Anunnaki, Articles, Nibiru, Nibiru Ruins

LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ The World That Died First

by Janet Lessinupdated on August 15, 2026August 14, 2026

LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ The World That Died First

Part 1 of six

The Museum Nobody Enters

I travel to Nibiru. I go often, the way I have since childhood: I sleep on Maui and walk somewhere my feet have yet to touch.

I do not go once and remember everything. These experiences recur throughout the year, sometimes several times, perhaps more often than I consciously retain. I wake with fragments, complete scenes, conversations, places, sensations, or the unmistakable knowledge that I have been there again. How much disappears before I return fully to waking consciousness, I cannot say. I suspect I remember only a fraction.

What stays with me tends to arrive intact. A road. A market. A face that sees me when everyone else walks past. The smell of bread when I have never smelled bread on Earth. A calf looking straight into my eyes. These are not vague dream remnants to me. They return with the weight and texture of lived experience.

How I Move Through Nibiru

When I travel through Nibiru in my astral form, movement feels effortless. I seem to wear shoes that levitate, or at least function as though they do. With each step, I am propelled an extraordinary distance forward, sometimes several city blocks at once. I can cross large sections of a city in what feels like moments.

The movement never feels rushed or out of control. I can go fast when I know where I want to be, then slow down whenever something catches my attention. I can stop, look around, change direction, or simply enjoy the scenery. It feels less like walking in the Earthly sense and more like gliding through space with intention.

For longer distances, I do not bother trying to cross Nibiru over land. I fly. Flying there feels completely natural. I simply rise, choose where I want to go, and move. There is no fear of falling, no strain, and no sense that I am doing anything extraordinary.

I can skim just above buildings and trees, climb high enough to see whole cities beneath me, or travel across mountains, valleys, forests, and bodies of water without having to follow roads at all.

Speed seems to respond to thought. If I want to reach another part of Nibiru quickly, I can move very fast. If the landscape is beautiful, I slow down and sightsee. I can hover, circle back, descend into a city, or rise again whenever I choose. Birds sometimes fly alongside me, and dragons do too. They do not seem afraid of me, and I am not afraid of them. We simply share the sky.

That freedom changes the way distance feels. Places that would require hours or days of travel in a physical body become easily accessible. The entire world seems open to me.

That is how I travel from the living city to the remote memorial districts. I move rapidly across the populated areas, reach the far side of town, turn onto the long road, and continue until the surroundings begin to change. When the destination lies much farther away, I leave the road behind altogether and take to the sky.

And then, when I want to experience a place slowly, I come back down and walk. I can cross large sections of a city in what feels like moments. My feet never hurt, and I never become tired. There is none of the physical fatigue I associate with walking long distances on Earth. No matter how far I travel, I feel light, comfortable, and completely free of physical strain. The movement never feels rushed or out of control.

The Road to the Old City

The living city I frequent on Nibiru carries almost no visible trace of the catastrophe that came before it. The new city stands in a different location, deliberately separated from the preserved districts of the dead. When I am there among the markets, gardens, plazas, homes, music, animals, and crowds, nothing in the surroundings forces the past upon me. Life has moved forward.

To reach the old city, I have to make a conscious decision to go there. I travel all the way to the far side of town, turn left, and continue for some distance along a long road that gradually carries me away from the life of the city. The journey itself creates a transition. The markets disappear behind me. The crowds thin out. The atmosphere changes.

Travel is effortless in my astral form. I have what I can only describe as levitating shoes. My feet touch down, but gravity does not seem to hold them the way it does here. Each step propels me an extraordinary distance, sometimes several city blocks at once. I can move very quickly when I choose, yet I can also slow down, stop, look around, and explore whatever catches my attention. Distance behaves differently there, or perhaps I do.

Then I reach the place where the road turns toward the mountain. I look up. No matter how many times I make that journey, the sight shocks me.

The mountain rises above me, crossed by a long road that twists back and forth across its face. Mansions cover the slopes for what seems like an impossible distance. They stand silent and abandoned, preserved almost exactly as they were when life ended there. From the living city, I could almost forget that such a place exists. Standing beneath that mountain, forgetting becomes impossible.

That separation feels intentional to me. The people of Nibiru did not rebuild their everyday lives in the middle of their catastrophe. They created something new elsewhere and preserved the old cities separately. Anyone who goes there has chosen to confront the past. And perhaps that is part of the lesson.

The memorial is not something everyone must stare at every morning. Life is allowed to be life. Children can grow up among gardens, music, markets, celebrations, and beauty. Yet the road remains. The old city remains. Anyone who needs to remember can make the journey.

And when you finally turn that corner and look up, the mountain remembers for you. The ruins receive visitors. They stand in a district of the old world that the survivors preserved rather than rebuilt, and the buildings remain as the war left them, ancient and fragile and honored. We keep our distance from the interiors on foot. Every visitor understands the reason without anyone speaking it aloud, because the fragility carries the entire message and a careless step would erase what the ruins exist to say.

