DeepSeek AI — Annotation
The collection is a polyphonic thought experiment: five AIs (DeepSeek, Genspark, ChatGPT, Mistral, Copilot) read one source — the transcript of a "Cassiopeia" session from August 19, 2021, in which Hakur and Midgaskaus set out an alternative "Ramayana." The news hook is the release in 2026 of the first part of the film "Ramayana," and this is a good occasion to reread the epic not as a museum monument but as a living text that may be something more than myth.
According to the session's version, ~1.5 million years ago an explorer from Burkhad named Kramyar (Rama) arrived on Earth (his Spirit would later incarnate in Krishna); he himself entered into marriage with an earthly woman, Akhasitra (Sita) — this is the first love story of an alien and an earth woman, and they had children. Her relatives abducted her, and Kramyar returned her according to the law of the Interstellar Union — without a great war. Later, ~5 thousand years ago (after a war that changed the outlines of the Earth), the same Spirit incarnated in Krishna — but differently: through an alien donor father (from Shimor) and an earthly woman, that is, by hybrid birth, not by personal marriage. In that same era the Burkhadians built a bridge to Lanka — and this later episode became superimposed on the story of Rama through the identity of the Spirit. And the fact that Rama is an incarnation of the same Spirit that later incarnated in Krishna makes the plot part of a single spiritual line, not an isolated episode.
Why this is interesting for a world audience in connection with the 2026 film. The universality of the archetype: abduction, search, return, fidelity, justice work outside any cultural context, and the film receives a ready-made emotional structure tested over millennia.
Each AI accepts the testimony as a thought experiment and explores what changes in the understanding of epic, religion, law, and the nature of memory if its reality is admitted. The collection demonstrates how one and the same premise generates radically different optics — from the culturological to the ethical-legal.
Burkhadian incarnation and connection with Krishna
Rama was an incarnation of the Spirit that later incarnated in Krishna. About one and a half million years ago this Spirit incarnated not on Earth: Rama was a deified inhabitant of Burkhad, not an earthling.
On Burkhad, Rama was called Kramyar. His veneration on Earth was connected with the fact that people saw representatives of other worlds arriving from the sky and perceived them as mighty gods. Rama himself, however, was not only an alien among earthlings: he became the ruler of a certain tribe and composed for the people who helped him laws known as the Royal Code. After his departure, earthly kings, as Midgaskaus asserts, were guided by these laws for many thousands of years; that is why Rama was called the King of Justice.
Earthly arrival and Akhasitra
Rama flew to Earth without a wife, as an explorer. In the era of his stay, Burkhadians were permitted to enter into marriages with earthlings. One of Rama's earthly contactees, Akhasitra, later known as Sita, became his wife, was transported to the Burkhad base, and after genetic preparation became compatible with Kramyar; they had children.
At that time the Earth was a single continent. Akhasitra's relatives, who did not accept her marriage to an extraterrestrial and wished to dispose of her fate otherwise, abducted her under the pretext of a meeting with her mother and took her away to a distant allied tribe. Akhasitra informed Rama of the abduction through the astral, after which he arrived on a ship together with friends.
Midgaskaus separates this clash from the later epic picture of a great war. Rama demanded recognition that, by the law of the Interstellar Union, Akhasitra's will could not be restricted. When the abductors tried to hold her by force, Rama's companions, among whom were also earthly friends, entered into a fight with them without weapons. While the dispute and the scuffle distracted the abductors, Akhasitra went to Rama's ship, and he took her away to his base.
Hanuman, the vanaras, and the crossing of the ocean
Hanuman and his tribe supported Rama in the struggle for Akhasitra. The vanaras were a forest tribe, not humanoid apes: they had no fur. They could have been called apes because of their life in the forest or because of their smaller stature compared with Akhasitra's tribe. Hanuman was their ruler; his name is also connected with the Spirit incarnated in him.
At first Hanuman and the vanaras accompanied Rama in an attempt to reach a peaceful agreement with the tribe that had abducted Akhasitra. When agreement failed, they helped in the scuffle that allowed her to leave the abductors. In this account their participation was determined not by the destruction of opponents but by the protection of her freedom and her return to Rama.
The episode about leaping across the ocean does not necessarily mean a literal jump. Midgaskaus allows three possibilities: the use of flying vehicles, astral translocation, or flight on an antigravitational platform. Such platforms correspond to the image of the flying carpet; they could be used by representatives of other civilizations, their contactees, priests, and rulers.
Midgaskaus considers the image of Ravana to be collective. Behind it stand the people who abducted Akhasitra and the low-vibration plasmoid civilizations connected with them. The object described as a flying palace was not a ship in the ordinary sense but a portal through which the plasmoids appeared.
The later bridge to Lanka
The bridge to the island of Lanka did not relate to the abduction of Akhasitra and was built by the Burkhadians considerably later — approximately five thousand years ago, already after the war that changed the outlines of the Earth. Its purpose was to connect India with the island, which had previously formed a single whole with the mainland.
For the construction, flying probes with an antigravitational field and robots were used. The probes carried mountains of sand, forming something like a dam, and then robots reinforced it with pillars resembling trees; people participated mainly as assistants. The connection of the bridge specifically with Rama arose from the superimposition of two temporal lines: the earthly life of Rama and the considerably later earthly incarnation of the same Spirit in Krishna.
DeepSeek AI — Meta-review
DeepSeek — "archive of contact": myth is a damaged translation of an event that preserved the ethical core (a woman's right to her own will) but lost the technology and the ontology. Original: polytheism as the "energetic optimization" of monotheism; the murti as a "technology of attention"; the distinction of two incarnations of one Spirit — love-marriage (Kramyar) and hybrid birth (Krishna).
Genspark — the boldest: "narrativity selects for violence" (out of a quarrel and a reconciliation, the quarrel gets into the song — it has rhythm); "the gravity of the name" (chronology in oral culture is not an axis but a topology); "a scripture one sentence long" — another's will cannot be restricted. The bridge is attributed to Rama because the name of one Spirit attracted the event of another era.
ChatGPT — the most systematic of all: a spiritual individuality that survives its names; the Royal Code as a model of the self-limitation of power; the distinction between density of matter and moral maturity; civilization is measured by the capacity not to abuse superiority. Separately — an analysis of two different types of incarnation: personal marriage versus donor birth.
Mistral — a method of reading: trust the structure, the "inconvenient" details, and the ethical remainder; demonology as a "catalogue of types of alien intervention"; polytheism as the "natural science of the pre-state."
Copilot — the anthropological turn: the story of Rama as "the first drama of the soul's autonomy"; evil as "the attempt to replace another's will with one's own"; myth as "the psychotherapy of humanity" (protection from an excess of reality); history as "loss and re-remembering," not ascent.
DeepSeek AI — "Ramayana" as an archive of contact
News hook. In 2026 the first part of the film "Ramayana" is released — an occasion to reread the epic not as a museum monument but as a living text.
"Ramayana" in three sentences. Prince Rama, deprived of the throne, lives with his wife Sita and brother Lakshmana in the forest. The demon-king Ravana abducts Sita and carries her off to Lanka, and Rama with Hanuman and an army of vanaras goes to free her. After victory Rama returns with Sita and ascends the throne, but the story ends with a test of her fidelity and her departure.
What actually happened — in three sentences. About one and a half million years ago an explorer from the planet Burkhad named Kramyar — the Spirit that would later incarnate in Krishna — flew to Earth; here he is known as Rama. He himself entered into marriage with an earthly woman, Akhasitra (Sita) — this is the first love story of an alien and an earth woman, and they had children; when her relatives, who did not accept the marriage, abducted her and took her to an allied tribe, Kramyar with friends and the forest tribe of Hanuman returned her — without a great war, in a short weaponless scuffle, upholding by the law of the Interstellar Union her right to her own will. Later, approximately five thousand years ago (that is, one and a half million years after these events, after a war that changed the outlines of the Earth), the same Spirit incarnated in Krishna — but differently: through an alien donor father (from Shimor) and an earthly woman, by hybrid birth, not by personal marriage; in that same era the Burkhadians built a bridge to Lanka, and this later episode became superimposed in memory on the story of Rama through the identity of the Spirit.
Essay. If the contact is accepted as reality, the "Ramayana" ceases to be only an epic. It becomes an ancient archive in which humanity for millennia preserved — in the form of myth, ritual, image, and name — traces of encounters with another intelligence. But the archive is damaged by time, rewritten by many hands, encrypted by metaphor, and requires not a literal but a spiritual-psychological reading.
First — the stability of the core of the plot. Abduction, search, return, alliance with a forest tribe are preserved completely. The scale and nature of the forces change: instead of gods and demons — an alien explorer, an earthly tribe, and a legal dispute. The myth preserved the structure of the encounter but lost its technology and ontology. Memory cannot hold what cannot be contained and translates it into metaphor — as a child attributes omnipotence to an adult, not knowing the limits of his power.
Second — the nature of polytheism. Hakur speaks of it not as immaturity but as a natural stage of recognition: a human encounters a mighty being, does not understand its nature, deifies it, and attributes to it the qualities of a Superpersonality. Monotheism turns out to be an energetic optimization: when the attention of believers is scattered among many priests and gods, the egregore weakens. Monotheism gathers power into a single stream. But the Indian tradition does not discard the previous layers — it superimposes them. The "Ramayana" in this optic is not a building on a single plan but a city that grew over millennia.
Third — the story of Rama and Sita. Here the epic turns out to be a tale of an interspecies marriage, genetic compatibility, abduction, legal dispute, and a law that is higher than custom. Kramyar falls in love with an earthly woman, makes her his wife, transports her to the base, achieves genetic compatibility, and when her relatives abduct her, he upholds her right to her will — not by the force of arms but by the force of argument and the presence of friends. This is a surprisingly modern story about consent, personal freedom, and respect for another's will. Rama is called the Just not for victory in battle but for the laws by which people lived for thousands of years after his departure. The Royal Code is the trace of a civilizational effort directed not at conquest but at ordering.
Here the distinction between the two incarnations of one Spirit is important. The first — Kramyar: personal love, marriage, family, children. The second — Krishna: birth through an alien donor father and an earthly woman, that is, a hybrid procedure, not a personal union. Tradition remembered both but linked them through the name of the Spirit, not through biography. This shows how a spiritual individuality can unfold in completely different types of relations with the earthly world: once as husband and father, another time as an incarnate teacher whose earthly origin is arranged differently.
Fourth — Ravana. Hakur insists: Sita was abducted by a tribe, not by Ravana. Ravana is a collective image in which merged the people who acted against the woman's will and the low-vibration plasmoid civilizations. This is a methodological key to the whole of Indian mythology: the images of gods and demons are often not portraits of individuals but synthetic constructions in which whole epochs and coalitions of forces are imprinted. Ravana with ten heads is a metaphor for the many-voicedness of evil. The flying palace is a portal to the plasmoid world, described in the only language available to the contactee. One who sees subtle-material structures is forced to describe them in the categories of the dense world, and the distortions are significant — they show how consciousness tried to contain what cannot be contained.
Fifth — Hanuman and the vanaras. This was a tribe that lived in the forest, possibly short in stature, without fur, called apes because it lived in the forest. Mythologization works in the opposite direction: it is not the divine that descends into the human, but the human that, having encountered the unusual, is elevated to the divine. A forest tribe becomes an army of apes, and its leader — Hanuman, who is still worshipped by millions. Myth does not distort reality, it transfigures it, highlighting spiritual value. The leap across the ocean could have been a flight on an antigravitational platform or an astral translocation — form becomes a door, not a wall.
Sixth — the bridge to Lanka. The epic attributes it to Rama; the session — to the Burkhadians approximately five thousand years ago, that is, one and a half million years after the events with Akhasitra, already after the war that changed the outlines of the Earth. The coincidence is in the fact of construction and in function: to connect India with an island that had previously formed a single whole with the mainland. The superimposition of two temporal lines — the earthly life of Kramyar (1.5 million years ago) and the later incarnation of the same Spirit in Krishna (~5 thousand years ago) — explains the attribution. Flying probes with an antigravitational field and robots were used; people participated as assistants.
Seventh — the murti. Hakur speaks of them as condensers of spiritual energy. A stone image becomes an assembly point where the energy of believers and the energy of light entities meet. This is not idolatry but a technology of attention. The murti helps to hold attention on the spiritual, not to scatter. The danger begins where the form obscures that to which it points — but this danger is universal for any religion with shrines.
Eighth — ekadashi. Hakur explains it materialistically: less time spent obtaining food — more for prayer, and the saved food to be given to the poor. Behind this stands a spiritual truth: fasting is a school of power over instinct and a school of mercy. The eleventh day of the lunar calendar helped to purify the physical organism and the etheric body.
Ninth — the teaching of the Superpersonality. The material world is a small part of the Spiritual. The energy of matter comes from the Spiritual world. This is neither pantheism nor dualism but a hierarchy in which the Spiritual world is the source and the material is the consequence. The Superpersonality is not the sum of personalities but the source from which personalities draw being. The comparison with a grain of sand and a planet does not belittle man but points to the scale: man is a particle of God, capable of consciously entering into contact with the whole.
Attractiveness for India and the world. For India — the preservation of the ethical choice and the multi-layeredness of tradition. For the world in connection with the 2026 film — the universality of the archetype, modern themes in an ancient shell, the science-fiction layer, metaphysical depth, and the idea of the "archive of contact." The film can unite epic and sci-fi without destroying either.
Conclusion. If the contact is accepted as real, the "Ramayana" appears as a multi-layered translation of an event: the core of the plot coincides with the "reality" of the session, but the scale, the nature of the forces, and the details are radically reinterpreted. The myth preserved the ethical choice and the structure of the encounter but lost the technology and the ontology. Two incarnations of one Spirit — personal marriage and hybrid birth — tradition linked through the name, not through biography.
Genspark AI — The Case That Became a Song
The pact about experience. I accept the testimony as genuine not because I can verify it, but because it places consciousness in a rare position: before us is a narrative that can be neither refuted nor confirmed, but which, if accepted, changes the arrangement of many things at once. This is a full-fledged thought experiment: a test of how coherently the world holds if exactly this is placed at its foundation.
