisted, he got only blank stares. In the end, they provided him with an old laptop with video games, so that he could «play with the computer». But he was not given any Internet connection, even not a bad WiFi. He would love to say goodbye to his friends in Inworldz, and he had to renounce his project of having his own place, using some of the wonderful stuff he spotted. He had to draw a cross on all that too. All would remain of him in the virtual would be one of these sad lines in group member lists, just saying something like «last logging September 20, 2011» (Since Inworldz disappeared since, you will even not find this line today).


For his daughter Christine, he arranged things with the notary, so that she would inherit his little house when she would be 18. A house closed for several years, so many things could go wrong... fortunately there was the income of the small photovoltaic field. He set all this to his daughter, more a letter for explaining what happened and why he had to leave home. In hope she would still understand, after all these years of brainwashing by her mother and the social services... He knew that so many children were extinct, after such a treatment, and they become some of those innumerable «ordinary people», with whom we can speak of nothing.


One morning, he waked up, seeing his bedroom illuminated in a soft green light. Time to shake his head, and the usual darkness was here again. He was feeling more and more tired, and his mind was blank. He knew that the end was a matter of days now.


More and more of such things happened. One morning he clearly felt the presence of a wonderful blonde lady with frills and green ribbons, in the same time pure as an angel, yet very sensual and intense. «Hypnagogic hallucinations» said the nurse with a proud smile. Well, hallucinations... useless to ask this nurse what these visions were, she had no more to tell him than the fish in the aquarium. And at least the fish was not blathering it noisily all the time.

Happily Léo knew better. He had read all what science knew about NDE and people having some preliminary visions, called «death bed visions», in the days or hours before dying. But to be confronted to the actual thing was so different... especially focusing his attention on the visions made them disappear in an eye blink! This was quite frustrating.


Then one night, he knew that his time had come. His fear was of a great suffering, choking, terror of hearing his heart stopping... but nothing such happened, he just felt his breath halting, as if he was relaxing his tired breath muscles. And suddenly the visions were here, and this time they did not stopped! They took his whole consciousness in place of the physical world. There no longer was a physical brain to try to grasp at them!

Fortunately, Léo has insisted not to have any cardiac monitor to scream and warn the nurses, so that this crucial moment was entirely his.

Chapter 5: Vashyu

(By Malyan-Léo, third person)


These first visions of the afterlife did not surprised much Léo, who knew them with books on NDE. Although, without an ego to comment them and interpret them, the feeling was totally different! So he met the experience up front, naively, and much more intensely than he expected.


He first found himself floating in the room. He experienced this wonderful floating sensation we can feel only in this state.


Then he heard a church bell (yes, church, although he was not a Christian).


And then he saw the Light.


The fantastic Light of love of the NDE!


And Léo knew that all was right. He had no longer anything to worry, and not any kind of suffering ahead, ever!


The light also told him that he had brilliantly completed his purpose in this life. Which purpose? Léo had no idea that he had fulfilled anything remotely useful from his whole life.


Then, he entered further in the afterlife... He landed in a sumptuous landscape of forests and flowers, with clear rocks and crannies. Having some realizations in meditation allowed him to evaluate his state of consciousness here: it was like a dream, with things happening without his will. No ego, no intent, no plan to mess up the experience! His realizations in meditation allowed him to be conscious of the difference with bodily life. This was a really wonderful state, to enjoy the fantastic beauty of this place, in its full and unspoiled intensity! In more without all the distractions and worries our brain permanently generates. On the contrary, the sensations were going directly to his consciousness, without the filter of the sensory organs! So that he could consecrate his full awareness to the essential: enjoying the wonderful vibration of this magnificent Eden. And he did! Just contemplating in full awareness such an incredible beauty was thousands time more blissful than any other pleasure he ever enjoyed on Earth!


Léo thought that in this state of consciousness, people with zero realization of meditation would be just passive spectators, although this would still be very pleasant for them. But Léo could quickly find some way to influence things... with Non-Action. Yes only Non-Action allows to do stuff in the afterlife.


The landscape was an undulating ground of intensely green moss, like a finely curled wool carpet. It had the warmth and comfort of an actual carpet, with, simultaneously, the fresh liveliness of dew bearing grass. Kinds of short trees were growing here, just tall enough for making a shelter - although there was nothing to be sheltered from. The trunks were curiously large, of a wonderful golden hued brown. The foliage was compact with small leaves, shining through like emerald from the light above - although there not really was a sun visible. Flowers, rocks and huge mushrooms were strewn about everywhere, wonderfully nice with vivid colors. Yes delicious sugar mushrooms as on Christmas cakes! But above all, things were looking as if everything was entirely new, without a single fallen leave, even not a grain of dust. It was so neat that it looked unnatural, yet it was incredibly lively, realistic and vibrating. A world where wear, death and decay are totally unknown!!

Everything looked pleasant and comfortable, and even the feeling of contact was different, much more pleasant. Léo understood the remark of witnesses of NDE or CE4: these visions appear more real than the physical world. He found later why: these images arise directly in the consciousness, instead of having to go through the multiple filters of the sensory organs and of an erratic brain activity.


Then suddenly Léo realized: it looked just like a virtual world, yet more detailed, without the approximations of the later. The conclusion hit him as a fantastic evidence: attending virtual worlds probably was the best preparation for the afterlife! Just he did not yet knew how to build houses or landscapes, and of course there were no menus and tools as in virtual worlds. But he tried to meditate on the flowers he was seeing, and he soon managed to make one sway. He tried several time to sway it and stop it, and sway it again, and lean without swaying, so that it clearly was not a coincidence.

There was a village here, with wonderful small houses looking like large flowers. They had the pure vibration and delicate colors of flowers, even the ones which were just like greenery or bark. They were gathered around a small clearing with large flowers and a kind of dance pad in the middle. This could be a wonderful Elven place in Second Life! But with much more details and many more exquisite materials, sap filled leaves, iridescent flower petals, fuzzy roofs as if made of fur...

In a corner was a small building with a large door, different of the others, that he was curiously unable to approach. Later Léo was told that it was an hypergate, allowing to travel in other similar worlds. But it was locked, to avoid inexperienced users to get lost, while attempting to use it without knowing how to control it.

This landscape and houses also reminded Léo of what he saw in virtual worlds, and it was indeed very similar: people were free to let their imagination go, and to create fantastic scenery, with no other work than visualizing them. But in the afterlife the results were far superior, as he received them directly in his consciousness and heart, instead or looking at them through the narrow screen of a computer.

And since all these shapes had not to go through any process of growth, building, wear and decay, they were all perfect, virginaly new and of the purest vibes.


Of course there were people here. Were they real people, or just a dream vision? Was he sharing a real experiences with other persons, or was he just dreaming? Very curiously, this question arose in exactly the same terms as in the physical world! He soon thought that his mates in this world were real, because they surprised him many times.

First surprise was that most of them seemed to know him very well! They called him Malyan, which sounded very strange, yet familiar and pleasant to his audition. Well, they were not really speaking: he knew what they wanted to say, without sounds. But names were still perceived as intense vibrations first, evoking melodious sounds only if he allowed them to. This is very difficult to figure out for people accustomed to the material world. In the material world, we perceive images and sounds first, and only after we feel the vibration - if our brain is not busy at some of its purposeless strategy. In the afterlife, we feel the vibration first, and only after it translates in images and sounds in our consciousness. ((Note of the author: Even for writing this story, the most difficult part for me was to proceed in the reverse way: translating a vibe into a sound, and worse to reduce this sound in a mere series of letters.))


So Malyan-Léo had no real memories of this place and of the people he met here. Yet most looked familiar to him. Some were different, though. Probably they had joined while he was absent.

But he had a surprise: they told him of his wife. Yes, he had a wife here in the after life! Elyan was her name, and she was somewhere around. This arose mixed feelings in Malyan's heart, after his disastrous union in the material world. But above all, he did not wanted to be imposed a companion he would not love! The very first thing in a marriage is to choose!


What struck him, though, was the incredible beauty of all these people. They were mostly human-looking, but all perfect, young and with Faery-like slender silhouettes, smooth with simple shapes without body hair. These wonderful bodies were not made of flesh or matter, but directly of human warmth! Sweet, warm and perfumed. Also, from the gentleness they all manifested toward him, there was no doubt: any of these women could be the most perfect and happy companion. They could even change their appearance to please him, as in a virtual world. This made him curious about his... wife, since apparently he was already married.


He spent some hours in the village (or what seemed hours, since there is no accurately defined time in the worlds of the mind), exploring the surroundings. It was a kind of bush with short trees, flowers, and a lot of bizarre plants he never saw anywhere else. Each house was different, and this reminded him of the nicest places in Inworldz. Although this place was thousands time better! Each house was an artwork of its own kind, with incredibly varied shapes and colors. He had to look closer to notice some unity in style.


Then he found one which looked curiously familiar, like the one he wanted to build in Inworldz. It evoked in his consciousness a strong feeling of well being and warm welcome, as of a rest place for his heart. He approached, and the most wonderful woman with long blond hair appeared on the threshold. She looked surprised of finding him, and she reacted curiously: just standing in from of him, in the opening of the door, her hands on her heart. She started a meditation on mind emptiness, so that he could get no information from her. But instead she intensified her inner vibration! (The best equivalent in the physical world would be a deliciously perfumed yellow-green feeling of peace and confidence).


Malyan admired her silently, and he suddenly loved this wonderful soul and fantastic body... This was not the ugly ego desire to possess, but the respecting admiration and love which arises in the highest meditations!

Feeling this, she smiled happily, and suddenly removed any barrier: she was Elyan, his wife, and the most wonderful companion he could ever desire or want! And she was so happy to see him again! So that they at once... reunited. Yes we can do that too in the afterlife!


With some time, Malyan found back his memories, and a coherent tale of his previous life here. Elyan and him married many centuries ago, in the material world. They died, as this is the fate of all material bodies. But they remained forever united in the spiritual world, together with a tribe of like-minded souls living here. They had a whole universe for them alone, about the size of a planet, that they called Vashyu. It had been created thirteen centuries ago by an Indian yogi who mastered the building of such paradise worlds. There are an innumerable quantity of them, some even much larger. And they work much like virtual worlds, although with a totally different base: direct use of the elements of the consciousness experience, like images, sounds, feelings, etc. instead of representing these elements with computer data.

This made that the objects were also intrinsically bearing emotions, vibrations, and even information. Malyan found a clear example of it with the hypergate, which was «scripted» to issue warnings when approaching, and even blocking unknown people from entering. Probably there was some danger with this thing, such as being sent in an unpleasant universe, and being unable to return. The world of the spirit too has its laws and necessary learning.


The geometry of Vashyu was strange, and at first disconcerting, if we were looking for anything like a map. There was nothing such. Right on the opposite, it worked like dreams. Walking there in some forest path was looking like on Earth. However if we wanted to go somewhere, then the path was rearranged to lead precisely to this place, as if the places were swapped. Yet it was never possible to see the places moving or switching, and there never were seams or gaps between these different builds, all merging together smoothly as a natural landscape.

Just that, where seams should be, consciousness did not focused so well on details, and the landscape appeared like a distant memory, or as of a fading dream. The best comparison is like a memory of a sharp and detailed photography that we saw for just a second: we get the gist of a complex image, recognize its theme, but we are unable to describe the details.

Indeed, with this fuzzy topology, In Vashyu no landscapes or building had any defined place on a map, and we could walk from one to any others in some tens of meters, depending on our desire to see such or such place. Léo was first surprised, but he quickly went accustomed to this, as a finally much better way for traveling, and much more natural for our minds: it was enough to think at a place to be there, instead of having to walk on long distances.

How these incredible properties arise is finally quite simple: as the landscape is an experience of consciousness, it appears directly as intended, without seams or flaws. These flaws, seams or gaps are quite simply not defined. At best, the intermediate places look like old memories as above. Any attempt to focus on details to «discover» them just results in... creating them!!

Said in totally different words, the world of the afterlife obeys the four Méheust laws.


Léo learned that Vashyu was not infinite, even if it was huge: more than 650,000 places, and hundreds new ones were created every year by the residents. This was much more than he could ever explore, making the place virtually infinite. Also it was flat, unlike a planet. Yet there was no center or periphery, since each place always appeared surrounded with others, or with buffer spaces of forest, mountains and sunny rocky resinous moors. There even was an ocean, although without any definite shape or plan: sailing there could lead to any place without visible transition, or on the contrary people could stay out of sight of anybody else for weeks. Some said they crossed it in one hour, but it also contained between 80,000 to 300,000 isolated islands, making it at least twice larger than the whole Pacific Ocean on Earth. It was even not clear if it was a single body of water, or several different ones, so that people just referred at it as «the ocean», without trying to name it. Just that some parts had a more definite and stable plan, and they were called seas and given names. There perhaps were fifty to a hundred of them, but without any definite or full list, and we learned the existence of such or such sea, depending on our spiritual affinities.


Most of the buildings had a definite India look, without any modern object. But since many other people joined the first team, they brought all the styles of Earth and many modern devices, including a large steam railway, which was successful enough for many people creating junctions toward it. Just like the forest paths, the track could lead in any place we wanted, without visible switches. Just in some more defined places the train entered tunnels which acted like teleportals. And of course it was India gauge and style!