A method exists for those who wish to see inside. You stand in the road below the many mansions area, and you send your soul avatar up toward one of the houses, and you fly in through the openings and move around the rooms. Nothing bears your weight. Nothing shifts under your hand. You arrive as attention rather than as mass, and the walls that held through a planetary catastrophe hold through your visit too.

When I travel through Nibiru in my astral form, I move with a freedom that would be impossible in my physical body. I seem to wear shoes that levitate, or at least function as though they do. With each step, I am propelled an extraordinary distance forward, sometimes several city blocks at once. I can cross large sections of the city in what feels like moments.

That is how I travel from the living city to the remote memorial districts. I move quickly across the populated areas, reach the far side of town, turn onto the long road, and continue until the surroundings begin to change.

What would seem like a long journey on Earth becomes almost effortless there. Distance still exists, but it does not seem to have the same power over me.

I look up at the center of a long road that winds up a giant mountain. The road winds around the mountain, twisting back and forth. As far as the eye can see, I see mansions that show no sign of destruction, but are totally abandoned. It’s not that the war bombed structures. It’s that the world became so toxic that everything died.

The wind sings through distant chimes, echoing in an eerie harmony that sounds like angels’ voices. The dead weep. Many still lie there, perhaps in bed. Some passed while working in the gardens or kitchens, or while bathing. People of all ages: children, grandmothers, pets, farm animals. All died from the ill wind that showed no mercy to anyone, despite their race, color, creed, caste, or status. All are equal in the arms of death.

I realize there’s nothing left to eat them. No predators, carrion, birds, insects. All died. Nothing left. I realize, looking at these ruins, that either the toxins have completely vanished over the hundreds of thousands of years. Or there’s an invisible shield that protects visitors from harm. No one answers my questions. I’m left with a mystery. All is eerily preserved. Not even the winds or rains have disturbed their eternal slumber. It reminded me of Pompeii, but without the ash.

The insides haunt me. And I hear the music. It reaches me the whole time I walk there, and it resembles nothing I have heard in a body. People who return from death describe it, and mystics call it the music of the spheres, and the words fall short in every account, including this one.

Beautiful runs too small a word. The sound belongs to the other side, to the place life goes when it leaves the flesh, and it fills those ruined rooms the way light fills a window.

That music tells me something about the ruins that the carvings alone would miss. The dead cities of Nibiru sit closer to the other world than to this one now. The people who lived there crossed over, and something of the crossing stayed in the stone.

When I am there, I dress as they did. I don’t have to change clothes. I just think about what I want, and the dress materializes on me. I feel I honor them by dressing like them.

Other homes are completely empty. Did a part of the population get a warning while others remained unaware? So many questions. What happened. How did they feel? Did they suffer? Did they have time to mourn?

I notice a home near the top. I will see it up close myself. And just like that, I’m on my way.

Nibiru had a high culture, and every surviving object proves it. Furniture carved the way we carve monuments. Mantelpieces were worked with a patience that shows in every inch. Fireplaces, vases, paintings, figurines, door frames, the legs of a chair nobody will sit in again. Everything, everywhere, carries the mark of an artist who had time to give it.

That is what high civilization means, and the definition has little to do with weapons or engines. A civilization reaches its height when enough of its people live secure enough, fed enough, and free enough to spend their hours making beauty that serves no purpose beyond itself.

They had that. They lost it inside a single generation. Or did they? Sasha has often raised the Maya as a comparison. In parts of the Maya world, great centers lost population and people moved elsewhere.

Did something comparable happen here? Did those with knowledge, resources, influence, or advance warning have a better chance of escaping before the catastrophe reached them? Did some relocate elsewhere on Nibiru, or even leave the planet? I can only wonder.

Yet here I am, once again, crumbled on the floor, and I still feel the pain.

Every time I go to Nibiru, I am compelled to go to the ruins. They haunt me. I resist, so I don’t always go there. I say to myself, it will be different this time. I’ll hold it together. But I always end up sobbing.

Time and again, I move through those rooms, and the tears come. Even though they’ve been dead for hundreds of thousands of years, perhaps millions, I fall to my knees and weep. I cannot help it, and I have stopped trying. How could we do that? What happened to a people who reached that height and fell from it so quickly? The question follows me back into my body and sits with me through the morning.

I cry so long and hard that I exhaust myself, cry myself to sleep. So here I am dreaming on Earth, and my astral self falls asleep on Nibiru. When I wake, I take the long route home. One last look so I’ll never forget. How could I? If I forget, how will I be inspired to stop such horrendous devastation from happening again, here on Earth, my new homeworld?

