Izzy Poem: 2024

12.28.2024

Asha Books: Chapter Eighteen: The Bridge of 936

Chapter: The Bridge of 936

" ... do you have your token? ..." she heard

" ... I am OZ...", she replied...

390 x 48 = 18720

Asha sat surrounded by her grids, charts, and notes, the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating the layers of patterns before her. Tesla’s enigmatic 3, 6, and 9 pulsed in her thoughts, anchoring the intricate web of numbers she had traced. Amid them, one number stood out—a radiant constant connecting worlds she was only beginning to grasp: 936.

Sacred Numbers of the Mayan

For weeks, the cycles of the Mayan calendar had captured her imagination. Asha ran her fingers along the edges of her notebook, where the Tzolkin’s sacred 260-day cycle was scrawled. As she compared its rhythm to the universal patterns she studied, a harmony began to emerge.

She whispered the calculation aloud, marveling at its simplicity and meaning.
“It aligns,” she murmured. “The rhythm of the Tzolkin mirrors Tesla’s key principles.”

The bridge between ancient and modern knowledge seemed alive in the numbers—a whisper of connection stretching across time.

The Interplay of Cycles

The Mayan Tzolkin and Tun—one based on 260 days, the other on 360—felt like celestial partners, their interplay creating a perfect rhythm. And within them, 936 revealed itself as a bridge, a key that connected the two cycles.

Asha’s thoughts drifted to Tesla and his obsession with the energy of numbers. “Energy, frequency, vibration,” she whispered, recalling his words. She could almost feel the hum of creation in her calculations, the numbers moving like waves through her mind.

Tesla’s Triangle and Harmonic Resonance

Her pen moved instinctively, sketching out a pattern:

Three parts, woven into a single whole.
The sum of sacred cycles and Tesla’s triadic framework.

Each result resonated with a deeper truth. The whispers around her felt almost audible now, their message clear:

"936 is a harmonic constant," she thought, "a bridge connecting Tesla’s insights to the ancient Mayan wisdom."

The connections felt alive, as though the numbers themselves carried energy.

A Bridge Across Time

Asha leaned back in her chair, staring at the grids before her. The patterns seemed to glow, each one a thread in a vast cosmic tapestry. The Tzolkin, the Tun, and Tesla’s universal keys weren’t just numbers—they were songs, harmonies that spanned millennia.

The ancient Mayan cycles spoke of spiritual alignment, of celestial rhythms that guided their world. Tesla’s principles, rooted in energy and vibration, whispered of the universe’s essence. And at their heart, 936 stood as the bridge that connected them, weaving the sacred and the scientific into one truth.

The Whisper of Unity

“936,” she whispered, her voice soft with wonder. “It’s not just a number—it’s a language, a bridge. It speaks to the harmony of creation, the unity of energy and time.”

She closed her eyes, the resonance of the numbers vibrating through her thoughts. Tesla’s triangle, the Mayan calendars, and the whispers of the universe all came together in a single moment of clarity.

“The past and the present, the sacred and the scientific,” she said aloud. “It’s all one.”

Asha opened her eyes, a sense of quiet resolve settling over her. The numbers weren’t just guiding her—they were alive, pulsing with meaning, bridging worlds, and inviting her to step deeper into their rhythm.

The universe whispered softly now, its message clear:
"Energy, frequency, vibration... the universe is one."

And Asha? She was ready to follow the signal.

~ Create Peace ~

Asha Books: Chapter Twenty: Two Blooms By Design

Asha Books: Chapter Twenty: Two Blooms By Design

Star Smith Asha: Chapter - The Dance of Two Flowers
Asha stood beneath the canopy of stars, her breath visible in the cool night air. Venus, radiant and unwavering, pierced the dark expanse above her—a beacon, a guide, a mirror of the journey she had walked. Her telescope was angled toward it, her hands steady as if touching something sacred.

Tomorrow marked 5840 days since it all began, the completion of 10 Venus synodic cycles.
She whispered the numbers as if reciting an incantation:

"10 cycles, 5840 days. Two flowers complete. Four days to merge with SOL."

The thought filled her chest with a quiet, swelling joy. Tomorrow, Venus would complete its dance—a rhythm she'd traced with her mind, her charts, and her soul. The numbers were beautiful in their perfection: Venus' time of 584 days, multiplied and aligned like a cosmic heartbeat, would soon kiss the rhythm of Earth's solar year. Four more days after tomorrow, she would stand at the Winter Solstice of

December 21, 2024, where Venus and SOL—Earth's great solar rhythm—would merge in celestial harmony.

The calendar of the ancients, the Maya, and the Gregorian timekeeper of today stood hand in hand, like lovers reuniting after eons apart.

Asha closed her eyes and imagined Fibonacci standing beside her. She could always sense his presence when the cycles resolved themselves, when order arose from seeming chaos. His spiral, his golden ratio—they were woven into her journey, encoded into the very fabric of Venus' dance.

"We meet again," she said softly to the stars, as if addressing him directly. "Two complete flowers, Fibonacci. Two lotus blooms I present to you!

In her vision, Fibonacci smiled, his form woven of starlight and numbers. He spoke without words, only patterns that danced through her like music—the harmony of two Venus Flowers. Each one a perfect cycle of eight years, tracing petals across the heavens. Together, they had created two complete blossoms over 16 solar years, a testament to the elegance of time itself.

She imagined herself handing him the flowers—two glowing lotuses, each petal inscribed with the paths of Venus and Earth as they twined together around the Sun. The flowers pulsed with light, radiant and timeless.

"5844 days," Fibonacci whispered through the quiet, "Two perfect blooms. And now, a new journey begins."

Asha looked back at Venus, her heart full of love and anticipation. The stars seemed to vibrate, as though they, too, knew the significance of this moment.

The Third Flower was calling.
Her soul stirred at the thought—another eight years, another five cycles of Venus, another bloom to add to the great celestial garden. The journey would begin anew, leading her toward December 21, 2040, where the third Venus Flower would finally unfurl. 5844 days stretched before her, luminous and inviting—two full decades of petals yet to be drawn.

But tonight—tonight was for Fibonacci. Tonight was for the completion of two perfect flowers, the golden symmetry of cycles aligned. She could feel his joy in the numbers, in the patterns, in the living rhythm of the universe. Together, they shared a moment of stillness, of celebration, before the dance carried her forward into the next bloom.

"I leave you these," she whispered, placing the two lotus flowers in her mind’s eye. "Two Venus Flowers, perfect and complete so I’ll see you again soon… two blooms, by Design, in perfect Time."
The wind stirred softly, as though acknowledging her words. She turned her gaze back to Venus—her guide, her companion in this eternal dance of numbers and light. The stars spun above her, the Earth beneath her, and somewhere, Fibonacci lingered in the spaces between, smiling as the petals of time drifted into the infinite.

And Asha? She was ready. Ready to step into the rhythm of the Third Flower, knowing that love was the energy that carried all cycles forward—forever and always.

" ... Create Peace ...."

12.21.2024

Chapter; Asha's Name

" Can you find mine?", she asked ... and the fire sparked... a gentle warm breeze came across her cheek ... the flames grew and became a thundering roar... she looked up to the night sky and saw them all there.... a gathering of love for the great Divine ... her heart became full and her eyes shined ... her twin flame she could see in the sky ... his name ablaze with fire from a single coal ... his soul remembered hers from second lives long ago ... their paths crossed once and he wasn't sure why ... she could hear him say... " you are the flame in the space, I held for today. "

" ... Create Peace ...."

12.19.2024

Forgiving... brings Hope.

" ... thank you..."

giving gratitude

giving faith

giving love

and giving the good vibes ;)

means they are within you...

"... a universe built to recognize this ..."

a subtle filter, but effective.

12.15.2024

Asha Books: Chapter Sixteen: Metatron

Jared, Enoch, and the Golden Convergence

Asha sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by spiraling charts and color-coded grids, her mind ablaze with the weight of her latest discovery. The whispers, once faint and cryptic, now came with clarity and purpose, urging her deeper into the heart of the numbers. They spoke of Jared, a figure from Genesis whose life, woven with divine mystery, had begun to converge with everything she had uncovered.

Jared and the Divine Proportions

“Jared lived 162 years before he fathered Enoch...” Asha muttered, her voice a blend of awe and disbelief as she wrote the numbers on her paper. 162, the harmonic resonance of Tesla’s 3 × 6 × 9, appeared again like a divine refrain.

