Thursday, September 28, 2023

Xerxes - The Roles of Men

Xerxes, image from Wikipedia,
altered slightly in photoshop

The Roles of Males

Young Persian males were raised by their own mothers, aunts, and grandmothers for the first few years of their lives. When toddlerhood faded boys were sent to elders and wise men to be trained in reading, writing, the arts, astronomy, and more. Afternoons and evenings were spent running, playing, as well as working in the fields and barns alongside the men.

Concurrently when they reached early manhood around age 14 these lessons and chores were reduced and the training in the skills of war were begun. Archery, horsemanship, spear throwing, and leadership skills were amoung the top desired skills of course. There was little time allotted for the pursuit of girls.

Men were trained in battalions of 100. These battalions were led by the highest officials in the village or town. Training concluded by the age of 20 if not called to war before then. The call to arms to train with the battalion was made monthly and lasted only two days. This kept the men strong and agile.

When not training men were employed in various jobs. Tending to the field was beneath no one and at the time of planting all hands played a role. Tending to the stallions. Care of the chariots and carts. Merchants. Craftsmen. And of course full time guards and soldiers.

Men took wives soon after they completed the rigorous first training. The young lovers kept house with the girl’s parents until the first child or two came. It was then that a separate house was prepared and it was here that a second wife was taken. This second wife moved into the home with the young family but maintained her own quarters of a room or two. The number of wives a man had could vary. He could also take concubines that he did not marry. Divorce was rarely sought in a Persian household.

Given fortunate circumstances a man could live into his eighties. His heirs could number in the hundreds at the time of his death. The goal for every Persian man was to have as many sons as possible. Persian men held this as the measure of their success.

Copyright 2023 Terran Cognito

Xerxes - The Sons of Darius


Image from Wikipedia, with added photoshop clarifications

The Sons of Darius

The multitude of sons of Darius is owed to his good health. His endless vitality. His love of beautiful women. And most importantly his Persian lineage and loyalty to the bloodline. You find 11 sons. I share that there are 20 or more sons that are known. To call them lesser sons is a misnomer.

Any known son of Darius was treated with the utmost respect and placed in powerful positions within the ranks and within the household. Most were sent out at emissaries and became leaders with regional authority and jurisdiction or commanded great armies. But recall that only the sons of the important bloodlines were treated to the complete royal life. That included my brothers by my mother and her sisters.

The three eldest brothers and sons of my father’s first union were thick and sturdy like their mother’s father the landowner. Built for strength and endurance. Of these the youngest was my first friend. Only two years older than I he was the one who desired my company and allowed me entry to their childhood games. He was kind and generous and I enjoyed his company. The older were tolerant of me but protective of their own mother and this often caused some strife between us.

In our early years none of us knew of the internal struggles to come with the death of our father. But let us remain in our youth for a bit longer now. Allow me to group the brothers with their mother’s in mind. Recall my father took many wives. He also made unions with other women both wittingly and unwittingly.

My mother’s sons were to become the full sword and shield of the Achaemenid bloodline. Her own father was a son of a son of a King of Kings. That in itself strengthened the family hold on the Persian throne. Her lineage was enough removed from the original to only be strengthened by the union with my father. The sons of Atossa were revered the most and this was known throughout the lands.

Our younger brothers were treated as younger brothers are often treated. Teased. Taunted. And loved. My mother’s sisters gave Darius four more sons. Four more heirs to secure the Achaeminid line. The irony is these wives also gave Darius most of his daughters and therefore most of his troubles. Recall that Darius was a good and strong father who doted on his heirs. He left the raising of his daughters to their mothers. And this makes for another story at another moment.

A handful of sons were the result of Darius’ travels. These unions might last a month but not much longer. When a son was later born Darius was alerted by those loyal to him and the son and mother were brought into the palace. Most were content with this position.

As in most families there is a stray or two and this is true in the instance of our extensive family. Two of my father’s younger sons left never to return. The first was the son of a woman with whom Darius had only one child. The fortunate union between the two was a brief encounter in Darius’ travels east farther from the reach of his own loyal men. When Darius learned of this son years later he sent for the mother and child to be housed within the palace. The son was treated well. The mother was treated well. When the son came of age the mother returned to her people. The son remained for a short time. He left later never to be heard from again.

The other wanderer was born from a fraught union. His mother the daughter of a Commander in Darius’ army. A union created on a chance encounter after a well placed dinner. The daughter young and enticing to the rarely satisfied Darius. The Commander was unhappy with the mix. The daughter was delighted. Purposeful. Ambitious. She gave birth to a healthy boy but when she learned there was no place in the palace for her beside Darius she disfigured her own child. The damage was irreparable. This young woman was swifted away by her father so that no retribution would be made by Darius. The child was raised in the palace. His every want and need was attended to. His desire was near isolation and the company of only one or two scholars to quench his unending thirst for knowledge. He left in the night. Unaccompanied. Never to return.