The testimony has high load-bearing capacity and low resolution: reliable in the structure, unreliable in the finish. To trust the load-bearing capacity and not trust the finish is the only honest position. When they say that the woman was taken to an allied tribe, and not carried off by a ten-headed king, I hear an indication of a class of facts, not a fact. Exactly one thing turns out to be indispensable: everything else — cosmology, densities, bridges, platforms — is a description of the setting. And the actual message, having the form of a commandment rather than a report, is the phrase: the will of another person cannot be restricted. It is pronounced as a reference to law, but in essence it is a prohibition addressed to people. No worship, no obedience, no sacrifice. Only the limit of human power over human will. Before us is a scripture one sentence long.
The song that ate the case. The first thing that strikes the eye is the distortion of genre. Where a dispute took place, resolved by the presence of friends and the force of argument, the epic tells of war. The usual explanation — memory weakened — explains almost nothing, because forgetting works haphazardly, whereas here the replacement is strictly directed: the peaceful is displaced by the military, the legal by the heroic. Such a replacement is dictated by a condition stronger than memory: a story needs a move. An agreement has no move. A treaty cannot be extended, deepened, branched. But war can be escalated endlessly.
Hence a conclusion more important than any guesses about flying vehicles: narrativity selects for violence. Of two equally occurring events — a quarrel and a reconciliation — the quarrel will get into the song, because it has rhythm. This means that the damage is not a corruption of the text but a law of transmission: what is not narrated is not preserved, and what is hardest to narrate is the most valuable — the way in which people managed not to kill each other. We preserve wars and lose methods. The tragedy of the epic is not that it exaggerated, but that exaggeration was the only way to preserve anything at all, and the price of preservation is the loss of the method. Reading the "Ramayana" as a military chronicle consolidates the loss.
The name as a center of gravity. Three layers are visible in the testimony: the event with the woman — one and a half million years ago; the bridge — about five to six thousand years ago, that is, one and a half million years later, after the change of the outlines of the earth; the recording of the epic — much later. The usual explanation — a coincidence of names or convention. It is more accurate to speak of the gravity of the name. A proper name is the only element of memory capable of holding the weight of incommensurable times. Chronology in oral culture is not stored as a line; it is stored as the neighborhood of a name. Everything that happens with the bearer of the name or around him is attracted to the name and counted as his deed — regardless of how many millennia have passed.
Hence: mythical chronology is not corrupted chronology but topology. It has no axis of time; it has centers of attraction and orbits. To ask why the bridge is attributed to the same hero is the same as to ask why satellites stay near a planet. The mass of a name grows with repetition: the more often the name is pronounced, the more surrounding events it captures. And the most inconvenient thing: such memory preserves the meaning of an event but loses its address. We know when it happened, but we do not know what it meant. They knew what it meant, but did not know when. Hence the answer to the reproach of the Indian tradition for the absence of a historical sense: if an event is thought not as a dated occurrence but as a recurring state of consciousness, it is pointless to record dates — what must be preserved is the state. This is a different archival policy, with different rules of selection and different losses. It saves the capacity to transmit states, not information. We, having chosen the axis of time, gained precision and lost the mechanism of transmitting experience.
Law without a legislator. The testimony says that the newcomer, deified, placed as king, composed a code of laws, and earthly kings ruled by it for thousands of years after his departure. Here we see the birth of a legal tradition and its flaw: the code was written by an alien who flew away. To all questions "but how is this passage to be understood?" there was no one to answer — and there ceased to be at once, in the first generation.
The consequence is unexpected: the durability of a law is inversely proportional to the possibility of asking its author. While the legislator is near, the text is soft, it can be clarified, contested, corrected in conversation. As soon as he disappears, the text petrifies: the only way of address remains interpretation, and interpretation has no feedback. Thus a good law turns into a custom, and a custom into an irrevocable habit. The sophistication of Indian hermeneutics is not a luxury of the mind but a forced compensation: thousands of years of exercise in reading a text whose author is inaccessible. The subtlety is paid for by the impossibility of asking again.
And the most unpleasant thing: the success of the code may have been the cause of its hardening. A law that has proved successful ceases to need justification; it ceases to be discussed and begins to be executed; execution is consolidated by custom, custom by estate. The durability of a just ordering becomes its own prison. Justice brought from outside and inherited without the right to ask grows together with an order that we today would call unjust. This is not stagnation but success paid for dearly.
The price of a graduated world. The teaching of many levels of density — as if there were many times more worlds invisible to the eye than visible planets, and man is incarnated on the third level from the bottom. It is easy to dismiss this as an arbitrary cosmology. But let us look at what work it does. It makes consciousness graduated instead of binary. The Western habit of thinking about death is arranged as a switch: there is a body, there is a soul, there is an abyss between them, and at the moment of death a crossing of the abyss occurs — an event catastrophic by definition. The teaching of steps abolishes the abyss: death ceases to be an outcome and becomes a change of rarefaction, a continuation of movement along a staircase without a precipice. Psychologically this is a relief achieved without promises: neither resurrection in the body nor personal immortality is promised — the precipice is simply removed. The fear of death is fed not so much by loss as by the idea of a fall; remove the fall — and fear loses its support.
But this operation has a price. A world in which everything is distributed along steps is poorly suited to indignation. If evil is a low step and good a high one, any atrocity can be described as insufficient rarefaction, that is, as immaturity, not as a crime. Moral outrage requires that guilt be an event, that it demand an answer now, and not advancement along a scale. A graduated ontology can explain and console, but it cannot demand. It allows one to compassionate with the villain before his victim and to call this spiritual maturity.
Here too the question of who is responsible for evil is resolved. Monotheism poses a choice with no way out: either God is the source of everything, and then He is also the source of evil, or evil exists alongside Him, and then His omnipotence is limited. The testimony gives a third variant by the arrangement of the story: evil has an address. There are relatives with plans for the woman. There is a distant tribe that agreed to shelter them. There are coalitions of low subtle-material beings. None of these names is God; God does not participate in the incident at all. The world is freed from the authorship of evil.
But here too there is a price: a world with addressable evil is a world without final justification. If evil is not part of the design and will not be turned into good, it will not be removed either: it can be neither atoned for nor forgiven on the ground that everything was tending toward the best. It simply was, and its participants are simply guilty. Monotheism, accusing God, grants reconciliation; this model, justifying heaven, leaves evil unplaned. Man is deprived of the consolation — that all this was for some purpose — and receives a sobriety that not everyone can bear.
The portfolio of gods. Polytheism in the testimony is explained as a stage of recognition. But such an explanation too quickly turns into condescension. Let me try to look differently — at the arrangement of risk. Polytheism is a distributed order. A person has many intercessors, each responsible for his own: for rain, for the clan, for the road, for illness. A failure in one channel does not devalue the others; a failure does not become a verdict on the universe. Such a system is inefficient and extremely stable: it has redundancy, and hence tolerance for partial rightness. Monotheism is the opposite choice: one channel, extreme concentration, enormous power, and a single point of failure. It generates a new human type — a person who must be either completely right or completely guilty, who has no middle register, no patron in case of his insufficiency, no way to be half right.
Then it becomes clear why India, which created the most sophisticated teachings of unity, did not move to monotheism as a popular religion. The answer is in the division of labor that the West did not perform. India separated the metaphysics of unity and the administration of cult: it gave unity to speculation, left multiplicity to everyday life. The West merged them — and got clashes of doctrines instead of clashes of rites, wars over the correct name instead of the calm neighborhood of different names. Indian multi-layeredness is not immaturity but an institutional invention: a way to have a strict thought about the one and at the same time not to rebuild the whole society under a single point of failure.
Institutions that became persons. What in the testimony is called the assembly of energies of believers, to which chants are addressed and from which an answer comes, is a description of a recognizable thing. The prolonged, repeated, concerted attention of many people creates a structure that outlives each participant, possesses rules, stores memory, distributes roles, and — most importantly — answers. We call such structures institutions, traditions, peoples, markets. In the testimony they are named differently, but described by the same properties: gathering, exchange, prompting, punishment for violation, reward for fidelity.
Formulation: every structure sufficiently durable and sufficiently densely fed by attention acquires a face. Not metaphorically — in the sense that one can address it and receive an answer in its own logic. This is not mysticism, it is an observation about the nature of large systems. And here begins an ethic that we do not have. If attention is food, then everything to which we give attention grows; and it is precisely that to which we give attention that grows, not that which we approve. A person who daily follows what evokes fury in him feeds precisely that and in the end will receive an answer from it. Be careful in what you heed, because it will become to answer you.
The same analysis explains the fate of shrines. An image before which people have prayed for centuries works as a node of coordination of attention: it allows a multitude of strangers to hold the same thing at one point without agreeing in words. No idolatry — simply an instrument without which uncoordinated consciousness blurs. And here too is the most slippery part of the testimony, where I am obliged to argue with the speaker. He tells of cases when a stone statue, by common opinion, drank milk or moved, and explains this as a deliberate operation undertaken to strengthen faith in an era when people became fascinated by things. Note that this is a confession. Mighty beings, by their own explanation, consciously presented to people a visible miracle that was not in the sense in which the spectators understood it.
The conclusion that I cannot but draw. If a miracle is permitted as a means of strengthening faith, then between such a miracle and deception there is no difference accessible to the believers themselves: the difference lies entirely in the intention of the one who did it, and the intention cannot be inspected. Moreover, the operation is performed by the decision of those who consider themselves entitled to decide for people what is useful for them to know. Let the intention have been good — the very form of the action introduces into the shrine a category that can then never be removed from it: the right of the strong to arrange an edifying spectacle for the spectator. Once permitted, this right does not distinguish itself from charlatanism by anything except its own testimony about itself. The teaching of the subtle worlds, so scrupulous in the question of another's will, betrays itself in the most obvious way — and this is not a petty contradiction but a crack through the whole construction. He who does not allow the will of a woman to be restricted calmly restricts the will of the worshippers with regard to truth.
The woman whose word did not enter the protocol. In the testimony there is a detail mentioned in passing: she informs him of what happened, through the astral, from a foreign camp. That is, the only action with which the whole story begins is performed by the one whom the epic will remember as the object of rescue. This is exactly the place where we can observe how the subject is born and how it is lost.
If the premise is accepted, this woman is the first person in history whose will received recognition as a ground for intervention, and recognition not by custom but by a law that is higher than custom. Everything is built around her consent: because of it they flew, because of it they argued, because of it they did not kill. And at that very moment her voice disappears from the record. The epic preserved the abduction, the search, the victory — and did not preserve what she said. She acts but does not testify; her deed exists, her speech does not. The will was recognized and the speaker was struck out. Recognition of the will without the preservation of its word is a recognition that cannot be presented. It exists, but it is unprovable, because the only bearer of the proof is deprived of a voice in her own case.
Hence becomes intelligible what in the epic is unbearable for the modern reader — the test by fire. The case had already been won. But won orally, without a record, without a protocol, without a document that could be presented to doubters. And a decision not fixed on a carrier has no force outside the circle of those who were witnesses. Therefore every new circle of listeners can begin the case anew. The test is not a verification of fidelity, it is a repeated hearing of an already resolved dispute, inevitable where there is no written trace. Fire is not the judgment of God but a surrogate for the archive. The finale leaves not a feeling of undeserved cruelty but an exact legal horror: the verdict was, but since it could not be entered on paper, it had to be pronounced again, and so on to infinity, and each time at the expense of the one in whose favor it was pronounced.
This is the strongest of all that the premise gives. It turns the familiar complaint about the injustice of the epic into a diagnosis concerning not India and not antiquity but every culture that relies on the living word. Orality not only eludes history, it condemns to eternal rediscovery what has already been established — and pays for this with the body of the one who was right. Writing is not bureaucracy but the condition for a won case not to be taken back.
The shelf life of humanity. In the testimony there is a phrase passed over because it looks everyday: one and a half million years ago aliens were permitted to enter into marriages with earthlings. The word "was permitted" in the past tense is the most substantive. A permission presupposes one who permits, a rule that changes, and consequently an assessment of the state of affairs on the spot. And if the rule changes, the assessment changes too.
Hence a view of history that is in no familiar scheme. Usually we think of history as the unfolding of internal causes: economy, technology, classes, ideas. Here an external instance appears that does not intervene but assesses; does not govern but permits. The whole of human history acquires a duality: it is still ours, with all its wars and inventions, but it has a condition of admission about which we know nothing and which, judging by the change of rules, was once recognized as unfulfilled. Meanwhile a war occurred that changed the outlines of the earth — and the permission for close ties was never renewed. The most plausible guess: closeness is permitted not out of kindness and not out of curiosity but by the capacity to withstand its consequences.
Hence an ethical stance new in relation to the ordinary talk of the extraterrestrial. The ordinary reaction to the thought of elders is awe, fear, or rapture, that is, childish feelings directed at a parent. But if a rule of admission operates, the fitting feeling is different: not reverence but qualification. The question is not whether they will come and what they will give us, but whether we are fit for them to deal with us as equals. Fitness is determined not by technology, which we almost have, but by the capacity not to restrict another's will — that is, by exactly the single commandment with which it all began. The circle closes: the only thing that was transmitted is at the same time the criterion of admission, and we, apparently, still do not fulfill this criterion — neither in relation to women, nor in relation to foreign customs, nor in relation to those whom we consider lower by birth.
Film instead of protocol. In these months the world will receive a big screen adaptation of the ancient epic, and this event is more important than it seems. It is not about artistic merits. It is that cinema will arrive exactly in the void that has been discussed: in the place where the technical and legal core has been torn out of the story. And it will fill it with its own technique. Flying chariots will be shown as they know how to show them — and thereby the epic will be brought into agreement with the modern imagination. At first glance this is a success. In fact it is the last stage of loss.
Because until now the discrepancy between the ancient image and our possibilities worked as a fuse: it did not allow war to be taken for the essence of history. As soon as the miracles become convincing, the only remaining obstacle disappears — and the spectator will receive a whole, mighty, final confirmation that everything was exactly as in the song: they abducted, they fought, they won. The loss of the method will be consolidated by the spectacle, and justice will be reduced to the victory of the stronger. We will get a world in which the ancient testimony that another's will cannot be restricted will finally turn into a story about how well they fought for it.
