Jules, Janet’s past-life incarnation, leaps from a Bastille balcony with sword in hand and a blue-gold tapestry clutched tightly, hoping to slow his descent. Below, revolutionaries clash with soldiers as Nemesis’s troops press forward. Torchlight and smoke illuminate the fortress interior, capturing the chaos and desperation of the French Revolution.
The Eternal Soul Awakens
I don’t remember a time before the dreams. They were always there, as far back as I can reach into memory — maybe even before I could speak. I dreamed of falling.
It was always the same dream: I was plunging from a great height, the world rushing around me, stone walls flashing past, the sky spinning. My stomach lurched, the air roared, and I woke with a start just before I hit the ground. My tiny body shook, my heart hammered so hard I thought it might break.
When I got older, old enough to understand the concept of death, I realized something strange. In those dreams, I wasn’t just falling. I had already died. I was reliving the end of another life — the moment my body was broken against the cobblestones below. But here I was, alive again, a baby in a crib, a little girl in pajamas, waking up night after night, haunted by a memory I didn’t have words for.
The dream repeated all through my childhood, into my teens, even into my twenties. Always the fall. Always the last breath. Always the awakening in my own bed, sweating, trembling, trying to understand how I could die and still wake up alive.
I didn’t have language for it then, but now I know: it was my first bleed-through. A memory of another incarnation surfacing before the veil of forgetfulness had fully settled over me. I was remembering my death in France, storming the Bastille, falling with sword in hand and laughter on my lips.
The veil was fragile when I was young. I had not yet entirely forgotten. When I was four years old, I was taken aboard the mothership. There, I interacted with immortals — interdimensional beings so radiant, so spiritual, that it felt like heaven. Not the heaven the church preached about, but the real place we come from before birth, where souls gather in love and light.
A four-year-old girl with long sandy blonde hair and blue eyes stands in a spring meadow holding buttercups she has just picked. Dressed in a light spring dress, she gazes upward with innocence and wonder, foreshadowing her encounter with benevolent interdimensional beings aboard the mothership.
At that age, I didn’t know how to tell the difference. The church told me God was in the pews. The mothership revealed beings of immense wisdom and compassion to me. I thought they were the same. My child’s heart confused the two. Later, I would realize the difference: one was OGU’s God, wrapped in fear and rules, and the other was Source’s children, reminding me of home.
A four-year-old girl with sandy blonde hair, bangs, and blue eyes stands aboard a radiant mothership. She wears a spring dress and holds buttercups in her hand as beams of golden light surround her. Around her stand tall, luminous extraterrestrial beings of higher consciousness, glowing with compassion and wisdom. The scene captures the innocence of a child meeting the spiritual presence of immortals, a thin veil between Earth and heaven.
Decades later, in my thirties, another crack opened. By then, I was working at Penn State, building a career, carrying my secrets quietly. That’s when I met Étienne — though everyone called him Et.
A passionate reunion as Janet and Et embrace tightly on Oahu’s shoreline. Et, with longish dark brown hair, short beard, and brown eyes, holds Janet close. Janet, with long sandy blonde hair, bangs, and blue eyes, rests in his arms. Behind them, turquoise waters and lush mountains capture the beauty of Hawaii, symbolizing destiny and the leap of faith.
The nickname fit. It echoed his past-life name, Ed, but it also made me smile because “Et” sounded so close to ET — extraterrestrial. And that, in its own way, was perfect. He was human, yes, but he was also my reminder of the starry worlds I had known. He was my earthly Et, and my cosmic Et too.
We connected on the early internet, and from the very first exchange, his words lit me up. He was alive in a way I recognized but couldn’t explain. Our connection grew until I left everything I knew — family, friends, my whole life on the mainland — and flew 5,000 miles across the planet to Hawaii to be with him. It was the kind of leap only love, or destiny, can demand. Looking back now, I know it was both.
When I landed in Honolulu, I went straight into his arms — and into his bed. For that first week, we hardly came up for air. We made love every moment we could, pausing only when he had to go to work or I had to find a place to live. It was overwhelming, magnetic, like we were trying to make up for centuries of separation in a handful of days.