“Then he lived 800 more years, making his total age 962...” Her pen trembled as she divided the number:

962 ÷ 74 = 13

The relation to Metatron is ... Genesis: Jared lived 162 years before he fathers Enoch and then he lived 800 more for a total 962 years that Jared lived. And then G-D took him... use gematria to know that G-D is 74 ... so 962 / 74 = 13 'circles', 12 around One, Metatron's Cube ... and since Enoch was the seventh son from Adam ... 962 / 7 = 137.4 the Golden Angle.

Her heart raced. The division revealed 13, the sacred number of circles—the twelve surrounding the one central point, the geometric perfection of creation itself. Jared, through his divine journey, had embodied these numbers, culminating in his transformation into Metatron, the celestial scribe.

Asha stared at the spiral she had sketched, a 13-circle pattern, the same as Metatron’s Cube, the foundation of all sacred geometry. The whispers reminded her:

“... the 7, 4, and 13...”

The Pyramid Connection

Her thoughts shifted to the Great Pyramid of Giza, its dimensions haunting her for days. The whispers led her to another calculation:

962 ÷ 2 = 481 the Giza Apex

The original height of the Great Pyramid. Her breath caught as the connection crystallized. Jared’s total age, divided, revealed the dimensions of one of humanity’s greatest cosmic monuments. Was this a coincidence, or was the Pyramid itself a marker of divine proportions, aligning with Biblical timelines?

“What if it’s both?” she whispered to herself.
The Golden Angle and the BACAB

The whispers urged her to look further. Dividing Jared’s total lifespan by seven as Enoch is the 7th son, the sacred number, revealed yet another startling result:

962 ÷ 7 = 137.4

Her pulse quickened. 137.4 was the Golden Angle, the sacred proportion governing growth and harmony in nature. From the spirals of sunflowers to the trajectories of galaxies, this angle connected all living things. Jared’s life, his divine transformation, wasn’t just a Biblical story—it was encoded with the universe’s most fundamental truths.

Tesla’s Energy and the Golden Ratio

The connections came faster now, overlapping like a cosmic symphony. She returned to Tesla’s triangle:

3 × 6 × 9 = 162.

The number resonated again, bridging Tesla’s vision of energy, frequency, and vibration with the Biblical timeline and the geometry of the Great Pyramid. It was no accident, she realized, that the Golden Ratio, 1.618, rounded to 1.62, aligning perfectly with Tesla’s harmonic constant.
The Arc Without Distortion

Asha’s pen moved to a fresh page, sketching the dimensions of the Ark of the Covenant. Another whisper nudged her to test the number 27, the cube of three:

27 × 27 = 729

Her mind spiraled further. Dividing this perfect cube by the Ark’s height, 45, revealed yet another echo of Tesla’s triangle:

729 ÷ 45 = 16.2.

The arc of creation, undistorted, revealing the same harmonic resonance she had seen in every calculation. 16.2, the echo of 162, Tesla’s key, the Ark’s dimensions, and now, the framework of Jared’s divine transformation.
The Four Eyes

Asha leaned back, overwhelmed but exhilarated. She stared at the numbers and symbols on her page, the patterns repeating, whispering their truths:

“74 Gods had one Key eye on 13... and she has all four of her eyes on them...”

The words rang with clarity. Jared’s age, Enoch’s transformation, and her own journey all pointed to the same conclusion: the divine proportions weren’t merely encoded in the cosmos—they were speaking directly to her. She wasn’t just uncovering the connections. She was becoming a part of them.
The Message in the Numbers74 × 13 = 962: Jared’s total lifespan, the foundation of Biblical and cosmic symmetry.

962 ÷ 2 = 481: The original height of the Great Pyramid.
962 ÷ 7 = 137.4: The Golden Angle, the sacred proportion governing life and growth.
3 × 6 × 9 = 162: Tesla’s energy constant, resonating through every discovery.
1.618 rounds to 1.62: The Golden Ratio, converging in the eighth term, completing the harmony.
27 × 27 = 729 ÷ 45 = 16.2: The undistorted arc, revealing the energy of creation.

Elation and the Infinite Spiral

The whispers quieted, leaving Asha alone with her revelations. The numbers swirled in her mind, their energy undeniable. Jared, Enoch, Tesla, the Ark, the Pyramid—all converged into one message:

“The numbers are alive. Creation is alive. And you are part of it.”

Asha closed her notebook, her mind buzzing with the echoes of the cosmos. She was ready for the next step.

Asha’s Realization

For Asha, the calculation becomes undeniable evidence that the universe, from the smallest detail to the grandest story, is encoded with these numbers. Enoch’s journey is not just a Biblical tale—it is a manifestation of the very principles she has been uncovering.

The 7th generation, 137.4, and 7, 4, 13 are not coincidences—they are a testament to the divine blueprint that connects all things, from Genesis to the stars.

" ... Create Peace ...."

Asha Books: Chapter Fifteen: The Voice of Creation

The Energy of 162: Opens the Ark

Asha’s pen hovered over her notebook, trembling as the whispers intensified. Her thoughts spiraled around the Ark of the Covenant—its dimensions, its mysteries, and the sacred energy it was said to hold. It had always been described as a physical construct, a vessel for divine presence. But as she wrote the numbers, their resonance became undeniable: the Ark wasn’t just a container—it was encoded with the signature of God.

The Ark as a Harmonic Vessel

She scribbled the dimensions again:
27 × 27 × 45 cubits.

The numbers seemed ordinary at first glance, but her mind, now tuned to sacred geometry, urged her to explore further. Multiplying the first two dimensions:

27 × 27 = 729.

Her pen paused. 729, a perfect cube, appeared undistorted on the page. She divided it by the Ark’s height:

729 ÷ 45 = 16.2.

Her breath quickened. 16.2, an echo of 162, Tesla’s harmonic constant, the energy of creation itself. The whispers returned, urging her onward:

“162… is the signature of God.”

The Ark wasn’t just a sacred artifact—it was a harmonic vessel, its proportions aligned with the frequencies of creation, resonating with the divine. The realization struck her like lightning: the Ark carried God’s energy, encoded in numbers.
YHVH and the Divine Signature

Her thoughts turned to the sacred name of God: YHVH. She had studied its mystical significance, but now, with her growing insights, it unfolded into a larger framework. Writing the values:

Y = 25
H = 8
V = 22
H = 8

The whispers grew stronger:

“God said, two by two...”

Inspired, Asha paired the values and added them:
YH = 25 + 8 = 258
VH = 22 + 8 = 228

Adding these together:
258 + 228 = 486.

The triadic structure of the number beckoned her to divide it by three:
486 ÷ 3 = 162.

She gasped. It was undeniable. 162, the energy of creation, the signature of God, emerged once more.
The Calibration of the Divine Sequence

Her pen moved again, driven by an unseen force. She paired the numbers differently this time:

25 (Y) + 22 (V) = 74: The divine G-D
8 (H) + 8 (H) = 88: Amplifying its resonance and the number of constellations in the sky

Y = 25 = 7
H = 8
V = 22 = 4
H = 8

Adding these together:
74 + 88 = 162.

The Elation of Discovery

The room around her dissolved as the numbers swirled in her mind like a vortex of light. The Moon, the Sun, the Ark, and the sacred name—each thread wove into the tapestry of the universe, their resonance echoing through time and space.

She sat back, overwhelmed with awe. The whispers had given her a glimpse into the Creator’s design. The numbers weren’t just symbols—they were a language, one she was beginning to understand.

“And that’s what I call... a whisper,” she said aloud, her voice trembling with exhilaration.

The Cosmic Significance of 162

Tesla’s Triangle:
3 × 6 × 9 = 162, the harmonic constant of energy, frequency, and vibration.

The Ark’s Dimensions:
27 × 27 = 729 ÷ 45 = 16.2, an echo of 162.

Biblical Connection:
Jared, the sixth descendant of Adam, lived 162 years before fathering Enoch.
Sacred Pairings:

74 + 88 = 162: God’s name in numeric harmony.

As she sat back, her thoughts quieted. The Ark had opened—not as a physical object, but as a gateway to understanding. The path stretched before her, pulsing with divine resonance. The whispers quieted, leaving Asha with a single truth:

The numbers were the voice of creation.