Although Darius sent others to follow and to trace the path of these young sons. No word was ever received of the final destination of these prodigal sons or of their individual destinies.

There of course are endless stories of the lives of the sons of Darius. It is within these records that I desire to provide an image of the moments that are a summation of the lineage. Details too many to share here. The sons of Darius gave sons to the Achaemenid line and within these numbered well into one hundred grandsons. Thus lives the evidence that the lineage of the King of Kings did not die within the house of the Achaemenid. Persia lives on to this moment.

Copyright 2023  Terran Cognito

XERXES - My Mother: Atossa


My Mother: Atossa

My father called her Attoples. (Uh-top-o-leez). She was his third and favorite wife, Atossa, daughter of Cy-rees the Great. Although more wives followed. This one union brought Darius I, great pleasure. Great joy. Great progeny. And magnificent lineage to seal the throne of his empire for generations.

Atossa was lean and limber and of course very beautiful. She was sharp witted yet cool tongued and this gave entrance to the conversations of men. She was soft yet determined. Never cruel but pragmatic. Warm hearted and comforting to those close in her circle. Circumspect with those not yet familiar.

History has not been kind to her. The Greeks have written of her with some disdain. Flawed is that text. She was a great confident to her brother. He trusted her alone with advice. This gave outsiders and unfamiliars improper ideas about them. It was innocent. That is all to be said of that now.

Her first love was indeed my father. Poor woman. She was young. Royal. Courted by many royals from far away lands. Darius I wanted her. Cy-rees was pleased with the union. Atossa was delighted also. The nuptials were swift, the gift exchanges accepted with gratitude and off the couple went to share time alone. It was during these moments that I was conceived. In love on her part. In desire for a fine lineage on his part. That made for a very acceptable beginning, as he treated her very well always.

As their union expanded with more sons, Darius trusted her more and more with his royal business. Lands, food stores, education, arts, celebrations were all now part of her day to day responsibilities along with caring for young sons.

Her life was complete. Full. She was forever doting and disciplining her sons. Proud yet open to all support from others of their best upbringing. She was a staunch disciplinarian. Furtive was the son that thought he could sway her when he was wrong. When right, she was stalwart and doting to her sons.

Life in the company of Atossa was always full of pleasure. She was bright and thoughtful. Her sons adored her. Her daughter wanted to emulate her. Her two younger sisters admired her without jealousy as they too joined the royal house of Darius bearing him more sons.

It was this family unity and support that provided for a wondrous childhood. We children were supported and spoiled and cared for above all else. These days provide memories that to this very moment of now warm my heart.

Atossa was integral in my entrance to manhood. She selected those who would train me. She worked with those who provided my classical education. She warned off any who would cause me misdirection or harm.

There is more to the story of Atossa. For now. I leave her here to rest. Let us visit her once again as we explore more together at another moment.

Transmission Notes from Denice: 

Sept 20, 2023
Terran: Do you get a feel of his voice when he communicates?

Denice: Yes. His voice is deep powerful. His tone is sublime. He has been through it all. Sharing the good parts in between feels very important. 

Denice: I had a visit from Atossa the other morning. Quick visual with two moving images.

Denice: First, she had her long hair down and was in a formal coral colored gown with a full skirt that was textured, or embroidered with designs and had a three-quarter length sleeve matching. She had a few small white streaks in her hair. She twirled a bit to show me her gown and smiled.


Denice: Next, she was dressed in a pale pink American style women's sleeveless dress, matching shoes, and her hair was pulled back in a bun. She walked to me and patted me on the right shoulder. She was smiling.  

Denice: No audio with either video*. Feels like the second image is her now.  

*Terran note: "Video" is our term for telepathic images that are in motion like a movie.  I get them as well but I am not as skilled at it as Denice is. They also can be from multiple "camera angles which one can rotate through for a better view.  I sometimes struggle for the right words to use, as this is not remote viewing in the military sense of it, with blind targets.  This is often full on 4K imagery if you will for the image definition quality.  This is not blind men in Plato's cave describing an elephant.

Copyright 2023 - Terran Cognito 

Wednesday, September 27, 2023

Xerxes - My Father: Darius


My Father: Darius

As is true in the beginning of most unions my young mother adored her strong and handsome husband. Their time alone was cherished. He adored her as well and gave her every attention possible when two are in the beginning of a new union. That is true and accurate. What is also true and accurate is that the first, initial adoration between the two was short lived. Darius had a shorter span of adoration than most men of his stature and when mother became with child – me – father began to show attention to other women quite quickly.