The problem Malyan had had to face, was some bad karma remnant, which made him inefficient in meditation. This is the reason why he had to be reborn on Earth, as Léo, alone without his wife. This early 21th century on Earth was an excellent place for this, since spiritual teachings were widely available, much more than in any previous epoch. In more the material brain is more adaptable and better at learning than our consciousness in the spiritual worlds, as soon as we stop thinking that the random chatter of this brain is «us» or «our will». So it is wise to use this brain, as long as we have one, and not try to suicide to make things faster! Often painful crisis resolve in new understandings, so that a suicide can really delay us for centuries, when we were just at some days from effectively understanding something, or from being liberated of a chain.

But once this learning done, in the end Malyan was not unhappy to leave this material world early. He was definitively relieved of its chaotic social life and gloomy politics. Definitively relieved of all the bodily suffering and inconveniences. Definitively free of all these petty people wanting to restrain him to their limits.


A much better life was opening to him.


Just that...


Something had happened, which was not in the plan.




He would have to take care of her some day.


Happily, he could do this from the paradise, without having to reincarnate again.


He had well enough of the material life, and definitively no need to experience it again.

Chapter 6: The house

(By Christine, first person)


Still waiting for the copy of the judgment, in the meanwhile I got another unexpected letter.


A notary.


What the heck a notary could want to do to me.


It has to be understood that, when we have been a victim of institutional abuse, anything official looks like a threat, and my heart began to race with fear.

The text was enigmatic, but it awakened my curiosity:

«You are requested to present yourself at our office, for the succession of your father Léo X» (his real name)



I wondered what my dad had to transmit to me. And then I remembered: his house.

And perhaps other things.

Or perhaps just debts...


To organize such a travel was not easy, without a car, without money, and while hiding from my mother. She was still paying my student room, but at the price of numerous conditions on what I was allowed to do or not to do: no robes, no make-up, no Internet, no friends, no «people of race», and above all «no gurus». She constantly threatened me of stopping any funding if ever I «went with a man». Well, but you will soon understand why I did not really desired a man, despite all the kind and nice students I could encounter.


Finally, an university friend named Patrick accepted to drive me. The notary was kind, and he explained me. My father left me his house, and a small solar cells field. The house of my childhood, where I was so happy with him!! The only place where I ever felt at home, without the constant surveillance and scolding of my mother.

I quickly calculated that the income of the solar field would make a nice sum, after all this time.

Unfortunately the house had needed some unexpected and expensive roof repairs. So that the solar field income was lost at this, and the notary had to rent the house, in order to complete the payment of the workmanship. Only some months ago the finances had been positive again. The renter was an old man in his 80, and I felt bad of pocketing his money. But ejecting him would be a much worse shame. Anyway I still needed to stay in town for my studies. I was a bit disappointed not to be able to enjoy the house, but I thought that things would arrange later.


The old man's first name was Rafik, and he was kind enough to let me visit the house. I expected to be happy with this visit, but I was rather sad, from this light gray sadness of the lost past happiness which can no longer return. The house seemed darker and much smaller than in my memories. The garden was full of weeds and blackberries, as the man could not cultivate it. One of the nicest trees had been cut down. The one which damaged the roof, said the notary. Well, the renter was kind enough to offer me to use one of the rooms, which happened to be my childhood room! I had a circular glance, in a sudden mad hope of finding Baloo or something. But the room was empty, just used for storing some wallpapers, cardboard boxes and tools. Well, if ever I came here, I could still camp in this room.


For some reason, the notary thought that this was the right time to offer me my Daddy's letter... It was a common envelope, marked «For Christine», more notary seals and stuff. For two minutes, I remained motionless... I was about to know the truth, but in the same time fearing it...

I slowly opened the envelope. Softly pulled the paper.

There were several numbered sheets. And a long story.

A story of a broken man.

More broken in his heart than his body was broken from cancer. Yet he had kept all his wit and sense of honor.

«Dear Christine,

«You surely wondered why I suddenly stopped visiting you.

«Sending this letter through the notary was the only way I had to let you know the truth, without being censored in a way or another. I am very sorry at the moment, because I know you shall never see me again. But instead you will get lies, and lies, and tons of lies.

«You may learn some day, with surprise, that I have been accused of pedophilia on you. You perfectly know that it is not true. And you will soon understand that whoever is able to tell such a repulsive lie is himself a kind of pedophile.

«The truth is quite simple: one day, I heard the door bell ring, and my life veered into a nightmare. Not a nightmare from some hallucinations, but a nightmare purposely created by real persons, sickly and disgusting persons perfectly aware of the evil they were doing.

«They unplugged my computer while I was connected in Inworldz and speaking with somebody, without even letting me say good bye.

«For hours of sadistic interrogations, they methodically destroyed all the memories I had from you, with disgusting insinuations on your body and supposed sexuality.

«Then they laughed of my suffering without even waiting for their door being closed.

«I have no idea of whoever launched such accusations. But some details in the interrogations could be known only from Francine and this sickly pervert social worker that you called the impolite lady. Of course I suspect Francine did the accusations, but she is not smart enough for forging so many fake evidences. Most probably it was the impolite lady's work. She hated you so much, she said she wished you locked in psychiatry!

«It is truly incredible, that such horrible persons can be actually entrusted in the care of family affairs... she must have destroyed tens, see hundreds of children.

«Then, you may know, it was found that I had a cancer. That made two cancers, one in my body, and one in my family: my spouse hating me so much that she did not hesitated to destroy her own daughter, just to hit me.

«But this stopped the inquiry. I wrote several letters to the judge, requesting that the inquiry being complete before I die. To no avail, I just received one reply from the registry, saying that the inquiry was in progress. They even had the front to add that you would not see me, in order to «protect you».

«I don't know why I was not sent to jail. Perhaps the cops who interrogated me saw me crying, and they made a report as what I was not dangerous, or worse. But I tell you, finding oneself suddenly locked out of society, without Internet, it is as bad as being in a jail. Well, I still have neighbors in the village, but you know how they are, we can speak of the cows being sick and the government being bad, but nothing else. So that is equivalent to being isolated in some remote mountain.

«In the hospital, I had NO WAY to connect to the Internet! I don't know why, I asked 50 times. I saw other people with cellphones or laptops, speaking of exchanging emails with their families. But for me, they were saying that they could not let me in their WiFi, or they just stared blank at me when I spoke of my friends in Inworldz. That made me for long empty days, where I could even not meditate, from the painkillers, and from all the noise and people speaking aloud voice just in front of my open door. In more staying in bed all the time is a very bad thing, we lose strength and stamina very quickly.


«Only the notary was looking professional, and not trying to humiliate me. I could discuss stuff and arrange things with him, including for this letter. He let me know that he was taking this succession very seriously. Not for the money stake, but for you. I think you saw him once, when we were in the village feast. You may have not noticed him, but him did noticed you, and he told me that he was glad to do something for you.

«Of course I did not mentioned the dreadful accusations to the notary. For my own safety of course, but also for yours. You will quickly see that people often behave strangely with children victims of pedophiles. At best, they look at them as of fair animals, at worse they hate them, consider them as dirty or guilty, and want to punish them. Most of the time, they request the victims to «speak», always reminding them of their ordeal, when they want to forget and to go ahead. You will understand that most people have their brain stuck, when coming to pedophilia, and I encourage you not to speak of that, to avoid a lot of problems. I myself took no chance with that. I told nobody actually, out of the inquiry. So that when you get this letter there are chances that your own repute will still be intact. At least I hope so.


«So I arranged things for the home to go for you. You will need it, and I strongly suspect that Francine will simply drop you when you will be 18. Unless she wants to keep you as her pain slave: people seeking power never release their prey. In any case you will not be able to rely on her, and you will have to tackle your life yourself.

«I have a feeling that things we go well for you. For me, it is too late in any case: even if the accusations are disproved (of which I doubt, there was so many false evidences), I shall still remain guilty to the eyes of many. Like the falsely accused in Outreau, who stumbled on an injurious demonstration right when getting out of the court where they were declared innocent. So I have no better choice than leaving this world. Which will happen soon, without I need to do anything for this.


«And remember: I love you.

«I love you because I am your father, I saw you taking birth and grow, learning to walk, learning to speak.

«But this is not the only reason.

«I love you because I know that you are a nice person, interested in science, interested in beauty.

«Please keep that way. Don't let the evil persons destroy you.

«I know that with such an ideal, you may be useful to Mankind.

«Please keep being interested in important things.

«Please keep being yourself.

«I don't know if virtual worlds will still be here when you shall be 18. But Inworldz helped me so much.

«I hope we meet again in the Great Beyond, whatever is up there»


When I finished this reading, I slowly let my hands down.

So this is was.

They had built all this machination, and removed him from me, for the sole purpose of making me suffer.

Then they had waited that he dies, without working on the inquiry, in order to avoid the shame of recognizing that their services were dishonest.

Or they just played with him, as of an unimportant thing; and me, I counted for nothing in their minds.

They had crushed two persons, just as we walk on ants, without even thinking it was bad.


I remained silent for a moment, my mind empty, with a feeling or unreality.


Floating in my mind, came this image of my History book, which had shocked me so much when I was a little school girl: Christians tortured in the Roman arena, for the pleasure of a sadistic and depraved people. For long, I reassured myself, that it was 2000 years ago, the world changed a lot since, and things like that could no longer happen. But they did: the perverts had just replaced the physical pain with the mental pain of solitude and humiliation. And they gloated at my tears, just as the Romans had fun at seeing people screaming and wriggling in pain. The gray suits had replaced the white togas, but it was still the same sicko mindset.


Rafik and the notary little by little returned to the house. I think the notary had warned him not to disturb me during the reading. He had attracted him in the end of the garden, and they were speaking of planting and pruning, like old country lads as they were.


Happily the notary could not read the sealed letter. Who knows what he would think, perhaps he would believe the accusations, and start trying to «help me overcome my trauma», or make me recount my experiences in details (so many people love hearing detailed accounts of pedophile acts, as of a sexually exciting thing). He looked like an honest man, but who knows what can happen when the maggot of inquisition starts gnawing at a brain. So I firmly decided to follow my father's advice and never tell this to anybody.


When I went out of the house, I found them discussing of garden and marrows. Without reflecting, as of an obvious thing, I announced Rafik that I had no intent to chase him out. I stammered and felt my cheeks hot while saying that: it was my first decision of independent adult!

He looked relieved, and he replied me that I should not be ashamed of getting his rent. He had plenty of money, and he was happy to help a kind young woman to complete her studies! He sadly remembered how his own mother was denied studies, in order «to help at home».

For now I had not much other choice than to accept his kind offer, if I wanted to avoid begging money every week to my mother. Chasing him out would not solve that anyway, right on the contrary. Being honest has a cost, but when we know the value of honesty, we accept that cost fullheartedly.


My fellow student Patrick had spent all this time waiting in his car, and then out, sitting on the lawn, because of the sun warming the car too much. Happily he brought a science book from his lessons. When I came back, he asked if all was well. I replied yes, explained in two sentences the situation with Rafik and the house, and then that I did not wanted to tell more. He did not insisted. He was a discreet guy.


Several times with Patrick we came to spend some sunny weekend afternoon there. I had not yet any project for after I complete my studies. But I would surely find an use for this home, which was a haven of silence compared to any place in town.


I finally decided to continue begging money to my mother: better to get as much as I could from her. A very little indemnity for wasting my childhood and killing my father. It was a well paid job after all, for just half an hour of movie play per week in the phone. And much less humiliating, with the inner thought of no longer being dependent of her. I even had fun of her, telling her than an Arab was in love with me. But I regretted at once: her rage terrified me.


After this visit, I went back to my student room with mixed feelings. Fortunately the funding of my studies was now secured without the judgment, but I was starting to wonder if ever I would get it. Probably they just forgot me.

All my plans for getting justice on all these porks were becoming more and more impracticable, but I was also starting to understand that I could have much more worthy projects.

Chapter 7: The «technology» which operates Vashyu

(By the author, first person)


You will be astonished of this word «technology» about what is basically a spiritual world, a controlled dream of the consciousness itself, without any material support.

So, as the author, I need to bring some explanation.

But beware, this is 21th Century science fiction, not from the 19th.


Of course, there is no material machinery running Vashyu. Not either it is some computer-created virtual world as in most science fiction stories. There are no greasy cogs or buggy software à la Second Life. It is entirely made of spiritual stuff, run by psyware, existing and living in an universe of pure consciousness. But the spiritual learning level needed to understand its operation is well the level of an engineer degree or PhD degree. Happily denizens of such abstract spiritual worlds don't need to understand how they operate. But if they want to build and animate things, they still need to learn some basics, as a computer virtual worlds users need to.


Vashyu is a collective and controlled dream.


Vashyu is a full fledged universe. But it does not contain particles of fields obeying some laws of physics. It contains only elements of the experience of consciousness: images, colors, sounds, contact feeling, emotions, and further also intents and ideas. All these exist in a space and a time of their own. Or better, as physicists understood about our own physical universe, it is the constant interplay of all these elements which create the appearance of a space and a time.


Today in this early 21th century, scientists might still wonder how a pure consciousness universe can exist, where dead persons continue to enjoy awareness and happiness.