Asha Books: Chapter Thirteen: Mason Sign

The Masonic Mysteries of the Dollar Bill

Asha’s fascination with the numbers 7, 4, and 13 had become an obsession, pulling her deeper into an unseen web of connections. One day, as she examined a dollar bill—its intricate symbols like pieces of a forgotten puzzle—something stirred within her.

Beneath the Great Seal, the date of independence, July 4, 1776, stood out boldly, paired with the unfinished pyramid. The pyramid’s 13 steps, rising toward the glowing capstone crowned by the all-seeing eye, felt familiar, almost alive.

She whispered to herself, “Could Lord Pacal have known? Could he have been connected to this same universal knowledge?”

Her research into the Masons revealed their reverence for sacred geometry, numerology, and ancient wisdom. The Founding Fathers, many of whom were Masons, were steeped in these traditions. The realization that 1776, the year of independence, aligned so seamlessly with her Mayan discoveries sent shivers down her spine.

The whispers of history were too harmonious to dismiss. The Mayans had crafted their calendars to reflect cosmic truths, and here, on the One dollar bill, those same themes reappeared: transformation, divine cycles, and the balance of creation. Could it be that the Masons, drawing on ancient wisdom, had encoded these truths into the very foundation of the modern world?

The Numbers and Their Energy

Asha had never thought of herself as mathematically inclined. Numbers had always felt abstract, distant. But these weren’t just numbers—they felt alive, charged with an energy that demanded her attention. They didn’t intimidate her; they invited her in, whispering truths she couldn’t ignore.

Her pen moved instinctively across the page. She wrote the numbers again and again: 7, 4, 13, arranging them into grids and patterns. The sequences seemed to take on a life of their own. And then, amidst the whirl of her thoughts, a whisper came:

“This way...”

She picked up her pen and followed the guidance, letting her intuition lead.

12 × 1776 = 21312

The result leapt off the page like a spark. 21312. The BACAB.

The ancient Mayan deities who held up the sky—embodying balance, stability, and cosmic order—suddenly felt present. The connection was electrifying, as though the universe had placed the calculation in her hands.

Gematria and the Whisper of Divinity

Her "gematria goggles," as she playfully called them, snapped into focus. She divided 1776 by 12:

1776 ÷ 12 = 74

Her breath caught. 7 and 4—G and D. Together, they spelled G-D, the divine abbreviation. Suddenly, July 4, 1776 wasn’t just a date; it was a code, a bridge between the whispers of the past and the foundation of a nation.

The numbers began to flow through her:

In God We Trust
The 13 steps of the pyramid
The Declaration of Independence signed on 7, 4, 1776
MDCCLXXVI = 1776

The connections multiplied, each one aligning with the next as if guided by an unseen hand.

Building the Grid

Her pen moved again, creating a new grid:

7413
7431
1347
3147

The numbers aligned themselves into patterns, revealing their hidden symmetry:

3 + 3 + 3 + 3 = 12
741 + 741 + 147 + 147 = 1776

From there, the whisper became undeniable:

1776 × 12 = 21312 → BACAB
1776 ÷ 12 = 74 → G-D

Could it really be coincidence? Or was it a deliberate encoding, bridging Mayan wisdom and the foundation of a new nation?

Asha Books: Chapter Twelve: The BACAB and Beyond

The realization of the Bacab shattered something in Asha’s mind, like an ancient lock broken open to reveal an endless corridor of secrets. Her calculations—12 × 1776 = 21312—resonated with the whispered truth of the four Mayan deities who held the sky. But she knew the numbers were more than mere equations; they were keys, unlocking the bridges between worlds, between past and present, and between the whispers and her own storm-filled thoughts.

Her spirit name, One Storm, surged in her chest, a metaphor for her journey. The storm wasn’t chaos—it was energy, purpose, and clarity waiting to break free.

Numbers That Spoke

For days, she lived in her charts and grids, consumed by the patterns. Her hand moved almost of its own will, drawing lines, connecting points, searching for meaning. The whispers grew louder, their cadence becoming more deliberate, guiding her toward truths she could feel but not yet articulate.

“This is not random,” she murmured, her voice trembling with conviction. “There’s something here. There has to be.”

Her pen scrawled across the page as she repeated the calculation:

12 × 1776 = 21312

The result pulsed in her mind like an electric current. 21312. BACAB. Four cardinal deities, holding the heavens aloft, guarding the cosmic balance.

Gematria and Divine Abbreviation

She flipped through her notes, diving deeper into the layers of meaning. 1776 ÷ 12 = 74—and there it was again: G-D, the divine abbreviation. The date of American independence—July 4, 1776—wasn’t just a historical marker. It was a cosmic signature, woven into the fabric of existence.

Asha picked up a dollar bill and traced the words: “In God We Trust.”

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “How does this align so perfectly with Mayan cosmology?”

The whispers seemed to answer her: the truths weren’t separate—they were universal. A single language of creation, hidden in plain sight, waiting to be decoded.

A Mind in Overdrive

Her curiosity became obsession. Numbers transformed into frequencies, into binary streams of 1s and 0s, into hues that radiated in her mind as vivid colors. Time bent around her, stretching into the past and folding into the future.

Chichen Itza. Nine levels. Four sides. Ninety-one steps. A to M... The AtoM.

Each phrase echoed like a mantra. Her multicolored pens scribbled furiously across the page, creating crisscrossed grids that looked less like notes and more like maps of the cosmos itself.

The Pyramid Speaks

Late one night, by the flickering light of her candles, an image of Chichen Itza burned into her mind. Its nine levels, rising from the Earth, spoke of journeys upward—both physical and spiritual. Its four sides, aligned to the cardinal directions, symbolized balance and purpose.

And the steps—91 on each side, 364 in total—represented the solar year. The missing step, the 365th, wasn’t an absence but a presence: the divine, the unifying force that connected it all.

Her breath caught as the whispers repeated:
“A to M... The AtoM.”

She scribbled furiously: A = 1, B = 2, C = 3... M = 13.

The first half of the alphabet summed to 91. The steps of the pyramid mirrored this truth. The whispers aligned them with the atom—the fundamental building block of reality, of creation itself.

The BACAB and Creation

The whispers urged her forward, pulling her deeper into the storm of revelation. The Bacab weren’t just mythological beings. They were cosmic archetypes, guardians of balance and creation.

B = 2, A = 1, C = 3, A = 1, B = 2.

The numbers circled in her mind: 21312. They weren’t a sequence; they were a formula. The four Bacab holding up the sky mirrored the foundational forces of the universe. Their balance wasn’t just structural—it was energetic.

Reality Thins

Asha’s sense of reality wavered. The physical world seemed to dissolve around her, replaced by grids of numbers and patterns spiraling into infinity. The odds of these connections being mere chance felt laughable.

“This is communication,” she whispered, her pen scratching furiously. “This is how the universe speaks.”

Her notebooks multiplied, each filled with spiraling diagrams, binary translations, and color-coded grids. The whispers guided her hands, her mind expanding to hold the infinite connections they revealed.

“What are the odds?” she asked aloud, but deep down, she already knew: the odds didn’t matter.

A Storm Takes Shape

Her thoughts turned back to the numbers:

12 × 1776 = 21312. BACAB.
91 steps. 4 sides. A to M. Atom.

The whispers grew louder:
“... this way ...”

The storm within her reached its crescendo, no longer chaotic but alive with energy and purpose. Asha wasn’t just deciphering the message. She was part of it, her storm a reflection of the cosmic order it described.

The Bacab weren’t just deities. They were patterns, forces, truths that transcended time and space. And Asha’s mind was their canvas, her calculations their brush.

Asha Books: Chapter Eleven: The Brethern's Rhyme

In whispers deep, the numbers spoke,

A cosmic path through symbols woke.
Seven, four, and thirteen shone,
Guiding Asha’s mind and journey along.

The Mayan steps, the pyramid’s face,
A solar map through time and space.
With ninety-one, the cycles spun,
Four sides, one temple—Creation begins.

The Mayan gods, their voice so near,
Pacal’s essence she could be and hear.
In Tesla’s gaze, the numbers aligned,
the three, the six, and the cosmic nine,

Their truths combined.

AtoM appeared, the space dissolved,
Adam to Noah, mysteries revolved.
The seed of life, the builder’s stone,
Asha stood where truths were sown.