Later, when the fire calmed just enough to let us breathe, he began to show me the island — Oahu’s beaches, its mountains, its hidden places. That’s when we started to talk more, and he shared about his group, the Society for Creative Anachronism. Another piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place.
Et, with longish dark brown hair, short beard, and brown eyes, smiles in medieval attire while holding a fencing sword. Around him, members of the Society for Creative Anachronism spar in a park, dressed in medieval clothing. The joyful reenactment links him symbolically to his Bastille past life, where sword and destiny were forever tied.
I remembered the dream of the Bastille, the fall, the sword in my hand. And here he was, in this life, still with a sword, still playing at battles, still my companion in arms.
Later, I would learn that Et’s soul signature was almost identical to Sasha’s — my twin flame, the man I would later marry. In fact, their signatures were only one digit apart at the very end of the infinite number string that identifies a soul. They rolled off the cosmic assembly line side by side. No wonder I loved them both with the same depth of passion. No wonder I confused one for the other, at least at first.
But back then, before I had the language of soul signatures or fractals, I was just a girl who wanted to be good. I wanted to believe.
After being on the mothership as a child, all I wanted was to talk to God. I thought I would find Him in church. I thought if I prayed hard enough, sang the hymns loud enough, believed sincerely enough, God would meet me there.
I wanted to be a good Christian girl. I wanted to be what my family, my teachers, and my community expected. For a while, I tried. I sat in the pews, bowed my head, whispered the words they told me to whisper.
But the longer I stayed, the more I saw through it. The church wasn’t full of love. It was full of fear. Full of lies. Full of hypocrisy.
What struck me hardest was the people themselves. They were Sunday Christians. On Sunday mornings, they put on nice clothes, smiled at the pastor, and sang about Jesus. But the rest of the week? The gossip, the cruelty, the greed, the judgment — all of it contradicted the love they preached.
Two sections of wooden pews are divided by a carpeted center aisle, with stained glass glowing on both sides and the back wall. At the front, beneath the pulpit and towering organ pipes, the children’s choir sings, with Janet and Cherilyn front and center in white robes. Above them, the adult choir fills the balcony. Janet’s mother sits lovingly in row three, while her father stands near the rear as an usher. The atmosphere radiates warmth, harmony, and a sense of divine perfection.
Even as a child, I felt the contradiction in my bones. If God were real, if love were the law, then why did His followers live like this? I began to see that the God they worshiped was not the true Source. It was OGU — the One God Universe.
Inside a modest Presbyterian church, sunlight streams through stained-glass windows, casting warm light across pews and aisles. Behind the altar and cross, a faint glowing grid veil emerges, symbolizing the illusion of the One God Universe (OGU). The scene blends reverence with mystery, showing faith against the backdrop of hidden truth.
OGU states that there is only one God, one throne, and one voice of authority. OGU erases the councils of gods and goddesses, the mothers and fathers of humanity, the families of the Anunnaki. OGU demands obedience, fear, and forgetfulness.
But my dreams wouldn’t let me forget.
Janet, as a fractal of Ninmah, stands between Earth and the cosmos. Strands of golden DNA weave through her body, glowing with light, linking her earthly form to the stars. Her long red hair flows, her blue eyes radiant, embodying awakening and remembrance. She is no longer bound by the One God Universe but connected to her higher lineage.
I had already lived in a universe of many gods. I had walked beside them, worked with them, loved them. I carried their fractal in my own soul — Ninmah, Lady of the Mountain, mother of humanity. OGU wanted me to forget her, but my heart remembered. My body remembered. My dreams remembered.
I began to realize that the church was not the path to God, but the enforcer of OGU’s veil. It was a system designed to erase memory and silence awakening.
And yet, the cracks were already there. My Bastille dreams were cracks. My recognition of Et was a crack. My longing for truth beyond the pews was a crack. Every dream, every download, every synchronicity was a reminder: the veil is not complete.
The truth is, we are eternal souls. We agreed to enter this One God Universe, this OGU game, under the condition of amnesia. We accepted forgetfulness so that we could play.
But sometimes, the memory leaks through. Sometimes, we awaken in dreams, in downloads, in déjà vu. Sometimes we remember who we are, who we were, who we always will be.
