The Dark Side of Light-Initiation

By: Susan D. Kalior

A Time Travel Fantasy


PROLOGUE




**Oversoul**





THE UNIVERSE IS VAST, levels of being many, and adventures abound. One great adventure in which my souls partake to enrich their being is the story of earth. However, sometimes a soul gets stuck on a page in the story and is doomed to static repeat. While most souls eventually get unstuck and finish experiencing earth, my little soul has not. She has, in fact, been stuck on the very first page—for centuries, incarnated into numerous human bodies, yet never becoming fully human.

Humanity thrives on the communion   of opposites: day-night, hot-cold, positive-negative, female-male. As her being is strongly feminine, she resists the male energy that would propel her further into the story. And now her story is fading for lack of being had.

I begin this tale at its end in the twenty-first century with my little soul in the body of woman called Shallee. And I, disguised in the persona she once knew as her Queen Mother, dangle before her the past life that holds the key to her freedom. If she cannot get hold of the past and change it soon, she will forfeit the earth story, fail to be enriched, and slip into nothingness. Oh, my little soul, you can be truly human, if only you believe.





CHAPTER ONE




**Shallee**





GRIPPING THE STEERING wheel, I stare through the dusty front windshield of my little gold Malibu, watching the pavement sail by. Rolling along the highway at the edge of sunset, I head toward my cabin in Preston, Arizona to speak at a Save the Earth rally tomorrow morning. I, Shallee McShane, a twenty-eight year old PhD social psychologist, social activist, and all around rabble-rousing do-gooder, am doing my best to create peace on earth.

‘They,’ meaning the people out there, perceive me as a ‘save the world’ sort, champion of the misled, or at the very least a Class-A troublemaker. But I don’t know anymore. Beneath that image, I feel detached, like a character in a play—unreal, living a fiction in a flitting yet endless dream, like the ones when you are running in slow motion from the monster at your back, but you don’t really get anywhere. My legs are moving, but the scenery stays the same. And though my heart is bigger than the sky, I cannot feel the earth beneath my feet.

Anxiety gurgles in my stomach. I have an urge to turn around and drive back to my home in Tempe, near the university where I teach. But no, this rally is too important, even if there will be those present who are gunning for me, threatened by my shining career and activist triumphs.

I started college at age seventeen, and by age twenty-four, I’d earned a B.A. in metaphysics, an M.A. in sociology, and a Ph.D. in social psychology. Four years hence, I am the founder of the Personal Choice Alliance, author of a best selling book, guest of popularly rated talk shows, and a professor and guest lecturer at well-known universities. I also speak for any organization that supports my cause.

My palms are sweating. I rub the damp off along the leg of my blue jeans to better grip the steering wheel. Inhaling nervously, my dry hand finds my heart. Breathe Shallee, just breathe. I clutch my yellow tee shirt as if I could hold my heart safely in my palm. I’ll be okay, I will. With a brisk exhale, I curl a long black tress of hair behind my ear as if that’s all it will take to gain control of my life.

But I’m not in control, evident by the shadowy form rising behind me. It’s about to happen again—that unsavory otherworldly occurrence that haunts me, prods me, and pushes me to do something that is akin to growing another arm, or leaping to the top of a mountain in a single bound. This thing I must do involves merging with primeval energy, which I view as a beast.

The shadowy form strengthens, mounting at my back, crawling up my spine with a ghostly chill.

I exit the highway, spying a dirt side road not too far away. Pulling into it, I bring my gold Malibu to a stop, preparing for the onslaught. With the ignition off, I stare out the front windshield. The sun is setting in panoramic reds, oranges, and pinks that would awe the average spectator. But I see only bloodshed. Orange is my life energy draining. Red is my blood spilling. Pink is my compassion that’s going to get me killed. I hate that I see everything in shades of doom.

Lower and slowly lower, the sun sinks behind a desert mountain, darkness eclipsing the bright. And I’m sinking just the same, eclipsed by a dark medieval past that I have tried to stop from replaying.

The shadowy form engulfs me like a cocoon, trapping me within. My forehead dips to the steering wheel. I sigh hard preparing to endure once more the hell of this perpetual replay. Tears wash down the sides of my nose as I whisper intently, “No more . . . please, no more.”

Before the replay starts, I glimpse, as usual, a long dark tunnel, and as cliché as it sounds, there is a light at its end. I try to enter, but as always, I cannot. I call into the tunnel, “Come and merge with me beast; save me from this doom.” But as usual, there is no response.

I am pulled into my standard trance, and the scene unfolds.





IN THE DARKER AGES that elude history, I am an outcast princess of an overthrown king. Princess—I know, cliché yet again—but that is the way it happened. However, there is no knight in shining armor. My name is Alloria. I’m standing in a sea marsh searching for food amongst the tall brown, blue-feathered reeds. The hem of my ragged, beige gown floats on ankle-deep seawater. My long, curly red hair is matted and infused with the debris of outdoor living. My stomach hurts from hunger. I scan the water for anything edible.