This is odd, as they have all the elements to find out.

Both Quantum Mechanics (Copenhagen interpretation) and Relativity say the same things than Buddhist metaphysics: there is no absolute existence, nothing which would magically «exist». We can see only a chaining of causes and effects relationship between the elements of our physical universe, without any absolute pre-existing space or time. The later appear only as structures of the set of quantum interactions (in the sense of a structure in the Sets Theory).

But then, if our particles are just relationship, just fleeting mathematical stuff, then how our physical universe appears so solid, objective, «existing»? It is simply because our sensory organs are part of this chaining of relationship, and thus they can receive information from it. Information they can then transmit to our consciousness. Where they appear as concrete sensations of objects existing around us.

But only information of the universe they are in!

Any other universe then appears «not testable». But this does not make these other universes «non-existing»! And for the people who have sensory organs in any other universe, this other universe «exists». It is ours which becomes «not testable after Popper», to be «cut off with Occam's razor»!

This is what is our physical universe: no more «material» than its mathematical description.

Our universe is its mathematical description. Nothing more.

Nothing else is needed for it to generate existence, stars, planets human bodies, flowers, quasars, love, beauty, and anything it contains.


The interesting point is that this very abstract existence of our physical universe is precisely what allows for spiritual universes to exist.


Indeed consciousness and spiritual universe exist in exactly the same way: mere relationship between elements, without the need for the authorization of any science academy to «exist». Just that, instead of particles, they directly link elements of the experience of consciousness: images, sounds, sensations, ideas, in a chain of elements linked by cause and effect.

However all these obey to totally different laws: non-Aristotelian laws. This sounds totally abstract and even outlandish. Yet we know very well these laws: we see them operating everyday, or rather every night, in our dreams. And they are the same laws which also produce the chaining of our thoughts and emotions, intent and inner scenarios.


And they can do much more.


Such Universes are described by some religious texts like the Bardo Thödöl, probably written by high yogis who found some mean to explore them, and to repatriate their findings in our physical world. They are also seen by experiencers of advanced NDE.

The largest difference with the physical world is how we interact with a spiritual world. We usually experience the physical world through the filter of our sensory organs, and our thought has no influence on it. On the contrary, spiritual worlds are felt directly, without filters, and our thought can influence them. This happens because what we see outside of us is also shared within our own consciousness, instead of being just perceived like on a screen. For this reason, spiritual worlds are intrinsically more conducive of a more intense and more sensual life: an object does not provide with a sensation, it is intrinsically made of this sensation. This does not automatically make a paradise from such universes, though. People not mastering their emotions, desires and frustrations, would turn them in a hell in seconds. Indeed most of us would make all our neuroses and TV idiocies appear at once, and change the best paradise into an incoherent mess.

This is why universes like Vashyu are maintained by superior consciousnesses, who have eliminated any craving or hate.


This is how operate paradises for beginners, like Sukhavati (Dewachen), where most Humans go. And animals too!! Because they deserve paradise too!!


Vashyu is a bit higher level, for consciousnesses having at least partially subjugated their cravings, hate and frustration. This is what happens when we learn to meditate. This is how Léo-Malyan could, as soon as entering in Vashyu, slightly move objects from his Non-Action meditation. Later he learned to create wonderful buildings and unique flowers. People in Sukhavati end learning too, but in the spiritual worlds this can take millennia, while on Earth it can be done in some tens of years. This is why people still want to reincarnate on Earth, despite the haphazardous conditions and the possibility of horrible suffering. This is what Léo did.


There is more strange stuff, which happens only into spiritual worlds, and cannot happen in the physical worlds.

The consciousness experience has a definition (level of details), like the computer screens, although originating and appearing in a totally different way. You can easily see how it works, by creating a mental image from a simple description: «trees and cows in a meadow». Do it, and see it. It is a very recognizable image, indeed? Now try to paint it (no artist skill required). You will have to INVENT all the details as you do this: number and positions of the trees, number and race of the cows, presence of other elements like leaves, slopes, hedges, houses, flowers, etc. This is because these details were not defined in the original mental image, despite it was sharp and quite recognizable, with all its emotional content. But to create these details with artistic quality will need a week of arduous work, instead of a second to create the mental image. And the artificial image does not make the emotional content better. Worse, once done, you will not recognize the original image: many details were added, perspective errors corrected, etc.

Spiritual worlds like Vashyu work in the same way: details exist only if somebody created them. This makes that, if two scenes are placed besides each other, with a forest transition, while walking from the first to the second, you will experience walking in a forest. This experience will lack details like position of the trees, branches hanging in the way, flowers on the ground, etc. But you will not notice it, since the whole thing being a consciousness experience, anything not defined simply does not exist, in the meaning that we cannot be aware of it, and even not notice its absence. Did you thought at counting the cows in the above visualization? If there is a fence? But now that you thought at it, you increased the definition of that image.

This seems a bit hard to understand, but once in situation, it arises quite naturally. This is exactly how our dreams work, and even our daydreams, so that this really is a quite familiar feeling.

To get further grasp on it, one of my friends in Inworldz once asked me this question, after I created there the first version of Léo's story: «what if, in the transition forest, I start to look at details like flowers, and even stop walking to set my attention on one?». On the spot I was unable to reply this question, as it takes our physical world logic in default. But the reply is finally simple: this is not an act of observation, but an act of creation. This flower, and this whole patch of forest, will then start to be defined from this action, this meaning they will start to exist, in the meaning this expression has in a spiritual world. You can even create more details not included in the original description, like rocks, mushrooms, strange objects emanating emotions, etc. What happens at this point is that your transition path becomes a new place by itself, in the paradise world, that you will be able to find back later simply while thinking at it. And especially, thanks to the strange spiritual psyware operating spiritual worlds, once your creation exists, you can even show it to others.

At the end, what you will be able to create depends only of your imagination skills. Some will be for long unable to create anything, and they will have to live in places arranged by others. They may need millennia to unlock their capacities (while only some months can do it on Earth, thanks to our wonderful material brain and its fantastic capacities). Most will be able to make their places, or build items. Masters builders will be able to create whole worlds, with their landscapes, physics, emotions, rules of operation, ethics and spiritual functioning. I personally envisioned this as soon as 1972, but I am not the inventor: Buddhism and many related though currents describe such worlds, the most well known being Sukhavati (the Dewachen of the Tibetans) created by the Buddha Amitabha, after the tradition. (Amitabha is known too as the Ahmar Budhaan in Arabic, the red Buddha of Bamiyan, and this is probably the place where these things were first discovered by Earthlings, about 1900 years ago.) We still need to be a Buddha to be able to create and manage a whole spiritual universe, receiving thousands or millions of people. but probably anybody can add or adapt his own place in an afterlife paradise. There surely are helpers and facilities to help the new born in the afterlife to adapt a living place at their taste, just as there are in virtual worlds.


We could think that this works much like virtual worlds, where everybody can build his own place and adapt his body. In computer worlds, this is made as simple as possible, with all the complicate stuff happening in the depths of the Internet, thanks to sophisticated software where most people would not understand a single line. More skilled dwellers can build vehicles and scripted objects able of their own behavior.

However there is a striking difference between spiritual worlds and computer worlds: for building in a virtual world, we need weeks of arduous work and complex tinkering in scripting languages, where a single misplaced coma can ruin the whole thing. Often some logical subtleties create hard to find bugs, and we are never sure that there will not be some drawback or unexpected effect to any of our decisions.

This difference comes from the fact that computer worlds use Aristotelian logic, while spiritual worlds use non-Aristotelian logic. Aristotelian logic produces entropy, the accumulation of disorder. This is seen in physics, in bodies and in machines, which need a constant source of energy and effort to keep functioning, and even simply to keep existing without wear. The word entropy is also used by law makers to describe the continuous increase in complexity of Aristotelian law systems, under attempts to make them better. This also happens in computer software, where attempts to better a function often create bugs and issues in other unexpected places. This is also visible in virtual worlds, where bugs can suddenly destroy objects or mess up the whole day. Even if all goes well, attempts to join two landscapes will need a long work of matching the contact zone: adding trees, modifying the land shape, etc. Work to be redone each time we move these places.

Spiritual worlds on the other hand work on non-Aristotelian logic. On the opposite of Aristotelian logic, it produces eutropy (©, see in my book «General Epistemology» why I created this word, and the conditions for use) Eutropy has the same origin as entropy, but in non-Aristotelian logic it produces the opposite result: always bringing simplification and harmonization. This is the reason why non-Aristotelian logic is kept is such a high esteem by major civilizations: Chinese Yin☯Yang, Buddhist Middle Way, etc. all bring peace in society and in politics, while it allows for understanding in spirituality. It also is at the very heart of meditation, as opposed to Aristotelian logical thinking, which always tends to build division and complexity (This is symbolized by the Kusha grass, which divides in plenty of branches). Even important modern institutions, like the court, are supposed to be non-Aristotelian, based on the Three Pillars of the Hebraic Kabbalah (In this instance, accusation, judge, defense)

These properties of Non-Aristotelian logic make a lot of things much easier in spiritual worlds: bugs of course happen there too, but their effect tends to settle by itself. This goes as far as that we can massively rely on this property for the daily functioning of these worlds: setting two landscapes besides each other automatically fixes all the incoherence and issues, even before we notice there should be incoherence and issues. And we experience a logical and seamless scene, without nobody needing the slightest effort or attention.


All this looks so extraordinary that many will think it is impossible. Yet we do it daily, or more exactly every night, in our dreams. Dreams are not spiritual worlds, since they are created by our neurons. But they share the same non-Aristotelian functioning. They also produce eutropy: we can dream the Taj Mahal just besides the Eiffel Tower, without having to demolish all the buildings around. We simply dream the two monuments besides each other, as if they had been build that way, and even have a common seamless garden surrounding them, with women in sari eating French fries and Sadhus playing accordion. That we are so close from the extraordinary magic of Vashyu, Bamiyan or Dewachen is because this apparent magic arises from the very functioning of our consciousness itself. And, so to say, we always carry our consciousness with us. There even is some chance that you dream this scene tonight, after reading that. Anyway you can imagine it on the instant, with all the details.

You can even dream that you launch you car against a wall, and it is not broken. You can break it only on purpose. Yet the next night you still have it intact!

Chapter 8: White coat child molester

(By Christine, first person)


I remember that after this wonderful summer with my Daddy, I waited the whole Saturday for him to come. I started to suspect he would not, because my mother did not requested me to prepare my luggage. Instead, she was smiling, of a strange smile I never saw before, which left me scared. When the evening came, I realized that I had lost my dad again. I did not asked anything to my mother, and went to bed at the usual time. I did not cried... I was already accustomed. I did not asked anything to my mother. I understood that it would give her some kind of victory, and I did not wanted this.

Another weekend passed, where he should come, but he did not. I understood that things were bad again, when the impolite gray lady reappeared at home.

This time however she was much worse. After the usual conspiracy session with my mother, she wanted to speak with me, alone in my bedroom. She brought a chair to sit, meaning it would take time. I was hugely annoyed of her presence, especially that I had a long writing homework to complete for the next day.

She started to speak doggy to me, and ask apparently innocent questions about my Daddy. But she was not smiling. She asked a lot about how we were living. She seemed especially interested by the bathroom: did he helped me to wash, did he touched me, and so. Despite replying each time that I was a great girl now, able to wash myself alone, she seemed unsatisfied, and was always bringing back the discussions to my buttocks, my undies, the toilets, etc. I was feeling the same trouble as when we accidentally saw the O lips lady, but much stronger. Worse, I was feeling guilty myself, as if I did something bad without knowing, as if my body was a dirty and guilty thing.

People who never were children cannot figure this: when we are a child, there are so many things to learn, and we are scolded and punished each time we do wrong. In more we often are supposed to know without being taught, and we are punished if we guess wrong. This ends up creating a pervasive feeling of guilt, which overwhelms us at the least remark, and even ends up becoming permanent. But this is not the worse: we soon realize that each adult has different requirements, and we have to remember them, in order to adapt our replies, or even to guess, when we do not know the person. With the impolite lady however I had no idea of her requirements, except that she was hell bent at between my legs. I remember my cheeks becoming hot and my ears tense, with a feeling of shame, while trying desperately to remember what I had done wrong with my body. I ended to admit that sometimes I washed my teeth in the presence of my Dad. She looked angry, and stopped asking questions about my undies. But she moved to other seemingly innocent questions. She asked if my Dad had a computer. «Yes» I replied proudly. But at once I regretted it: she made «ah» and leaned toward me, forgetting to speak doggy and suddenly speaking seriously. She asked what sites we were visiting. I hesitated «educative sites» I replied. Again she looked disappointed, but she insisted. «Google Earth», I said. But she was not yet happy with this. «Virtual worlds» I added proudly: we had a discussion on these at school, so it should be a good point. Wrong again: she looked more and more excited: «He showed me what he does in Second life». This time she literally jumped, and went out of the room at once without any goodbye, starting another conspiracy session with my mother. After a long time, she left. I was so troubled and ashamed that I could not do my homework, and I had a zero mark! I wanted to speak to my teacher, that I was forbidden to do my homework, but I knew he would check with my mother, and she would say that I lied.

