Xhactu’s Universal Translator broke down just when we were to receive his message on love. What can we learn from this disaster? I once had an experience of the significance of the Universal Translator in the delicate process of sending/receiving messages of love from the Galaxy to human beings. In my case the Translator was a gift label or tag on a beautifully wrapped box. Here is an excerpt of the story (from my book The Imperative). I was in an Encounter Group in 1972. “David” is my literary name:

The Group leader’s voice began to fade … David was in essence, alone. He clearly perceived a hand reach down from heaven bearing a gift—a box wrapped beautifully like a present. It had a tag on it too, and so David looked at the tag. He could see some writing on it but it wasn't clear. It looked like a pen that was running out of ink or which was written on greasy paper. At this point David inexplicably became gripped by a sense of urgency, an emotional intensity. He struggled to read the words on the little gift-tag. His whole attention was focused and as he willed himself to read the message, he began to speak what was on the tag. He had no idea why he was doing that. David just knew with certainty that he must speak those words which were originating from the gift-tag. He felt that something depended on his doing so. But what was it? His speech began awkwardly, like the writing itself. He was uttering something not yet his that was speaking through him. As he began to speak more clearly so too did the writing become clearer. Or, was it the other way around? Did his speech get clearer as he saw the writing get clearer? It was impossible to tell. … Finally, the words were spoken and the message delivered:
I love you! With this spontaneous speech came an eruption of emotion and David began sobbing deeply…

There was a problem with the medium of transmission and we humans must do what we can to have the medium ready for the alien visitor. It has something to do with language. Xhactu’s frustration and rage are the teaching here. There is something wrong with the medium and the other side cannot get through. Perhaps our impoverishment in the language of love may have something to do with the problem. We need to make the Grail!

but, alas!
it is too late
Xhactu has now withdrawn
and left us to our fate
darkness now befalls us

It ... is ..... too ........late .....

The spiralling engine of this cèilidh of dreams has at last drawn us all into its center, a portal has opened, and wisdom can finally be released to us humans. The immense satisfaction I feel is beyond compare. It is not the satisfaction of rational understanding. It is a soul satisfaction in receiving nourishment, substance of value to the soul. There is much mystery here—mystery to work on my soul life for years to come. And every fibre of my being wants to call it wisdom—Xhactu’s wisdom! This is what fiction can do, IF we follow the required ritual steps, a cèilidh being one such possible ritual. I wrote a book in 2015, based on the following experience:

I was sitting at my desk in a familiar but uncomfortable condition. My entire body had heated up, a sure sign of a creative phase that required some artistic output. I did not know what form it would take. As I sat there, in a kind of stew, I began to hear voices. Two voices were in conflict. They identified themselves as John and Buster and, as I began to record their vigorous dispute, to my surprise another voice joined in, or emerged from this dispute. Her name was even more surprising— Sigrid... 

A dialogue opened up as I hastened to write it out as it wrote itself through me, with three figures sometimes speaking at once. And I found a portal to wisdom.

Returning to Xhactu’s wisdom for a moment, just one gem:

It was as if the destiny he had dreamed about in the form of that Word resembling an incised, spherical space-rock in its cosmic nursery, contained his “forever potentialities", intact throughout many past lives and, presumably, future lives.

Dreams linked with destiny linked with individuality linked with  the Word. There’s a feast in itself.

Could it be that this wisdom is the true cèilidh that we may access IF we develop and enact those cultural practices that most faithfully correspond to this reality? Remember what Owl Man said (88 of Ch 17-18): “Important that we get this right and he could tell by Heron Man’s nod, that he felt it too.” The need for precision in ritual has long been understood. The prayer must be said in exactly the right tone and manner and wording or else access to wisdom is denied. 

Now I will do what I have always done, copy the gems of wisdom and make a little book of quotations to mull over for some time. And there is more to come. On LOVE! How this wisdom is needed at this time!