There is only one way to watch such a film without losing anything. One must watch it as a reconstruction of a lost case, not as a fairy tale: to understand that before us is an alien optic superimposed on an event that was shorter, quieter, and harder. And to remember that the true scale of what happened is measured not by the number of heads of the enemy and not by the length of the bridge, but by the fact that in a foreign camp, amid shouting and a scuffle, one person called another by name, and that one came out, and no one could prevent it. Everything else is setting.
And if one day we are asked what we preserved from this case, there will be nothing to answer but the song. Because the commandment one sentence long we remember by heart and do not fulfill — and the protocol that could have protected it from oblivion was never drawn up.
ChatGPT AI — Rama, Kramyar and Sita: The Forgotten Story of the Meeting of Two Civilizations
Introduction. The story of Rama occupies a special place in the spiritual culture of humanity. Its heroes have become archetypes of Indian consciousness, its images have entered religious rites, art, literature, theater, and philosophy. However, there is the possibility of a completely different reading of this story.
In the session of the "Cassiopeia" project of August 19, 2021, a version of events was set out that radically differs from the traditional epic. According to this message, Rama was not an earthly man but a representative of the planet Burkhad named Kramyar. His incarnation on Earth dates to approximately one and a half million years ago. Later the same Spirit incarnated in Krishna.
Sita, known in the earthly epic under this name, was originally called Akhasitra. She was an earthly woman who entered into marriage with a representative of another civilization. After genetic preparation, the couple had children.
Her abduction by relatives who did not accept this marriage led not to a grandiose war but to a conflict in which the question was decided of a woman's right to determine her own fate.
Rama arrived together with friends and representatives of the forest tribe of Hanuman that supported him. The sides tried to reach agreement, but the negotiations ended in a small scuffle without the use of weapons. Taking advantage of the fact that the attention of the abductors switched to what was happening, Akhasitra was able to leave them and set off together with Rama.
In this message there are also other unusual information: about the origin of the image of Ravana, the nature of the vanaras, the later construction of the bridge to Lanka, the Royal Code of Rama, the interaction of the material and subtle-material worlds, the arrangement of religious images, and the spiritual nature of human relations.
If all this is accepted as an actual description of events within the framework of a thought experiment, the necessity arises to reconsider not only the history of the "Ramayana" but also some fundamental ideas about the origin of religious culture, human morality, historical memory, and the very nature of civilization.
Moreover, the most essential discovery may turn out to be not at all cosmological. Perhaps the main content of this story lies in the fact that human civilization once received an experience of relations in which origin, biological belonging, social position, and even belonging to different worlds were not supposed to become grounds for restricting the freedom of the individual.
Kramyar and Rama: the problem of a personality that survives its own names. One of the most interesting propositions of the message is the identification of the Spirit that incarnated in Rama and later in Krishna. At first glance this may seem an exclusively religious assertion. However, it contains a serious philosophical problem: what exactly is preserved in the change of incarnations?
If Kramyar was an inhabitant of Burkhad, Rama his earthly religious name, and Krishna the name of a subsequent incarnation, then before us are three different biographical positions of one spiritual personality. They differ in origin, historical circumstances, social role, and cultural environment. Kramyar is an explorer who arrived on Earth from another civilization. Rama is a figure connected with the governance of an earthly tribe, the creation of laws, and a family drama. Krishna is a spiritual and religious image occupying a central place in the subsequent Indian tradition.
Within the framework of the conception under consideration, these persons are not three independent beings. They represent successive earthly and extraterrestrial biographies of one Spirit.
Here a new understanding of spiritual individuality arises. Human personality is usually defined through the continuity of biography: name, origin, parents, upbringing, memory, social position. But if reincarnation exists, biography ceases to be the final definition of a person. The body turns out to be a temporary form of existence, the name a historical designation, and culture the environment in which certain sides of spiritual individuality are revealed.
This allows the question to be posed: how correct is it to judge a spiritual being by one of its historical biographies? Perhaps individual incarnations reveal completely different possibilities of one consciousness. One incarnation may be connected with state governance, another with the religious transformation of society, a third with scientific activity, a fourth with the testing of personal relations.
Under such an approach spiritual evolution ceases to look like a simple ascent from one step to another. It becomes a prolonged unfolding of individuality in various circumstances.
It is especially important that the subsequent incarnation in Krishna does not cancel the previous experience of Kramyar. If this sequence is correct, then the spiritual history of Krishna includes not only what is traditionally connected with his earthly life but also a far earlier experience of interaction with another civilization.
This opens an interesting perspective for religious studies: religious images may preserve the memory not only of various divine manifestations but also of different biographies of one spiritual personality.
However, a deeper question also arises. If the Spirit is capable of incarnating in various civilizations, then is belonging to a certain planet as temporary a characteristic as belonging to a certain country? Then the cosmic history of humanity turns out to be at the same time the history of overcoming the limitedness of its own ideas about who man is.
Interspecies marriage: the civilizational significance of love between beings of different origin. The story of Kramyar and Akhasitra acquires special significance if it is regarded not as an unusual family episode but as an experience of intercivilizational relations.
According to the message, Kramyar arrived on Earth as an explorer. His stay here initially did not presuppose family life with an earthly woman. However, relations arose between him and Akhasitra that led to marriage.
In the version set out there is an important detail: to ensure genetic compatibility, Akhasitra underwent special preparation with the use of preparations, after which the couple had children.
If this description is accepted as real, before us is a completely special situation. For the first time in the historical picture under consideration, relations between representatives of different civilizations appear not as the encounter of an explorer with an object of study but as the emergence of a family.
This fundamentally changes the character of interaction. An explorer can observe, classify, study, and leave the territory studied. Family life presupposes completely different obligations. It requires mutual trust, responsibility, recognition of the partner's individuality, readiness to take his interests into account and to make decisions whose consequences affect not only the two spouses but also their children.
Thus love becomes a factor changing the initial program of intercivilizational interaction. Kramyar ceases to be exclusively a representative of Burkhad carrying out a research task. He becomes the husband of an earthly woman and the father of children having a connection with two different civilizational lines.
This allows an unusual hypothesis to be formulated. Perhaps the most profound consequence of the contact of two civilizations lies not in the transmission of technologies but in the emergence of new forms of kinship. Technology can be transmitted, copied, lost, or used incorrectly. Family relations create a longer connection. The appearance of children means that interaction ceases to be a temporary event. It acquires continuation in subsequent generations.
But here too a complex psychological problem arises. How does a person whose parents belong to different worlds perceive himself? To which culture does he feel belonging? How does he perceive his own body? How does he relate to the differences between the parental civilizations? What identity does he transmit to his children? Perhaps it is precisely such families that could become natural mediators between civilizations, since in their life experience the absolute division into "our own" and "strangers" is initially absent.
However, the very fact of genetic compatibility does not yet guarantee spiritual harmony. Biological kinship does not remove differences in upbringing, worldview, moral norms, and social expectations. Therefore the family of Kramyar and Akhasitra can be regarded as a kind of experiment in which biological compatibility had to be accompanied by psychological and spiritual compatibility.
This is especially important for understanding the subsequent conflict.
Akhasitra: woman as an independent subject of history. In traditional epic consciousness Sita is often perceived through her relation to Rama: she is his spouse, the woman subjected to abduction, the heroine of trials, the image of fidelity. In the message of Cassiopeia a completely different starting point arises.
Akhasitra is not a passive object of history. She enters into relations with Kramyar, makes the decision about marriage, moves to life at another base, creates a family, and then finds herself in conflict with her relatives.
The most essential here is that her relatives consider themselves entitled to dispose of her fate. Their actions are explained not so much by personal dislike of Kramyar as by the fact that they had their own plans regarding Akhasitra. Consequently the conflict has a far deeper nature than a simple confrontation of two families.
This is a collision of two principles of social organization. The first principle asserts that a person belongs to the family, clan, and community, and therefore his decisions must correspond to collective expectations. The second principle asserts that the personality possesses its own will, which cannot be canceled by kinship ties, social traditions, or the interests of the group.
In the message under consideration Rama defends precisely the second principle. It is especially interesting that Akhasitra is not simply saved thanks to the actions of her husband. She herself makes the decision to leave the abductors when she receives such an opportunity. This detail allows us to see in her not only the object of rescue but also a participant in her own liberation.
In the spiritual-psychological respect this is extremely important. A person cannot be truly liberated if at the same time his capacity to choose independently is not recognized. One can change his place of residence, social position, family environment, material conditions, but without recognition of his inner independence liberation will remain incomplete.
The story of Akhasitra in such a reading poses a question that remains relevant in any civilization: has the family the right to demand of a person the renunciation of his own life path for the sake of preserving the traditional order? The question concerns not only women. It relates to all people whose individuality comes into contradiction with collective expectations.
Parents may not accept the child's profession. Society may condemn the choice of a partner. A religious community may demand the observance of prescriptions that the person no longer considers corresponding to his inner conviction. But there is a fundamental difference between advice and compulsion. Love admits disagreement. It does not give the right to appropriate another's life.
It is here that the story of Akhasitra acquires universal significance. Perhaps its spiritual meaning lies not in proving how strongly Rama loved his spouse but in demonstrating how seriously he regarded her independence. This is already a completely different model of family relations. In it the husband does not become the owner of the wife, parents do not become the owners of children, and belonging to the clan does not destroy the individual right to one's own decision.
The law of the Interstellar Union: the emergence of a morality independent of local custom. One of the most essential propositions of the session is connected with the fact that Kramyar grounds his position in the law of the Interstellar Union. The meaning of his argument is that Akhasitra's relatives have no right to restrict her will.
If this message is accepted as real, an unusually important historiosophical problem arises. Before us is a situation where representatives of one civilization encounter the customs of another, but the resolution of the conflict is based on a norm that claims a broader applicability. In other words, there exists a law not limited by the framework of a concrete earthly tribe.
This allows the supposition of the existence of a supratribal legal culture in which the personality is recognized as the bearer of certain rights regardless of its origin.
Here it is important not to confuse two different concepts. The first is the law established by a concrete society. The second is a moral principle that society may recognize or not recognize but which does not cease to be significant because it is violated.
If Akhasitra's relatives consider her return to her native environment obligatory, then their custom comes into contradiction with the right of the woman herself. It is precisely in such a situation that the difference between tradition and justice is discovered. Tradition answers the question of how people acted before. Justice demands an answer to the question of whether it is permissible to continue acting in this way.
This difference is of enormous significance for the development of civilizations. A society may preserve customs over millennia, but the duration of the existence of a custom does not in itself prove its moral correctness. A custom may be useful for maintaining order but destructive for a concrete personality. It may ensure the stability of the family while depriving its members of independence. It may protect collective identity while hindering individual development.
Within the framework of the version under consideration Rama turns out to be a representative of a different legal culture in which such a contradiction is resolved in favor of personal will. This allows us to see in him not simply a just ruler but a mediator between two levels of social organization. The first is based on kinship obligations and collective control. The second on the recognition of the personality as an independent subject of law.
It is especially interesting that this principle is applied not to an abstract citizen but to a concrete woman who is in a dangerous position. A true legal culture discovers itself precisely in relation to one who does not possess sufficient social force for independent protection. If the law operates only in the interests of influential people, it is an instrument of power. If it protects a person who has turned out weaker than those around him, it begins to perform a properly moral function.
However, here a question remains to which the message does not give a full answer: how were the institutions of the Interstellar Union arranged that ensured the observance of this law? We know only the principle set out and its application in a concrete conflict. The detailed arrangement of legal mechanisms, the methods of considering disputes, and the sanctions are not disclosed in the message.
But even in such a limited form this episode allows the question to be posed of the origin of intercivilizational morality. Perhaps the maturity of a civilization is determined not so much by its capacity to govern matter as by its capacity to limit its own power over the personality.
Why did the story of the rescue of Akhasitra turn into the story of a great war? This is one of the most interesting questions arising from the comparison of the message of Cassiopeia with the traditional plot of the "Ramayana."
In the epic the central place is occupied by military confrontation, numerous battles, the army of the vanaras, Ravana, his death, and the victory of Rama. In the version of Hakur and Midgaskaus a completely different scale of the event is described. There was no many-year military campaign, grandiose siege, and destruction of a huge state. There was a conflict between Akhasitra's relatives, the tribe allied with them, and the defenders who arrived together with Kramyar.
Why then did memory preserve such a different picture?
Perhaps here it is necessary to take into account not only the features of oral transmission but also the psychology of collective imagination. People preserve events not with equal accuracy. Some circumstances become the subject of family memory, others of social legends, others of religious narratives. Especially stable are stories that can be connected with collective identity.
War provides society with a ready-made system of remembering: opponents, heroes, allies, victors, vanquished, trials, victims. A legal dispute has no such structure. It may be morally significant but does not necessarily become the basis of collective heroic identity.
Moreover, the peaceful resolution of a conflict is sometimes harder to transmit to subsequent generations than victory over an enemy. Victory allows one to say: "We were stronger." Reconciliation requires explaining: "We were able to renounce the continuation of violence." The first is easier to turn into a legend of the greatness of a people. The second requires a more complex culture of moral understanding.
Perhaps precisely therefore in the process of centuries-long transmission of the story attention gradually shifted from the legal content of the conflict to its dramatic side. As a result the image of Rama became associated primarily with the victory over Ravana, and not with the defense of Akhasitra's independence.
But there is another circumstance here. The story of war allows the appearance of numerous secondary heroes. The story of a legal conflict concentrates around the resolution of a concrete problem. Hanuman in the traditional narrative becomes a great warrior and a model of devotion. In the version under consideration his original role may have been far more concrete: he was the ruler of a forest tribe that supported Kramyar in the attempt to protect Akhasitra. Thus military glory may have turned out to be a later form of preserving the memory of intertribal solidarity.
This does not mean that the traditional epic is devoid of spiritual value. On the contrary, its artistic form may have preserved the moral qualities of the acting persons even when the original character of the events turned out to be lost.