For some weeks, it seemed that nothing else would happen. But I suddenly saw the impolite lady... at school, speaking with my teachers! They stopped as I was approaching, and started again at low voice when I went away. From this day, several of my teachers started to behave strangely, speaking me doggy or ignoring me. Even one was angry and he started to always give me bad marks.

I even saw the impolite lady speaking with the class representative! Again, from this day, several of my comrades started to stare blank at me without speaking, or even to gather in groups plotting at low voice while having glances at me.

Useless to say that with all this, school became very unpleasant, and homework too. I used to have mostly good marks, but they turned bad...


But this was not the worse.


One day my mother brought me to a kind of bureau, where «the professor» was waiting. She left me here alone with him, for one hour.


This was the most horrible hour of my life. I remember all the details of his cursed bureau, an abstract painting (I am still allergic to this style today), many files, a computer, his half bald skull and fat skin, the fetid smell of his breath when he approached me speaking at low voice, and even the patterns of the carpet that I lengthily learned as a futile attempt to escape the situation. It was some approximate Persian style. Since, each time I see a Persian carpet it reminds me of that moment.

As the impolite lady did, he started to grin and speak doggy, although in a more subtle way:

«We can speak of your problem here. I am here to help you». Well, it is already disconcerting to be asked something without being told what. I had no hint at all of what he expected from me. But what followed was worse. He cycled from his apparent mellow kindness, asking innocent questions about the garden, the school work, the holidays, to always bring the discussion if I saw my Dad naked, if he washed me, if we looked at naked people on the Internet, etc. Each time, I replied no, and he retreated to more benign matters. But five minutes after, he was again...

((Note of the author: I am obliged here to pass over what is technically a pedophilia scene, even in purely verbal. Pity, because we would understand why this thing is so destructive to children. If anyone thinks that I am exaggerating, much worse things are perfectly documented in the Dade County scandal in Florida, with even sex acts simulacra and videos shot without the knowledge of the children. But already in 2022 these things are becoming hard to find on the Internet...))

After one hour, I was exhausted, crying, and so shocked that I could not follow any school lesson for one week.

My mother brought me a second time to this man. This second time, he was most subtle, avoiding direct attacks. But he told me that he wanted to help me to «remember». To remember what? He insisted many times, asking me to «remember» if I did this or that, introducing doubt and refusing my explanations. He also insisted heavily on Second Life, where, if I believed him, I would have shown myself «naked». He seemed unable to understand that I had never been in person in Second Life, where young children are forbidden anyway.

After several sessions of this treatment, I ended to wonder if I was not wrong myself, of «not remembering» something important I did, or that my Dad did. Or if I was «hiding myself» something, as he explained. How we could «hide ourselves» something was beyond my understanding, but as I explained, I was afraid that as a child I could do unknown errors, without realizing. Maybe I was becoming mad, and I was the only one not to realize. This is a very disturbing feeling, to no more be confident in our own thought and memory! I was so sad and ashamed of myself that I was totally unable to work at school, and the quarter ended in a disaster.


This is again a thing that people who never were children can even not imagine: we are in such a situation of subjection toward adults. They seem to know everything, while we have everything to learn. They know to drive a car, we have to sit behind. They know what is electricity, we don't. They can freely buy things in shops, we have to ask them. They know what is politics, we don't. So I started to think that, probably, in some cases, we do things without knowing, or without remembering, like somnambulists do. In more, adults have unpredictable powers. I knew that in some countries, people can be condemned to death, or the Panchen Lama who was hijacked at the age of 7 by his own government. So I was really afraid of what this man could do to me. To stop these torture sessions, I just had to say «yes» when he asked if my dad showed me his willy. But I just was totally unable to do so. That only one child on fifty confirms these sickly suggestions is finally reassuring: even the sociopaths don't!


How it ended? It was the last day before the Toussaint holidays (French name of All Saints' Day). At school, we used to do unusual things that day, instead of regular work.

There were two ladies that I did not knew. They explained in front of the whole school that some adults are very nasty with children, and they were touching them or showing themselves naked. These persons are called pedophiles. And the ladies explained that we had the right to defend ourselves of these persons, and we must tell them if we knew any. I saw Roland starting to cry in the back end of the room. I suddenly understood that I was not alone, that what was happening to me was not normal, and especially that it was not my fault! On a raw inspiration, I raised my hand, saying «I know a pedophile. My mother brings me to a professor who is always speaking of sex».


There was a blank.


Today I understand that nearby everybody was knowing who was this «professor», and what he was doing to me. I even suspect that the two ladies organized this session against me precisely. But at the time, as a child I could not imagine that so many pervert adults were working all together just to harm me and humiliate me. And so abruptly exposing their wickedness left them all flabbergasted.


Not long. They at once reorganized to look serious, adult, in command. One of the two ladies took Roland alone in the next class. I knew later how bad it had been for Roland. He even was injured, and he had to go to the hospital. With a group of pupils we visited him, in the «proctology service» I remember. I had no idea what this word was meaning, but it looked so nasty.


The other lady stayed to recover control on the situation.

«Sometimes victims of abuse do not remember» she tried, looking at me from the corner of her eyes. But one of the mathematics professor replied sternly:

«This is a pseudo-scientific statement. Can you quote a SINGLE case of survivor of concentration camp, torture, bombing or rape, who forget it? This never happens, even for a simple car crash people always remember everything in exquisite details.»

I would kiss my professor. But instead of accounting with this fact, the remaining lady did not replied, just declaring the end of the session. So that everybody dispersed in a hubbub, escaping the unavoidable conclusion. I never saw any of these two ladies again.


After were the Toussaint holidays (French All Saint's day). My mother never brought me again to the shameful professor. I still regularly found my drawers investigated and left in disorder, and this lasted until I was 18 and left home definitively, when I became a student. From time to time I was still seeing the impolite lady at school, but each time she avoided me and she never spoke to me again. She had abruptly realized that fake accusations of pedophilia are a double edged weapon.


I regained confidence from experiencing this victory over a gang of evil adults. I remain forever grateful of my math professor, and all the others who continued to consider me normally, instead of looking elsewhere when I was here.


Many years after, I understood things that I did not really grasped at the time, but which still had decisive consequences on my life.

First, I was not «bad». Especially my memory was not playing tricks on me. I checked many times: stories of «suppressed memories» happen only with false sexual accusations, or with bogus claims of «extraterrestrial contact». In every and any other case, everybody insist that shocking memories follow them forever. Many people even get Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, precisely because these shocking memories always pop up in their consciousness. I myself had several episodes of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, when seeing Persian carpets, or male doctors in white blouse.

Second, I was not alone in a world of pervert adults. There were normal adults, in whom I could be confident (especially that they would not start to check if my undies were clean or stuff like this). I was grateful to my math professor, although we never spoke of this. I had him the next year, and several times I went at his desk after the lesson, to ask for clarifications. That he always did with a smile. I warmly thanked him, and I think he understood it was not only for the math. Never I loved math so much than this year. It «unlocked» my understanding of them, in a way. This was determinant for my future science career.


What I was victim was a pervert psychologist, who pretends to do «psychotherapy» to children, in order to make them «remember suppressed memories». In reality, they stalk and sexually humiliate children, until they confirm false stories, to stop their ordeal. This is well documented in the incredible Dade County scandal, or the historical Salem witch hunt, where children were hijacked and isolated from their parents, harassed and threatened in order to extract false confessions of imaginary crimes. And I escaped much worse things, as in the Dade County scandal: psychological rape using «anatomical dolls» (with sex organs) to induce confabulation of sexual scenarios, or sessions of imposed «theater games», secretly videotaped to be used as «sincere testimonies». Of course, these terrorist methods are denounced by real psychologists, as a kind of pedophilia by itself. Well, for the videos, I never knew, perhaps the pervert professor is still watching me, enjoying my voice muddled with humiliation. Or maybe he put this video on child porn sites in the dark Internet. In case, I never dressed the same way than this dreadful day, and I let my hair grow, in order not to be recognized.


I know I should have gone further, as to suing this repulsive man. But I also saw since, that in the disgusting Outreau scandal, most of the culprits were not punished, and the children deprived of their parents got no indemnification. Somewhere I was feeling that in pedophilia affairs, children are still treated as culprits. Not openly, yet at a moment the procedures stop short of recognizing the real damage.

In more the manic surveillance by my mother was literally disabling me: I even not had a safe place to keep all the paperwork!


Unfortunately, all this never brought back my Daddy. I had no more any information about him.


Until this fateful December 2011, when My mother told me that he was dead. She just said this casually, as of an unimportant fact. Even I bet she was smiling.

Chapter 9: The meeting

(By Malyan-Léo, third person)


In their wonderful Vashyu afterlife paradise, Malyan-Léo and Elyan were wandering, tirelessly exploring its unlimited landscapes. From the green mountains they were now standing on, the sight extended to vast plains, lakes, forests, and other mountains. In the distance the colors faded in a luminous purple, and still further in a saturated blue horizon. They could never be blasé, since they deeply enjoyed and tasted the powerful and lively vibrations of the landscape, while always desiring them. Each time they crossed a corner, they discovered a new and unique scenery, new plants, new rocks, and the pleasure of each of them was magnified by the enjoyment of the other.

Their world was incredibly vast, a million times more than needed to accommodate only some hundreds of thousands of persons. And it was only one world, over thousands other spiritual worlds. Some were even much larger, like the well known Sukhavati, also called Dewachen, the dream of all the beginners in meditation. And this was just for the Humans of Earth. Counting with all the species of the Cosmos, their total number is incommensurate.

More, each place looked different, with different plants, different styles, different vibrations. So that exploring was a virtually inexhaustible source of wonder, marvel and surprises. In more, Elyan had learned Malyan to use the hypergate safely, so that they had a glance at other worlds. But they still had many exploration do do in their home world.

Of course, in this pristine untouched nature, they often stepped on caves, pools, gazebos, love nests, retreats, and even large palaces or luxurious temples. Many were builds centuries ago in the age of the ancient India Maharajahs. They were used, or they were abandoned, but none was decaying. They remained intact, with all their powerful vibrations, perfectly trimmed gardens and eternal flowers. Unless the owner allowed them to take a ruin appearance, concealing the mystery under liana and dark green shadows, as in some Mowgli's dream.

Some of these buildings were prettily powerful at evoking various vibrations or emotions. You were walking under a dark green liana path, and suddenly faced a terrible Shiva statue looking alive, and even moving, as many statues in Vashyu did. It was as powerful and impressive as to met the mighty god in person. Some were even more powerful, but others emanated a variety of nice, merry or peaceful vibrations, as of very gentle persons.

And this was only for the statues. Encountering real persons could even be more surprising. Remember many were here since centuries, and thus they had time to develop powerful, original and very unexpected personalities.


So they were not astonished to find a kind of temple in a luminous stained glass yellow-green forest, with strange bird coos echoing in the vastness of the canopy, a hundred meters above. This sounded much like the memorable introduction of Yes, «Close to the Edge», with the same fantastic green desire to live in unspoiled nature.


Usually these solitary builds were love nests or meditation retreats, so that a common custom was to avoid disturbing people in there. But this time, the dweller, dressed in a kind of reddish tunic, was standing before the entrance, as if he was waiting for them.


Of course it is difficult to transcript their conversation in words, since they exchange ideas directly, without speaking. But let us try:

«Hello. Me Namgyal (Tibetan Vajrayana name, meaning The spiritually Victorious).

-Hello. Me Elyan. Yellow green light vibe, kindness.

-Hello. Me Malyan. Science, dark purple complement of her»

Smiles, friendly vibes.

They both remained without thinking for several minutes, enjoying long sips of the deliciously soothing vibe of the place.

Then Namgyal switched to an active vibe. The foliage turned to a golden orange light, and the deep bird melodies were replaced by a merry titmouse chatter. As of the «Yes» vibe had turned from green to orange.

«I need you, Malyan, to test something which was never done before.

-Interesting. But why me?

-Because you know meditation, and you still have a connection to Earth.

-What connection?


-Oh! I wonder how is she doing?

-As good as she can be, given her situation of subjection. She wants to know about you, but she is given no information for now. Also, there is a notary who arranged her home. She will soon be 18. In some months only, now.

-Oh Thanks you so much for explaining, this is good to know, I was so afraid she went hating me.

-Definitively not. She understood the problem.

-But why me? There are plenty of people who still have family on Earth?

-You have something else, which is nearby unique. You were an user of virtual worlds. This is a thing which is commonly used on some other planets, in an extend Earthlings cannot realize, but which is very new on Earth. And you still have a «body» there. This much simplifies our experiment.

-Yes but?

-We built an interesting device in a secret place in Montana, Earth. We would like you to try to ride it. If you agree, we can arrange a helper group in Vashyu, with some of my friends. Elyan can be a wonderful help too.»


Namgyal hesitated a bit, then he added:

«You may even be able to contact Christine»

Malyan felt a heartbeat (this happens with emotion, even if in the spiritual world we have nothing like heart or blood).

He also felt Elyan's hand pressing on his. He went interrogative, but he at once understood her reply: Elyan was Christine's true mother, in a way. So everything was obvious.