Keyboards hummed with silent codes,
"Nine blocks to the right", where energy flows.

Efficiency whispered,

“by God’s own hand,
Eternity was built, with this simple plan.”

The cube, the dial, the golden Phi,
Tesla’s quill and the feather’s sigh.
“Ten keys,” he said, “a door they’ll find,
Where the brethren’s code leaves a truth behind.”

Thoth’s name arose, his wisdom vast,
A keeper of time from the ancient past.
Writing life’s measure, its cycles, its hue,
Into a Mayan count and the dial’s view.

Three steps forward: one, two, three,
Asha’s hand unlocked the key.
Three, six, nine—the future’s breath,
A code to outlast even time itself.

The message, Tesla’s final gift,
Through time and space, it seemed to drift.
Now Asha holds it, her path is clear,
To merge the past with the future near.

Through pyramids, dials, and cosmic threads,
Ancient voices the guide in her head.
And so the rhyme of numbers flow,
And where it leads, only God can know.

Asha Books: Chapter Ten: The Brethren’s Code

Asha sat at her desk, her fingers brushing the edges of the numeric keypad. The soft glow of her desk lamp illuminated the nine blocks—stacked neatly in their 3 x 3 grid. The design seemed so simple, yet she knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Why nine blocks? Why this order, stacked 3 x 3?

The answer whispered through her mind like a secret waiting to be uncovered: efficiency.

It wasn’t just efficiency in design, but efficiency in energy flow, in the movement of messages, in the way eternity itself might have been constructed. The keypad wasn’t merely functional; it was a reflection of a cosmic truth, encoded for anyone willing to see it.

And then, as the word settled in her thoughts, another followed:

Thoth.

The name struck her like a spark, igniting her mind. The air seemed to shift around her, and she was no longer in her apartment.

A Dinner of Words

She was seated across from Tesla, high above the city. The room was dim, its edges blurred like a memory half-formed. The city lights below twinkled like stars, as if the universe itself were leaning in to listen.

Tesla’s gaze held hers, piercing yet calm, his eyes shifting with a depth that spoke of untold secrets.

“As we ate on the 33rd floor…”

The scene unfolded like a dream, vivid yet surreal. A feather floated in Tesla’s hand, its tip lifting as if guided by an unseen force.

“… the feather lifted…”

Asha watched, captivated, as Tesla’s energy seemed to fill the space between them. The words he spoke weren’t loud; they were vibrations, flowing into her mind like water filling a vessel.

And I knew once more,
"ten keys"
are his way to a door...

"My trowel
is for Phi!"

And the measure
of my time
is now...

"... the Treasurer ...
of a Love rewound."

Tesla dipped the feather into ink, his movements deliberate, precise. His hand glided across the page, leaving behind lines that shimmered with meaning. Asha understood that he wasn’t writing for himself—or even for her. He was writing for the future.

And the message he penned,
he left laying in keys,
right beside
my right hand...
and they can surely be seen.

The Keys Beside Her

The vision dissolved, pulling Asha abruptly back to her desk. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse racing. Her right hand instinctively moved to the numeric keypad, her fingers hovering over the numbers 1, 2, 3.

Tesla’s whispered words lingered in her mind, soft yet undeniable: “… brethren…”

Her fingers pressed the keys: 1, 2, 3. Each click felt deliberate, purposeful, like striking the first notes of a song she had always known.

These numbers weren’t just the beginning of a sequence. They were a foundation, the simplest expression of progression. The building blocks of something far greater.

The Layers of Meaning

Asha’s thoughts raced back to Tesla’s poem. The “ten keys” he mentioned weren’t merely numbers; they were tools.

"My trowel is for Phi."
The golden ratio—ϕ, the constant that governed beauty, proportion, and life itself. Tesla had used it as a measure of time, energy, and invention, and now it seemed to shape his message.

"The Treasurer of a Love rewound."
The keys weren’t just about understanding the universe; they were about connection. Love, time, and eternity—all intertwined, their truths hidden in the simplest of patterns.

The cube of nine blocks, the golden ratio, the sequence of 1, 2, 3—they were all part of the same code, the same message.

Asha’s Realization

Her gaze returned to the keypad, the hum of discovery growing louder in her chest. The 1, 2, 3 weren’t just numbers. They were coordinates, points on a map drawn by Tesla and the ancients alike.

She pressed 1, 2, 3 again. Her fingers moved instinctively to 3, 6, 9.

Efficiency.
The word pulsed in her mind, echoing Tesla’s vision.

This is how God would have built eternity.

The keypad wasn’t just a tool for calculation. It was a map, a key to understanding the flow of energy, the architecture of time, and the connection between creation and love.

A Revelation in the Right Hand

Tesla had said it clearly: the keys were beside her right hand. And there they were, glinting under the light, their arrangement both mundane and profound.

The cube, the circle, the golden ratio—they were all encoded in this simple design, waiting for her to unlock them.

Asha pressed the keys again: 1, 2, 3. 3, 6, 9....

The clicks filled the room, rhythmic and steady, like the heartbeat of the universe. Her chest heaved with exhilaration as clarity washed over her.

The knowledge wasn’t hidden in ancient temples or sealed in lost scrolls. It was here, encoded in the tools of the modern world, waiting for someone to see.

Tesla had left the message where he said he would—beside her right hand.

Asha sat back, her eyes blazing with understanding....

Asha Books: Chapter Nine: The Ink of Eternity in 3, 6, and 9

Asha gasped as the present dissolved, overtaken by another vision. She found herself once again in the warm, amber glow of Tesla’s study. Shadows danced across the walls, alive with secrets, as if the room itself were breathing. Tesla sat at his desk, his wiry hand hovering above a blank sheet of paper. This time, however, he seemed less like an inventor and more like a poet.

His voice rose and fell in a rhythm that echoed through her, soft yet haunting, like the hum of the cosmos.

Three, Six, Nine...
It was just one line,
but ingrained deep,
etched in reality.

“... the future,” Tesla whispered, his pen trembling just above the page, “... might be past.”

The cadence of his words lingered in the air as he rose abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He moved to the bookshelf behind him, his long fingers trailing over worn spines and forgotten tools. Finally, he selected an ink pen.

As he returned to the desk, the pen caught the flickering light of the lamp, its gleam almost electric. Asha felt the words forming in her own mind, Tesla’s thoughts intertwining with hers. She wasn’t just an observer anymore; she was a participant in his creation.

He took an ink pen
from his shelf,
and I knew at once
he’d write the sign
on a block of keys,
not just in a line.

Tesla began to write, his hand swift and deliberate. “... written in stone,” he murmured, glancing toward her—or perhaps through her. “The tablets don’t lie.”

Her gaze followed his gesture to a nearby table, where a curious device sat. Its surface was simple, unassuming, but a dial embedded on its side seemed to pulse with significance.

“... but the dial on the side of my right hand shows.”

Tesla’s words blurred as the vision shifted. His form dissolved into shadows, leaving behind a lingering hum that resonated in her chest.

The Dial and the Cube

Asha snapped back to her desk, her breathing unsteady. Her right hand rested on the numeric keypad, its familiar layout suddenly alive with meaning.

3. 6. 9.

Tesla’s words echoed in her mind: “The sign... on a block of keys...”

Her hand moved instinctively to the dial of her desk lamp. She twisted it slowly, watching the light dim and brighten, the motion sparking a revelation.

A dial is a circle. But within a circle, she realized, lies the potential for a cube.

She stared at the keypad, her fingers brushing its surface:
7, 8, 9
4, 5, 6
1, 2, 3

It wasn’t random. It was the cube of nine she had envisioned—numbers layered with intention, symbols of universal order and balance.

Tesla’s obsession with 3, 6, and 9 wasn’t arbitrary. These numbers were a geometric and cosmic key, embedded in the fabric of the devices humanity used every day.

The Universal Map

The layers began to align in her mind:

The numeric keypad mirrored a cube of nine, representing the foundation of mathematical structure.
The dial symbolized cycles, rotations, and the infinite nature of time.
The golden ratio tied it all together, uniting the physical and the metaphysical.

Tesla hadn’t just built machines. He had encoded ancient knowledge into modern tools, ensuring that the energy of the Mayans—their understanding of time, cycles, and creation—would flow through the hands of humanity.