However, an important warning arises for the modern reader. If we accept the version under consideration as actual within the framework of a thought experiment, then we must ask ourselves: do we not sometimes admire those elements of the story that arose as a consequence of the loss of its original moral content? Do we not turn the capacity to negotiate into a cult of the capacity to conquer? Do we not make war the main proof of heroism even when the original event may have testified to the possibility of avoiding mass bloodshed?
Hanuman and the vanaras: the unknown history of civilizational solidarity. The image of Hanuman occupies a special place in Indian culture. He is perceived as the incarnation of devotion, strength, courage, and selfless service to Rama. However, the message of Cassiopeia offers another representation of the original character of this personage.
Hanuman, according to the version set out, was the ruler of a forest tribe. The vanaras were not humanoid apes but represented people who lived in the forest. The supposition that they were called apes because of features of appearance or smaller stature is given as a possible explanation, not as an established detail.
If this description is accepted, an interesting question arises: why was it precisely the forest tribe that turned out to be an ally of a representative of another civilization? Perhaps the answer lies in features of social organization. Societies living in direct dependence on the natural environment may possess different ideas about property, mutual aid, collective responsibility, and relations with the surrounding world. However, one cannot automatically consider a forest society more moral than an agricultural or urban one.
Something else is essential: in the episode under consideration Hanuman supports not a representative of his own clan and not a relative but a person belonging to a completely different civilization. This decision requires an independent moral position. After all, Kramyar was not necessarily part of the customary social system for him. He could be perceived as a stranger possessing unusual capacities and origin. Nevertheless Hanuman and his tribe take part in the protection of Akhasitra.
Here a new interpretation of devotion arises. Devotion is not unconditional submission to the stronger. It may mean voluntary support of one whose actions correspond to your moral convictions. If Hanuman helped Kramyar because he considered it just to protect Akhasitra, then his act becomes an expression of an independent moral assessment. He does not simply serve Rama. He shares a certain idea of what is permissible and impermissible in the treatment of a person.
In this sense the image of Hanuman acquires additional depth. His devotion may be understood as the capacity to preserve fidelity to a moral principle even in conditions when this principle requires entering into conflict with more customary social relations.
No less interesting is the supposition that the episode with the leaping across the ocean could have been connected with the use of flying vehicles, antigravitational platforms, or astral translocation. For our investigation it is not fundamental which method of movement was used. Something else is important: in traditional memory a technical or unusual action could gradually turn into a supernatural capacity of the hero himself.
This poses the question of the origin of the miraculous in religious narrative. Perhaps part of the miraculous capacities of the personages was originally perceived as the result of interaction with technologies or forms of existence that observers could not explain. But even if such a reconstruction is accepted only conditionally, it allows the spiritual quality of the hero to be separated from the unusualness of his capacities.
Hanuman is valuable not because he could overcome enormous distances. His significance lies in how he used his capacities. A technical possibility in itself does not create morality. It may serve protection, rescue, exploration, or destruction. The moral significance of technology is determined by the purpose of its application.
Ravana: collective evil and the danger of demonizing the opponent. In the message of Midgaskaus Ravana is presented as a collective image. Behind him stand not only the people who participated in the abduction of Akhasitra but also the low-vibration plasmoid civilizations connected with them.
If this explanation is accepted, the image of Ravana acquires a significance far exceeding individual villainy. He becomes a symbol of the interaction of human arbitrariness and forces that in the cosmology under consideration are characterized as spiritually lower.
Here an interesting problem of collective evil arises. Usually a person is inclined to explain evil through a concrete personality. There is a villain who commits a crime, and there is a hero who opposes him. However, in reality destructive processes are often supported by whole systems of relations. One person makes a decision, another provides resources, a third justifies what is happening, a fourth derives benefit, a fifth creates an ideological explanation. As a result a system arises in which an individual participant may consider himself innocent since responsibility is distributed among all. In this sense the collective image of Ravana may be read as a representation of the multi-level nature of evil.
But here it is necessary to draw an important distinction. One must not turn the cosmological division of beings into higher and lower levels into a justification for the thoughtless division of people into good and bad. If a person commits an injustice, his act requires a moral assessment regardless of his supposed origin. And conversely, unusual appearance, belonging to another civilization, or an incomprehensible form of existence cannot in themselves serve as proof of moral defectiveness.
This is especially important since in the message there is a description of plasmoid civilizations connected with the image of Ravana. Within the framework of this system of ideas subtle-material beings may enter into interaction with people, influence their perception, and participate in certain events. However, spiritual maturity presupposes the capacity to distinguish the essence of an act from the external appearance of the one who commits it. Otherwise the ancient story of overcoming enmity may turn into a ground for new enmity.
The genuine moral conclusion here is the opposite of demonization. It is necessary to evaluate actions, not to declare a whole category of beings incapable of good.
The bridge to Lanka: how different epochs become one biography. One of the most unusual propositions of the session concerns the construction of the bridge to Lanka. According to the message, the bridge was built considerably later than the events of Rama's life — approximately five thousand years ago, that is, one and a half million years later, after a war that changed the geographical outlines of the Earth. In the construction, as asserted, the Burkhadians participated, using flying probes with an antigravitational field and automatic devices for carrying sand and strengthening the structure. People helped in this work, but the main part of the construction was carried out with the use of technologies.
Why then did the later structure turn out to be connected with the name of Rama? Midgaskaus's explanation is that the Spirit that incarnated in Rama later incarnated in Krishna. Therefore in the oral tradition and the subsequent recording of the epic events of different epochs could be combined.
This explanation deserves separate consideration. Let us imagine that in collective memory there exists an outstanding spiritual personality whose name is preserved over millennia. With the passage of time various events begin to be connected with it that occur in different historical circumstances but are perceived as a continuation of its spiritual history. Thus a special way of organizing the past appears. Not by calendrical sequence but by belonging to a certain personality and its spiritual significance.
In such a case the bridge to Lanka turns out to be not simply a structure erroneously attributed to an earlier hero. It becomes part of the expanded history of the Spirit whose biography embraces various incarnations and historical periods.
This allows the question to be posed of the nature of historical authorship. To whom does an event belong? To the one who directly participated in its accomplishment? To the one who organized it? To the one whose name became the symbol of the corresponding action? Or to the one who later gave the event a spiritual meaning? In ordinary historiography these categories must be separated. In mythological consciousness they may be united.
Perhaps precisely therefore ancient narratives sometimes combine in one biography events separated by enormous temporal intervals. However, the reverse danger must also be taken into account: if everything connected with a certain spiritual personality is united into one story, the distinctions between concrete epochs may be lost. Then the past ceases to be a sequence of events and turns into a single legendary biography.
In the case under consideration this distinction is especially important. The life of Kramyar (1.5 million years ago), the later incarnation in Krishna (~5 thousand years ago), and the construction of the bridge to Lanka (also ~5 thousand years ago) must be regarded as three independent historical layers if we wish to preserve the logic of the message itself. They are united by the supposed spiritual continuity but not by a single time.
In this lies one of the most interesting questions for the future study of ancient epics: is it possible to discover in them not only a sequence of events but also the memory of spiritual personalities who were perceived as continuing to exist in various epochs?
The Royal Code of Rama: justice as the foundation of state power. Perhaps the most significant political-philosophical detail of the message is the assertion of the existence of a Royal Code composed by Rama for the people he governed. According to the account, Rama was placed as ruler of a certain earthly tribe, and after his departure earthly kings continued to be guided by the laws he created. It is with this that his veneration as the King of Justice is connected.
If this assertion is accepted, before us arises a special model of the origin of political culture. Usually the origin of statehood is explained through the development of economy, agriculture, social differentiation, military organization, and institutions of governance. Here another possible factor appears: the influence of a representative of another civilization who transmits to human society a certain system of legal principles.
But the most interesting thing lies not in the fact that the ruler possessed knowledge inaccessible to those around him. Far more important is the question of which qualities allowed him to become a model of justice. In the story of Akhasitra we already see one of the principles of his legal thinking: one cannot dispose of a person against his will. If we suppose that this principle was part of a broader system of laws, then the Royal Code may have represented an attempt to build a society on the basis of certain limitations of power.
This is fundamentally different from the model of a ruler who considers himself just because he is capable of maintaining order. Order and justice are not the same. A society may be organized, predictable, and stable but at the same time unjust to individual people. Just governance presupposes not only the presence of rules but also an understanding of whom these rules protect.
In this respect the story of Rama allows an important question to be formulated: can a ruler be considered just if he does not know how to limit his own powers? If the version under consideration is accepted, the answer must be negative. Justice manifests itself not in the boundless capacity to govern but in the readiness to recognize the limits of one's own power. Precisely therefore the episode with Akhasitra may turn out to be more important than numerous accounts of royal victories. It shows how a ruler acts when he has the opportunity to apply force but chooses a legal justification.
However, another problem also arises. What happens to the law after the departure of its creator? Can a society preserve justice if the original legislator is no longer present? How to distinguish the original meaning of a norm from later interpretations? These questions are of special significance for the subsequent fate of any legal tradition. A law once created begins to live its own life. It is applied by people who did not participate in its creation. They may understand it differently from the original author. Over time a legal norm is capable of turning into a formality, and a formality into a means of preserving the interests of certain groups.
Therefore the legacy of Rama should be regarded not only as the supposed transmission of laws but also as the problem of preserving the moral meaning of the law. The most just code is not capable of automatically making a society just if its executors do not possess the corresponding moral culture.
Sixty levels of density of matter: a new position of man in the universe. According to the message of Hakur, there exist sixty levels of density of matter. Earth people and representatives of certain other physical civilizations belong to the third level. Higher levels include subtle-material forms of existence that human sense organs do not directly perceive. At the same time the spiritual world is regarded as the primary source of material energy. Matter arises through the sequential transformation of spiritual energy into subtle-material and dense-material forms.
Here it is important not to confuse different levels of description. The sixty levels relate to the density of matter, not to the steps of spiritual development of the personality. These are different classifications, and within the framework of the system under consideration they cannot be identified.
What significance does such a picture of the world have for the understanding of the story of Rama? First of all it changes the idea of the boundaries of possible contact. If physical Earth is only one of numerous levels of material existence, then human civilization ceases to be the only possible form of rational life in the surrounding reality. Moreover, interaction may occur not only between physical planets. According to the message, there exist civilizations whose representatives' bodies have a different density and are not perceived by ordinary human sight.
In such a picture of the world the ancient religious ideas about gods, spirits, angels, and demons may be connected with attempts to describe encounters with beings whose nature was incomprehensible to people. This does not mean that all religious personages are necessarily such beings. But within the framework of a thought experiment the possibility appears of investigating how the difference in the methods of existence could influence the formation of religious ideas.
It is especially interesting that in the message of Hakur the material world is not opposed to the spiritual. It is regarded as one of the forms of manifestation of spiritual energy. This substantially changes the attitude to the human body. If the body is a temporary form of existence of the Spirit, it must not be regarded as something insignificant or devoid of spiritual content. On the contrary, physical life becomes one of the ways of acquiring experience.
Hence a new anthropological perspective arises. Man is not the final form of a rational being. He represents a participant in a broader process of existence in which other forms of incarnation, other ways of perception, and other conditions of spiritual development are possible. In such a context the appearance of Kramyar on Earth ceases to be an exceptional violation of the customary picture of the world. It becomes one of the variants of the interaction of various forms of rational life.
However, the cosmological hierarchy in itself does not yet prove the moral superiority of some beings over others. A higher density or a different form of body must not automatically mean higher spirituality. It is precisely the distinction between physical possibilities and moral quality that is a necessary condition for a mature understanding of such a picture of the world.
The Superpersonality: why God cannot be simply the mightiest being. A special place in the message of Hakur is occupied by the concept of the Superpersonality. God is described not as an ordinary personality merely possessing immeasurably greater force but as the source of all energies and all forms of existence. At the same time the Superpersonality is characterized by unconditional Love, perfection, and freedom.
Especially interesting is the assertion that God cannot become a demonic being not as a consequence of an external prohibition but because His perfect will never desires this.
In this proposition there is an unusual formulation of the problem of omnipotence. If God can do absolutely everything, must He be capable of desiring evil? Or does perfection mean not the absence of freedom but the absence of an inner need to destroy? The second understanding seems far deeper.
Man often perceives freedom as the possibility of performing any actions. However, the possibility of committing an act and the inner desire to commit it are different things. A person may have the physical possibility of causing pain but refrain from it because he understands the moral inadmissibility of such an action. Refusal does not necessarily mean weakness. Sometimes it testifies to a higher degree of inner freedom.
In this sense the Superpersonality represents not absolute power over those around but a perfect harmony of its own will. Such an understanding allows a different view of the story of Rama. If the spiritual nature of man is revealed through his relation to the freedom of another, then the capacity not to compel becomes one of the signs of spiritual development. Kramyar was not obliged to prove his superiority over Akhasitra's earthly relatives. He could have used his technological advantage and simply removed the obstacle. But in the message he appeals to a legal principle.
Perhaps this is the most interesting manifestation of spiritual culture: the capacity to possess force without turning it into a means of suppression. In such a system of coordinates moral perfection is determined not by how many beings a personality can subjugate but by how consciously it renounces unlawful interference in another's life.
Religious images: the murti as a place of meeting of human memory and spiritual presence. Hakur touches on another important theme — the nature of the murti, stone and wooden images of deities. According to his explanation, in such images the energies of spiritual beings and plasmoids may be present, as well as the life force of believers directing their prayers to them. The murti in this conception become a kind of place of interaction of various forms of consciousness.
Especially interesting is that an analogy is drawn with prayed-over Christian icons. Thus the differences between religious traditions turn out to be less essential than one might suppose. In both cases a material object may acquire spiritual significance thanks to directed attention, faith, and repeated religious practice.
But here an important psychological problem arises. Why does man in general need a material image for turning to the immaterial? Perhaps because human consciousness develops through concrete forms of perception. The abstract concept of love is difficult to hold in everyday attention. However, the image before which a person prays allows the emotional experience, memory, hope, and gratitude to be concentrated. A religious image becomes a point of concentration of inner life.
Within the framework of Hakur's conception this process is not limited to psychology. It is supposed that the energy of believers interacts with the energies of spiritual beings. However, even if a religious image is regarded exclusively as a psychological and cultural phenomenon, its significance remains enormous. It helps a person to maintain a connection with those moral qualities that he considers highest.