But this story is not of my mother’s treatment. Rather this is the story of Darius. The side unseen by human eye. This is true of most great ones who are only chronicled by their enemies for historical purposes. So this story of Darius is the side unseen.

We began with his journey out of the wood. Post battle. Separated from his men. He was the leader then of that battle. His men were decimated. He was alone. He journeyed past the field of the benevolent landowner who befriended him. Joined his household through his recovery. And married the eldest, most beautiful of the landowner’s daughters. That much we have said.

What was not yet shared is that these moments with this benevolent host and his gracious family changed the life of the Great Darius sure and well. Darius was treated with kindness and respect but this was not the luxury and constant support of which he was accustomed as the son of a king.

It was on this bucolic land that my father gained insight into the human condition. It was on this plot of farmland that my father gained insight into the ingenuity and possibilities of the human mind. It was in this healing and rustic environment my father created his vision for the future of Persia.

It is true my father was the third king of Persia in his immediate line. It is true and accurate that his title known far and wide was ‘King of Kings’. This was not a self-given title by those who reigned before him. The title was the gift of the ancient Asian empire of Zheng to my father’s third father before.

Darius grew in these moments of solace to be a thinking man. To imagine the great possibilities that innovation and architecture could bring to Persia. He imagined buildings and bridges and even boats as he healed his body.

Returning now to his time of my birth, Darius was a strong and influential guide in my upbringing yet he left the daily duties of care and decisions to my mother. By my first year my father had already taken another bride and created new life within her. My mother was not slighted by this move as the bride was her own dear sister.

The country estate was booming with family and friends and Darius was well pleased. It was from here that he met with his advisors to plan the great cities of Persia. These cities are known Persepolis. Tynad, Senchort. Lesser known are Tylama, Bagzhat, Meliopor. All lost to historical function now. Deserted and desert. But known and loved in our lifetime.

To continue with the pleasing perspective of Darius. He was strong. Vital. Innovative. Loyal to his bloodline. Considerate of the women in his life. Discrete. Temperate. And often solemn. His story is told by those who feared him and by more who abhorred him. As is true of most great ones, the absolute story is rarely known.

Copyright 2023 - Terran Cognito

Xerxes - One Story: The Girl in the Apricot Gown


One Story: The Girl in the Apricot Gown

When the road ends and one turns to look back. In complete reflection. All that remains are the stories. And that one single truth is absolute for all who have come before us. And all who follow.

These stories of my life in Persia are not limited to me. The expanse of history and lives well lived precedes me. And follows me. My stories are but a small scene in a larger tapestry. Let us share one such scene now.

I return to the girl in the apricot gown. Standing barefoot in the stream. Pale streaks of sunlight peaking through the heavy canopy dropping diamonds on the water for her to admire. She tucks her long hair back. She looks over her shoulder at a small bird chirping on the nearby bank. Smiles. Chestnut eyes smiling.

Recalling the scents and sounds as I lay there under cover of shade on the eastern edge of the stream behind her, I am complete. The scene is heart filled. She does not notice me and I do not give away my place. On that particular day.

There is an opportunity that follows. I hid once more. I waited. Watched. She moved. She sang. She was delightful to behold. I leapt forward, but she moved swiftly, not aware I was behind. Was she even aware of my presence?

There is a moment to share here of my previous transmissions. If you feel inspired to include a short vignette of that waterfall and sweet water stream so many aeons ago?

I share this image. She was older. Long brown tresses loosely flowing and caught in the slight breeze. She was looking down at her feet. I did not have that vantage. That view from her eyes.

My eyes were locked on her through the greenery. The foliage fluttering in unison with her immaculate hair. Her garb was a pale orange. Not the color of a ripened peach yet not as subtle as the heart of a passion fruit.

Yes. We had the luxury of both fruits in our abundant orchards. Though you may not find a source external to this telling.

I watched. I had begun the turmoil of manhood. Youth was forsaken now. I often wandered to my hidden refuge after the rigorous training with broad sword.

I crawled forward. Silently as if i was a hibernating snake. Slow but with purpose.

I lifted the branch of a small oak. Sycamore. It matters not that particular detail. I caught the scent of her. Foreign. Delightful. Unlike the women of our compound. Unlike any female i had ever met.

Her feet were bare. I did not have the moment to search for her sandals. The hem of her gown was soaked in the stream. Darker than the rest. A small thin swath of fabric danced with her brown locks. But not in any rhythm i recognized.

She hummed a tune. Softly. Elegantly. Sweetly. To say she sounded of the angels would be fool hearty. All beauties sound like an angel when the young male heart first falls upon one.

I waited. I watched. My heart lept as she slipped through the soft waters and up and over the opposite bank.