Chapter 10: Welcome back, Léo

(Virtual dialogue by several characters, with the author in the first person and under the name of Yichard Muni, partly copied from a real Inworldz public chat, anonymized)


Vassiliev's experiment was a blazing success. This is how the following fantastic conversation happened in the «Inworldz welcome» group, in February 2018: (names changed)


[08:39] Love Dinkie: Please everybody, welcome Yvan Staroslav, Jill Montana, Nam Trul and Apricot Tanaka

[08:39] Anita Mariana: Woot woot welcome Yvan Jill Mam Apricot!

[08:39] Jess Willy: Hello, and welcome here

[08:39] Yichard Muni: Vedui, Yvan, Jill, Nam and Apricot! Have a long and happy stay here! Just beware of cookies thieves!

[08:39] Love Dinkie: tee eeh tee eeeh

[08:40] Antony Lover: Hello you four

[08:40] Enzo Milano: wow four! The mentors are doing well today

[08:40] Yvan Staroslav: Hello, and thanks for your warm welcome

[08:40] Enzo Milano: Cookies?

[08:40] Antony Lover: .-~*Woot Woot*~-.

[08:40] Enzo Milano: Apricot cookies, yum yum

[08:40] Yvan Staroslav: as you expect, we are a team. But there is a fifth, that you may already know

[08:41] Enzo Milano: A fifth? who is the sixth then

[08:41] Love Dinkie: «Take five» tut tulut

[08:42] Gai Luron: he he do not google «Take six» lol ?

[08:42] Anita Mariana: We want them all

[08:42] Léo Juste: 2ghe helo ee hek helo

[08:42] Yichard Muni throws the jumping tofinelle in the chat

[08:42] Funny Ferret: - eek -

[08:42] Yvan Staroslav: Uh Oh Léo seems to have a hoarse keyboard

[08:43] Anita Mariana: Léo Juste?

[08:43] Yichard Muni: Welcome back Léo long time no see

[08:43] Léo Juste: hhello

[08:43] Léo Juste: ha

[08:43] Anita Mariana: Welcome back Léo, don't be shy!

[08:43] Nam Trul: Hello everybody. No it is not shyness, Léo did not used a keyboard for years

[08:44] Funny Ferret: No keyboard? - beams -

[08:44] Anita Mariana: No keyboard? But he typed with his tail, or what

[08:44] Léo Juste: dibky wat is it

[08:44] Léo Juste: dinky

[08:44] Nam Trul: Yes he last logged in 2011

[08:45] Yichard Muni: Phieww that makes a lot... Lots of things happened here since

[08:45] Anita Mariana: Dinkies are the cutest little creatures

[08:45] Love Dinkie: Dinkies rule the world

[08:45] Yichard Muni: Dinkies rule the world until knee level. The remainder is for us, Elfs

[08:46] Léo Juste: yichar i rememmber yu in ere eire

[08:46] Yichard Muni: Oh, Eire... this was long ago, the first roleplay place in Inworldz. It was a nice place, but unfortunately it is gone

[08:47] Antony Lover: Oh lot of things happened since 2011... we have physics, mesh, and flying aircraft, sailing boats

[08:47] Antony Lover: .-~*Woot Woot*~-.

[08:47] Anita Mariana: and trains

[08:47] Enzo Milano: we have naval battles and a lot of events

[08:48] Léo Juste: Oh pity it is gone i 5want visit the othrer place

[08:48] Yichard Muni: Actually there are several roleplay places which appeared and disappeared since. But we have a lot of nice places now

[08:48] Enzo Milano: But what happened if I may ask

[08:48] Antony Lover: Yes why you remained stuck in RL for so long

[08:48] Anita Mariana: He was stuck in RL, how awful, poor Léo

((Note of the author: RL = «Real» Life, the physical world, by opposition with the virtual world))

[08:48] Gai Luron: RL should be forbidden, it is a very nasty place, especially for children

[08:49] Léo Juste: errh I was sickl.. cancer. in the hosdpital, they wwould not let me hav a compluter

[08:49] Yichard Muni: Oh sorry to hear

[08:49] Enzo Milano: Poor Léo, such a hideous disease

[08:49] Antony Lover: Sorry to hear Léo

[08:49] Anita Mariana: RL is so bad

[08:50] Anita Mariana: -*POOP*-

[08:50] Love Dinkie: I am sorry Léo

[08:50] Jess Willy: Glad you won finally

[08:50] Olde Professor: Oh Léo you should visit the Relay For Life regions... we did the “hope village” for cancer survivors and care takers

[08:51] Yichard Muni: Yes this is an excellent initiative... people in hospital can meet their families through the virtual world, and have a normal social life

[08:51] Olde Professor: If you are a survivor, you should visit the Hope village

[08:51] Love Dinkie: ah

[08:51] Antony Lover: ?

[08:52] Anita Mariana: Yes cancer treatment has improved a lot

[08:52] Olde Professor: So now you can come back among us! Welcome back, Léo! And yes we have a lot of novelties

[08:52] Léo Juste: Well, I woul be glad 2 com again... but it will b e diffivcuult

[08:49] Antony Lover: You are welcome

[08:49] Anita Mariana: You and your friends

[08:50] Love Dinkie: Yes feel free to come again

[08:50] Jess Willy: Glad you won finally

[08:50] Yichard Muni: It is good that that you can log in now... feel free do discover new friends

[08:51] Léo Juste: thankss youi zll andpjfj58oe ufuff6fgfgr5

[08:51] Léo Juste is offline.

[08:52] Yvan Staroslav: Well it seems that Léo lost the connection. We receive a series of random bytes now.

[08:52] Jill Montana: Yes it is difficult for him

[08:52] Nam Trul: I must confess, I was not sure at all he could speak in a public setting

[08:52] Apricot Tanaka: We need to thank you all for your kind welcome. It helped a lot for the success of our experiment

[08:53] Yichard Muni: Experiment? Which experiment?

[08:53] Jess Willy: Why is it so difficult for him to connect?

[08:53] Yvan Staroslav: Well, let us say, we were testing a very special method of connection, from, say, a very remote place

[08:53] Yvan Staroslav: And it worked wonderfully, much better than we expected. Spasibo druzya, thanks you friends!

[08:54] Nam Trul: Tudjesik, friends

[08:54] Jess Willy: But can he connect again?

[08:54] Apricot Tanaka: Arigato!

[08:54] Yichard Muni: Well, but it is a friend, not just an experiment. Are you testing a bot on us, or what?

((Note of the author: a bot (robot) is a computer-animated character. Normally in Inworldz they are identified as such, to avoid cheat. But it remains possible that a remote computer controls a viewer, to mimic a Human))

[08:54] Jill Montana: Oh yes he is the real Léo, not a bot. But he had to be, say, helped, to connect. Actually a group of 500 persons worked to establish this connection. This is not practical.

[08:54] Yichard Muni: 500? Why?

[08:54] Anita Mariana: 500?

[08:54] Love Dinkie: wow

[08:55] Jill Montana: Ok we are sorry, but we cannot say more for now. Léo is safe where he is, and it is really a wonderful place. It is just... well, there are no WiFi hot spots up there, and it is, say, unusual to receive any Internet connections at all from this place. This is what we were testing.

[08:55] Yvan Staroslav: With our new receivers coming soon, we hope to reduce the support group to a more manageable size.

[08:55] Apricot Tanaka: Yes, the prototype is working as intended. We shall start real tests soon. Expect to see your friend more often. Once done, we can set the whole detector in a single integrated circuit, in an USB stick.

[08:56] Jill Montana: We shall try other contacts soon. For now we cannot say more, but we shall give more information to the Founders of Inworldz, and to Olde Professor. Possibly our devices could be installed in the Inworldz servers, once miniaturized, to allow more people to connect with this method.

[08:55] Yvan Staroslav: For now we need to log off, all us four. We shall come again, we just don't know when yet.

[08:54] Anita Mariana: - Bye! -

[08:54] Yichard Muni: ok, bye, but you made us wonder what you are doing. Please come back soon.

[08:54] Jess Willy: Good evening

[08:54] Olde Professor: Good bye, and yes I hope to know better about what you are doing. It sounds exciting. But you are hiding us an essential clue.

[08:55] Antony Lover: Bye have a nice day

[08:55] Enzo Milano: Bye

[08:56] Love Dinkie: they all poofed (disappeared in smoke) from IDI (the welcoming place of Inworldz)

[08:58] Yichard Muni recovers the jumping tofinelle from the chat

[08:59] Jumping tofinelle whispers: Ah if tofinelles could speak, and tell what I saw.




(By Christine, first person)


Well, dreaming that I received a letter from China of a Tibetan lama in red monastic robes is not something quite astonishing.

But actually receiving the said letter the next day is.

When opening my mail box, I saw it, and took it to my student room, not relating with the dream.

But when I saw the Chinese stamp and postmark, the Tibetan name «Namgyal» and the address in Shanghai, I was flabbergasted!

Surely this was something extraordinary.

The man was writing in simple English, with a long salutation formula. I was a bit frustrated, because he was not giving the motive of his letter, just that he wanted to speak with me in Inworldz. I recently heard about Inworldz by friends interested in virtual worlds, as a better place than Second Life. And of course by my father, many years sooner. I already had the Firestorm viewer installed, but I had to create a character for Inworldz: Christine Faery. I found the man, named Nam Trul in Inworldz. He was offline at the moment. I had to calculate his possible hours from the Shanghai timezone, and found he was up in my morning. His profile was empty, with no visible groups. Only information he could not hide was that he was in Inworldz since nearby the beginning in 2010. So I left him a message with a friend request, to find him back.

The reply came the next day, and it was quite unexpected. I received an offline message, saying that he just wanted me to speak with another person, Léo Juste. Who was this guy? And why he could not make contact himself?

I replied in an offline message that I had no idea of who Léo Juste was. I found his profile, totally empty, also created in the beginning of Inworldz, just mentioning the «Inworldz welcome» group, and «Land of Eire» group. His last connection however was some days ago. Some minutes later, Namgyal went online, so that we could speak. But he did not replied my questions, just explaining that it was very difficult for Léo to come online and to type text. They had to set up a whole organization. So Namgyal arranged an appointment for the next Sunday.


I was starting to feel wary, of some possible crook, when he at last typed some explanations: «You know Léo. In the place he is, it is very difficult typing messages. Cannot speak cannot hear. Because of that, the meeting will be difficult. We need many preparation. But it is very important for you». Then he added, as if I had asked: «We are honest, not crooks». Then «This is very unusual situation. Myself I cannot speak from China. I cannot attend the meeting». Ok, I knew about China, Internet censorship, racism against Tibetans, and so on. But I was involved in nothing of this kind, so why was he fearing the Chinese authorities? Of course he would not reply such questions. So I noted the hour and place of the appointment, for the next Sunday. He insisted several times, that it was safe, and it was important for me. He repeated «no money no sex no politics». That was reassuring, lol, on the Internet we must be wary of everything, even of sex! He even added «Nothing illegal with China. But difficult to explain to government», as if he was guessing my thought.

Namgyal logged off at this point, saying he was busy. I was quite intrigued, but not convinced. He had left me a landmark of the meeting place. I decided to have a look, in case I could gleam some more information on what it was about.

The teleportation was successful. The place took longer than usual to appear on my screen, indicating a lot of original textures. It was as on many regions in Inworldz, an undulated island with a beach, trees and a small house, looking vaguely Japanese. I had landed besides a dance pad, with several seats in a circle all around. Just it was very small, an unusual feature for a virtual dance pad. There were plenty of beautifully colored flowers, and the ground texture was of a merry green, not the usual grayed colors. Plants were the same style, explaining the large original textures. Sure that the owner had a good taste. But I could get no information on the purpose of this place. Nothing either in the parcel name or estate covenant. It was rated for general public, thus excluding sex stuff. Nothing was in Namgyal's name or in Léo's name. Then I realized the place was not open to the public, and I had been added to a short access list, together with Léo, Namgyal and some others I did not knew.

I moved a bit, and suddenly...


The view was exactly as in my dream!!


Okayyy, this was definitively not a money scam.


It was a much higher level.


It was puzzling that such a banal place like Inworldz was concealing real mysteries and magic. Who were these people, and why they were meeting in private? How could I have been warned by a dream? Their profiles were not mentioning anything peculiar, just that they came from all around the world: USA, Europe, China, Japan, Russia, Pakistan.

For timezone convenience, the meeting was about French midday. Meals were apparently considered unimportant.

Useless to say, I awaited eagerly that Sunday. Although still warily.

I was so excited that I went online about one hour before, to find two persons already in the region: Yvan Staroslav and Apricot Tanaka (the owner, with such a good taste). Yvan had classical dark gray male suit, while Apricot wore a modern kimono, of... apricot color, with some discreet red patterns, making her look like a ripe apricot. They were very sympathetic, but refused to let me know the reason of the meeting before everybody was present. So we discussed of their official activity: the SETI! To have insiders news of SETI was fascinating, as they used to work with head figures and engineers. Unfortunately they had no still undisclosed discoveries, so that I learned nothing important on extraterrestrials. Yet this allowed the hour to pass in an interesting and instructive way. Then Jill Montana arrived too, saying to the others that «the system was up and running». Realizing my presence, she made oops, and laughed. But she did not explained what «the system» was.

Two more persons arrived, and then the famous Léo Juste, the one I was supposed to meet.