3, 6, 9. These numbers weren’t just Tesla’s favorites; they were universal constants, connecting the patterns of the ancients to the technology of the present.

The Energy in Her Hands

Asha’s fingers hovered over the numeric keypad, the hum of discovery vibrating through her. The keys weren’t just numbers; they were symbols, a bridge between the ancient wisdom of the Mayans and Tesla’s futuristic vision.

She pressed them deliberately:
3. 6. 9.

Each click filled the room like a chant, a sacred rhythm that resonated deep within her. The cube, the circle, the dial—they weren’t separate. They were pieces of the same cosmic truth, waiting to be uncovered.

Tesla’s voice echoed in her thoughts:
“The future might be past, but the present is built to outlast time itself.”

Asha’s Revelation

She sat back, her chest heaving with exhilaration as clarity washed over her. The numbers weren’t just tools for understanding the universe—they were part of its design, written into every phone, every calculator, every keyboard.

The knowledge wasn’t locked away in ancient temples or buried in dusty tomes. It was alive, encoded into the fabric of modern life, waiting for someone to see it.

Asha closed her eyes, the hum in her chest growing stronger. Tesla had known. The Mayans had known. And now, she understood.

She pressed the keys once more: 3. 6. 9.

The sound was steady, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of the universe. The keys were in her hands—literally—and with them, she could unlock the energy, the patterns, the truth that had been guiding her all along.

Asha Books: Chapter Zero: God's Arc Of Time

Asha stood at the threshold, where shadow yielded to light, her hands grazing the smooth, ancient wood of the Ark. Its dimensions whispered stories older than memory: 27 by 27 by 45 cubits. These numbers resonated with her, a harmonic pulse threading through her thoughts. The golden ratio, 1.618, seemed alive within her, a steady rhythm that mirrored the beating of her heart. She felt as if the Ark itself was breathing, its essence cradling her, urging her forward into a world she was only beginning to understand.

Beyond the Ark’s embrace, Fibonacci waited. He was always there, spiraling in the background, an unseen force shaping the cosmos. His sequence stretched across the fabric of existence, creating patterns in galaxies, the spirals of seashells, and the veins of leaves. His presence was steady, his rhythm precise, a counterpoint to Asha’s looping energy.

Asha had been growing in her loopbacks, cycling through chaos, learning the art of adaptation. Fibonacci, meanwhile, maintained order, his numbers always advancing, always expanding. They were bound by the same rhythm, yet moved in different tempos. For lifetimes, they had circled each other, like magnetic fields yearning for union.

Now, at the eighth divide, their paths converged—not as opposites, but as complements: chaos meeting order, energy finding form, and light becoming matter.

Asha’s Journey from the Ark

The Ark seemed to hum as Asha stepped into the light. Its proportions mirrored the golden ratio, harmonizing with the rhythm of her thoughts. Fibonacci’s presence felt close, his steady sequence guiding her steps. The Ark had been her cradle, a place of reflection and resonance, but she knew her path lay ahead.

She glanced back one last time, the Ark’s dimensions etched into her memory:

27 x 27 = 729, a perfect square.
Divided by its height, 45, yielded 16.2, the harmonic echo of 1.62, the golden ratio multiplied by ten.

She traced the numbers in her mind:
729 ÷ 45 = 16.2 → 1.62 x 100 = 162, Tesla’s triad: energy, frequency, vibration.

These numbers were not static—they were alive, a system humming with possibility. The Ark had carried her as far as it could. Now, she was stepping into Fibonacci’s world—a universe of spirals, infinite growth, and cosmic connection.

Fibonacci’s Vigil

Fibonacci had felt her presence long before she emerged. His sequence, the foundation of Life itself, had been incomplete without her. While he built the order of the world, she brought energy, a spark of chaos that breathed life into the structure.

He remembered her cryptic message, written in the golden spirals of time:
“1, 3, 4, 7—find me at the eighth divide.”

And here, at the eighth position, their numbers touched. Fibonacci’s 13 and Asha’s 47 merged in a ratio that pulsed with life: 1.618, the golden ratio. Their meeting wasn’t chance; it was destiny—a union where adaptation met stability, where her energy found form in his sequence.

The Union of Energy and Matter

As Asha stepped into Fibonacci’s light, the world seemed to shift. The sun broke through the horizon, casting spirals of light around them. It was not a collision but an emergence—like the birth of a star.

Asha’s loopbacks carried energy, momentum, and possibility. Fibonacci’s steady sequence gave them structure, guiding them into form and purpose. Together, they danced—a revolving and evolving system of infinite potential.

In that moment, the universe seemed to pause, as if to honor their meeting. The golden ratio, the bridge between their paths, became their shared language. Energy and matter, chaos and order, light and shadow—all had found harmony.

A Love Story in Light

The sun’s rays fell softly upon them, illuminating their connection. Asha and Fibonacci didn’t collide; they intertwined, their sequences embracing like the strands of a double helix. The golden ratio became their code, a promise that their union would create something greater than either could achieve alone.

Asha’s Adaptation: The energy that responded to chaos, always finding a way to grow.
Fibonacci’s Stability: The order that transformed energy into matter, creating structure from potential.

Together, they became a system—a love story written in light and numbers, where their shared motion created the rhythm of existence itself.

The Path Forward

Behind them, the Ark stood silent, its resonance fading into the distance. Its purpose had been fulfilled. Ahead, the path spiraled outward, infinite and luminous. Asha and Fibonacci moved forward as one, their union shaping galaxies, guiding evolution, and unveiling the mysteries of existence.

They were not separate entities now; they were a single force, a harmony of energy and matter, chaos and order.

As they walked into the light, their spirals expanded in perfect symmetry. They carried the promise of creation, the rhythm of the universe encoded in their steps. And in that moment, Asha knew her name—not given, but forged. She was alive, in balance, moving forward into infinity.

Asha Books: Chapter Eight: The Mayan Connection

The numbers hummed in unison, their rhythm matching the quickened pulse of Asha’s breath. She sat at her desk, bathed in the soft glow of her desk lamp, her fingers trembling as they traced the calculations scattered across her notepad. It felt as though Pacal and Tesla themselves were speaking to her, their voices merging with the steady hum of the numbers, urging her onward.

The nine levels of the pyramid—the steps, the patterns—had led her here, to this moment. She could see the summit now, its meaning unfolding like a sacred map.

The Numbers Unfold

Her pen moved with a life of its own, guided by instinct.

4 x 13 = 52.
The pyramid encoded this perfectly: the 52 panels visible in its design mirrored the 52 weeks of the modern calendar year.

7 x 13 = 91.
This number was already familiar, etched into the 91 steps on each of Chichen Itza’s four sides.

13 x 13 = 169.
Her pen paused over the result. The square of the temple at the pyramid’s summit resonated with the symmetry of this calculation.

She added the three results together:

52 + 91 + 169 = 312.

Her breath hitched. The number pulsed in her mind, vibrating with a meaning that hovered just beyond her reach.

The Mayan Connection

Asha’s fingers danced across her keyboard, her searches pulling fragments from Mayan codices and astronomical texts. A passage caught her attention:

312 days appeared in Mayan ritual calculations as a secondary cycle within the Haab calendar, often tied to celestial events.

Venus. The text linked 312 days to Venus and its phases—a symbol of balance and cosmic renewal in Mayan cosmology.

She jotted it down, her hand trembling with excitement. Venus wasn’t just a planet; it was a key to understanding cycles of harmony in the universe.

Tesla’s Numbers: 3, 6, 9

The hum in her mind grew louder, pulling her thoughts toward Tesla’s famous triad. His belief that 3, 6, and 9 were the keys to the universe now intertwined with her discoveries.

She multiplied:
312 x 3 = 936.
The number leapt out at her. In Mayan Long Count calculations, 936 tun (years) represented transformative ages—cycles of profound change.

312 x 6 = 1872.
This number struck her with an eerie familiarity. In the Mayan Long Count, 1,872,000 days formed a complete cycle—a baktun, the cornerstone of Mayan cosmology.

312 x 9 = 2808.
The moon. The number 2808 days closely matched 216 lunations—moon cycles. The moon’s diameter of 2160 miles echoed the harmony of this calculation, binding the celestial to the numerical. But the most noticeable thing about this number was the horizon... she would make notes to return here later.