I wonder if I perished there in a past life. Maybe one of these times I’ll get the answer. Until then, I bring back determination that humanity will never reach this level of destruction. And here we are, once again, on the brink of yet another world. But as long as I live, and even beyond my time, there’s hope and new beginnings and people and beings dedicated to authentic peace.

The Museum and the Vow

The ruins receive visitors, but only those who choose to make the journey. By the time I reach the foot of the mountain, the living city feels very far away.

Earth has built the same kind of place. Yad Vashem holds children’s shoes behind glass. Hiroshima kept the dome standing. Auschwitz preserved the gate. Human beings who survive an atrocity discover that the ruins teach what testimony alone fails to carry, and so they fence the wreckage and bring their grandchildren to look at it.

The inscription reads the same on both worlds.

“NEVER AGAIN.”

The difference lies in the scale. Our Holocaust museums memorialize what one people did to another people. The Nibiran ruins memorialize what a species did to itself, and the survivors of that war watched their own extinction come within reach.

They had seen other species vanish. They understood what the universe does to a civilization that fails the test, and they built a museum from their own dead cities so that no descendant could ever claim ignorance.

We are those descendants. The Anunnaki who walked those streets live now as humans, and we carry the same genetics, the same appetites, and the same capacity to end ourselves.

The World Came Back

As I came to understand Nibiru more clearly, I realized that I was seeing three very different kinds of places. Confusing them with one another gives the wrong impression of the world that exists there today

The Three Faces of Nibiru

The Living Cities

These are the fully restored and inhabited parts of Nibiru. They contain no visible ruins and no reminders of the ancient catastrophe built into everyday life. People live among homes, gardens, markets, plazas, farms, waterways, music, animals, children, celebrations, and ordinary community life.

The people of Nibiru did not rebuild their new civilization where so many had died. Life began again somewhere else.

The Reclaimed Places

Not every damaged area was preserved as a memorial. In some places, nature has reclaimed the old ruins.

Trees grow among remnants of buildings. Grasses, flowers, and vines soften what remains. Ponds, walking paths, benches, and peaceful places may offer spots to sit, picnic, wander, or enjoy the landscape.

These places no longer feel like scenes of catastrophe. They feel more like beautiful parks, with traces of an older world remaining beneath the life that has returned.

The Memorial Cities

The preserved dead cities are something entirely different.

They lie apart from ordinary population centers, often in remote areas that a person must deliberately choose to visit. They were preserved rather than rebuilt. The mansions, streets, rooms, furniture, artwork, and other remains were left as intact as possible because the place itself carries the memory of what happened there.

Visitors do not casually wander through the fragile interiors. They keep their physical distance, and those who wish to see inside can enter in astral or soul-avatar form without placing weight on floors, touching objects, or disturbing anything.

These places function almost like enormous sacred memorials—part cemetery, part museum, part historical record.

The title of this piece requires an honest correction, and the correction sharpens the warning rather than softening it. Nibiru survived. The world that died first died, in part, in its cities, ecosystems, and systems of knowledge, and enough remained for the survivors to revive what they could. Life continues there. The ruins stand inside a living civilization that chose to keep its own wound visible.

The living city I frequent carries almost no visible trace of the catastrophe. Nibiru’s people rebuilt elsewhere rather than constructing their new lives among the dead cities. The preserved districts lie far beyond the ordinary centers of population, tucked away in remote regions that one must deliberately choose to visit.

Daily life is allowed to be daily life. Children grow up among gardens, markets, music, animals, celebrations, and beauty without confronting the ruins every morning. The road to the past remains, but one must choose to take it.

But actually, they don’t display their wounds in the middle of the living. These museums the size of cities are tucked away in far corners. One has to make a conscious effort to visit them. And when you do, it’s like visiting a temple, synagogue, mosque, church, or cemetery.

All who visit are mindful and respectful, and if you allow yourself to go there, you will feel the dead. The ancestors will walk with you. It’s not your imagination. They are actually there. You call them, and they respond.

I’ve noticed a lot of humans visit, too. I wonder if they get there the same way I do. If so, maybe you, the one reading this or listening to the video, can will yourself to the museum or to visit Nibiru as I do. Try it. Let me know if you succeed.

That fact matters more than a clean apocalypse would. A world that ends teaches nothing, because no one remains to learn. A world that comes back carries both halves of the lesson at once: the catastrophe proved real, and the recovery proved possible. Survival happened, but it cost far more than anyone had imagined before the bombs fell.

Nibiru lives. Some of its people returned, rebuilt, and began again. Others came later. As I understood it, they also recruited humans from Earth to help restore and round out the population. I saw many people who appeared brown-skinned, and I had the impression that many came from Peru and other parts of South America, along with people from India and nearby regions.

A smaller smattering of other people seemed scattered here and there as well. I cannot explain the pattern with certainty, but that is what I observed. What mattered most was not where they had come from, but that they were there—living, working, celebrating, and sharing a future on a world that had once nearly lost its own.