Although he was several years old, Léo was still wearing an old outdated newbie male outfit, just more colored. He awkwardly remained standing on the dance pad all along, not making any gesture and typing at a painfully slow rate. By current virtual life standards, this would be perfectly unacceptable even from a total noob, but I immediately felt strange with him. He looked, well, familiar.


At last, Jill started to explain.

[12:04] Jill Montana: Christine, we are here attempting an experiment which was never done before.

[12:04] Léo Juste: y

[12:05] Jill Montana: Please pardon Léo for typing so bad. Actually what he is doing is extremely difficult.

[12:05] Léo Juste: hhh

[12:05] Jill Montana: We had to set a whole system and assistance to allow him to speak here. We already did, but he insisted a lot to speak with you in person. We though your love bond would help him much.

[12:16] Christine Faery: Love bond? But I don't even know him!

[12:06] Léo Juste: helo cris

[12:06] Jill Montana: Okay useless to get around, better you say it, Léo.

[12:06] Léo Juste: i a am your fatherr


At this point, I though this was a huge joke. A very bad, sickly joke. His guy was thinking he was Darth Vader, or what? Then an horrible though arose in my mind: my father Léo was not dead, but he had been all this time in a locked-in syndrome or something. And this was a terrible experiment to try to let him communicate despite this awful condition. I was so aghast that I could not type for a moment. But Léo continued:


[12:06] Léo Juste: not loked in

[12:06] Léo Juste: realy dead

[12:06] Léo Juste: i saw francin steal baloo put in trash wen you at scool


This was bringing things still further: how could he reply to my THOUGH? How could he know about my toys? For Baloo, I had told him. But my mother suppressing all my love toys continued to happen well after his death!


[12:08] Léo Juste: elian saw her bring yo to bad psy


This, on the other hand, very few persons knew. I was still too aghast to type.


[12:10] Léo Juste: u not saw her but she was beside you to help

[12:12] Léo Juste: she helped you not fear when you denounce him

[12:13] Léo Juste: he is ded in bad place

[12:15] Léo Juste: child molester stuk in manur and ice sad place lik orphan child I canot help him


I ended asking:


[12:16] Christine Faery: But... where are you? How can you speak to me?

[12:16] Jill Montana: Christine, Léo is in an afterlife resting place. What Christians call a paradise, or Buddhist call a Pure Land.

[12:16] Léo Juste: nice place

[12:16] Jill Montana: Normally it is impossible to speak with somebody in an afterlife paradise. There is no information path to do so.

[12:17] Léo Juste: i hapy here

[12:17] Jill Montana: We did an experiment, with an entirely new method. This is how your father is speaking to you.

[12:17] Léo Juste: place called vasu vashu

[12:18] Jill Montana: There is a technology part, but not only. Léo had to learn how to control our device, and this is the spiritual part

[12:18] Léo Juste: vashyu

[12:19] Jill Montana: I think he is getting tired of the required level of concentration.

[12:19] Léo Juste: you tru mom here name mel mel melian

[12:20] Christine Faery: But... are you happy up there?

[12:21] Léo Juste: me malyannn her eelya

[12:19] Léo Juste: she love thee she iz you triue modther

[12:21] Léo Juste: lovfjjs lovejhslxlorjfhsgjhds

[12:22] Léo Juste is offline.

[12:23] Jill Montana: Sorry, Christine, we lost connection. You understand it's difficult.

[12:23] Christine Faery: But... this is so incredible!

[12:23] Jill Montana: I know. We already did that. But this conversation was just so fantastic

[12:24] Christine Faery: I cant believe... My father?

[12:24] Jill Montana: we were not sure he actually was your father. But he was him who gave your name.

[12:24] Jill Montana: He insisted a lot, to Namgyal. This is why Namgyal contacted you, from Shanghai. At first we did not wanted, fearing it would be too emotional.

[12:25] Christine Faery: It was... I am totally flabbergasted

[12:25] Jill Montana: Namgyal has his own access to Vashyu. He can speak with your father without technology.

[12:25] Christine Faery: How?

[12:25] Jill Montana: He is a Tulkou. He can do that. He works on Earth since centuries. When he is not, he is in Vashyu, when he has a lot of disciples. He has great projects for China too. He considers that instead of seeking revenge for the evil they did in Tibet, he choose to bring them the good. He says this approach is already working today, and it will bring great benefits later, in the 2040 years.

[12:26] Yvan Staroslav: Well, we hesitated a lot, before inviting you. In case the experiment went wrong. But Léo insisted to do it with you. And surprise he was so thrilled to speak to you that finally the experiment worked much better!

[12:27] Apricot Tanaka: Thanks you very much for allowing this experiment to happen! We are happy if this allowed you to speak with your father!

[12:27] Nam Trul is online.

[12:28] Nam Trul: Hello Christine!

[12:29] Christine Faery: Hello Nam!

[12:29] Nam Trul: I was in Vashyu. Assisting your father in Vashyu. The team was more than 500 persons, I gathered all my disciples up there. Other persons came too. I am happy if it was a success!

[12:29] Christine Faery: So many people?

[12:30] Nam Trul: Yes. our experiment raised a lot of interest in the spiritual world. Really a lot. There are many people in Vashyu with family still on Earth. We don't expect to have some kind of phone line operating at any time for casual chit chat. But only some words in several years would change so many things, for all the ones so painfully separated without news of each other. Some words which could be of such invaluable help, for all these people stuck on Earth, struggling with despair, ignorance, misery. At least they would be sure there is an end to their striving and suffering, and that they can bring a sense to all this.



We discussed like that for several hours. I had so many questions on how this worked, on how off the shelf technical devices could be rendered sensitive to spiritual data. Given my science background, I understood the technique Apricot used. But the fact remained: it was a message from the spiritual realm! Science sought after spiritual communication all along the 19th Century, but at the time it had no means to understand how it could work. This made that since, scientists consider any communication with the afterlife as an illusion. A posture still aggravated by the militant atheism which took control of science since the start of the 20th Century. And even today in this young 21st Century, science is still without any theory on the nature of consciousness, to start with.


Apricot explained: «Actually, how the spiritual side controls the material side works like free will, so that we are naturally gifted for this. Of course the physical effect of free will is very small, smaller than the fluctuations caused by the brain activity. But my neural integrated circuits don't have these fluctuations, so that they can gather the useful influence of the spiritual realm, from many neurons reacting in coherence. Actually this is not so difficult as detecting gravitational waves, but it works quite differently: having many «test masses» and comparing their different but related movements with the neural network, instead of protecting only one from the ambient noise.»



Only when I went to my bed, I was overwhelm by the joy of meeting my father.

My mundane part was saying all this was not possible, a scam, a joke. But I reasoned: admitting it was some scam, there were so many things these persons could not know. That I was not feeling frightened or shy while denouncing the pedophile? Nobody could know that, or even guess it. Any child alone in a situation of fighting alone against adults is totally paralyzed with shame, guilt and terror. And why to organize such a complicated scam? How could I be the target of a world wide organization like the SETI? These speculations were absurd, and the whole affair was looking sincere.

The next day I checked on the SETI web site: all they told about it me was true. I even found the real name of Jill Montana, in the list of SETI@home large contributors. She had gathered an impressive score, with her bank of computers running 24/7. I even sent her an email, and she replied: «You were not dreaming, what happened really happened, and I am glad I allowed for it. But it is much better that what was said in our private region remains in Inworldz. This certainly was nice and positive, but people are not ready to hear about such things, so please keep silent for now»

This was the frustrating part: to keep silent. The world would continue without knowing this enthralling truth. But the world was not ready: would I speak, I would be the target of all the sociopaths and materialists, called a nutter, a liar, a scammer, laughed at, insulted, threatened.

Then I realized: even myself had no material evidence! I had real inescapable evidence, but accessible only to myself: my memories!

The only material evidence was the chat logs on my hard drive. But this was so easy to fabricate. Of course the company running Inworldz was keeping copies of these chat logs for some months, for safety purposes. But I knew they would release them only on a judiciary injunction. The time an inquiries starts, Inworldz would have discarded them.


So, as with any spiritual experience, we have to rely only on our own consciousness.

Chapter 11: The judgment

(By Christine, first person)


Finally I received the copy of the judgment. After all these fantastic events, this letter looked like some bad smelling belch of the past. Way too late for the funding of my studies, anyway. Happily it was now secured thanks to the rented house.

But I still had to know why these people worked all together so hard just to break my life, in passing killing my dad with sorrow. Well officially he died from cancer, but everybody knows very well that fear and depression can totally destroy our immunity. I am certain that he would still be alive without this, even against such a nasty bones cancer.


Of course the judgment, despite taking 8 pages, contained only judiblather with no useful details, just a reference to a social inquiry: «The social inquiry made by sir x and miss y tells that the daughter of the couple had little or no relationship with the father. For this reason, it appears that the daughter must be entrusted to the mother.»

I was flabbergasted: how months of inquiry and thousands Euros from tax payers could result in the exact opposite of the truth? Oh, I guess: they simply not interrogated my father. Yes, I remember, he said that he never saw them. Instead they relied solely on my mother's statements, calling them «the truth», without any fact check. As to me, the impolite lady interrogated me only once, and she deliberately tricked me with calling my Dad of a name I ignored. So all this inquiry stuff was just as fake as climate denial. Or plain sexism!

The judgment was not mentioning the «right» of my Dad as what I could go in his home: he had to do a second request, explaining that the whole process took one year. One year during which a child was left worse than orphan... Such a delay is obscene. There is a serious issue with justice in this country.


Still there was four names In this document: two magistrates and two social inquirers. I decided at once to meet these persons, and ask them why they were so bad with me. It did not mentioned the «professor», and I had only a vague idea of his address. One day I stumbled on a building entrance which was looking like the one, with several doctor plates as in my memory. But no psychologist. Probably he was retired. I fancied that one or another of his victims brought him a deserved fate. Oh Léo told me he was dead. And that this monster got a well deserved afterlife, feeling the same sorrow he inflicted to so many children.


I was unable to locate the first magistrate: no phone directory entry, not a single mention on the Internet. Did this person only existed?


The second, I found an address, but the phone number was on red list. So I had to go on the place.

It was an Art Deco luxury villa in a wealthy suburb. This place was reeking of money: perfectly trimmed lawn, big trees, ostentatious shiny black SUV car without a single grain of dust... I suddenly found myself totally shy, all my anger and grief evaporated. I even felt dirty and out of place, with my cheap crumpled supermarket clothes, my tennis shoes, and my own body smell which suddenly looked an unacceptable tare. This place was the world of the upper class, where us normal persons are not allowed. The world of the people who always are perfectly clothed, without a fold, because they have servants doing washing and ironing for them, or even they buy new clothes each time.

I remained a minute like this, with this overwhelming feeling, the time to double-check the name on the mail box. Then suddenly there was a noise of an electric motor, and the slightly open gate started to close, by remote control. I could just have a glance of a silhouette in one of the windows, which disappeared at once. How could she spot me, I touched nothing. These people really have nothing else to do than to monitor the street all day long???

This underhand hostility, this feeling of being socially inferior, had totally intimidated me. I several times wandered in the surrounding, along this street. But I was never able to press this cursed bell button. I knew too well what would happen if I met this person: scolded, dismissed, accused, feeling guilty, dirty, inferior. And not a single explanation or apology, because powerful people who never receive feedback or punishment from their evil deeds cannot only imagine to be wrong. I really wished there was some after life hell to teach them what is suffering. Surely she deserved many years of loneliness and rejection in some dark gray forlorn cave with wailing icy winds remembering her of the sobs of all the children she broke.


For the social inquirer, the one with a female name was retired. Probably the impolite lady. No way either to locate her, no entry on phone directory, no google results, not even a Facebook page, nothing. Most likely she was one of these innumerable gray people without any social relationship, living only for herself, and getting out of her den only to spit hateful votes in the elections. Or as if the Matrix had created this person just to stalk me, and deleted her after, as totally unusable for any other purpose.


The other however was still in office, and I could get an appointment with him, under the pretext to get help for my studies.

The waiting room contained plants and toys for children. At first, this seemed welcoming, but I quickly found the reason of this apparent kindness: there were posters for vaccines, and a nurse office for performing them. I shuddered, remembering the terror I felt myself with jabs. My mother made sure that I had them all, probably just to enjoy my pain. Few people realize that a simple jab can terrify a child as much as an adult entering the gestapo interrogation room.

The man received me in his bureau. He was in his fifties, with rare hairs, dressed in casual light gray clothes and pullover. At first, he looked affable and kind, speaking softly and smiling. But I could not forget that he was the pork who broke my life, and killed my Dad with sorrow. This was the first time I could have one of these swines in front of me, and ask him why he did this.

Still I was feeling shy to ask directly, as with the luxury villa. This was a different world, of «serious» civil servants, surrounded with files and bureau furniture. The toys and teddy bears in an armchair were just working tools for him. Yet he was part of the same Orwellian gang, and he would probably just humiliate me and rebuke me without giving any information.


And this is exactly what happened. I started with questions about the funding of my studies, and could only gradually lead to the fateful inquiry which deprived me of my Dad. When he realized that I was one of his victims, his fake smile disappeared. But he was still speaking softly, professionally, although less and less allowing me to reply.