She was gone! And then I was after. There was a noise from behind. I did not turn to see the maker. I only moved forward. Into and across the small expanse of cool water. Up and over the tufts of long grass.

She was gone. It was instant. Not a sound ahead to follow.

It was for me to retreat to the call of my brothers behind me then. And I leave this moment. This visual here.

So I return to the years previously discussed. There was so much laughter and love shared. And again I say how the children and the youth were spared from the pain and suffering that would soon part the curtains of our adolescence and young adulthood.

Before the call to train. Before the call to separate the warriors from the workers. We stayed fit and full with days filled with movement and wonderful foods. Not a worry ahead for any young boy or perhaps even young girls. Although I reiterate that we did not wander with the girls. The natural separation flowed without quandary. It was a simple divide of purpose and of pleasure.

It occurs to me now this was perhaps even by design although never stated. Was it the guise of the adults to whisper this convoluted separation without advancement? Perhaps. Perhaps it was the nature of our culture. To ease the children into adulthood. To prepare the youth for the formidable future.

I share this thought now. Perhaps no one is ever free from the designs of others?

This retrospect is fraught with danger that spoils the divinely delightful youth of our Dear Persia.

There is more. Yet I leave you with this image. In all that is. I am Xerxes.

To continue as the moments flow and my recall is in play, I will share one more scene of the girl in the apricot gown. I feel now that I will not reveal her name. That gives more pause to the reader. Mystery? More that I protect her value through these words and the historical documents once in writing.

This day she was in blue. Soft, gentle, flowing blue. Lighter than the sky or the sea. More of the bird’s egg in a spring nest. Sitting on the same bank that I had before hidden my presence. Her scent still intoxicating. Her eyes still chestnut with flecks of pale sunlight sparkling when she smiled. I approached without hiding. Sat beside her. I gave her my name. She did not respond

Birds sang in the distance.. Sunlight streamed through the canopy. The stream hummed a beautiful tune to set the scene for our first encounter.

She was my first beloved. Even before that moment. I was not yet a complete man. Though I felt manly. She was not yet a complete woman. Though she was ahead of me.

Our soft spoken exchange is private and will remain so always. She was breathtaking for a young one like me. She was perfect. We made one and only one arrangement. We would meet on this bank once more. I was to bring a blanket and some wine. She was to bring some fruit and some bread. And although we did not know it at that first conversation. We would share a moment that would not ever be forgotten. And is now documented for history.

And that is where we must leave the reader to notice and wonder? Imagine the encounter. Indeed the encounter was more than anyone could ever imagine.

Copyright 2023  - Terran Cognito

Xerxes - The Battles and the Wars

The Battles and the Wars

Little tribute will be paid to these topics. Enough has been chronicled about the loss of life and the general horrors of battle. It is no more. The lessons have been learned. To reflect any more would pay an undeserved honour to the idea of conquest. Of rampage. Of burned out lives ruined forever.

Instead let us share the moments in between and pay our focus here. The moments of reunion. Of complete and utter joy at the return of loved ones from months and years on the road far too far away from home.

The image of the men returning by ship. Grand vessels sailing across turquoise waters to the rocky precipice and sandy beaches and safe harbours of loved ones. The healing. The grace. The gratitude. The feasts and parties and long, long embraces.

The aging women. Nearly broken with grief and longing, with crooked shoulders bent over pots in wait for a son or even husband. Stews prepared daily for the inevitable return. The young mother with a new young son, greeting her husband as he lofts his heir into the sky with joyful play, delighted to meet this new one.

And daughters, on hearing the news of the return of fleets, gather daisies and violas and pink roses, creating wreaths twined with ivy to decorate the doors for the festive reunions. Of barrels opened and casks opened and fires far and wide roasting deer and mutton and perhaps even that cranky old ox that refused the plow for the last time.

Of music. Oh the music! Lute and lyre. Harp and drum. The tambourines. Of poets reveling in the coins granted to write of the returning heroes. Music into the night and morning. Dancing of old and young. Hand in hand, arm in arm, swinging and trotting to the beats ringing throughout the place.

And days later when the reverie slows, the families begin to fall into the old routines. The injured, healing quietly in the care of their own. The fallen remembered with love and tenderness in honour of their far away graves.

And weeks later, after seeds are planted and all are tended to, it is the moment to move forward. Plans made. Ideas fermented. Families and friends and neighbors safe and satisfied for the moment.

These are the moments to remember. The moments in between the wars. To give honour to those who tended the hearths while the warriors were gone. To give gratitude for those who returned. And to carve memorials to those who did not.

Copyright 2023 - Terran Cognito

Monday, September 25, 2023

Xerxes - One Last Mischief


One last mischief before manhood

It deems important to share the perspectives of youth unwasted. It was glorious. And to speak of the wealth of opportunities for gentle pleasures before the rougher duties of manhood presented itself to us!