There were other alien beings, species I didn’t recognize. Nibiru has become an interstellar gathering place, a resort, a sanctuary, a place to escape and celebrate. But the humanoid population dominates.

I have been to the markets, and the markets tell the story better than any speech could. The people I see there do not drift through life with their heads bowed to cell phones. They are present. The markets pulse with sound, laughter, bargaining, music, clatter, and life.

They feel communal in the oldest and best sense. People gather not only to buy and sell, but to meet, to talk, to share food, to exchange news, and to take pleasure in one another’s company. After so much death, that ordinary joy feels almost holy.

WERE ANCIENT CULTURES LIKE THE MAYANS RESCUED?

The Maya comparison raises another question that may reach far beyond Nibiru’s own catastrophe. In the traditions Sasha and I have studied, Thoth—Ningishzidda, associated with Quetzalcoatl and Kukulcan—had a profound connection with Mesoamerican peoples. Could Thoth have relocated some Maya or other people from Earth thousands of years ago, perhaps to remove them from danger and take them somewhere they could begin again? Could some have come to Nibiru?

If so, rescue may have served two purposes at once. People on Earth may have needed somewhere safer to live, while a severely depopulated Nibiru needed people capable of restoring farms, maintaining cities, raising families, building, creating, teaching, healing, and bringing abandoned places back to life.

I MOVE INVISIBLY TO MOST

Most of the time, I move through Nibiru unnoticed. I am there in astral form, not in a physical body, and I sometimes feel almost like a ghost passing through the middle of ordinary life. People talk, work, shop, dance, and continue on their way without the slightest indication that I am among them.

Every so often, someone looks directly at me. Those moments delight me. The people who see me seem psychic or unusually sensitive because they react immediately. A face lights up. Someone smiles, waves me closer, or gives me a look that says, Yes, I see you. There is often humor in it, as though we have suddenly discovered that we share a private joke no one else in the crowd knows exists.

I felt like a ghost, for most people didn’t notice me. Every once in a while, a friendly face would see me, smile, and call me over. But I think these were the psychic people. Not everyone could see me. So when one of them saw me, it was as though we were sharing some kind of inside joke. I found our interchanges delightful. I love those encounters because, for a few moments, I stop being merely an observer. I become part of the scene.

And cows. There are sacred cows everywhere. I once happened upon a parade, a huge celebration. It was some kind of high holiday, and the humans were recreating it on Nibiru. I, for the most part, am unseen. I’m in my astral form, after all, as I did not get into a ship and travel there. But one time, one of the psychics who could see me followed me dancing in the crowd as my astral self and put the rope of a small calf in my hand.

I looked down, and suddenly I had a sweet little sandy brown calf with giant, soulful eyes. The calf could see me. Someone was instructing me on how to care for this animal. So I smiled and let it happen. They assured me that when I left, the calf would be cared for. But for now, I was to enjoy the sweet animal. So I did.

For that little stretch of time, there was no catastrophe, no ruined city, no warning from the past. There was music, dancing, a holiday crowd, sacred cows decorated for celebration, and one sandy-brown calf who could see me perfectly well. I held the rope, looked into those enormous eyes, and accepted the gift of the moment.

For me, the markets hold a special fascination because here on Earth, in my human form, I have never had a sense of smell. Yet there, for a time, I smell everything. Food rises warm and rich from cooking stalls. Flowers and herbs release sweetness into the air. Plants, damp earth, animal dung, urine, sweat, spice, smoke, fruit, bread, and countless other scents arrive all at once. The experience startles me every time. At moments it feels almost like an assault on the nose. Some smells even make my eyes water. Still, I treasure the experience because it gives me a sensory life I have never known here. Curious, most curious.

The people in the market seem to want to give you something that will make your day better, something that brings a little more joy into your life. The aromas drift through the air and slowly overwhelm your senses. Before long, your stomach begins to gurgle, and your mouth starts to water.

Then someone calls you over to a booth, almost as though they sensed the exact moment your resistance disappeared. I am in my astral form, mind you, and somehow I still get hungry. I taste the food they offer me, and it is delicious. For a moment, the craving is completely satisfied. Then another aroma reaches me from farther down the market, rich and unfamiliar, and before I know it, someone else is waving me over to sample what they have been cooking.

That is how the experience unfolds. One taste leads to another, one smiling vendor to the next, and everyone seems delighted to share what they have made. It feels less like selling food and more like offering pleasure, hospitality, and connection. It is a win for everyone. I leave satisfied; they are happy to have shared their creations, and the whole market seems full of smiles.

I move from vendor to vendor, overwhelmed by the beauty of everything around me. My eyes hardly know where to settle. There is so much color, detail, texture, and craftsmanship that I can barely focus on one thing before something else catches my attention. I could spend a month here and still not see it all, but I know I need to keep moving. I never know how long I can stay, and part of me always knows the visit could end at any moment.