That’s what happened to me. And once the cracks appear, there’s no going back.
That’s how my awakening began:
- With the dream of falling from the Bastille.
- With the veil-thin memories of the mothership.
- With leaving everything to follow Et, passion burning bright, soul shining through.
- With the realization that the church was not the home of God, but the temple of OGU.
- With the recognition that I was not a child of OGU at all, but a fractal of Ninmah, awakening in the matrix, ready to remember.
Author Bio
Janet Kira Lessin is an author, experiencer, researcher, and CEO of Aquarian Media. She integrates personal encounters, historical research, and visionary narratives to weave together ancient astronaut theory, disclosure, metaphysics, and multidimensional consciousness. Her work explores humanity’s extraterrestrial connections and our awakening beyond the One God Universe.
Janet is revealed as the Eternal Soul — a multidimensional being whose essence flows across countless planes of existence. She stands radiant, her form interwoven with strands of light, energy, and sacred geometry that extend outward in all directions, around her shimmering overlapping worlds: stars, galaxies, crystalline structures, vibratory waves, and luminous grids of consciousness. Each layer reveals a different plane — physical, astral, spiritual, cosmic — all coexisting at once. Her blue eyes shine with infinite awareness, her presence both human and divine. This image symbolizes the Eternal Soul’s truth: living simultaneously across dimensions, frequencies, and matrixes, yet unified in love and holy purpose.
Related Articles
- The Wedding at Cana: Enki and Ninmah Reunited
- The One God Universe: The Rules of Forgetfulness
- The Bastille Bleed-Through: Past Lives and Soul Signatures
- Awakening on the Mothership: Remembering Before Birth
- Twin Flames, Catalysts, and the Soul’s Game in OGU
References
- Sitchin, Zecharia. The Lost Book of Enki.
- Lessin, Sasha & Janet Kira. Anunnaki: Legacy of the Gods.
- Newton, Michael. Journey of Souls.
- Hancock, Graham. Supernatural.
- Ancient Sumerian texts & comparative mythology studies.
Tags
Janet Kira Lessin, One God Universe, OGU Chronicles, Ninmah, Enki, Anunnaki, past lives, Bastille, soul signatures, twin flames, mothership, interdimensional beings, awakening, fractals of Source, disclosure, metaphysics
A passionate reunion as Janet and Et embrace tightly on Oahu’s shoreline. Et, with longish dark brown hair, short beard, and brown eyes, holds Janet close. Janet, with long sandy blonde hair, bangs, and blue eyes, rests in his arms. Behind them, turquoise waters and lush mountains capture the beauty of Hawaii, symbolizing destiny and the leap of faith.
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Inside a modest Presbyterian church, sunlight streams through stained-glass windows, casting warm light across pews and aisles. Behind the altar and cross, a faint glowing grid veil emerges, symbolizing the illusion of the One God Universe (OGU). The scene blends reverence with mystery, showing faith against the backdrop of hidden truth.
For Facebook & X (Twitter) Promo
Facebook Post:
✨ NEW ✨ The Eternal Soul Awakens — Chapter 1 of my new book The One God Universe: Remember and Forget.
In this first chapter, I share my earliest past-life bleed-throughs, encounters aboard the mothership at age four, and the cracks in the veil that showed me the OGU (One God Universe) for what it really is.
👉 Read more at: [your website link]
X (Twitter) Post:
The veil was thin when I was 4. Dreams of the Bastille, the mothership, and meeting Et cracked the OGU illusion.
Read The Eternal Soul Awakens — Chapter 1 of my new book The One God Universe: Remember and Forget. 🌌
👉 [your website link]
Four faces gaze directly at the viewer, bridging mortal and immortal realms. Ninmah, the Anunnaki goddess, shines with long red hair and radiant blue eyes; beside her, Enki, the wise Anunnaki god, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a groomed beard. Janet appears as an adult in Renaissance Fair attire, with sandy blonde hair with bangs and blue eyes, embodying her fractal connection to Ninmah. Et, handsome with dark brown hair, short beard, and warm brown eyes, stands at her side in Renaissance Fair dress. Together, they form a tableau of divine and human love, connection, and remembrance that spans lifetimes and dimensions.