At last I was just able to utter a «Why did you broke my life» that my mouth distorted involuntarily into a kind of sob.

He looked surprised only for a fraction of a second. He at once remade a professional composure, manipulating a paperclip and raising paternalistic shoulders. But at no moment he manifested the least compassion, even not astonishment at my question. On the contrary, He went again into justifying himself, still sweet but imperative, that he did this to protect me, that they thoroughly checked everything, and so on.

As I remained silent, he emboldened: «We can still help you to overcome the trauma.

-Which trauma?

-About the problems with your father»

I was so flabbergasted that I remained mouth open... he dared to deny the facts in front of the only remaining witness?

He apparently took my silence for some compliance: «Yes, and you know, when you have children, we shall be with you»

I did some h-hmm, to let his speak further, but an alarm was ringing loudly in my mind.

«You know that children who were victim of parental abuse often have problems with their own children... We shall check if all is well» he told me with a disarming smile. I understood at once what this was meaning, as it happened to a friend who was in this situation: If I had children they would come to terrorize them too, make defamatory accusations, write false reports, check their undies and their religions, ask me to do this or they remove my children, ask me not to do that or they remove my children, and remove them anyway whenever they wanted! Being victims of these perverts is a genetically transmitted condition.

«No way you do with my children what you did to me! I am going right now to be STERILIZED, so that nothing like this will ever happen!»

I had enough. I went up of my chair and moved to the door. For a second, he was silent. But, as soon as I left the room, he swiftly went in the corridor, and while I was looking at the way out in the wrong direction, he moved to the secretary office, and closed the door. While passing I clearly heard an angry «...a bugger who is here to stir the shit up. Never let her in again». So much for the soft voice, professional smile and affable look. Totally fake. This pork was the perfect incarnation of O'Brien, the charming torturer sociopath in Orwell's 1984 dystopia.


In fact, if this guy was not representing the brown power of money, he represented another one, perhaps worse: the gray power of civil servants and technocrats, with their arbitrary decisions without appeal or control. With such a bloke, I was in danger of ending up in a psychiatric hospital, with no reason and with no way out.


When I went out, I was more mortified than angry, and I felt the need to touch and smell the flowers which decorated the street. I sensed a look upon me... the secretary was still watching at me through her window. She hide as I spotted her.

Then I understood my mistake: I had undertook him alone. This allowed him to easily humiliate me, while not providing a single bit of useful information. If ever you are in this situation yourself, don't go alone: it is useless, and in more extremely dangerous. Always confront these scoundrels with witnesses.

My dearest regret is not having recorded this revealing conversation with a cellphone. Although he probably was cautious of this possibility, as he had remained professional all along, also abstaining of the least compromising word. Only clerks could bear witness of the sniggers and gross comments in the back office.


My first idea had been to make a huge trial, to denounce all these hypocritical child molesters and their methods. But now I knew what would happen: other magistrates with perfect lawns, other hypocritical inquirers with bad smelling breath, would at once take the defense of their mates, say that I had false memories, that I was misled, traumatized, that I needed psychology help, and I would obtain nothing but troubles. Maybe they would even send me to a psychiatry expertise or so...

It happened that just some days after I had an appointment with a lawyer, who indirectly confirmed. She would proceed my complain, and explained me how to do it. But when I asked her if I could win something, she went silent. In more, I guessed another issue: if ever I could obtain the disclosure of these reports, there was no warranties that they would be the genuine ones! They are secret for a reason... to protect the authors first and above all.



So I decided to continue to live my broken life with the remaining pieces, instead of losing more into a totally biased fight. As do all the many victims of war and other state abuses: swallowing rage and humiliation, hiding their misery and prosthesis from public shame, they renounce an impossible justice, and make a low profile to avoid further losses.

As was doing a faculty teacher of mine, whose parents lived a life of poverty and sacrifice to raise her... unaware that they were the heirs of a fortune stolen by the nazis. The crook bank eventually handed them this money, 55 years after, without the interests and reduced to nearby nothing from depreciation of the currency. But how to get justice, if even before the complain, the concealers of stolen goods were granted buddy amnesty by high level politicians? My friends just had their eyes to cry on their three wasted lives. I searched confirmation of these incredible stories with Google and on wikipedia, to find only rows of error 404 and expired domains. Even on these «free» sites, all the references to these shameful events had been sent to the 1984's memory hole!

((Note from the author: I have seen these 404 error lists, and these lists of names of thousands of defrauded heirs. Out of honesty, I searched again when finalizing this book. In the end I found that in France these concealment of stolen property were investigated by the Mattéoli Commission, between 1997 and 2000. A USA wikipedia page then explains that the guilty banks and insurance companies committed themselves to refund the victims... without any mention of inflation, interests, nor convictions for the 55 years of concealment. Silence has been the rule since)).


What I understood later was that, by renouncing spending the rest of their lives brooding revenge feelings, victims in facts make a considerable evolutionary leap, allowing them to build a new personality, more free, more harmonious and emphatic. This is how mockery, bullying, persecutions or repression push in fact their victims up, while the culprits descend beyond visibility. This attitude is what Christians and Buddhists advocate, which allows us to use the force of evil as a motivation to work to our progress, in a kind of spiritual judo, instead of letting it to destroy us.


I also decided stopping mentioning that I had been a victim of pedophilia myself, with the «professor». I had quickly noted that, each time this went in the conversation, many persons started to behave bizarrely. They seemed stuck, staring at me, or ostentatiously looking elsewhere. Some on the contrary wanted me to «speak». If ever I did, they started approaching their face from mine until I smelled their foul breath, while making sad grimaces and emitting bad vibes. Or on the contrary, a lecher smile betrayed their enjoyment of hearing gross details. I even saw some becoming angry, calling me a «slut», I heard this word several times. Too few showed simple compassion and human support, so I would not anymore take the risk of such humiliations.

Too few seemed able to admit that I wanted simply to turn the page, stop being constantly reminded of these ugly events, and rebuild a life without being defined as a broken victim. They wanted me to keep weeping for eternity. Pedophilia is seen as such a sin, that people consider a worse sin to heal from its injuries!

But the worse was that, whenever the conversation arises on this topic, people always thought that my attacker was my father. Everybody seemed to know the case, and automatically held the accusations as true, as if some secret network had spread the word in the whole society, and was dedicated to punish me for eternity. I first avoided expressing anger, saying politely that these accusations were false, and anyway cannot be proved since they waited that he was dead without doing any inquiry. If these people insisted, they were quite astonished to see «such a sweet young lady» suddenly in an unbound furry. After I ignored these blokes.


I could not abandon so easily, though, and I still searched on the Internet, some way to give them a lesson. Or at least to understand their motives.

I found that the magistrate with the perfect lawn and remote controlled hate had been granted an award for the defense of women by an organization claiming to be feminist. How could militants of equality be so far from the truth? Could it be that they shot at an innocent girl just to hit a man? After all, terrorists do this daily, pretending to «defend» people by killing them. Pedoclasts are even worse, and in more they are cowards who do not have to fear punishment by society.

This organization had a meeting in a town nearby. I wanted to attend, still trying to understand. While hiding from my mother, because I was still partly dependent on her. Happily Patrick took me again in his car, and he attended too. He would even pay me the hostel for the night.

We had to bear two long hours of generalities and self-congratulation, without any real content. A bit sleepy, I stopped hearing a moment. But in this way some patterns became apparent: «the men» were abusing women. «The men» were not good to children. «The men» were all latent pedophiles. «The women» needed to «revert the balance of power». The later point startled me with this sudden understanding: they were not looking for equality, they wanted their turn of domination! They were not accusing some abusive men, they were accusing and rejecting all the men at a whole, just as racists do! These persons were not feminists, but women supremacists.

I also noted some recurrent names, theoreticians of feminism, militants, and several psychoanalysts.

After the end of the conference, there was a hubbub of people not looking at us (one even ran right into me, discovering my presence only when bumping in me. She even frowned at me, annoyed, as if it was me who was wrong). We quickly went out of this room, to feel the fresh air of the night.

The next day I looked on Internet for the names I had noted.




So the «defense of women» was extreme left, and the «defense of men» was extreme right. That was just too gross. Totally wrong, obscene, utterly ridiculous.


Later I learned by faculty friends that many extreme left militants, wanting to «re-educate people», but without «endorsing the system» were doing... social workers! This explains how these men could be willing accomplices of women wanting to enslave them!! ((Note of the author: this is not a fiction, I saw it first hand when I was a student. This could explain why my own Orwellian sociopath was seeing «ideologies» on my table)).


Well. After some days to be able to swallow these ugly dis-realities, I took this life decision: whenever I would support, help or defend people, it would be ALL PEOPLE EQUALLY, independently of race, religion, and above all whatever their gender!


At this point, I still had not decided what to do of my life, having first to repair all what the corrupt judges and pervert social workers had broken. But I was already feeling some interesting directions, like helping for a better world where corrupt judges would not exist, and all children would enjoy loving parents. No idea on how this would connect with my science studies, but I was feeling that, even for such purposes, science was a much better help than law.


Happily, when Patrick had left me at the door of my hostel room, he had a nice smile, which warmed my heart!

Chapter 12: Further experiments

(Several characters, third person)


Joan, Vassiliev, Anzu and Namgyal could not speak of their experiment through the Internet, and they were seldom gathered all together. They took again a SETI meeting as a cover, and went on a visit of the Allen radio-telescope, which is involved in the search of SETI signals. They took a pretext as what there was not much to do on the spot, to have a bit of a trek in the surroundings. But the lava field besides the observatory proved difficult to walk in, so that they took their cars and moved to the Hat Creek paragliding landing area, a wonderful wooded place with large grassy clearings. There they established a little picnic camp, still visible at 40°50'19.69"N 121°26'21.69"O. Joan's rucksack was containing a little radar, so that they would not be surprised by unexpected visitors.


Anzu first described the new integrated circuit she had prepared. It was working as expected, and first tests showed a significant increase in useful detection. This is what allowed for Léo to connect, first in private, and then in a public venue.

However several unexpected issues happened.

First was that it was very difficult to type text from the Vashyu paradise, and probably from any other spiritual world. Indeed written text is totally useless up there, since people are understanding the thought of each other. In more, thoughts and meanings can be directly deposited into objects, which makes them as stable as writing. Only artists use letters, and seldom. So Léo-Malyan was able to send letters only with a tiring concentration level, and Elyan, who never learned to read, was totally unable to do so. For this reason, Anzu wanted to learn to the circuits the sound of languages instead of letters. This is a much more natural way for a brain to work, and even for a dis-incarnated consciousness: we can visualize a speech sound, much more easily than letters and text. People in Vashyu were sometimes speaking for fun, or for poetry, songs, mantras. But the integrated circuit she already had designed was too small for this, so that she needed to use several of them, each learning a set of sounds. From here, these sounds could be noted using the phonetic alphabet. In a further project, the circuit would contain a map of the body, leading to a control of its movements. But for current virtual worlds, keystrokes were still enough.

The problem, unfortunately, is that Vassiliev had not an indefinite source of funding. He could bring a variable sum each year, but not enough for a new larger circuit. So that the researches would be slow, and Anzu would not be able before years to create the larger circuit she wanted. And getting some kickstarter funding was not a solution either, they would be considered as crooks and anyway they did not wanted yet to attract the attention on their researches. They had found some more people interested in them, but unfortunately without money.


Second issue was that the contact was very erratic. Some day it worked, others not.

Namgyal, their precious spiritual specialist and contact in Vashyu, explained why: such contacts need an important spiritual significance, or a life stake such as love, family or health. A father to contact his daughter fell in that category, but only once.

He explained that spiritual worlds are still obeying the law of cause and effect. In this, Namgyal was just explaining the traditional Tibetan understanding of these things. But he apparently draw the conclusions much further than the tradition: this condition makes that worlds like Vashyu are enclosed in their own series of cause and effect, just as the physical world is. This is what makes that it is usually impossible to sense Vashyu from Earth, and conversely impossible to receive information from Earth into Vashyu. Even traveling from one spiritual world to another spiritual world needs a special device, the hypergate, or spiritual spaceships.

These considerations were leading to an annoying conclusion: a permanent contact needed much more integration between the material side and the spiritual side. That is, concretely, there should be one detector per consciousness, with a specially learned neural circuit, just as if this detector was the brain of this precise consciousness.

This made of the detector much more than a simple electronic device: a body! A spare material body, that a dis-incarnated person could use to communicate with his family or friends. But a body which could, just as the flesh body, be destroyed, stolen or literally assassinated. Namgyal called this a lokouten, which in Tibetan means literally «electric bodily receptacle» (for a consciousness).


Last news with Namgyal were not nice. He used to thoroughly avoid any activity or declaration which could irritate his nitpicking government, but his very Tibetan origins made him intrinsically suspect to the eyes of some, just as Jews still are in other countries. What happened is that apparently some local administration changed, and he was interrogated about his activities out of China. He spoke of SETI as a cover, but this was no longer enough, if even the new administrators knew what the SETI is. This made that at any time he could be forbidden to leave China. He could still take refuge in another country, but he needed to keep in touch with his students in China, for his future purposes in relation with the China events in the 2040's, some of them happening in Shanghai.