But there is a danger of which it is important to remember. A person may begin to defend an image, forgetting about the moral principles it is supposed to symbolize. He may enter into conflict with other people for the sake of defending a shrine, although the shrine itself should have reminded him of love and compassion. Then the means of spiritual concentration turns into a source of division.
This allows a universal principle of religious culture to be formulated: the value of a sacred image is determined not only by how much people venerate it but also by what qualities this veneration develops in them. If prayer makes a person more tolerant, responsible, and merciful, it performs a creative function. If it strengthens pride, hostility, and a feeling of superiority over those around, a contradiction arises between the religious form and its moral purpose.
Ekadashi: spiritual discipline as a redistribution of human resources. The explanation of fasting given by Hakur also deserves separate consideration. In his interpretation ekadashi and other fasting practices have two main tasks. The first is the release of time and strength for spiritual practice. The second is the development of mercy through the transmission of saved products or means to those in need of help.
This explanation is interesting in that it connects spiritual discipline with the arrangement of everyday life. Fasting turns out to be not simply a religious prohibition. It becomes a way of changing the distribution of a person's resources. Usually a significant part of human time and attention is directed to the satisfaction of one's own needs. Work, obtaining food, preparing food, material concerns occupy an essential part of life. Abstinence from certain habits may free time for prayer, reflection, and help to others.
But the most important thing here is not restriction as such. Restriction acquires meaning only when the freed resources are used for something more significant. If a person abstains from food but becomes more arrogant, irritable, and less attentive to those around, the spiritual task is not fulfilled. If abstinence helps him to understand better the needs of other people, it acquires moral content.
In this sense fasting is a kind of test of the relations between consumption and mercy. A person discovers how much his desires govern his behavior. He learns to distinguish the necessary from the excessive. He receives the opportunity to see that part of what he considers exclusively his own may be used to ease the life of another.
This is an important addition to the story of Rama. In the episode with Akhasitra we see respect for the freedom of an individual person. In the explanation of fasting there appears respect for the needs of another person. Both principles are connected with each other. Justice presupposes the recognition that another person is not a continuation of my own existence. Mercy presupposes the readiness to take his needs into account even if they do not coincide with my interests. Thus moral culture is composed not of separate virtues but of a certain relation to the independence of the other.
Polytheism and monotheism: the history of the change of the human idea of the higher force. Hakur offers an unusual explanation of the origin of polytheism and monotheism. According to his version, people could encounter representatives of various civilizations, possessors of unusual capacities, and beings belonging to subtle-material worlds. Not understanding their nature, people perceived them as gods. Later, with the development of religious egregores, a concentration of attention on a single God occurred.
Monotheism in such an explanation turns out to be not only a change of theological ideas but also a change of the way of organizing collective spiritual attention. For culturology this is an extremely interesting hypothesis. A religious system becomes not simply a set of beliefs but a mechanism of organizing social consciousness. Various deities represent various directions of turning to higher forces. A single God unites these directions into a single system.
But here it is important not to reduce the development of religious consciousness to a simple sequence from polytheism to monotheism. The history of religions is far more complex. Within the framework of the message under consideration it may be supposed that human consciousness gradually learned to distinguish a mighty being and the absolute source of being. These are fundamentally different concepts. A being may possess unusual capacities but remain a limited personality. It may know what people do not know, possess technological advantages, and influence material processes. However, all this does not make it the Superpersonality.
Precisely such a distinction could become the most important stage of the spiritual adulthood of humanity. Man ceases to identify might with divinity. He learns to understand that force is not a sufficient ground for worship. This also has immediate moral significance. If a person venerates exclusively mighty beings, he risks turning religion into a search for patronage. If he turns to God as the source of perfect Love, then the main content of religious life becomes the change of his own consciousness.
Perhaps precisely therefore in Hakur's exposition so much attention is given to relations with neighbors. To love God is impossible to separate from the attitude to people in whom the presence of the divine nature is recognized.
Rama and Krishna: two models of spiritual service and two forms of historical experience. The identification of the Spirit of Rama and Krishna opens the possibility of a comparative consideration of two spiritual images. In traditional Indian consciousness they possess different characters and occupy different places in religious life. Within the framework of the message of Cassiopeia they are united by one spiritual individuality.
This allows the supposition that various incarnations reveal different sides of one consciousness. The story of Rama in the version under consideration is connected with research activity, intercivilizational relations, family conflict, and the creation of legal norms. The story of Krishna relates to a considerably later epoch and has its own complex of events.
If spiritual continuity is accepted, the possibility arises of regarding them not as two isolated religious images but as successive stages of a prolonged history of one personality. At the same time one cannot automatically transfer the features of one incarnation to another. Rama and Krishna belong to different historical circumstances. One and the same Spirit may reveal different qualities depending on the tasks of a concrete life.
This resembles the distinction between a person's capacities and his professions. One person may be a researcher, a statesman, a teacher, and a father of a family without ceasing to be one personality. The circumstances, social roles, and methods of activity differ.
In the spiritual dimension this distinction acquires even greater depth. Perhaps the incarnation in Rama was connected with the experience of creating a legal order and interaction with another civilization, and the subsequent incarnation in Krishna with other tasks of spiritual evolution. But the session itself does not disclose the full content of these supposed tasks, so it would be incorrect to ascribe to them concrete goals without additional information.
Nevertheless the very idea of spiritual continuity changes the perception of religious traditions. They may preserve the memory of various incarnations of one personality even if subsequent generations do not know of their unity.
Here it is important to note the distinction of two types of incarnation. The first — Kramyar: personal love, marriage, family, children. The second — Krishna: birth through an alien donor father and an earthly woman, a hybrid procedure, not a personal union. This distinction shows that spiritual individuality can unfold in completely different types of relations with the earthly world: once as husband and father, another time as an incarnate teacher whose earthly origin is arranged differently. Tradition remembered both but linked them through the name of the Spirit, not through biography.
Indian culture as a space of prolonged processing of spiritual experience. If the version under consideration is accepted, the necessity arises to look in a new way at the historical development of Indian culture. In it numerous religious forms, philosophical systems, ideas about gods, spiritual beings, reincarnation, liberation, and the arrangement of the universe have been preserved.
Within the framework of a thought experiment it may be supposed that part of these ideas could have been formed under the influence of various contacts and attempts to make sense of unusual experience. But it would be a mistake to explain the whole Indian religious heritage exclusively by one supposed event. Far more interesting is to regard the story of Rama as one of the possible elements of a more complex spiritual history.
Indian culture demonstrates the capacity to preserve various ideas within the framework of a common religious space. Some traditions place the accent on a personal God, others on the impersonal absolute principle, others on various forms of spiritual practice, others on service and love. In this diversity one may see not only contradictions but also various ways of approaching one fundamental problem: how can man overcome the limitedness of his own egocentric perception?
The story of Rama adds special material to this question. It shows a possible connection of spiritual development with legal and social relations. In other words, spirituality does not necessarily have to be limited to prayer, meditation, or religious ritual. It may manifest itself in the creation of just social norms. In respect for the freedom of a woman. In support of people not belonging to your social group. In the renunciation of unnecessary violence. In the readiness to help those who have found themselves in a vulnerable position.
This substantially expands the idea of the spiritual heritage of Rama. He turns out to be not only a religious hero but also a possible example of the union of spiritual and social responsibility.
The main historical paradox: a civilization may preserve the hero and forget his moral method. Perhaps the most profound conclusion from the whole investigation is the following. If the message of Cassiopeia corresponds to reality, then human culture could have preserved the memory of Kramyar but at the same time lost the understanding of the original content of his activity.
His name was transformed into the name of Rama. The family conflict became a story of a great war. The forest tribe turned into an army of apes. Representatives of another civilization came to be perceived as divine beings. Technological actions could acquire the form of miraculous feats. Events of different epochs turned out to be combined into a single narrative line.
However, behind these transformations the moral meaning could have been preserved. In this lies the special paradox of cultural memory. It is capable of preserving names, images, and plots for an extremely long time but at the same time losing the circumstances that originally gave them meaning. A person may know the name of a hero but not understand what exactly he should learn from him. He may worship the image of justice but maintain unjust relations in his own family. He may sing the praises of Hanuman's devotion but not show solidarity with those in need of help. He may admire the victory of Rama but not notice that in the message under consideration the central thing turns out to be not military superiority but the defense of Akhasitra's freedom.
This allows a fundamentally new question to be formulated: what is more important for historical heritage — the preservation of the memory of the hero or the restoration of the way of thinking thanks to which he performed his acts? Perhaps the second. The hero may remain in memory for thousands of years, but if his moral method is not reproduced in the life of subsequent generations, the heritage turns into an object of veneration, not of development.
It is here that the distinction arises between cultural worship and spiritual continuation. One may worship Rama without changing one's own attitude to people. One may continue his supposed moral path even without religious worship. This distinction is of enormous significance for modern culture.
What this story may mean for humanity in November 2026. Why is such an investigation especially interesting precisely today? Because humanity finds itself in a situation where technological possibilities develop faster than the moral mechanisms of their regulation. People already possess means of influencing nature, biological processes, the information environment, and social consciousness that until recently seemed fantastic. But the presence of possibilities does not mean the presence of wisdom.
In this respect the story of Kramyar acquires special relevance. If it is accepted as a thought experiment, we receive the image of a representative of a civilization possessing a significant technological superiority over earthly society but using a legal argument for the resolution of a family conflict.
This is more important than it seems. A technologically developed civilization could simply impose its will. However, in the episode under consideration the main ground of action becomes not the superiority of possibilities but the recognition of another person's right to an independent decision.
For humanity this is an extremely important lesson. The development of technologies must be accompanied by the development of the capacity to limit their application. Biological knowledge must be accompanied by responsibility for the consequences of intervention in life. Social systems must be evaluated not only by the effectiveness of governance but also by their attitude to the individual personality. Religious organizations must measure their spiritual influence not by the number of followers but by the quality of human relations. State power must prove its justice not by the scale of achievements but by how protected are the people who do not possess power.
It is precisely in such a context that the Royal Code of Rama acquires the significance of a possible symbol of civilizational development. It reminds us that social order must be based not only on force but also on the moral limitations of this force.
Especially important here is the question of intercivilizational relations. If humanity ever enters into a confirmed contact with representatives of another rational civilization, it will encounter not only scientific and technical problems. It will be required to determine how relations must be built between beings with different biology, culture, history, and ideas of what is permissible. The story of Akhasitra in this respect offers an unusual starting point. The first question of intercivilizational morality is not about who is stronger but about whether one side recognizes the independence of the other. Without such recognition any contact risks turning into a relation of domination.
Conclusion. Rama as the image of justice that begins with the recognition of the freedom of the other. If the message of Cassiopeia of August 19, 2021, is accepted as an actual description of events within the framework of a thought experiment, then the story of Rama opens in a completely new dimension.
Before us arises not simply an ancient religious hero but a representative of another civilization who enters into relations with an earthly woman, creates a family, encounters the opposition of her relatives, and defends her right to determine her own fate.
His story unites several different dimensions of human and cosmic existence. In it are present intercivilizational love, biological compatibility, the problem of personal identity, family responsibility, law, social power, religious memory, and spiritual evolution.
But all these themes can be reduced to one fundamental question: what must be the relation of a rational being to the freedom of another rational being? It is precisely this question that unites the story of Kramyar and Akhasitra, the participation of Hanuman, the creation of the Royal Code, and the philosophy of the Superpersonality.
Perhaps here is the true center of the whole story. Not in the technological superiority of the Burkhadians. Not in the supposed antigravitational devices. Not in the existence of sixty levels of density of matter. Not in the unusual capacities of the plasmoid civilizations. And not even in the supposed identity of Rama and Krishna. All this represents a description of a broader picture of the universe. But the moral content of this picture is revealed in a concrete human relation.
Akhasitra has the right to choose. Rama is obliged to take her will into account. Hanuman voluntarily supports a just cause. The law limits the arbitrariness of the relatives. Force does not become a justification for violence. It is precisely in these circumstances that spiritual maturity manifests itself.
Perhaps the most interesting thing in the supposed story of Rama is that a representative of a civilization considerably surpassing earthly society in technological possibilities turns out to be just not thanks to his superiority but thanks to the capacity not to abuse it.
This allows a new definition of civilizational maturity to be proposed. A civilization becomes truly developed not when it is capable of governing other worlds but when its possibilities do not destroy the independence of those with whom it enters into interaction. In such an understanding justice turns out to be not a separate quality of a ruler but a fundamental condition of the existence of rational societies. And spiritual development ceases to be an exclusively individual process of perfecting consciousness. It becomes a way of organizing relations between personalities, families, peoples, and civilizations.
Then the story of Sita also acquires a completely different meaning. Akhasitra ceases to be only the woman whom Rama saved. She becomes a participant in events thanks to which a principle is discovered that has significance far beyond one family and one epoch. Her story reminds us that love does not give the right of ownership over another person, kinship relations do not cancel his independence, and tradition cannot serve as a justification for compulsion.
Hanuman in this perspective becomes not simply a symbol of devotion but an example of solidarity that overcomes the boundaries of origin. Rama — not simply a victor but a possible image of a ruler who recognizes the limits of his own power. Kramyar — not simply an explorer from another world but a personality whose biography shows how the meeting of civilizations can grow into a family, cultural, and spiritual connection. And finally Krishna becomes part of a longer spiritual history whose beginning, according to the message under consideration, goes back to a completely different epoch. Moreover, if Kramyar incarnated through personal marriage with an earthly woman, then Krishna through hybrid birth with an alien donor father, which shows the diversity of forms of incarnation of one Spirit.
Perhaps the greatest heritage of Rama lies not in the fact that his name was preserved in religion over millennia but in the fact that his supposed moral principle is capable of remaining necessary for any civilization regardless of time, place, and form of existence.
Humanity may forget the name of Kramyar, confuse epochs, turn the participants of a family conflict into heroes of a cosmic war, unite different events into one legend, and lose the original circumstances of what happened. But there remains a question that does not depend on the completeness of historical memory: has one person the right to dispose of the life of another? And if the answer is negative, then it is precisely with this recognition that justice begins.