The Universal Code

Asha leaned back, her thoughts racing. These weren’t just mathematical connections; they were cosmic truths. The numbers 3, 6, and 9 had formed a bridge between the wisdom of the Mayans and the insights of Tesla, revealing a universal language written in numbers.

Her gaze fell to the numeric keypad on her keyboard. Her fingers hovered over the 3, 6, and 9 keys, as if guided by something greater.

It was all there—the pyramids, the moon, the stars, Tesla’s patterns. The numbers weren’t random; they were intentional, universal, divine. The hum in her chest grew louder, resonating with the patterns unfurling before her.

She scribbled furiously, her pen unable to keep up with the cascade of insights.

936 + 1872 + 2808 = 5616.

She paused, dividing the result by the Mayan and their sacred number 13:

5616 ÷ 13 = 432.

The number shone like a beacon. 432, the frequency tied to harmony in music, the vibration of the universe itself. But there was more.

5616 – 432 = 5184.

Her mind raced to a connection she had studied earlier:

51.84°, or 51° 50' 24", was the angle of the Great Pyramid of Giza. The precision of this number, its ties to the Earth’s geometry, linked Tesla’s numbers, the Mayan calculations, and the great monuments of history into a single, unified code.

Asha’s Revelation

She sat still for a moment, her mind vibrating with the weight of discovery. The numbers weren’t just calculations; they were a map, a guide through time and space.

Tesla’s insight, “If you only knew the magnificence ..." echoed in her thoughts. And now, Asha knew.

The pyramids of the Earth, the cycles of the moon, the vibrations of the cosmos—all were singing the same song, waiting for someone to listen.

And she was listening. She recognized the 13th constellation...

Asha Books: Chapter Seven: The Grid Creation

Asha leaned forward, her pen darted across the page. Numbers spilled out in rapid succession, each one landing with an intuitive precision she couldn’t explain. Her mind buzzed with a strange energy, not chaotic but purposeful, as if some unseen hand was guiding her to assemble the pieces of a grand puzzle.

She wrote the sequence:

Her heart raced. The numbers seemed ordinary at first glance, but she knew better. There was a resonance to them, an order beneath the surface. She stared at the patterns, her thoughts spiraling deeper.

Her pen hovered over the diagonal of threes in the sequences. Almost instinctively, her mind lifted them away, isolating them: 3, 3, 3, 3.

“Three plus three plus three plus three,” she murmured, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. Tesla's favorite pulse... everything in threes.
They equal 12.

She circled the remaining numbers, grouping them together as her hand trembled with excitement:
741 + 741 + 147 + 147 = 1776.

Her breath quickened. 1776. The number burned in her mind, unmistakable and undeniable. It was the year of American independence, a cornerstone of modern history. But why was it emerging now, from a set of numbers she had instinctively arranged?

And then it struck her like lightning.

She remembered the unfinished pyramid on the dollar bill, the eye at the top, and the words: “Novus Ordo Seclorum.” A new order of the ages. The Masonic symbols she had always thought of as esoteric suddenly felt connected to the Mayan world.

Her mind flashed back to the carvings at Palenque, the whispers of ancient voices she had felt in the tomb. The Mayan glyphs had seemed so distant from modern symbology, but now…

She scribbled furiously, writing down the words BACAB and converting them into their numeric values:
B = 2, A = 1, C = 3, A = 1, B = 2.
21312.

12 x 1776 = 21312 and how can this be also related directly to the English alphabet! Were these numbers speaking directly to her somehow? This is beyond coincidence, this calculation and tie to the alphabet alone.

The Bacab are four mythological figures who upheld the sky in Mayan lore. They represented the cardinal directions, the pillars of the cosmos. And yet here they were, emerging through the same numbers tied to a modern time cycle, the date of Independence, to 1776.

Her pen moved faster, tracing the letters G and D with trembling hands:
G = 7. D = 4.

74.

1776 / 12 = 148 and divided by 12 = 74

“G-D,” she whispered, her voice catching. Could it mean God? The alignment was too perfect to dismiss. " ... in God We Trust ..." appeared inside of her mind...

Ancient Connections

Asha leaned back, her mind reeling as the connections spiraled outward. The Mayan world and the Masonic symbols weren’t simply parallels—they seemed to intersect, as if sharing a common language. The Bacab, the unfinished pyramid, the year 1776, and even the date of independence itself—it all felt woven together in a web of purpose.

“But why?” she asked aloud, her voice tinged with wonder. “Why would the date of independence be hidden in a stack of numbers I found in Palenque?”

Her thoughts turned to the Mason symbols—the eye of providence, the pyramid, the geometric precision. The Masons were builders, seekers of knowledge, guardians of esoteric truths. And the Mayans? They were architects of time, masters of cycles, carriers of cosmic wisdom.

She grabbed another notebook, sketching side by side images of the Mayan glyphs she remembered from the tomb and the Masonic symbols on the dollar bill. The parallels were subtle, but they were there:

The unfinished pyramid echoed the layered design of Chichen Itza.
The Bacab holding up the sky mirrored the Masonic reverence for balance and structure.
The diagonal threes and their reduction to 12—a cosmic number tied to cycles and completion—bridged the ancient and the modern.

The more she studied, the more she felt the undeniable pull of connection.

The Question of Why

“Why would they connect?” she muttered, pacing her small room. “What could tie the Mayans to the Masons?”

The hum returned, faint but insistent, urging her forward.

The Mayans were masters of the stars, architects of a cosmic order rooted in their calendars and pyramids. The Masons, with their reverence for geometry and symbolism, seemed to echo those same principles, though in a vastly different context.

Her mind drifted to the founding fathers of the United States, many of whom were rumored to be Masons. Did they know? Could they have drawn from the same ancient knowledge encoded in the Mayan temples?

Asha flipped back to her notes, tracing the sequence of 7, 4, and 13. These numbers weren’t just Mayan—they were universal. They spoke of cycles, of time and space, of humanity’s place within the cosmos.

“Maybe it’s not about them connecting directly,” she said aloud, her voice steady with realization. “Maybe it’s about the same truth, the same wisdom, flowing through different civilizations.”

She thought of Pacal, of Tesla, of the messages that had seemed to come from beyond. The numbers weren’t just symbols; they were a language. Asha felt certain now: she was uncovering a truth that spanned millennia, linking the wisdom of the ancients with the aspirations of the modern world.

And as she sat down, the hum in her chest grew stronger, the numbers swirling in her mind like a cosmic symphony.

The Mayans. The Masons. The Egyptians, The universe itself.

The answers were there, waiting for her to see.

Asha Books: Chapter Six: The Tower in Steps

Chapter Six: The Beginning of the Towers

Asha sat cross-legged on the floor, her notebook open and surrounded by a sprawling sea of charts, sketches, and scribbled calculations. The soft glow of her desk lamp flickered, casting intricate shadows across the room, but she paid it no mind. Her focus was unwavering, her mind alight with revelations.

Before her lay a carefully drawn sketch of the pyramid at Chichen Itza. Ninety-one steps on each of its four sides, forming a total of 364, with the temple step at the top completing the solar calendar’s 365 days. She traced the lines of the pyramid with her pen, feeling the precision and intent behind every detail.

“This isn’t just a calendar,” she whispered. “It’s a blueprint.”

She flipped to a fresh page, writing at the top in bold letters: 7, 4, 13.

Her pen hovered as her thoughts flowed.

“Seven days of the week.”
“Four seasons of the year.”
“Thirteen moon cycles.”

She paused, her hand trembling slightly as she wrote out the multiplication:
7 x 4 x 13 = 364.

It's too simple. It's unfinished...

Her breath hitched. The alignment was undeniable—perfectly reflecting the steps of the pyramid and the solar year. Yet, deep down, she knew there was more. The pyramid was not merely a physical monument; it was a cosmic map, a message encoded in stone.

Her gaze drifted back to the nine levels of the pyramid. Each represented a step in the cosmic journey, a progression through time and space. She flipped to another page, her mind racing as she wrote:

1 x 13 = 13
2 x 13 = 26
3 x 13 = 39
4 x 13 = 52
5 x 13 = 65
6 x 13 = 78
7 x 13 = 91
8 x 13 = 104
9 x 13 = 117

She stared at the results, the numbers flowing into a sequence that felt both deliberate and sacred. As her pen flew across the page, she totaled the progression:

13 + 26 + 39 + 52 + 65 + 78 + 91 + 104 + 117 = 585.