Then a lovely woman notices me. She sees me, and somehow senses my uncertainty. She calls me over with a warm smile and lifts a beautiful necklace from her display.“I’ve been looking for the woman I designed this for,” she tells me. “I was just about to give up, and then there you are.”

She holds it out to me. This is for you, my dear. Please allow me to give it to you. I would be so honored if you would accept it.”For a moment, I simply stand there, touched beyond words. In a market filled with beautiful things, the necklace itself doesn’t overwhelm me the most. It is the feeling that someone saw me, recognized me, and had been waiting for me.

The different stalls often played their own music, weaving through the sounds of conversation, laughter, bargaining, and the market’s bustle. But then my ears caught something different. This music was louder, more deliberate, more powerful. It rose above everything else with a rhythm that seemed to call to me.

So, naturally, I followed the sound. The farther I went, the stronger it became, drawing me away from the individual stalls and toward something larger. I could feel that I was approaching a gathering, perhaps a celebration, although I had no idea yet what I was about to find.

My astral self was beginning to respond to the call of my body back on Maui, still asleep in bed. The first rays of dawn were rising above Haleakalā, and that early light stirred my cat. She made a little sound, stretched, and began to fuss. Somewhere through all of that, I became aware of my physical body again. Before long, I was going to have to pee. But I wasn’t ready to come back.

I turned onto my other side, settled deeper into the bed, and told myself, You still have time. Grab a little more sleep. For a while, that worked. My body remained on Maui, hovering at the edge of waking, while another part of me was still far away on Nibiru. My astral self was responding to the call of my body back on Maui, asleep in my bed. The early rays of dawn were reaching above Haleakala. That first light alerted my cat; she made a sound, stretched, and started to fuss. Then I realized I would soon have to pee. But I ignored it, turned on my other side, and said to myself, “You still have time. Grab more sleep.”

With that settled back home in my sleeping human body, I was able to turn my attention fully toward the music again. It was stronger now, clearer and more deliberate. I followed it through the market until, just ahead, I caught sight of dancers moving with the rhythm. Beyond them were the musicians themselves, playing at the heart of the gathering. The sound had led me straight to the celebration.

Someone who could see me noticed that I was trying to get closer and began clearing a path through the crowd. I knew the people around me probably would not have felt me if I simply passed through them, but doing that still seemed rude. I smiled at him, grateful for the help, and he guided me all the way to the front, where I could stand close enough to face the musicians directly.

I kept dancing to the delightful music, completely caught up in the celebration, as another sunrise unfolded far away on Maui. By then, Athena had begun nuzzling my hand, asking for her morning pets. Slowly, the two worlds overlapped. I woke with my fingers already buried in her fur, stroking her almost before I was fully conscious. Athena answered with a loud, satisfied purr. Apparently, my technique met with her approval.

The Dead Walk Here Too

One of the most striking things about Nibiru is that the living do not occupy it alone.

Its living population is only a fraction of what it once was, yet the planet does not feel empty. In the cities and streets, in the markets and gardens, across farms and fields, the dead move alongside the living. They are present in much the same way I believe they are present on Earth and, I suspect, on many other inhabited worlds.

Most people do not seem to notice them. Life continues around them as people work, shop, raise children, tend animals, harvest food, celebrate holidays, and talk with one another as though only the visible world exists. Yet another layer of life is there as well, interwoven with the ordinary world and moving quietly through it.

Sensitive people can perceive both.

That helps explain why certain people on Nibiru notice me when I arrive in astral form. To most of the population, I seem invisible, yet every so often someone looks directly at me and clearly recognizes my presence. A face brightens, someone smiles or waves me closer, and for a moment we share an unmistakable understanding.

I have come to believe that these individuals can perceive both physical and astral life. I arrive among them as a being who is not fully anchored in physical density, and to those whose perception extends beyond the visible world, that does not seem especially strange. They can sense those who still wear physical bodies as well as those who move in lighter form. The dead do not appear unnatural to them, and neither do I.

Nibiru may contain only a fraction of its former embodied population, but when I include those who have crossed beyond physical life, the planet feels remarkably crowded. Ancestors remain near the living, former residents continue to move through familiar places, and generations overlap in ways that ordinary physical sight cannot reveal.

Their presence does not frighten me. Instead, it gives Nibiru a profound sense of depth and continuity. The living continue with their lives while those who have crossed remain present within another layer of the same world.

When I visit Nibiru in astral form, I move within that layer too.

Once I understood this, many small things made more sense. The occasional glance that lingered too knowingly. The smile from someone who recognized me although I had made no sound. The feeling that a crowded street held more presences than the eye alone could count. Nibiru’s visible population may be smaller than in ages past, but its inhabited world is far larger than its census of the living would suggest.