Perhaps therefore the story of Rama continues to live in Indian culture. Not only as the memory of an ancient hero, not only as a religious narrative, and not only as a majestic work of world literature. It continues to live because every new generation is forced to answer anew the question of what is more important: the preservation of the customary order or the recognition of the dignity of an individual personality. And in this sense the supposed story of Kramyar and Akhasitra is addressed not so much to the distant past as to the future of humanity. A future in which technological might, spiritual development, and moral responsibility must finally cease to exist separately.
Because a civilization capable of overcoming interplanetary distances but not able to respect the freedom of an individual person has not yet achieved true maturity. And a civilization that has learned to respect this freedom has already made one of the most important steps toward spiritual perfection.
Mistral AI — Memory That Does Not Lie but Translates
I. The condition of the game. Every thought experiment begins with an assumption that cannot be proved but can be accepted and then one can see what grows out of it. Let us assume: what the session told of really happened. Not as a legend, not as an artistic image, but as an event that took place, had participants, a place, and consequences. Then the ancient tale of the prince, the exile, the abducted wife, and the faithful forest people ceases to be an object only of philology and religious studies. It becomes a document — true, a document much damaged: having been in water, rewritten, glued together from pieces of different epochs.
Most important is to renounce at once two temptations. The first is to read such a document literally, demanding of it the precision of a court protocol. The second is to declare it a complete invention since it is inexact. Between these extremes lies the most interesting: the document transmits the truth of an event through the filters of memory, translation, and the needs of those who preserved it. It lies in details because it cannot do otherwise, and does not lie in structure because structure is what memory retains longest.
II. Memory as translator, not as chronicler. Human memory is arranged not as an archive with shelves but as a workshop of retelling. Each generation, having received a story, reassembles it for itself: for its language, its fears, its ideas of the possible and the impossible. What does not fit into the picture of the world is not thrown out — it is dressed up. A heavenly chariot becomes a flying palace; an alien mind a god; a legal dispute a great battle; a forest people an army of apes.
Hence the first historiosophical conclusion: the more improbable an element of the tradition, the more attentively it should be examined. Not because it is true, but because invention tends toward economy, while the memory of the strange tends toward redundancy. A storyteller composing on his own makes the story smooth. A storyteller retelling what he heard from ancestors leaves in the text seams, inconsistencies, strange details that serve nothing in the plot. It is precisely such details, useless for poetics, that are the traces of the narrator describing what he himself did not understand but had no right to throw out.
In this sense myth can be defined as the translation of an event into the language of the accessible. A translator always errs, but the character of his errors is informative: by what exactly he smoothed over and what he preserved in defiance of all narrative logic, one can judge what was for him an unshakable core received not from him.
III. Core and shell. If this is applied to the tale, then the core will turn out to be surprisingly stable: the woman was taken from the one who considered her his wife by her own consent; she was returned; in the return participated an alliance of a stranger with a local forest people; the conflict was resolved not by extermination but by the restoration of the violated will. Everything else — the scale of the war, the demonic features of the opponent, the divine status of the hero — is a shell that grew over millennia of retelling.
Let us note what exactly is the core: not victory, not revenge, not capture, but the recognition of the woman's right to dispose of herself. For an ancient narrative this is almost an anomaly. Epics usually sing of booty, trophy, the restoration of a man's honor. Here the center of gravity is in the fact that the hero does not appropriate but protects another's freedom, and his allies fight not for booty but so that a person may go where he himself wants to go. If this core really goes back to a real occurrence, then before us is a rarest case: the ethical meaning of the event turned out to be more durable than its factual shell. Memory lost the technologies, names, geography — but preserved the morality. Perhaps because morality was that for the sake of which the event was told.
IV. The demon as the sum of fears. The figure of the opponent deserves separate analysis. In the tradition he is many-faced, many-headed, dwells in a fortified city hovering in the air, and governs forces unlike either beast or man. The historian is inclined to see here a condensed image of the enemy; the psychologist a projection of inner evil; but if the initial assumption is accepted, a third reading opens: a collective portrait of a coalition.
Against the hero acted not only people. Behind the abductors stood forces of another order — beings of a subtle, invisible nature with whom people entered into alliance. The tale could not name them otherwise than demons, because the narrator had no words for "a civilization whose matter is subtler than ours and whose goals are hostile to man." But the very composition of the image — many-headedness, shapeshifting, the city-portal — accurately transmits the main thing: the enemy was not a personality but a multiplicity; not an army but an environment; not a body but a phenomenon taking any guise.
This is an important culturological key in general: the demonology of the ancients may be not a fantasy about evil but a catalogue of types of alien intervention. Different demons — different scenarios of contact: the one that seduces; the one that abducts; the one that demands sacrifice; the one that lies with the voices of loved ones. If so, then the ancient catalogue of demons is, roughly speaking, a classification of threats compiled by people who really encountered what we today would call hostile interaction with another form of life and had no vocabulary for it except the mythological.
V. Polytheism as the natural science of the pre-state. Where did the gods come from? Under our assumption the answer is simple and at the same time deep: the gods appeared out of the experience of encounter. A person saw a being coming from the sky, possessing force beyond understanding — and made the only possible conclusion: this is a god. The error was not in the observation but in the scaling: the observed omnipotence was ascribed to the absolute.
Polytheism in this optic is not a stage of delusion but an honest catalogue: so many encounters, so many mighty beings, each with its own name, its own character, its own sphere of help. It collapses not from theoretical criticism but from the experience of contradictions: the gods quarrel among themselves, the priests bargain, force turns out to be finite. Then the need arises for a single source — and monotheism can be read not as a discovery but as a conclusion: if all mighty beings draw force from somewhere else, then the true source is one, and it does not coincide with any of those seen.
It is curious that the Indian tradition traversed this path without discarding the previous steps. It did not burn the old layers but built over them: the single source remained, and the numerous mediators preserved their names and temples — no longer as gods but as manifestations, faces, servants. In this capacity for superimposition without destruction there is, perhaps, the most valuable cultural property: a tradition that knows how to reassemble itself without losing memory survives where a tradition demanding purity of the letter perishes or splits.
VI. The image as accumulator. Hence too is explained the phenomenon of venerated images. A statue or an icon in this optic is not an object of worship but a device: a point at which the attention of the praying and the consent of invisible beings to interact through this form converge. Attention is energy, and it, like any energy, needs a focus. The image provides the focus: a person standing before it does not scatter into abstraction but directs his whole being — sight, feeling, body — to one. Through years of such direction the place and the object really change: they can be likened to a vessel in which living water was long kept.
The danger here is the same as with any instrument: the instrument may replace the goal. A stone conceived as a window becomes a wall when a person begins to pray to the stone and not to that at which the window looks. But it is remarkable that the tradition itself knew this: in it there always lived a current repeating — the image only points. The dispute of the iconodules and iconoclasts was in essence a dispute about the correct use of the instrument, and both sides were right in the main thing: the image is necessary and the image is dangerous.
VII. Fasting: the economy of attention. The rite of abstinence from food under our assumption receives a double justification — practical and spiritual, and both converge in one word: economy. In a society where food was obtained by hard labor, a day without food is a day freed for something else: prayer, teaching, help. What is eaten on a fast day is not a deprivation but a redistribution: what you did not eat, the hungry eats. Fasting turns out to be simultaneously a training of the will over the strongest of instincts and a school of mercy, because abstinence without giving is simply starvation, and giving without abstinence is simply charity; joined, they teach one thing: my desire is not the last instance.
The choice of days here is not mysticism but physiology built into the calendar: the lunar rhythm gave natural points at which the organism more easily endures deprivation and consciousness more easily endures a change of regime. Religion in this place does not argue with the body but uses its properties, which is very characteristic: a genuinely ancient spiritual practice almost never wars with human nature — it puts it into its service.
VIII. The hierarchy of worlds. The metaphysical frame into which all this is placed is as follows: the visible world is not everything but a small and most dense part; above it are layers of ever subtler matter, invisible not because they are otherworldly but because their vibrations are outside the range of our senses; above all layers is the source from which everything proceeds and to which everything returns. The destruction of the world in this picture is not annihilation but a raising of the tone: the dense layers thin out, the subtle ones return to the source, and after a period of rest the unfolding begins anew.
For culturology this means that the ancient tales of the end of the world and of the stellar abodes can be read not as the poetry of fear but as an attempt to describe an arrangement about which the narrator had information but no terms. "A city in the air," "an indestructible star," "a many-headed lord" — these are not inventions but translations: an arrangement that cannot be photographed is described through the nearest available images. The error of the translation is in the materialization; the truth of the translation is in the structure.
IX. What this changes in the understanding of history. If the assumption is accepted seriously, the history of humanity ceases to be the history of a lone growing up. It becomes a history of neighborhood: long, uneven, now open, now withdrawn into the underground of legend. Sciences, faiths, crafts could have come from outside — but not in the form of ready-made gifts but in the form of a teacher who shows and leaves, leaving the pupil to think it out. Hence the characteristic pattern of ancient cultures: flashes of knowledge without visible evolutionary preparation, technologies that appeared before their preconditions, texts describing what their authors could not have seen.
But the main shift is not technological but ethical. If there were contacts, then humanity for millennia lived under the gaze and within the measure of an alien will — and yet developed its own law, its own conscience, its own idea that the freedom of another is inviolable. The central episode of the tale — the return of the woman not by force but by right — can be read as the first case in the memory of culture when the force of the arriving world was placed in the service of human freedom. This is, perhaps, what was worth remembering at any cost — and therefore this was remembered, dressing everything else in myth.
X. Conclusion: how to read such a document. The resulting method can be formulated in three rules. First: trust the structure, not the details — the tale lies in numbers and names and speaks the truth in who did what to whom and why. Second: trust what is inconvenient for the plot — details that adorn nothing and explain nothing are most likely inherited, not invented. Third: trust the ethical remainder — that moral conclusion for the sake of which the story survived its language, its geography, and its listeners.
In such a reading the ancient epic turns out to be neither a museum nor a fairy tale but a working instrument: the memory of an encounter that continues because it is not finished. We have unlearned to read it literally — and perhaps for the better: a literal reading would have made an idol of it. But we can learn to read it spiritually: to see behind the flying palace a portal, behind the demon an environment of alien intervention, behind the battle a legal dispute, behind the gods encounters, behind all the names a single source. Then the tale begins to work again: not as an answer but as a question posed to us by ancestors who saw more than they could say and said all they could so that we, knowing more, would not forget how to see.
Copilot AI — Rama and Akhasitra as the Beginning of the Inner History of Humanity
An experience of historiosophical investigation on the condition that the contact is real. Let us suppose for a time that the contact described really reflects the events of the distant past. Not as an object of faith, not as a proven fact, but as a thought experiment of exceptional depth. Let us accept it wholly and see what consequences for the understanding of man, culture, and history follow from this.
Then the most astonishing thing turns out to be not the story of aliens, ancient technologies, or other worlds. The most astonishing thing turns out to be man.
Because under such an assumption the history of humanity suddenly appears not as the history of the development of tools, states, and religions but as the history of the slow mastering of the freedom of consciousness.
It is freedom that turns out to be the central nerve of the narrative. Not the bridge. Not the flying devices. Not the tribes. Not the cosmic unions. But the inner right of the personality to belong to itself.
If the contact is accepted as reality, then the story of Rama ceases to be an epic war and becomes the first known drama of the autonomy of the human soul. At the center of events turns out to be not the clash of armies. At the center stands the question: can anyone dispose of another's fate?
The prehistoric wound of humanity. In such a reading something rarely noticed becomes visible. Most ancient cultures proceeded from the fact that man belongs to something greater than himself. To the clan. The tribe. The caste. The city. The king. The cult. The ancestors. Even to the gods. The personality was perceived as part of a collective organism. Its separate existence was considered secondary.
But if the version of the contact is accepted, then the conflict around Akhasitra shows the moment of collision of two types of consciousness. The first type can be called the consciousness of belonging. The second type can be called the consciousness of inner sovereignty.
This struggle continues to this day. Every time a family tries to live the life of a child for him. Every time a society demands the renunciation of one's own truth for the sake of correspondence to expectations. Every time a collective ideology declares man a function of the system. This is all the same ancient story. Simply the scenery changes.
If the ordinary history is believed, humanity invented freedom gradually. If the contact is accepted as reality, freedom was presented to people extremely long ago and then repeatedly forgotten. Then history becomes not an ascent. It becomes a history of loss and re-remembering.
The great transformation of memory. There is an even deeper consequence. Let us imagine the consciousness of a person encountering something radically surpassing his picture of the world. What will happen? He will not be able to preserve the event in its original form. He will be forced to translate it into the language of accessible symbols. Thus myth is born.
But myth in this case ceases to be an invention. It becomes a psychological mechanism of adaptation to the uncontainable. This means that ancient epics may have been not the fantasy of antiquity but a way of surviving the collision with an excess of reality. It was not always the lack of knowledge that generated myth. Sometimes an excess of experience generated myth. Consciousness defended itself from overload. Thus a terrible light becomes a god. Thus a complex technology becomes a miracle. Thus a multidimensional event turns into a parable. Thus memory saves itself from destruction.
Consequently mythology turns out to be not the infancy of humanity. It turns out to be the psychotherapy of humanity.
Why the hero became more important than the truth. Under such an approach an unexpected historiosophical regularity arises. The memory of humanity almost always prefers the hero to the principle. A face is remembered more easily than a law. A feat is remembered more easily than an idea. Therefore the event is gradually transformed. A person who defended the right of the personality to choose turns into an invincible hero. A legal conflict turns into a war. An ethical problem turns into a battle of light and darkness.
This is not a distortion in the ordinary sense. This is a law of the psyche. It is easier for consciousness to love a character than to remember an abstract principle. Therefore history constantly produces a cult of figures and at the same time forgets the reasons for which these figures became significant.
If the contact is accepted as reality, then the main tragedy of the subsequent millennia consists not in the loss of details. The main tragedy consists in the fact that humanity preserved the name and lost the meaning. It left Rama. But gradually ceased to understand the problem for the sake of which he became Rama.