So Namgyal requested Joan to operate a copy of Léo's detector (still using letters) for himself alone. No administration could forbid Namgyal to spend time in Vashyu, when he meditated, or quite simply during his sleep. From there he could still communicate freely with the team, with a detector.

Well Namgyal also had some Internet resources allowing him to communicate without being spied on by any petty bureaucrats needing to justify their pay.

And if really things went bad, he also had some special lama methods to neutralize the jerks.


Joan was happy with hosting Namgyal's detector, besides Léo's. She could not integrate it in an USB stick, but the printed circuit board could be presented as an experimental random generator. Its true purpose could not be found by an inquirer, and even by a specialist in electronics, since the operative part, Namgyal's training in using it, was immaterial. The bunker in her cottage, with the steel door, could be presented as a protection for her expensive equipment, in a wild region where all kind of bad encounters were possible.

But she removed from her home any document hinting at their true project, wondering if she was really more safe than Namgyal. She was not risking jail or death, but discovering what happened to Léo made her think: even in a democracy, there is still the risk of false accusation, leading to a police inquiry finding her secret laboratory and seizing the precious computers. Hoping the lab could still pass for some personal electronic research related to SETI. Anyway, there was a bank of computers running SETI@home, more a lot of documentation on the topic, for her official work.

She was also responsible for maintaining Léo's Internet connection with Inworldz. Indeed this was the weak point of the whole project, and an inquiry should not lead from Inworldz to her secret shed in Montana. Yet the virtual played a crucial role in the experiment: in tests with just the detector, Léo was barely able to move the average of detector outputs. He really needed his virtual body and a scene in the virtual world.



Anzu was glad that her detector worked so well, at least much more than she expected. She was thrilled that a true dialog could be established. So she had projects of more complex, more brain-like detectors. Unfortunately, just as with Vassiliev, her time and funding were not extensible. She had registered the whole project under a fake customer name, for the accountancy of her company. In case of a control, she could still argue that it was some one-time customer who gave wrong information and then defected. But for a permanent project this was more delicate to hide. Perhaps she had to start a totally separated company, in some offshore tax haven. But she did not liked the idea of using these gangsters methods. Without saying that nobody knows who created the Tor software and others, which run the dark Internet. Using them could be equivalent to give all her information to the worse persons.

As to Joan, she was not a credible customer to Anzu's company, as she was only a lone researcher, not supposed to have so much money.

And SETI was not really involved. A good cover for discussions and foreign encounters, but not for transferring funds. Doing this in the name of the SETI could expose it to public shaming and retaliation, and it already had far enough of this. Much better to keep the SETI away of all this.


Yet SETI was still a great place for meeting all kinds of interesting people. So Anzu was glad she could hire Mokhtar, a talented Pakistani engineer who had to hide from terrorists in his country. Since, he was living in Europe, protected by an European government under a fake identity. So Mokhtar started programming automotive and aviation embedded computers, the main activity of Anzu's company. But he also was one of the rare engineers understanding quantum computers. This is how he did a secret try of using the D-Wave as a detector! Indeed the PEAR study had shown that single quantum interactions were working as well as analog systems, so that the superconducting rings could also be used as random generators. Unfortunately they were not intended to do so, and Mokhtar was able to produce his first detection only just before running out of allowed computer time. He could still refine his codes using emulations on classical computer, but these emulations being digital, they cannot receive the influence of a consciousness. Still it was a promising track, as soon as specially designed circuits could be built.

While waiting, Anzu preferred to design a more classical detector project, counting no less than about 10000 analog artificial neurons, in a multi-layer layout which could be configured in several ways. Anzu thought it would be an excellent tool for researching the best synapses distribution, including in the case of using qubits as detectors.


They had to interrupt their discussions, as with the sunny afternoon a paraglider started to fly from the hill just east of their camp. This was meaning, in some minutes, a recovery car running in their direction. Even the paraglider seemed to aim at them, thinking it would be a nice meeting with other interested people.

Indeed this is what happened, and they spend two hours discussing with this person of paragliding and of the Allen radio-telescope they were visiting. Then the discussion veered on the beauty of the surrounding landscape.

They still had some time alone together, later in the afternoon, to evoke a future of huge detector banks in Internet servers, used by deceased persons to communicate with their relatives in the physical world, and even better in virtual worlds. However in the frustrating current rate, this would still need years of development. But this objective seemed technically possible.

If ever such a detector worked in a routine way, it would become the body of a deceased person. And so, this circuit would need to be legally considered as a person! An electronic body, a lokouten. Destroying such a circuit, or simply shutting it down, would be an assassination.

Yet there was a way out. Actually, the essential of the working of the detector was in the immaterial consciousness of the person, accustomed to a specific detector. However, what physically identified this specific detector was not its hardware, but its connectome, the whole set of values of all the synapses. Set which is also unique for each person. So that this connectome could be saved as a computer file, and moved to any other circuit in the world!

This opened fantastic possibilities, but for Anzu accustomed to ASIC circuits and the like, she was looking even further: very likely several different neurons layouts would emerge, and with time some rather complex and sophisticated ones. So most probably each physical detector circuit would just be a bank of spare neurons, which would be assembled at run time, after a computer file, in an ASIC way. After, the connectome would be loaded into this network, still from the same file. Yes she would do that way, starting from the very next project. The file format would emerge after the needs.

But Namgyal warned them from another issue: deceased people have totally different concerns and ways of reasoning. Especially, they no longer have the neural ego! So that they no longer have all our distractions and mental vaguary, all our inner movie and chatter. No more soccer, no more television! No more secret shameful thoughts! This makes that communicating with Earth soon becomes tedious for them, and it could even disturb their peace of mind. To the point they may end refusing it!

So this communication will remain rare, and only some special stakes could justify this, or even make it possible. This is what had happened with Léo, who had a daughter to save. But we must not expect to have people chatting of the last soccer match between Earth and the Beyond, while drinking beer and clicking likes on web pages! Not only people in the beyond will never be even remotely interested in this, but in more they will actively suppress this kind of preoccupation from their minds.

They are in a different world, after all, with more interesting stakes, much stronger pleasures, different mindset. Most have left behind a life of suffering and disease, seeing with horror their material body becoming old, ugly, painful and disabled. Many remember Earth as a dirty and bad smelling place. So if ever Earth interfered in their life, they would feel this as an inconvenience, wanting it to stop, just as we want to suppress a recurring nightmare. The only Earth thing they are still interested in, is people they loved. But just watching them without being able to help them is so frustrating that few actually do.

Not to mention what would happen if such devices were discussed in public, or even became fashioned! Mocked, adulated, exposed to despising and politicking speculation, the whole system would turn into a gigantic farce, cutting off any authentic communication.

So that, in the end, it was better that their attempts remain discreet, see secret. Clearly mankind had to continue its path alone, at least still for some time. And the lokutens would remain one of these things ignored and denied by mainstream media, but that people really needing them would encounter without searching them.


Their time in Hat Creek coming to its end, the team separated each in different directions, who to the tedious gathering of funds, who to the design of new circuits. Anzu proposed a file format for connectomes, with the .cno extension. However its structure was still too fuzzy to be of any use yet.

Chapter 13: Aftermath

(By Christine, first person)


It was some days after the experiment that I received the last message from Léo, my dad. It arrived as an offline email, from Inworldz:


Christine Faery, you have received an offline message from Léo Juste!


January 27, 2018, 4:32 am


dkqlqit5f8s elpfgaKZ Dljeec dfgh9ePaatricck Ppatruck love thee loves thefr2hd_s d Be appy dfswif himmrzdfr25 af


Stunned, I had to read many times. What was this meaning? I wanted to reply him, but probably with the experiments no longer operating, he would not receive me any more.

Then I realized. For months now, Patrick had been so helpful and so supportive.

I had met him at school, and by chance we went in the same faculty. One day that the news were speaking about abused children, we had exchanged our stories. He had been sexually undertaken several times by his father, under the pretense of «sex education». Fortunately, the homosexual nature of the incident did not broke his desire for a woman. But he knew what I was feeling, that I was an injured bird too.

What saved him from insanity was that he escaped home, after one of these sessions. Of course he was quickly caught by the gendarmes. What happened next is incredible: the gendarmes were already suspecting something (they are parents too, just look behind the gendarmerie and you will understand). So, instead of just bringing him back home, they interrogated him first. But not in the «police» way: they started by immediately putting him at ease, as friends or a caring family would do. So that he could speak of his plight, without shame or drama. Of course he cried while telling his story, but to see the gendarmes so respectful reconciled him with society and with mankind at large. His experience was totally opposite of mine: representatives of society who showed helpful and respectful! Patrick often said that it was the Gendarme's attitude who gave him a taste for studies, and allowed him to undertake the faculty.

Patrick also had a fantastic mother who always stuck with him. I envied him a lot! What I understood of this is that being a good parent is not a matter of gender: men and women as well can be good or bad parents. And saying that «children need their mother» is just crude sexism. Reverted sexism, compared to the dreaded times where fathers were called «chef de famille» (family chiefs), but as much sexism. And as much inexcusable.

And, during nearby two years Patrick was patient enough to be my friend, while strictly avoiding any sexual gesture or innuendo. Yet he strongly desired me, as he told me later. Admirable guy!


I told him of the strange experiment. I though he would conclude that I was mad, or abused by some false scientists. But no. He remained confident with me, that this strange experiment really took place. He even created a character in Inworldz. He saw the names of the team, but he never found them on line.

He gave me a piece of advice, however, which I thought was very wise: not telling anyone about this. If we were the only ones to talk about it, we would automatically be considered mad, without any attempt of verification. If we created a movement, it would be even worse: the first cabal would ridicule us and totally block any communication with Vashyu. This is the kind of reason why the media advertised so much the bogus Frank Fontaine UFO case, or their imaginary 2012 Mayan prophecy, or still their «terrorist hypothesis» phantasm in the AZF catastrophe. The television has the monstrous power to make millions of people think the same thing at the same instant. Thus, every time they serve a disturbing new, the negative effect is as brutal as a grand satanic ritual.

Moreover, with the destruction of Inworldz shortly after these events, my only contacts remained the address in Shanghai, and Joan's email. I had occasional exchanges with her about SETI. I never wrote to Namgyal, for fear of getting him into trouble with his government. In fact, neither address was secure, so we could not talk about their fantastic experience. Would it continue? Would it lead to a system which could be used routinely, or would it remain confined to exceptions like mine? In any case, they too had no interest in making their work public. This condemned them to obscurity, making slow progress without real funding.

Even if they came up with a usable system, the result depends on too many conditions to constitute a proof in the eyes of materialists. wikipedia would call them anti-science, and their fate would be sealed.


Patrick had a shock while discovering the last message... How somebody living in a far away afterlife paradise, communicating through an improbable contraption, by secret channels in the guts of the Internet and of virtual worlds, could have pierced his dearest secret?

Indeed Dad really had to tell me... because I was so far away from love and sex. Patrick just confirmed that Léo was true... but despite his intense desire and mad beating heart, he abstained to try to embrace me or something: he knew that what would pop up in my mind would be the greasy face of the wicked «professor».


Fortunately Patrick was an adept of meditation. He introduced me to some methods to get rid of the ugly face. And see him instead...

And it worked! That it was finally so simple to control our mind left me aghast. But I understood that my dad went much further, to the point of destroying death itself.

Later we much more involved into spirituality, and it opened so many gates to the real life. I understood why Léo was so keen to make me know, about Patrick, that he convoked again the large support group, and the 500 worked again to let us be united. True romantic love is so important, that even highly spiritual beings bow to it.


I choose a radical surgical contraception. But reversible: I never enacted my dreadful threat of sterilizing myself. When I took the phone for the surgeon, I felt a strong restrain to do so: we never know how life will be in 10 or 20 years. I also had a diffuse feeling, that I understood later: definitively renouncing to having children would give the victory to this rotten civil servant. It is my life, not his.

Defloration was an uneasy step. I was still ashamed of my body, because of the «professor» constant innuendo about the «dirty parts». For this reason I did not wanted Patrick to start with the scene of blood. I preferred to ask a doctor for doing it. A female doctor, I insisted. She was so kind! Things went well with her. There are fantastic people in this society, even in the social services!

I also wanted to have my body hair removed. Since they grew, I disliked them. For me they were porn. So removing them was a kind of purification, as if I was getting rid of anything «dirty» in my body!

Patrick was touched by these attentions. But he told me that I was a beautiful and desirable woman anyway... fist time ever I heard anything like this!


One of our first mornings awakening together, he had an amused smile: «You called me Baloo in your sleep» he explained. It was my turn to laugh. I explained him that Baloo was my stolen teddy bear, that I used to hug in my sleep. The need for tenderness transcends the ages of life, and it does not depend on sexuality or chastity! For this reason I keep calling Patrick Baloo, but only when we are alone together.


We had to hide from my mother for two more years, before openly living with Patrick in he same place. She erupted in rage and insults, when she found out. I was terrified, from all these years of bullying, so that it was Patrick who explained her. She frankly choked when he added that I was getting a rent from an «Arab sheikh» (Rafik).

But I was no longer needing her for my studies. Nor for anything else. She had never been my mother, just a jail guard.


And I knew that somewhere in the Vashyu paradise, a true mother was thinking at me.




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