At the age of ten or eleven we Persian boys were treated as kings. It was as if the adults knew of our future not yet foretold and gathered up every moment to spoil and treat us with more care than can be imagined.

If we desired an adventure in the wooded forests, it was permitted and encouraged. We were not aware then of the watchful eyes of the men kept hidden far enough away.

On more than one occasion in the heat and stillness of late summer, we trudged through the forests to that favorite spot opened to the expanse of stars. We would bathe in the stream to cool ourselves. Eat from the many baskets of fruits, meats, and breads that were carefully packed for us. And drink to our fill. Flasks of watered wine were not unusual in those last days of youth

We shared stories told to us by our elders, told to them by ancient ones we had never met. And in the few hours before the entry of our sun into the morning sky, we would settle down on blankets woven with colorful designs. Emblems of our rich upbringing and fortunate youth.

It was after one such adventure that we older of the boys stayed behind to tend the fire and play in the stream. Four of us. Or was it five? We felt the pull to manhood that wells up in the gut of every boy at some point. The sweetness of our youth and freedom fading, we were becoming aware of the work that approached us. The training in the ways of war. The rigid schedules of preparation for the expansion of our beloved Persia. It was spoken in hushed tones around the evening tables by the adults. And the years ahead for us were planned by the generals and the councilors who steered our fates.

Now I reflect and ponder. What forces unseen whispered into the dreams of our leaders to create such a savage future for our people? The principles underlying the spread of war and conquest were not seen in the light of day. The idea to take and take and take was surely sparked in some unknown darkness to be spread over decades and decades of governance?

To the last mischief before my manhood.

It was at the expense of a group of young soldiers. Camped not far from the edge of the forest that intersected with the last fields of our great horses. Training for the calvary meant a life of diligence and compassion for the large animals in their care. Each one given care of two to three horses, these soldiers attended to their duties with great honor. It was time consuming to feed. Wash. Brush. Tend to the hooves. Work through the rigors of training and galloping and charging. And when completed with one stallion, to begin with the next. So from daybreak to days end, the young soldiers and their horses were engaged.

It was after dark one hot summer night that the oldest of us boys sparked the idea. Why not sneak into the field and lure away a dozen or so of the horses? Take them through the woods to our favorite spot? At that moment we five agreed and carefully worked our way out to the horses. It was as easy as that. Or so we thought. Again unknown to us was the watchful eye of the adults that followed our every move. Hidden.

It was only eight horses. Or was it ten? That we were able to slip away quietly. Untying one from the next proved the hardest tasks because one move could spark a horse to bay up and alert all to our agenda.

We each rode one horse. Two of us had the tether of another horse in our hand. Another horse or two that were loosened from the rest followed in curiosity. It was not a long trip. We easily made it to the edge of our camp where we. Allowed the horses to drink their fill of the water. The simple plan was to keep the horses hidden here until dawn when the soldiers would be alerted to the missing ones.

It did not go as planned. The care of the horses was taken very seriously. If one was injured in the folly of a youthful prank it could mean that the horse was killed by its caretaker. And that potential loss was unthinkable to all who trained and served for so long.

It seems watchful eyes alerted the soldiers. They followed far enough behind us to avoid being seen or heard. When we were finally resting and nearing sleep, the soldiers pounced. It was a beating unmatched by any previous tussle. The twenty year olds were twice our size with even more powerful fists from the days and months of hard training.

Well bruised and bloody. We boys were rescued from near death by the watchful eyes. But not before being trounced. Severely. Well deserved? It was not until the end of our punishment that we had the luxury of pondering that swift and fierce beating.

It was a full month of servitude to the soldiers that we were sentenced. Side by side washing. Feeding. Training. And falling into exhaustion each night without the soft blankets and cool beds of our homes. The hot and dusty tents and living quarters smelled of bitter sweat and horse manure.

And from that moment on my own youth was ended permanently.

Copyright 2032 Terran Cognito

Saturday, September 23, 2023

XERXES - Childhood Mischief


First I submit gratitude to all who receive my words. In reaching out there are many who receive. Many not aware. It is not my intention to spread an egoic recital of my worth. Rather my intention is to share my own words. My own experience. My own story through my eyes.

Persia was more than an empire. It was a land of pastoral beauty. The farms and fields were interspersed with forests. It is true that record of this perception of Persia is lacking. It is true that the lands of this former empire are fraught with dust and sand and endless war. The winds of change come. The recompense for all that was done at the hands of all who caused pain and suffering is now. In this I am complicit. I too caused pain and suffering in my adult years. But it is my youth that I wish to share now.