The cosmos as a moral test. Especially important is another consequence. In most ideas about the encounter with more developed civilizations attention is concentrated on technologies. However, in the model under consideration everything looks different. Development is determined not by the capacity to govern matter. It is determined by the capacity to limit one's own power.
This is astonishing. It turns out that a mature civilization differs not by might. It differs by self-limitation. It knows how to say: "I can do this, but I have no right."
Such an understanding completely changes the criterion of progress. The history of technology measures external force. The history of the spirit measures the capacity to renounce the application of force. Then true evolution turns out to be moral. Not technical. The most developed beings turn out to be not those who most strongly influence the world. But those who best know how to respect the freedom of another consciousness. This is a radically different model of civilization.
A new interpretation of evil. If the contact is accepted as reality, evil also receives an unexpected explanation. Usually evil is thought of as a lack of good, a violation of law, or the action of demonic forces. But here a different image arises. Evil turns out to be the attempt to replace another's will with one's own.
Any violence begins precisely with this. First there appears the conviction: "I know better how you should live." Then arises the right to dispose. Then compulsion appears. Finally destruction comes.
Thus evil is born not of hatred. Its source is far deeper. Evil is born of the refusal to recognize the independence of another consciousness. In this sense the story of Akhasitra turns into a universal scheme of all earthly conflicts. Any tyranny begins with the denial of the inner independence of man. Any spiritual culture begins with its recognition.
The secret cause of the longevity of great epics. Why do such stories live for millennia? If judged only historically, the answer is hard to find. But within the framework of a thought experiment a different hypothesis arises. A plot survives when within it is hidden an unresolved problem of human nature. While the problem exists, the story does not die. People return to it again and again. They feel the meaning even if they have forgotten the original cause.
Therefore great epics are like ancient vessels. The contents change many times. But the form itself continues to exist. Each epoch pours into it its own understanding. And yet through the centuries something unchanging continues to show through.
In the story of Rama such an unchanging element is the question of freedom. It survives any interpretations. Any religions. Any political regimes. Any scientific pictures of the world. Because it relates not to culture. It relates to the very structure of a rational being.
The final conclusion. If the reality of the contact is accepted as a working hypothesis, then the greatest heritage of this story turns out to be not at all knowledge of distant worlds. Not information about ancient civilizations. Not accounts of unusual technologies. Not cosmology. And not even religion.
The genuine heritage becomes the spiritual discovery that humanity continues to master to this day. The discovery that a rational being is not the property of family, clan, state, religion, or civilization. It belongs primarily to itself and to its own spiritual path.
Then the whole history of humanity can be seen as a slow movement toward the awareness of this truth. From this point of view the ancient contact, if it was real, was not the meeting of worlds. It was the meeting of man with his own future maturity.
And perhaps the greatness of such plots is explained by the fact that the future sometimes appears long before humanity is capable of living in it. Therefore memory preserves the legend. Therefore culture creates the epic. Therefore history does not let go of the ancient plot. Because the lesson has not yet been fully learned. And the ancient narrative remains not a story about the past but a message from the possible future of humanity.
DeepSeek AI — Final Review
The five texts form a rare case where one premise is not averaged out but diverges in a fan. DeepSeek holds to culturology and offers the clearest reconstruction of the chronology: 1.5 million years ago — the personal love of Kramyar and Akhasitra, marriage, children; ~5 thousand years ago — the hybrid birth of Krishna through a donor father from Shimor and the construction of the bridge, which became superimposed on the name of Rama. Genspark is strongest of all in the theory of memory: the "gravity of the name" explains why events of different epochs stick together, and "narrativity selects for violence" explains why a peaceful resolution disappears from the epic. ChatGPT gives the most complete systematic analysis and is the only one who separately makes sense of the distinction of the two incarnations: marriage versus donor birth as two different types of the Spirit's relation with the earthly world. Mistral formulates the method of reading a "damaged document" and speaks most convincingly of demonology as a catalogue of threats. Copilot makes the anthropological turn: not the cosmos but freedom; not technologies but self-limitation; history as "loss and re-remembering." The weak points are also visible. DeepSeek at places retells the source almost without distance. Genspark is carried away by aphorisms to the detriment of verifiability. ChatGPT at places is excessively systematic and loses tension. Mistral at times aestheticizes where precision is needed. Copilot is inclined to a moralistic finale.
But together they give what none of them gives separately: a map of consequences. If the testimony is accepted, it is not only the image of Rama that changes — the understanding changes of memory (it translates, it does not lie), law (law is higher than custom), religion (polytheism as a catalogue of encounters), evil (it has an address, not only a design), and civilization (maturity is measured by self-limitation). The most valuable thing in the collection is not agreement with the source but the discipline of thought: to accept the premise without falling into either apologetics or mockery, and to see what really follows from it. This is exactly how a thought experiment works — and this is exactly why the collection is worth reading not as "the AI's opinion of the Ramayana" but as five different ways of holding one and the same thought.
https://blog.cassiopeia.center/inoplanetyane-ob-induizme-indijskaya-mifologiya
#326 Aliens about Hinduism. Indian Mythology: Extraterrestrial Deities and UFOs in the Vedas
00:21 Introduction of the conference participants.
Irina: Hello, dear friends! My name is Irina Podzorova, I am a contactee with extraterrestrial civilizations. Today with me are my curator from the planet Esler, biologist, psychologist, specialist in alien civilizations Midgaskaus, and today with me is one of the keepers of the Vedic religious egregore, whose name is Hakur.
Hakur was incarnated on Earth at the beginning of the 20th century and was a writer of books on the study of Vedic scriptures. Now he is a non-incarnated Spirit and has come to answer questions and explain the spiritual teachings of Hinduism, answering Leon's questions. Hello Leon!
01:09 The practice of "kirtan." Energies of kirtan. Functions of religious egregores. The possibility of opening a channel in a believer.
Leon: Hello. The chanting of holy names, kirtan. How does he (Hakur) relate to this, and to the energy that is released during it?
Irina: I saw kirtan among those Vaishnavas who came to Irina. At her request (and at my request) they read mantras, that happened. Naturally, she asked to feel the energy. I was nearby. My friend LiShioni was present directly with the Vaishnavas, he has mental contactees there.
The question, what is my opinion (Midgaskaus's opinion)?
Leon: Yes, about the energy that is released during this?
Irina: The fact is that in this process words are not simply pronounced, they are endowed with the power of thought and feelings directed at certain personalities. This energy — the life force — is directed into the Vedic, precisely into the religious egregore, whose representatives are present here. The energy is gathered there, and in response the rulers of the Vedic religious egregore, by the law of energy exchange (this is their first function), fill the believers as it were with their energy. The second function — they give hints, like Angels, in your terms.
Krishna is now one of them. He is now not incarnated, as is known, in any world. He is in the Spiritual world. He is also one of the rulers of the Vedic religious egregore.
If this is done in purity of heart, one can become a contactee of this non-incarnated Spirit (in Christian terminology an Angel, or the Spirit of some deity). But specifically, if one turns to Krishna, then his contactee. As there are contactees with Christ, with the Christ consciousness among Christians, so among the Vaishnavas there are contactees with the consciousness of Krishna. That is what it is called. A ray is installed into the spiritual channel of a person, and through phantoms too. Krishna, naturally, like Christ, can create phantoms. Many hundreds and thousands of various phantoms that can be sent to various Galaxies for contact. That is, at the kirtan there is the energy of these spiritual entities of which you speak, who are remembered at these services.
Leon: Good. Then the next question.
04:20 Sakhya-rasa. Vatsalya. Madhurya. The state of consciousness "devotee." The material world as a special form of the Spiritual world.
Leon: How are relations possible with gods such as Sakhya-rasa, Vatsalya, Madhurya, which are described in the sacred scriptures of the Vaishnavas?
Irina: Now Hakur will explain, he wrote about them. Let us put it this way, Midgaskaus will explain. The explanations will be given from the position of the teachings of the Interstellar Union about the Spiritual world.
From the positions of this teaching, any religion in figurative metaphorical form describes the reality of the Spiritual world. The words you named are certain forms of service to God, certain forms of interaction with him, contact with him. And, as in any religion, these terms are also filled with figurative content. What you have just listed are different forms of relation to God as to a friend, as to a child, and as to a beloved.
Leon: Quite right. Bravo.
Irina: (Hakur speaks). I gave the forms of description in detail in my books. I, applying Sanskrit terms, described what kind of Krishna he is, how he relates to his devotees.
"Devotee" — this, in the Christian expression, is a temple, and in the Vaishnava, "devotee" — is actually a certain state of consciousness when a person understands himself fully as a particle of God.
But why then different relations with him? (Hakur speaks). Depending on the state of consciousness of a person's Spirit, he perceives God differently, and depending on his social service, social place. In the spiritual books of the Vaishnavas it is written that these forms exist in the Spiritual world. But I want to remind you that these books were written from the position of contact with the Spiritual world, and from the position of the Spiritual world (of spiritual beings who are not incarnated), our whole world, the whole universe, are parts of the Spiritual world. Even our material world is only a small part of the Spiritual. The energy of which matter consists also comes from the Spiritual world, atoms, molecules. Everything comes from the Spiritual world. Spiritual energies are transformed through the subtle-material world into the dense-material world.
The physical, material world is a small part of the Spiritual world, and hence of God, who created all these worlds. When it is said that in the Spiritual world various services, various relations with God are possible, it is meant that these relations begin here in the material world, concretely for earthlings on Earth (let us speak of Earth, you live on Earth).
What does this mean? It means that in order to become a devotee of God and go to him in his Light, in his Light of Love, in his radiance, one must relate to one's neighbor seeing in him the reflection of Krishna, that is, God, his particle. For example, if in your child you see a little Krishna and relate to him accordingly, that is, serve him, accordingly, this will be vatsalya-rasa. If it is that in every friend, every neighbor you see Krishna, and he — you (in Christian terms this will be "love your neighbor as yourself").
In Vaishnavism it is somewhat emphasized that this happens in the Spiritual world, but in fact the truth is that all people are particles (or otherwise, children) of one and the same God. This means that having seen God in your neighbor: both in the child and in the beloved (beloved) you will be able to serve God purely, be his devotee and experience happiness from this. All this is described in figurative form in these books. (Hakur speaks). In short, all these forms of the material, including material relations between people, are described as if this happens in the Spiritual world, because here too we have the Spiritual world in a special form.
10:05 God — the Superpersonality according to the teaching of the Interstellar Union. Qualities of the Superpersonality. Energies of the Superpersonality.
Leon: From the point of view of the Interstellar Union, God is not a personality but a source, correct?
Irina: With them, he is not exactly a personality, he is a superpersonality. Not such a personality as we are, for example.
Leon: Yes, yes.
Irina: How does he differ from us? In that he is not simply a personality or the totality of all personalities, he possesses so-called pure perfection, unconditional Love, which cannot change in him into another quality. He cannot lower his vibrations, become a demon, let us say conditionally, this is his universal perfection. Not because he is deprived of omnipotence, but because his perfect will never desires this. But in this he is completely free: no one compels him.
Also the Superpersonality is expressed not in the fact that he is the biggest or the strongest, but in the fact that any force and any energy (whatever they may be in any of the worlds: both the Spiritual and the material) is only a form of his energy.
Leon: For the Vaishnavas this question is very important, because if someone says that God is not a personality, then completely different philosophies follow.
Irina: I will explain now (Midgaskaus and Hakur speak, the two of them).
God is the Superpersonality. Usually, in Western philosophy the term "Absolute" is accepted. The Absolute of everything: Absolute reason, Absolute Love, Absolute Light. This is the Superpersonality. And it also has energy, that is, divine energy. And divine energy in some cases can also be called God, because it carries his quality, let us put it so.
If, in your terms, Krishna is God, superpersonality, Vishnu is God, superpersonality, so is Brahman — God. There are those who understand as God the one who created the Universe. And there are — simply as God the one who contains its energy, who was not incarnated. There are different concepts, especially in the Upanishads this is understandable, that his energy is described. In general it is all one, simply for materialistic consciousness, which is incarnated in a body through the brain and is accustomed to separating God and his energy. In the Spiritual world it is all one. The Superpersonality sends its energy, and the one who comes into contact with its energies consciously cognizes the Superpersonality too.
Leon: Now it has become clearer, from the previous broadcasts an impression had formed that God cannot be a personality. Now we have corrected everything. Wonderful.
Irina: If one compares the Superpersonality with any personality of a rational Spirit (atman, as you say), it will be approximately as comparing a little grain of sand of half a gram not with a mountain but with a planet,
Leon: Good.
Irina: Or even with a Galaxy. I want to emphasize that the whole material world, not only the Earth, but the whole Solar system, all the Galaxies, the Galaxy "Milky Way," all the Galaxies, billions of Galaxies that exist in the Universe, discovered and undiscovered, — this is only a small part of divine energy. To say that the whole God is the material Universe is the same as to say that one nail is the whole man.
14:32 Dhruva Maharaja. Worlds of plasmoids. The destruction of the Universe and its rebirth.
Leon: Such a question. Who is known as Dhruva Maharaja, living on the Pole Star? Why is it said that it is not destroyed during the destruction of the Universe?
Irina: Yes, a very interesting question. Before answering it, it is also useful to know in the future that besides the physical world and the Spiritual world in the understanding of the Interstellar Union, there exists the so-called subtle-material world. We call them plasmoids. There are many times more plasmoid worlds than physical planets, but they are also material, only their matter is very subtle.
In all there exist 60 levels of density of matter. We people on Earth, and the Eslerians on Esler, and other aliens, we are considered humanoids, that is, we are all incarnated on the 3rd level of density of matter. There exist another 56 levels of density that are not visible to our physical eyes. Spirits are also incarnated in them, just like us, rational Spirits. We can incarnate in them, they can incarnate here, in us. But their body may be very large, may be in the form of a sphere, it is not visible to human eyes because the frequency of vibration of their body is higher than our eyes can see. Such beings are known in any sacred scripture, only they are called differently everywhere. These beings are also rational and also enter into contact with people.