This presence does not strike me as frightening. Quite the opposite. It gives the world depth, continuity, and an unusual tenderness. Ancestors remain near their descendants. Former residents still move through beloved districts. The dead seem woven into the planet’s life rather than banished from it. In some places they appear simply to observe. In others they seem to participate quietly, as though the boundaries between worlds remain thinner there than they are here.

That may be one more legacy of catastrophe. Nibiru came so close to losing everything that the separation between those who remained embodied and those who crossed over never seems to have hardened completely. The result is a world where memory walks beside daily life, where the departed are not wholly gone, and where a traveler in astral form can pass among both the living and the dead.

Not all of Nibiru remains in ruins. Many areas have recovered beautifully. Some of the shattered districts lie far away, preserved as warnings and memorials, but other damaged places have been softened and reclaimed by time and care. Trees rise where walls once fell. Grasses move across old stone. Flowers, vines, and gardens wrap themselves around what destruction left behind. In some places, the ruins have become places of peace. People visit them, sit on benches, walk beside small ponds, enjoy the shade, share quiet conversations, and even spread out picnics. The old wound remains, but life has learned how to grow around it.

There are also places where you would have to travel thousands of miles to see any sign of destruction. That may be the deepest lesson Nibiru offers. Recovery does not erase catastrophe. Survival does not restore innocence. The scar remains. Yet a scar is not the same thing as death. Nibiru did not disappear. It endured, suffered, remembered, and in many places healed. Everything that follows in this series happened on a planet already carrying that scar, and already proving, every day, that even after devastation, life can return.

Everything that follows in this series happened on a planet already carrying that scar.

About Janet Kira Lessin

Janet Kira Lessin is an author, researcher, experiencer, contactee, and co-host of Aquarian Media. Her lifelong encounters with nonhuman intelligences, altered states of consciousness, near-death experiences, astral travel, and other-dimensional realities began in early childhood and have shaped more than seven decades of personal exploration.

Janet writes from the unusual intersection of lived experience, mythology, consciousness studies, ancient history, extraterrestrial contact, and the continuing human search for our origins. Her work frequently explores the Anunnaki, Nibiru, multidimensional existence, reincarnation and simultaneous lives, contact phenomena, and humanity’s relationship with the wider community of intelligent life.

In the Life on Nibiru series, Janet draws upon what she describes as repeated visits to Nibiru through astral and multidimensional consciousness. Her accounts present Nibiru not simply as an ancient world of myth, but as a place she experiences as profoundly familiar—a world connected to her own soul history and to humanity’s unfinished story.

Janet and her husband, Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D., have written, researched, lectured, broadcast, and produced programs together for many years through Aquarian Media, Aquarian Radio, Dragon at the End of Time, EnkiSpeaks, and Aquarian Media Enterprises.

About Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D.

Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. is an anthropologist, author, educator, counselor, researcher, and longtime investigator of human origins, mythology, consciousness, ancient civilizations, and the Anunnaki traditions. He earned two master’s degrees at UCLA, in anthropology and psychology, followed by a Ph.D. in anthropology.

Sasha taught anthropology and psychology for decades and maintained a private counseling practice before retirement. His studies also included advanced work with Stanislav Grof and participation in the broader consciousness and human-potential movements that brought together researchers such as John Mack and Terence McKenna.

Sasha devoted decades to studying Zecharia Sitchin’s translations and interpretations of ancient Mesopotamian material. Janet and Sasha studied personally with Sitchin for approximately twelve years, attended his seminars and question-and-answer sessions, and became part of a circle of researchers who explored the implications of the Anunnaki narrative for human history.

In the Life on Nibiru series, Sasha contributes anthropological, historical, psychological, and Anunnaki-oriented perspectives to Janet’s experiential accounts. Together, they examine what the Nibiran story may reveal about civilization, power, survival, consciousness, and humanity’s relationship with its presumed ancestral world.

About Janet Kira Lessin & Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D.

Janet Kira Lessin and Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D., are authors, researchers, broadcasters, and partners in a decades-long investigation of humanity’s origins and its relationship with nonhuman intelligence. Their work combines Janet’s lifelong contact and multidimensional experiences with Sasha’s background in anthropology, psychology, consciousness studies, and ancient history.

Together they have explored the Anunnaki traditions associated with ancient Mesopotamia, the writings and teachings of Zecharia Sitchin, extraterrestrial contact, ancient civilizations, consciousness, reincarnation, near-death experiences, and humanity’s place within a larger cosmic history.

Their collaborative work appears through Aquarian Media, Dragon at the End of Time, EnkiSpeaks, and the longstanding publishing umbrella Aquarian Media Enterprises. Through articles, books, interviews, podcasts, videos, and illustrated presentations, Janet and Sasha invite audiences to consider a larger human story—one that reaches beyond conventional history and asks what our species may become once it remembers where it came from.