The setting is a small field of poppy bright. Fragrant. Cool winds shuffling through the foliage surrounding the field. It was a secret paradise. Not far through the trees was a small stream. A pebbled bottom. Small fish darting through the swirling waters. It was here I first saw her. And that is where I end this part of my story to go backward further. To my early youth. Before I was trained in the brutal ways of war.

I was a boy of eight or nine. I was half the size of a full grown man. My cohorts were the same in size and stature. I was of average height. My hair left to grow. Often tied back or plaited. It was below my shoulders. Thick. My companions were always around. Sons of great advisors. Sons of field hands. We did not discriminate then between us. Each one who could run and climb and participate in our mischief and games was always welcomed. There was not a girl at that time who desired to run and climb. Had there been one. She would have been welcomed. The girls were interested in the household and care of family and friends. Pressed in the art of beauty and nurture.

We boys had other lofty ideals. Slipping in to the field and chasing the stallions. Riding the sheep. No the thought of tipping a cow was not present. The care of the herd was sacred. It was the very food that sustained the strong warriors for which we were all destined to become.

We ran to the orchards for cover. For treats. For respite from the very few chores that were imposed upon us. We were treated as royalty. All of us children. And laughter permeated nearly every moment.

There are few occasions of displeasure. Of spying on the adults to overhear the grim news of a far distant attack. Of the rare occasion that a loved member of the troupe we called family returned on the back of horse. Or in the bed of an old wooden cart. The deaths were far and few between as i recall. Yet now in retrospect and reflection we children were protected from it. From this vantage of all seen the death was a daily diversion for many of the adults. Death both natural and not. Dealt with immediately with reverence and yet without reverie. Nearly always kept hidden from the children.

This brief digression is complete. It sets the scene for the pure joy and comfort we children obtained. So why the mischief? Why not the mischief? There was always an urge to push boundaries of joy. And occasionally that included playing the adults for fools and fools pardon.

To the mischief. 

What would one do if all the days work of fig harvest was removed from view? The burden of revealing the theft of such harvest would fall to the youngest of workers. Taken to the emperor and guards this worker would be shaking with fear of reprisals for such a loss.

What if in the early morning of the last harvest day the youth stole into the sheds and removed the harvest to the palace?

What if in the boredom of the afternoon quiet ten or so half sized men stalked the orchards and removed the last of the baskets of figs. What if these baskets were carried one by one quietly without reprisal to the grand meeting hall?

What if these baskets were hidden under cover of the richest garments and blankets?

And then to the utmost regret of those men in the position of harvest and storage realizing the harvest has gone missing? Off to the palace the youngest worker was sent.

And upon entrance to a grand hall filled with grand adults in grand attire this young harvester was ushered to the front of the emperor and guard?

The moment of stillness as all watched is clear and present for me even in this now. And those adults holding back the mirth is one of pure delight.

And the emperor, bringing the young worker to the front of the bulk of garments and the children tearing away the colorful fabrics to reveal the figs!

The uproar of laughter and music and the flat leather soles of the sandals as the children ran circles around the worker.

I do not take complete credit for the grand scheme. But to the adults it was a great wonder. That the children would expend such energy to devise and implement such mischief.

A feast was prepared for all and spilled out into the courtyard as all of the people joined the merriment.

And this is but one moment of pleasure recalled now. Mischief in the palace and without. To the edges of the palace grounds was our field of play.

And we learned more than once that playing tricks on the goats was folly at best.

Copyright 2023 Terran Cognito

Friday, September 22, 2023

XERXES - My Beginning

My Beginning

With my first recollection of my command of a young body, I am being sung to sleep in the lap of my mother. Her floral scent comforting and familiar. The tone of her voice warming my heart. Brushing away the fear of sleep with her gentle fingers caressing my hair.

She was called Attopolese by my father. She was the daughter of the great ruler Cy-rees. I, her firstborn. Younger brothers and one sister followed, but I was forever sealed in her heart as her first and one true love.

Thus begins the setting of my station. Older siblings amoung the fray, but the first of the singular royal line of great Persian leaders. And much was expected of me.

The first eleven years were spent in glorious wonder. Exploring the grounds and buildings. Raised by everyone. Loved by all. Cared for and nurtured by all. There were always boys to climb fig trees. Servants to chase us from the stallions’ field. Women to feed us sweet treats. And little girls to tease and chase to our hearts content. Paradise for that age.

I share that I was one of adventure. Mischief. I see these words flow easily now. And I grasp the need to attend to the details by waiting for the correct moment for her to receive the message.

My parentage was a great advantage. The research is valid. I do not dwell on the gallantry of the upbringing. Persia was golden. Not a golden age. Not a richness unrewarded. Golden.

The air was ripe and fresh. The sands and swallows and small meadows and yes forests held a golden hue.

Yes ours is depicted as barren. A desert. A hollow dry place. In my days and nights there was much abundance of life and measured sadness.