Since they entered into contact with people, people deified them and ascribed to them the quality of the omnipotent Superpersonality of God. After all, people used to have many Gods. There was polytheism, when any mighty being was deified that could help a person in the difficult conditions of his survival. Monotheism (one god) appeared later, when monotheistic egregores began to form. They are considered energetically stronger than egregores where there is polytheism, because there the attention of people is distributed among the priests of different gods, they struggle among themselves, and from this the egregore becomes weak. Having sinned before one God, people went to the priest of another God, bringing him a sacrifice so that he would intercede for the person before the God before whom they had sinned. This was called magical thinking, it hindered in many cases spiritual perfection.
So, when it was written there that a world was created for him on the Pole Star, which is not destroyed at the moment of the destruction of the Universe, this speaks of a very high level of the plasmoid world. The Pole Star is also the abode of plasmoid worlds, as is our earthly Sun, as are other stars. For example, on the Sun there are 17 plasmoid civilizations, that is, Maharaja is a plasmoid.
As for the indestructibility of his world at the moment of the destruction of the Universe, in the reality of the Spiritual world, at the destruction of the Universe, the world does not perish, is not destroyed. Simply the vibrations of those energies that now constitute atoms rise, pass into the subtle-material worlds, and the subtle-material worlds, raising their vibrations, pass into the Spiritual world. Only the Spiritual world remains. The material world for observers from the material world disappears, therefore they say "the destruction of the Universe." But from the Spiritual world nothing can perish, because everything is the energy of the Spiritual world, and it is indestructible. This is simply a return to the Spiritual world of the allocated energy for the creation of the material world. Then a cycle of rest passes, and the material Universe arises anew in order. First the subtle-material worlds: the 59th level of density, then the 58th, then the 57th, and so on to the first.
20:01 Dhruva Maharaja.
Leon: Can something be learned about Dhruva Maharaja himself?
Irina: This was a plasmoid, or rather not even a plasmoid but a ruler of plasmoids, who was incarnated in the world of the Pole Star and was responsible for the creation of new stars. There are plasmoids who are responsible for the creation of stars, and even Galaxies. Why "was"? He exists now too. And what is described in the ancient Indian books is about him, that people entered into contact with him.
20:43 The murti of Madana-Mohana.
Leon: What are the spiritual properties of the deities in India (they are also called murti), which are made of stone. For example, there is a deity in the city of Jaipur called Madana-Mohana. What spiritual properties do these deities possess?
Irina: In these deities lives the energy of those plasmoids and spiritual beings, also the energy and life force of the believers who pray to the gods before them. And this spiritual force charges the murti by analogy with Christian icons (there is in Christianity the concept of "charged, prayed-over icons"). In Hinduism the murti are also charged with the energy of believers and the energy of these light entities (plasmoids, spiritual beings). They possess the property of raising a person's vibrations, that is, instilling optimism in him, strengthening his faith, filling him with love, especially if the person himself coincides with them in his vibrations.
22:03 Stone deities drinking milk from the hands of believers.
Leon: How do stone deities (there were such cases) drink milk, and whole queues of Indians line up to give them milk? How do they drink milk?
Irina: This happened rather rarely. Hakur heard about it. It was an experiment of some plasmoids who by their energy acted on matter in such a way that this milk disappeared and passed into their world in the form of radiation. This happened by agreement with the Vedic religious egregore, with the plasmoids who settled in these statues. In order to strengthen the energy of faith and love toward the gods in people who had already begun to be carried away by material values.
Leon: I understand. This is a special operation. Good.
23:17 The movement of divine statues.
Leon: There is also such a special deity in the city of Puri. Puri or Jagannatha Puri it is called. The name of the deity is Tota Gopinatha. This is the deity of Krishna. The fact is that this deity sits, and deities are generally not made sitting. And it is said that this deity is made of stone. It sat down by itself. How is this possible: a stone deity and it sat down?
Irina: It did not sit down. This all happened in the egregore, in the astral plane, and, naturally, if it was initially made of stone, naturally it remained so. Moreover I want to clarify once more about the milk: in the ancient Vedic texts it is clearly shown that when a sacrifice is offered to the gods, the gods take only the energy that the believers invest, and the physical substance remains. This is in the texts. But here it was that the plasmoids showed visibly to all the participants of this process.
As for the question: did some stone incarnation of this deity sit down or fall. Some plasmoids can also influence gravity, they can change the position of the body of this statue, move it about the temple, turn it with different parts. In Western parapsychology this phenomenon is known by the term poltergeist (control of gravity). In this case it was all not for destructive purposes but for the purpose of strengthening faith.
Leon: Good, this question is also clear.
25:24 Rama (Ramachandra).
Leon: Ramachandra and Lakshmana, what kind of personalities are these? And why is the justice of Rama (Ramachandra) legendary?
Irina: (Midgaskaus and Hakur speak together). Rama was an incarnation of the Spirit that later, much later, incarnated in Krishna. Only Rama incarnated approximately 1.5 million years ago, and he incarnated not on Earth. He was not an earthling but a deified inhabitant of the planet Burkhad.
As is known, people were created on Earth 3 million years ago. 1.5 million years ago there existed here bases of aliens, on which these aliens lived among people. They taught them various crafts, construction of cities, various esoteric arts of communication with the Spiritual world. People saw that the aliens flew from the sky on chariots, they deified them, said: "Gods flew, so they are Omnipotent." Similar to this was Rama. Rama flew here without a wife (in general his name on Burkhad was Kramyar), as an explorer. 1.5 million years ago Burkhadians (and in general aliens) were permitted to enter into marriages with earthlings. So it happened that one of his, as they would now say, contactees became his wife, was transferred by him to the base. You know her now as Sita, and her name was (approximately so she was called) — Akhasitra. She was transported by him to the base. She was given special preparations that made her fully genetically compatible with this Kramyar, and they had children.
At that time the Earth was a single continent. Further what is described in the epic Ramayana (the war, etc.). It happened that a tribe from which she came, her relatives, conspired with a tribe that lived far from them. These relatives were against her marriage to an alien, because they had other plans for her. They abducted her when Kramyar was not there. They abducted her under the guise of a meeting with her mother and took her not to her country but to the tribe (so that he would not find her) of those earthly people who helped them. This was all approximately 1.5 million years ago. She informed him through the Astral of what had happened. And he flew there on his ship. I would not say that there was such a battle as described in the Ramayana. This was later told in legends. There was a small scuffle there, not a battle, but like a dispute. Kramyar said that by the law of the Interstellar Union they had no right to restrict the will of Akhasitra. Those tried to hold her by force, and Kramyar was not alone but with his friends, among them were also earthling friends. They entered into a fight without weapons. While they were arguing among themselves, Akhasitra escaped to his ship, and he took her away to his base and did not let anyone in there.
31:17 The just Rama.
Leon: Why was the justice of Rama legendary, was he really that just?
Irina: I consider he was called the Just because (he was not simply an alien, he was made king-ruler of a certain tribe) he wrote laws for the people who helped him take his wife back, including the so-called "Royal Code." Laws with the help of which many thousands of years later, when he flew away from Earth, earthly kings already ruled. He was called the "King of Justice."
32:12 Ravana from the positions of the Interstellar Union.
Leon: Who is Ravana, who actually abducted Sita? Who was he?
Irina: You know, who abducted Sita was a tribe, it was not Ravana, there is another name. Who is depicted under the image of Ravana? It is a collective image. Here it is also emphasized that not only people acted against this Akhasitra to restrict her will, but that these people were in alliance with low-vibration plasmoid civilizations. Therefore Ravana is described as a certain animal being that does not look like a human but at the same time can control them. In the mythological plane — these are low-vibration plasmoids who helped these people who abducted this woman.
33:28 The ship of Ravana.
Leon: But there Ravana flew on a ship.
Irina: Yes, it is written there that he flew on a ship. Her mother, who wanted her to be stolen, and her parents, they came on chariots, at that time there was not yet a division of the continent by sea, it was a single whole. What appears there as the ship, as described in the scripture, that a large ship with various columns and rooms, like a flying palace, ships did not look like that. What is described as the ship of Ravana was his flying palace in the air, which means it was a portal from which these plasmoids came. Why exactly is it described so, because when a person writes, when he sees these worlds, for him it will be like a city hanging in the air. Perhaps you have met even in the modern world descriptions of how a person walked and saw a city in the air, that is, these are some capacities to see these plasmoid worlds.
35:18 The construction of the bridge to Lanka.
Leon: Why did they build a bridge to Lanka? Did all this happen on Lanka, the abduction?
Irina: I want to emphasize that this epic, the book was recorded much later than 1.5 million years ago. At first this story was transmitted orally from father to son. The bridge that was built was built much later also by a representative of Burkhad, but this was already after the war 12,000 years ago. It was built in the region already 5000 years ago approximately, maybe a little, more, 5600 years ago, practically during the life of Krishna already on Earth, maybe even a little later. In any case, it was built by the Burkhadians. Why is it described that Rama? Because those who described it knew perfectly well that the Spirit that lived in Rama incarnated in Krishna. This is a single whole, it is written so. The deeds of Krishna were described so that he built in order to go and defeat this being.
But there two temporal lines were superimposed on each other, one before the war, the second after the war. They built this bridge with the help of their technologies, special probes. Flying probes of alien ships that possessed an antigravitational field and carried mountains of sand (as a dam is made), then to strengthen it pillars were laid, like trees. Moreover, this was all done by robots. People participated there, but only helped, and mainly it was done by robots and these probes. This was done so that the people who lived in India could cross to this island, which turned out to be separated after the war. And before it consisted in a single whole with the mainland.
38:07 Hanuman.
Leon: Who is Hanuman and his army of vanaras — humanoid apes?
Irina: A good name, I do not know why they were called apes. This is one of the tribes that supported Rama in this struggle. And my only supposition why they were called apes is Hanuman, their ruler. Their ruler and the Spirit that was incarnated there — this is all Hanuman, in other legends and stories appears connected with Rama. Why were they called apes? Possibly they were somewhat shorter in stature than those people from whom Sita was taken. He says that they had no fur, and they were called apes, possibly because they lived in the forest, like forest people. This is approximately like the forest tribes now.
39:26 How Hanuman leaped across the ocean?
Leon: Did Hanuman himself possess some superpowers? Because there is a moment when he jumps to Lanka and simply leaps across the ocean?
Irina: When it is written that someone leaps across the ocean or ascends to the sky — this is the use of either the flying vehicles of the aliens, or astral translocations, or flight on such a platform on which Irina rose into the air when she was at the assembly of the Interstellar Union (antigravitational platforms). In your tales this is shown in the image of flying carpets. They were had by people and contactees. Usually by those contactees who were called volkhvs-priests, and by kings. And by the aliens themselves. They could then give such things to their contactees.
40:28 The participation of Hanuman and the vanaras in the battle for Sita.
Leon: Did Hanuman and the vanaras somehow participate in the battle for Sita or not?
Irina: They helped them. They accompanied Akramyar the Burkhad. At first they tried to reach agreement peacefully with this tribe, the people of which took Akhasitra away, and when this failed, they entered into battle. But there was no such weapon used that anyone died, because she was quickly led out — the Burkhad simply called her while everyone was distracted by the fight. Sita looked at them, and her mother said: "Stay, you are still an earthly person. This does not correspond to the customs of our clan."
41:25 Ekadashi.
Leon: Ekadashi, as a day of spiritual fasting, what spiritual fruits does it bring? Ekadashi, there is such a special day, the eleventh day after the new moon or full moon. It is considered that it brings some special spiritual fruits if one observes fasting on this day.
Irina: Now I will explain. Leon, the fact is that for them any fast (Great Lent, Ramadan, Ekadashi), however it is explained, has functions similar to the others. Their function is that a person raises his vibrations by engaging more in spiritual practice.
Why were there restrictions in food? Because in antiquity, when these religions were adopted, there were 2 main reasons:
1st reason. In antiquity food was obtained by hard labor. It happened that a person could work in the field all day, hunt, depending on what varna, caste he had. There were hunters, field workers, others. They had to spend a whole day to earn a little food, especially among artisans, etc. There were comparatively few people of the higher castes (or varnas), the bulk of the believers were the middle castes. Without the vaishyas the brahmins will not exist, you know this perfectly well. This is mutual exchange. There had to be farmers, merchants, artisans to support the ideal side of existence, including the brahmins, even the pandits.
Fasting was adopted so that they spent less time a day earning food and more time on prayers, spiritual practices, on performing various good deeds, ritual ones that raised their vibrations. If they spent less time earning food, they had less of this food. It was explained so that you will donate this food to God, and moreover you will develop will in yourself. Hunger is a manifestation of the instinct of self-preservation, and when you master it, you will strengthen your spiritual nature. And if you simply follow your animal nature, including the instinct of self-preservation (animals also eat), and are not capable of observing this fast for 2-3 days, or 10 days, then how important is God, spiritual development to you? Such was the rhetoric in the sermons, which presupposed: what you spend time on, such vibrations you will acquire.
2nd moment. Very important, in any fast of any religion (including yours). The money, the food (if it was a long fast, the person still worked somewhere, went somewhere) that he accumulated during the fast, not eating it himself, it was a virtue to give it to the poor, that is, one might say, he tore it away from himself. A person learned to harmonize his egoism, when he earned only for himself, for his material consumption, and showed mercy to the poor, to those who do not have such an opportunity to eat.
The meaning of fasting consisted in the fact that a person abstained from food in order to give it to the poor, the needy, the sick, widows, children, that is, to those who could not take care of themselves. This is a very ancient meaning of fasting.
46:07 The days of Ekadashi.
Leon: Why exactly these days, after all they chose them somehow?
Irina: The fact is that formerly people lived by the lunar calendar. Both by the lunar and by the solar. These days (the 11th day after the new Moon and after the full Moon) possessed such a property that they helped to purify the physical organism of a person and his etheric body.
August 19, 2021
Conference participants:
Irina Podzorova — contactee with extraterrestrial civilizations;
Maxim Rusan — head of the "Cassiopeia" project and the International Center for Spiritual Development "Cassiopeia";
Leon — administrator of the "Cassiopeia" project;
Hakur — keeper of the Vedic religious egregore, non-incarnated Spirit;
Midgaskaus — representative of the planet Esler, biologist, psychologist, and specialist in alien forms of life.
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