When Christopher Jordan asked over a beer one evening, "How long did it take you to see that it was all a waster of time?"I answered quickly. "Fifty years," I said, "otherwise I'd have been here sooner," which wasn't true.
'Here' was a bar in Maenam on Koh Samui, an island in the Gulf of Thailand popular with tourists. The climate is particularly agreeable for South East Asia, the food is excellent and living costs are extremely low. So low in fact $1,500/month is a high income and permits a good living standard. So Christopher had rented out his house in London and was living comfortably on the proceeds in Thailand while continuing his research into the solar technologies employed by the folks who built the pyramids and the ziggurats.
We drank lots more beer while he expounded on his theories of how those ancients used mirrors to harness the sunlight and I poked and prodded looking for weak spots in his logic until defeated and said, "Why don't you publish? You have credibility with your old university."
"They wont publish this," he declared. "It's too controversial. It undermines archaeologists, theologists, historians, and scientists. It undermines the chairs of the establishment. They wont publish."
It was a few more beers before we decided that fiction is less strange than truth and was probably the way to go if we were to put his message out there. As to what form this fiction would take I wont bore you with the deliberations here; suffice it to say that scouring through the annals of Herodotus, Plato, Archimedes and even back to King Gilgamesh himself I was profoundly relieved to come across Helen Blavatsky, authoress of Isis Unveiled and The Secret Doctrine, because those two tomes contain all that was needed to make our story and its central characters credible.
By way of introduction reproduced here are excerpts from two of the most respected web sites dealing with Helen Blavatsky, and relevant links to them. But before you shoot off to the fascinating world of the Philosophists let me just finish the opening statement to mention that I had in fact considered dropping out of the British workforce thirty years prior to meeting Christopher Jordan when my boss, having overseen my work at the end of my probationary period, signed my confirmation of contract. "That's it young man," he said. "You can safely take out your mortgage and take on your 1.8 cars and 2.4 children, and if I don't hear of you for the next 25 years you will have done your job well."
Some time later I turned to my wife as we sat replete on our eight foot sofa in our 4-bedroom box with two cars in the garage and two children tucked in for the night, and said, "Whatever happens now my salary will pop up in the bank each month, the gas will come down the pipe to keep us warm, and there will always be food in the supermarket." She smiled and nodded until I said, "Let's sell all this crap, buy a big beautiful boat and sail away to a tropical island and live on the beach." She went off to call her mother; I went down the pub.