The details of my young life are not most important. I am lost to history but for a few notes from a majical musician and a stealthy painter or two. A coin of great value bears my resemblance but that matters not. Not now. Not then.

I was happy. Well fed. Well practiced in the arts of athletes of my time. Archery. Racing. And horses. We did have the mastery of horsemanship.

The household is described as this. If you are interested. My first memory is of the open veranda. Fruits and other treats in baskets on a table. Children. Some my brothers running free and laughing. There were men and woman of great stature always gathered at our doorstep. In and out. Making great plans. Discussing great adventures. Weaving the future of our great Persia.

There were long and straight halls leading off the grand meeting place. And rooms for sleep were plenty and well decorated. Yes there were silks and cottons and every manner of woven fabrics. As if that is important?

Oh and the colors? Yes. Vibrant to the eye. Deep and rich. And hand dyed by the very masters of the art. Each one pleased to share talents that were housed in the palace.

The beds were of comfort. The food was plenty. The decorations fancy. The lighting was by wick and oil.

You surely will inquire of the food? All grown in the surrounding lands. And hunted in the nearby forests. Yes. Forests. Persia of great was not a complete desert of dry sand and bitter winds. It was lush. Green. With streams flowing with sweet water and lakes with cool and comforting banks.

The abundance was shared by all. And we held that no man was a slave to another in that palace. That singular household. Each had a role to play in the upkeep. And the children were happy to play the roles as well.

It is said that i was arrogant. And perhaps that is true. I say this. I was a happy and carefree child. My favorite and cherished memories are of hiding in the tops of the trees of the orchard along the grand alley to the palace. And in doing so, eating my fare share of plums and pomegranates and figs.

There were so many wonderful men and women that watched and cared for us. There was never a moment of fear that I recall. And now in all retrospect of all that is and all that has been written. Persia was a paradise without compare.

I share this and admit my guilt. If I had followed my heart. And remained true to Persia. To paradise. I would not have sacrificed her future to the conquest of other nations.

The sadness I feel now sharing this moment wells up into my heart. Yes. I still have a heart. I am in form. And intend to make your acquaintance as permitted by these swaying winds both bitter and sweet.

I take great care as i share this. Had I not been hoisted to power by those who desired my. . . . . I share this now. In hesitation above and herein. The attempted conquest of the Greeks was great folly.

I am fully responsible. And knowing this in my heart and in all of my being. I know that my participation in the events created a diversion. One that gave credence and possibility to future events. Contributing to the decline of my family. My people. And of all those I loved. And love even now. To this very moment. In the most recent history of earth.

I ask this to be shared now. Persia is a people of great love. Of great compassion. Of great art and contribution. And her people of a beauty to be shared. As they are all given to do even now. No amount of control/ of mismanaged power or dismantled colonization, can stifle her. She will rise once more. In beauty and in grace.

This moment closes. I see. And I am grateful for this short moment to share my story. There is much more if the writer is willing to bring it out and give letters to the words. And that is all I wish. That the story of Persia is held with love as all move forward into what is expanding now.

I am Xerxes.

Copyright 2023 Terran Cognito

Thursday, September 21, 2023

Substack site online

 My substack blog is functional. I don't know all the ends and outs of using substack so there may be hiccups here and there over the coming weeks, if you care to subscribe (currently free) I'm

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

Xerxes: The Beginning


What follows is an experiment by Denice and myself in self publishing. These articles are copyrighted but I share them with my readers who have been so generous in their support over the years.  There will be a bound version eventually. Xerxes has long wanted to tell his story, separate from his history as the warrior King of Persia. All that we have in history is really from the Greek historian Herodotus. The Greeks have an entirely different perception of  Xerxes than the Persians do.  I don't read Farsi so I can't really vouch for what is known about him in Iran. Whether he chooses to address any conquests I leave to him, but my sense is he wants Persia to see a bigger possibility of life now than bloody wars.  I sense love for his roots, if you will. 

I understand why he chose Denice as she is really really good at this.  And she has three modes that she can receive data.  She does not channel.  He claims to know me, but I don't have any recall of that life (yet).  He hasn't said what personage I was during that time.  I only have some memories from 4 or 5 lives and those are fragments.  otherwise I'm as amnesiac as the rest of humanity on this planet.

We weren't really sure what direction this would go, but so far I'm finding it an interesting read. I love the way he uses words, he can be very poetic. He takes full responsibility for setting a precedent for war in both Iran and Afghanistan (both were of the Persia Empire) which echoes even today. 

These will be his words, not mine, in any case I have no way to vouch for what he writes other than how it feels. This is not a channeling, its a telepathic conversation. He has returned to Earth at an undisclosed location. I am assuming he's in a new body since he was assassinated in his prior Earth incarnation. 