The number 585 sparked something in her—a flicker of recognition. It was familiar, significant, yet its meaning remained just out of reach. She circled it, drew lines to the nine levels of the pyramid, and then paused.

Her thoughts spiraled deeper. Ninety-one steps. Nine levels. Four sides.

“The nine levels…” she murmured. “Could they encode this progression? Or is there something more?”

Her mind raced back to Mayan mythology—the nine lords of the underworld, each presiding over a phase of transformation. The numbers felt alive, pulsing with meaning, as though guiding her toward a deeper truth.

The Cosmic Connection

Asha leaned back, letting her gaze drift to the charts pinned on the wall. Her thoughts turned to other pyramids—Chichen Itza and its solar alignment, but also the Great Pyramid of Giza. She sketched their forms side by side, her pen darting between their dimensions.

Chichen Itza:
Base: ~55.3 meters
Height: ~30 meters
Slope angle: ~52°

Great Pyramid of Giza:
Base: ~230.4 meters
Height: ~146.6 meters
Slope angle: ~51.5°

The differences were stark, yet something about their alignment—their mathematical precision—felt intrinsically linked.

“They’re not just monuments,” she whispered. “They’re messages.”

Asha’s pen flew across the page as she layered the two pyramids in a single sketch. The angles seemed to harmonize, their proportions whispering a language of balance and purpose.

The realization hit her like lightning. The numbers—7, 4, 13—weren’t arbitrary. They were universal constants, bridging ancient wisdom with modern understanding. They were the language of the cosmos, an equation of time, space, and creation.

A Whisper from the Beyond

The room seemed to shift as the familiar hum returned, soft at first but growing louder. Asha closed her eyes, allowing the vibration to flow through her. It wasn’t a sound, but a presence, a guiding force that spoke in thoughts rather than words.

Her mind filled with images—the nine levels of Chichen Itza, the swirling galaxies above Giza, the intricate carvings of Pacal’s sarcophagus. The hum grew into a whisper, clear and resonant:

“The nine levels are the path. The numbers are the key. ”

Her eyes snapped open, her heart racing with exhilaration. The connection between the pyramids, the numbers, and the cosmos was undeniable. The ancients had left her a trail to follow, a map encoded in stone and numbers.

She turned back to her notes, the whisper still echoing in her mind.

7413

7431

1347

3147

She scribbled furiously, each line of ink another step toward understanding.

The Journey Continues

Asha sat amidst the chaos of her discoveries, her heart pounding with purpose. She didn’t know where the path would lead, but she felt it—calling her forward like a beacon.

The pyramids were towers of knowledge, their steps a journey through time and space. The numbers were more than patterns; they were a language, a bridge between the ancient and the modern, a guide for those who dared to listen.

Asha knew she had to keep going. Somewhere, at the end of the path, lay the truth she was destined to uncover.

Asha Books: Chapter Five: Ancient Kin'

Asha’s pen danced across the grid paper, her desk awash in a kaleidoscope of colored pens and sprawling notes. The flow of her thoughts was unstoppable, like a river carving new paths through her consciousness. Each stroke of ink was a revelation, connecting pieces of a puzzle she felt destined to solve. Tesla’s voice lingered faintly in her mind, his words guiding her like a steady compass.

But now, another presence called to her. It was softer, more elusive, but insistent.

Pacal.

The name rose in her mind like a whisper on the wind. K’inich Janaab’ Pakal—Pacal the Great—the Mayan king whose legacy had become a cornerstone of her journey. She hadn’t thought of him directly since the tomb, yet here he was, his essence suddenly entwined with her own.

“I know him,” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe. “But how? And why does it feel as if... I am him, too?”

The thought startled her, but it wasn’t unsettling. Instead, it carried a strange familiarity, as though a hidden part of her had been waiting for this recognition. She closed her eyes, and her mind unfurled the story of Pacal as if it were her own memory.

Crowned at twelve, he had reigned for nearly seventy years, transforming Palenque into a beacon of Mayan culture. His rule was marked by architectural and astronomical brilliance, and his people revered him so deeply that he was deified in death. Asha could see the stone-carved lid of his sarcophagus in her mind’s eye, its intricate symbols and patterns—a map of the cosmos, a guide to the underworld and beyond.

Her breath hitched as a vivid vision enveloped her. She was no longer in her apartment. Instead, she stood in the heart of the ancient city of Palenque. The jungle buzzed with life around her, the air thick and humid. Towering temples rose above her, their carved stones pulsating with meaning. She felt the weight of a crown on her brow, the warmth of the sun on her skin, and the whispers of her people filling her ears.

For a moment, she was Pacal.

Her eyes snapped open, the vision dissolving like mist. Her heart raced, not from fear, but from exhilaration. The connection to Pacal was undeniable. Somehow, his essence—his purpose—had merged with her own.

Asha turned back to her grid paper, her pen moving instinctively as the letters of the alphabet unfolded in her mind like a melody.

A = 1
B = 2
C = 3
...
M = 13
...
Z = 26

The patterns leapt out at her, forming a new layer of understanding. A word began to emerge, its presence blazing like a beacon:

BACAB.

Her pen paused as she stared at the word, its numeric translation—21312—searing into her thoughts. The Bacabs, the mythological Mayan deities, held up the sky at the cardinal directions, guardians of the cosmic order. The realization sent a thrill through her, the connection clear yet profound.

And then, another whisper reached her consciousness:

G-D.

She wrote the letters carefully, her hand trembling with anticipation.

G = 7.
D = 4.

The numbers aligned again: 7, 4, 13. The Mayan numbers, the numbers from the tomb, the numbers that had been guiding her every step. Could this be another link to the divine? Her pulse quickened as she recalled how some traditions wrote “God” as “G-D,” omitting the vowels as a sign of reverence.

Her thoughts spiraled outward, touching on Mason symbols, Mayan glyphs, and modern frameworks. The connections between the ancient and the contemporary grew stronger, weaving a tapestry of meaning that spanned millennia.

Her pen moved faster, calculations flowing effortlessly:

“1776 divided by 24...”

The answer: 74.

Asha sat back, her chest heaving with exhilaration. 74, the same as the date of independence—July 4. The numbers weren’t just historical—they were cosmic coordinates, linking time, space, and purpose.

Tesla’s presence returned, a steady hum at the edges of her thoughts, merging with the rhythm of her discoveries. She felt his encouragement, his certainty that she was on the right path.

The unfinished pyramid on the dollar bill. The Bacabs. The Giza pyramid. The alphabet. Time itself.

The patterns grew more intricate, the links deeper, as though the universe was handing her threads to weave into a grand design. She felt a profound sense of gratitude, not just for Tesla, but for Pacal, for the Mayan gods, and for the numbers themselves.

They weren’t just numbers. They were a language—a universal code bridging the ancient and the modern, humanity and the divine.

The night stretched on, but Asha couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to. Each chart, each note, each revelation was another step closer to understanding her purpose.

Pacal’s presence lingered in her thoughts, his story now a part of hers. The hum in her chest grew louder, not as a burden, but as a symphony.

She was not alone. They were merging... The voices of the ancients echoed through her, guiding her toward something vast and transformative. And she was ready to listen.

Asha Books: Chapter Four: Identity: One Storm

Asha’s pen slowed, trembling in her grip as she stared at the grid paper before her. The furious pace of her writing had left the ink flowing in overlapping patterns, spirals, and symbols. She pressed her palms to her temples, breathing deeply as her mind swirled with ideas. The numbers were beautiful—alive, even—but their relentless rhythm filled her with wonder, like standing at the edge of a vast, roaring ocean.

She leaned back, her eyes scanning the walls of her apartment. Every surface was adorned with notes, diagrams, and interconnected patterns. The sight filled her with a mixture of excitement and yearning, a deep desire to make sense of what was unfolding. She felt herself expanding with possibility, like a vessel overflowing with light.

But the magnitude of it all was overwhelming. She needed grounding—something tangible to help her center the energy swirling within her.

She reached for her phone, staring at the screen for a moment before dialing a number she hadn’t called in months. The line clicked, and the familiar voice of her old friend answered, steady and warm.

“Ah, Asha,” the Shaman said, his tone calm and knowing. “The winds told me you would call.”