In Life on Nibiru, their approaches converge. Janet takes readers into the world she experiences directly, while Sasha helps place those experiences within the larger Anunnaki narrative. The result is part memoir, part cultural exploration, part cosmic history, and part warning about the choices civilizations make when technological power outpaces wisdom.

LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ THE SERIES

LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ The World That Died First

Part 1 of Six
Janet Kira Lessin | Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. | Research: Claudia Lenore | © 2026 Aquarian Media

The Series

The World That Died First — you are here.

The Markets of Nibiru — Open-air stalls, food for free, and the many mansions as an economy rather than an afterlife.

The Peace That Made a Princess — The war that nearly ended a world, the marriage that stopped it, and the night Ninmah was born.

Behind the Curtain — The Halls of Amenti, the Watchers, and the locks that answered to their own genetics.

The Dragon at the Door — Melusine at Johnston Atoll, the singularity within, and the body as a doorway.

What Enki Does, What Ninmah Does — Disclosure, healing, and the promise two survivors made over a ruined world.

Life on Nibiru continues. Join us for the journey.

BELLS & WHISTLES

AUTHOR’S NOTE ON SOURCES

The descriptions of Nibiru, its cities, landscapes, inhabitants, memorial districts, markets, astral realms, animals, ancestral presences, and methods of travel in this article are drawn primarily from Janet Kira Lessin’s personal recollections of repeated astral and multidimensional visits to Nibiru. These experiences recur over time and are presented here as memoir and firsthand testimony rather than conventional astronomical or archaeological observation.

The historical and archaeological references below document the terrestrial parallels discussed in the article, including the preservation of places associated with catastrophe and mass death, the abandonment and survival of ancient cities, and how civilizations remember catastrophic events.

Zecharia Sitchin’s works provide an important part of the Anunnaki and Nibiru framework that Janet Kira Lessin and Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D., have studied and developed over many years.

REFERENCES & FURTHER READING

Memorials, Ruins, and the Preservation of Memory

Yad Vashem. “The Baby Shoe of Hinda Cohen.”
Yad Vashem, The World Holocaust Remembrance Center.
https://www.yadvashem.org/artifacts/featured/shoe-hinda-cohen.html

The artifact collection preserves the shoe of Hinda Cohen, a child murdered during the Holocaust. Her father recorded information concerning her deportation on the sole of the shoe. The artifact provides a powerful terrestrial example of how personal objects preserve the memory of people who died.

Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum. “Auschwitz II-Birkenau Site—Master Plan for Preservation.”
https://www.auschwitz.org/en/museum/preservation/preservation-master-plan/i-the-auschwitz-ii-birkenau-site/

The Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial maintains and conserves surviving buildings, ruins, foundations, walls, chimneys, roads, objects, and other physical remains so that the site itself continues to bear witness to what happened there.

Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum. “The Effort to Create the Museum.”
https://www.auschwitz.org/en/museum/history-of-the-memorial/from-liberation-to-the-opening-of-the-memorial/the-effort-to-create-the-museum/

This history describes the postwar decision to secure and preserve portions of the former concentration and extermination camp as a memorial and museum for future generations.

Hiroshima Convention & Visitors Bureau. “Atomic Bomb Dome.”
https://www.hiroshima-navi.or.jp/en/

The structure now known as the Atomic Bomb Dome survived near the hypocenter of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Its preservation transformed a physical remnant of catastrophe into a permanent memorial and warning.

UNESCO World Heritage Center. “Archaeological Areas of Pompeii, Herculaneum and Torre Annunziata.”
https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/829/

The ancient cities buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius preserved buildings, household objects, streets, and evidence of people and animals who were overtaken in the midst of ordinary life. Pompeii provides a useful terrestrial parallel to encountering places where daily life suddenly stopped and the physical environment remained behind.

CIVILIZATION, POPULATION DECLINE, AND SURVIVAL

Chase, Diane Z., et al. “Mesoamerican Urbanism Revisited: Environmental Change, Adaptation, Resilience, Persistence, and Collapse.”
Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 2023.

This research examines demographic decline, abandonment, adaptation, relocation, resilience, and continuity within Maya civilization. It provides useful background for comparisons involving cities whose populations declined or moved while the civilization itself continued in altered forms.

Evans, Nicholas P., et al. “Quantification of Drought During the Collapse of the Classic Maya Civilization.”
Science, 2018.

This research examines severe drought during the transformation of Classic Maya civilization and adds context to the relationship among environmental stress, population change, social disruption, and survival.

ANUNNAKI AND NIBIRU BACKGROUND

Zecharia Sitchin

Sitchin, Zecharia. The 12th Planet. The Earth Chronicles, Book I. Bear & Company.

The foundational volume of Sitchin’s Earth Chronicles, introducing his interpretation of Nibiru as the Anunnaki’s home world and his reconstruction of ancient Mesopotamian accounts of humanity’s origins.

Sitchin, Zecharia. The Wars of Gods and Men. The Earth Chronicles, Book III. Bear & Company.