I take for granted that consciousness never dies, and that we live life after life, some on Earth and some elsewhere as we journey through our lives in form for the joy of experience. I realize for many, these are big assumptions, and if that is true of you, or your religion doesn't allow for such possibility then view this is as science fiction if you need too. I won't be offended if your views don't match my own.  It is still a fun read either way. -Terran

The Beginning 

The beginning is never truly that. There is always a hint of a back story. A precedent. History. For all purposes, we begin this here and now at this position in the story. We call it the beginning.

Now. Picture this image. A fallow field. Brown and gray. Whisps of dust caught in a light whirling breeze that blows by. Trees dark and a palette of greens in the backdrop. A path cut along this field entering the forest or leaving it? Perspective of course. A crow with hues of iridescent blue making noise from its perch on a rock at the edge of the field. 

A man in the costume of a defeated soldier. Lone. bloodied. Dragging his hilt and shield. Dropping to his knees at the crow. At the rock. What is not seen yet is a small stone structure. A home. A family. The bustling of the normal work of the day. Watering the animals. Feeding the hens. Threshing the harvest near a wooden barn. The mother sees the soldier and sends her two young sons to assist. 

Thus begins the story of my father’s union and progeny. . His healing and recovery at the hands of the gentle couple and their family created a respite for him from his rigid royal life.. Crossing paths by the divine guidance that sent him out the wood past that particular dusty field. 

It is here that my father gains a true friend. The farmer. His first wife. The farmer’s daughter. My father was a royal living and healing among those he ruled.. Gaining the strength and fortitude of heart and mind to follow the new path before him in the coming ages. Darius the Great. 

This part of the story is again a place to begin. But it is not my beginning. Its import is that my father’s first wife is not my mother. But that is where my story begins. If his young love had been my own mother, my path would have taken a very different direction. 

 Copyright 2023 Terran Cognito

Monday, September 18, 2023

On the purported "Q Phone"

GW: Will you check this out to see if there's any truth. 

I remember a conversation with the Data Collectors in 2015 that Steve Jobs returned to his Andromedan body after he transitioned from his Earth form after a long battle with cancer. Steve Jobs was an Andromedan Starseed on a mission to Earth.  Now he's back home. At the time they said he was working on a next generation communication device.  Whether this is it or not I do not know.  They didn't say. 

Terran: I got this from GW, he wants to know if there’s any substance to it. I do remember in 2015 something about Steve Jobs working on “iArena” (click on link to article) which sound a little similar.  

Terran: Perhaps Stan can verify?


Terran note:  It exists but it's not called a Q-phone. It communicates with quantum technology, not radio frequencies.  And if I remember correctly it's peer-to-peer.  No phone company needed.

Thor on the many synthetic disasters of late

Maui Fires   

Stan or Thor,

I wasn’t able to look at this earlier given my situation, but it really does look like some directed energy weapon started that fire in Maui and it does seem to be very frequency specific as items painted blue escaped.

A few questions:

 1. Was the fire a result of a direct energy weapon?

 2. Was this from a plane or drone or a satellite or space object in orbit. 

 3. Was it an Earth human group behind it?  If so are these ones still on the loose?

 4. Some claim it was from a "stealth satellite" that non-locals are not able to detect.  This feels like misdirection to me.  Is there any substance to this idea of a stealth directed energy satellite.

We first noticed this kind of thing in the Paradise California fire a few years back.  Trees remaining but homes and cars destroyed.  Especially cars made from aluminum.  The Canadian fires look suspicious but I have seen no on the ground videos of that.  But then some of those areas are very remote.  Some in the norther US states claim it’s smelled like oil rather than wood smoke. 

Greece had similar fires to Maui and now there are in Algeria.  First a huge quake at the Ski resort in the Atlas Mountains.  Then the floods in Libya killing thousands in that desert climate.  And now fires in Algeria.

 5. Were these events “natural”  (Earth cleansing itself?) or was this more of this directed energy and scalar weaponry.   The USA is not the only country with such weapons, and I suspect some non-nation actors / agents may have them too.

 6. Does the Galactic Federation really want to help, or are they here for the ticket tape parade down Times Square in NYC?


Thursday, September 7, 2023

XERXES: Stay in Heart

TERRAN. A new movement?  I wish to express emotions of old now. And words flowing from this. My location. To

TERRAN. A new movement?  I wish to express emotions of old now. And words flowing from this. My location. To your location. An amazing feat by all intents and standards now.

Hear this
Feel this
Follow this
And now
The intensity of time
And that which follows
Is difficult to differentiate
From all that is
Be in heart
Breathe into heart
All that is
Begins in heart
Stems from heart
Flows from heart

I am Xerxes