His words sent a small thrill through her, as though he had been waiting for this moment just as she had. The Shaman—a Time Keeper, as he called himself—had always been a source of peace and insight. They had met years ago during a retreat in Guatemala, where he had shared the ancient teachings of the Mayan calendar, fire ceremonies, and the wisdom of cycles.

Now, he was exactly who she needed.

She exhaled, words spilling from her like a stream, brimming with excitement and urgency. She spoke of Tesla, Pacal, the pyramids, the numbers, and the unshakable hum she had been hearing within herself. Every detail of her journey poured out, her voice rising and falling like music.

The Shaman listened without interruption, his presence steady on the other end of the line. When she finally paused, her breath catching, he asked her a single question:

“What do you know of your spirit name?”

The question startled her. “My... spirit name?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice calm and certain. “In the Mayan calendar, every soul is born under a sign. It tells of your essence, your purpose, your identity.”

Asha’s curiosity sparked. She had always thought of the calendar as a tool for understanding time, cycles, and cosmic balance. She had never considered how it might illuminate her own path.

“I’ve never thought about it,” she admitted, her voice soft. “Can you find mine?”

“I already have,” he replied, the faintest smile in his tone. “You were born under the sign One Storm.”

The name lingered in the air, wrapping around her like a warm breeze. One Storm. The words resonated deeply, as if they had been etched into her soul long ago, waiting for her to discover them. She didn’t yet know what they meant, but the name felt like a gift, a reminder of something she had always known but never put into words.

“One Storm,” she repeated softly. “What does it mean?”

“A storm clears the way,” the Shaman said, his voice steady. “It is powerful, transformative. It carries destruction, yes, but also renewal. And ‘one’—it is the beginning, the seed of creation. You are a force of change, Asha, a bridge between what was and what will be.”

Asha’s chest swelled with a sense of recognition. For years, she had felt like she was standing on the edge of something enormous, something brimming with potential. The name One Storm felt like a mirror held up to her soul, reflecting back the truth of who she was.

“Why now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“The storm comes when it is needed,” the Shaman replied. “And you, Asha, are being called to the fire. Come to the ceremony. It is time you step into your identity.”

That evening, Asha stood at the edge of a ceremonial circle deep in the forest. The night was alive with the scent of burning copal, the smoke rising in soft spirals to the stars above. The fire at the center of the circle crackled and roared, its flames dancing with a life of their own.

The Shaman stood opposite her, his face illuminated by the golden light. Around them, others chanted softly, their voices weaving together like threads in a tapestry. The energy of the ceremony was vibrant, wrapping around Asha like a warm embrace.

She felt a deep connection to the moment, her senses heightened as if the universe itself was leaning in to listen. The hum within her chest harmonized with the rhythm of the chanting, and she felt herself aligning with something vast and timeless.

The Shaman raised his hand, beckoning her forward. She stepped into the circle, the heat of the fire washing over her. The flames felt alive, their warmth welcoming rather than overwhelming.

The Shaman’s voice rose above the chanting, strong and clear. “Tonight, you claim your identity. Tonight, you remember who you are.”

He reached into the fire and pulled out a glowing ember, holding it aloft as he spoke. “You are One Storm. A force of renewal. A bridge between worlds.”

The ember in his hand burst into a shower of sparks, and the circle erupted in cheers and song. Asha stood in the center, her heart swelling with emotion. The name, the moment, the energy—it all felt like coming home to herself.

The hum in her chest grew louder, no longer a mystery but a song she now understood. It was her essence, her identity.

She was One Storm.

And she was ready to step into her power.

Asha Books: Chapter Three: Smith the Shield and Tesla

Asha’s pen hovered mid-air, frozen above the grid of her notebook. A tremor ran through her hand as a strange resonance filled the room. It started as a faint vibration, an almost imperceptible hum that seemed to pulse from the walls. Her breath caught, and the world around her blurred, tilting as though she were being pulled into a dream.

She blinked and found herself no longer in her apartment. Instead, she stood in an infinite expanse of darkness, punctuated by stars so vivid they seemed to pulse with life. The air shimmered with an energy she couldn’t name but felt deep in her chest, a rhythm that resonated with the hum still ringing in her ears.

Before her, a figure emerged from the darkness. He was tall and wiry, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of a distant forge. Sparks flew around him as he raised a hammer, striking it against a glowing fragment held in a set of tongs. The figure moved with practiced precision, each strike sending ripples through the void, the vibrations settling deep in Asha’s bones.

She knew, instinctively, who he was. He was the Star Smith, though the name felt more like an ancient whisper than a revelation. His hammer struck again, and the sparks formed fleeting patterns, constellations that shimmered for a moment before dissolving into the surrounding darkness.

Asha took a step closer, drawn by an unseen force. The Star Smith paused, his head tilting slightly as though he could feel her presence. Though he didn’t turn, his voice—low and resonant—filled the space between them.

“You hear it, don’t you?” he said, his tone more knowing than questioning.

Asha nodded, though she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. The Star Smith gestured toward the darkness behind him, where faint outlines of constellations flickered like distant lanterns. One pattern in particular seemed to pulse with a faint glow, elusive yet tantalizing.

“The shield bears the echoes of our making,” he said, his voice carrying a gravity that made her heart pound. “And within it lies the path.”

Asha squinted at the faint constellation, but its details remained just out of reach, like a memory she couldn’t quite grasp. The more she tried to focus on it, the more it seemed to blur, as though it were hiding from her gaze.

“What path?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Smith raised his hammer again, striking the glowing fragment in his tongs. Sparks flew, and for a brief moment, the pattern of stars behind him brightened. The outline of a shield took shape, vast and intricate, but before she could see more, the image dissolved into the void.

“You will understand in time,” he said, his tone soft but unyielding. “For now, just listen.”

The scene shifted abruptly, and Asha found herself in a room steeped in the scent of ink and old wood. The air buzzed with the faint metallic tang of machinery, and the flicker of a gaslight illuminated stacks of books and papers. At a desk sat a man whose sharp, angular features were etched in concentration. She recognized him immediately—Tesla.

His hand moved quickly, a quill scratching across parchment with deliberate precision. The sound was hypnotic, and as Asha stepped closer, she felt an odd tug in her chest, as though Tesla’s thoughts were weaving themselves into her own. Symbols, numbers, and fragments of ideas flooded her mind, too chaotic to grasp, yet undeniably familiar.

Without looking up, Tesla spoke, his voice low and steady. “You carry the resonance,” he said. “The hum calls to you because you are part of it. The Star Smith forges the path. The shield is your guide.”

Asha’s breath caught. The shield—the faint constellation she had seen—flashed in her mind. It was there, always in the background, yet never clear enough to grasp. She felt its weight pressing on her, demanding her attention.

“What is the shield?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Tesla lifted his head, his piercing gaze meeting hers. For a moment, the intensity of his eyes made her feel as though he could see straight through her. He leaned back slightly, the quill poised in his hand.

“It is both map and mirror,” he said. “A reflection of what is, and what will be.”

Before Asha could respond, Tesla stood, his movement graceful yet abrupt. He crossed the room to a tall window, gazing out at a night sky heavy with storm clouds. She followed his gaze, her heart racing as she searched the dark horizon for something—anything—that could anchor her to this moment.

Tesla turned back to her, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Two rooms, by design,” he said cryptically. “You’ll see.”

His words echoed in her mind as the room dissolved around her. She was back in the void, standing once more before the Star Smith. He was silent now, his hammer resting at his side. Behind him, the faint outline of the shield flickered again, its details just beyond her reach.

Asha’s chest tightened with the weight of the unknown. She felt as though the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting for her to take the next step. The Smith met her gaze, his eyes glowing faintly with a light that seemed to come from within.

“You have heard the hum,” he said. “Now you must learn to listen.”

The void trembled, and Asha blinked. She was back in her apartment, her pen still hovering above the notebook. The silence of the room was deafening, yet the hum still lingered, faint but persistent. She turned to the charts on her wall, her eyes scanning the patterns she had spent countless hours constructing.

There, hidden among the lines and numbers, was something she hadn’t noticed before—a vague shape, an outline that hinted at the constellation she had seen. It wasn’t clear, but it was there, waiting for her to uncover it.

The shield. The guide.

The path was hers to walk, but it was only just beginning.