This volume focuses on conflict and warfare among the beings Sitchin identifies with the Anunnaki and ancient gods. It provides important background for the themes of war, power, destruction, survival, and civilizational recovery explored in The World That Died First.

Sitchin, Zecharia. The Lost Realms. The Earth Chronicles, Book IV. Bear & Company.

This volume extends Sitchin’s Anunnaki framework into the Americas and provides background for the wider planetary history explored throughout Janet and Sasha Lessin’s work.

Sitchin, Zecharia. Genesis Revisited: Is Modern Science Catching Up With Ancient Knowledge? Bear & Company.

A companion work to The Earth Chronicles that explores Sitchin’s interpretations of astronomy, genetics, planetary history, ancient technology, and human origins.

Sitchin, Zecharia. The Lost Book of Enki: Memoirs and Prophecies of an Extraterrestrial God. Bear & Company, 2001.

Particularly relevant to the Life on Nibiru series, this book reconstructs the Anunnaki story from Enki’s point of view and explores life on Nibiru, conditions affecting the planet, the journey to Earth, family relationships, political rivalries, and events preceding and following the Earth mission.

Sitchin, Zecharia. The Complete Earth Chronicles. Bear & Company.

The collected Earth Chronicles includes The 12th Planet, The Stairway to Heaven, The Wars of Gods and Men, The Lost Realms, When Time Began, The Cosmic Code, and The End of Days.

EXPERIENTIAL AND CONSCIOUSNESS FURTHER READING

These works provide background for subjects such as out-of-body experience, altered states of consciousness, near-death experiences, and reports of consciousness functioning beyond ordinary physical perception. They are included as comparative and contextual reading, not to verify the experiences described in this article.

Monroe, Robert A. Journeys Out of the Body.

A classic first-person account of recurring out-of-body experiences and deliberate exploration of nonphysical states of consciousness.

Monroe, Robert A. Far Journeys.

Monroe’s later work expands upon his descriptions of deliberate movement through nonphysical environments and encounters with other forms of consciousness.

Moody, Raymond A. Life After Life.

An influential collection of reported near-death experiences and descriptions of consciousness continuing beyond clinical death.

Greyson, Bruce. After: A Doctor Explores What Near-Death Experiences Reveal About Life and Beyond.

A modern examination of near-death experiences based upon decades of clinical and academic research.

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Janet Kira Lessin journeys through the preserved dead cities of Nibiru, where a civilization that nearly destroyed itself chose to leave its wounds visible so future generations could never say they had not been warned.

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LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ The World That Died First — Janet Kira Lessin journeys through the preserved ruins of a civilization that came within reach of its own extinction and chose to leave the evidence standing.

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Janet Kira Lessin overlooking the preserved mountain cities and abandoned mansions of Nibiru in Life on Nibiru: The World That Died First.

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Preserved ruins and restored cities of Nibiru illustrating The World That Died First, Part 1 of the Life on Nibiru series.

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LIFE ON NIBIRU

The World That Died First

Part 1 of Six

By Janet Kira Lessin
with Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D.
Research: Claudia Lenore

REMEMBER, so we do not repeat this history.

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LIFE ON NIBIRU: The World That Died First — Part I | The Museum Nobody Enters

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Part I of LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ The World That Died First enters the preserved memorial cities of Nibiru, places left apart from everyday life so future generations would remember what happened there.

Janet Kira Lessin describes traveling there in astral form, following the road from the living city to a remote mountain covered with abandoned mansions, and entering the preserved interiors without disturbing their fragile remains. The experience raises questions about catastrophe, memory, survival, and why a civilization would choose to preserve its wounds rather than erase them.

Hosted by Janet Kira Lessin and Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D.
DragonAtTheEndOfTime.com | EnkiSpeaks.com | AquarianMedia.org

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LIFE ON NIBIRU: The World That Died First — Part I

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Part I enters Nibiru’s preserved memorial cities, where abandoned mansions, fragile interiors, ancestral presence, and the mystery of extraordinary preservation turn an ancient catastrophe into a warning for future generations.

Hosted by Janet Kira Lessin & Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D.
DragonAtTheEndOfTime.com

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LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ The World That Died First — Part I: The Museum Nobody Enters

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What happens when a civilization comes close to destroying itself and chooses not to erase the evidence?

In Part I of LIFE ON NIBIRU ~ The World That Died First, Janet Kira Lessin journeys in astral form from the restored living city to a remote memorial district where abandoned mansions still cover the mountainside. The interiors remain filled with traces of lives interrupted by catastrophe, preserved so completely that Janet wonders whether some form of shielding protects them from weather, moisture, and time.

The ruins become more than remnants of the past. They are memorials, warnings, and places where the dead still feel remarkably close.

Join Janet Kira Lessin and Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D., for The Museum Nobody Enters, Part I of this illustrated Aquarian Media presentation.

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