FROM DOMINATION CONSCIOUSNESS TO PARTNERSHIP PARADIGM, Part 1
Janet Kira Lessin | Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. | © 2026 Aquarian Media
Research: Claudia Lenore
Title image prompt (Minerva): Large high-detail collage, wide format: a pale rider on a gaunt horse crossing a medieval European town at dusk, a darkened sun veiled by volcanic ash above, a red planet with a long comet tail in the sky, a Tudor prince on a deathbed in the lower corner, a poison goblet glinting on a banquet table, and a glowing golden crossroads in the center where many timelines branch outward.
The Black Rider Returns
Image prompt: A pale horseman riding out of a storm cloud over a sweep of history: Byzantine domes, a medieval harbor with plague ships, a Victorian port, a modern city skyline, all lit by the same sickly green light.
Plague rides with company. Every great pestilence in the human record arrives on the heels of something larger: a darkened sky, a failed harvest, an army on the march, a ruler who hoards grain while the poor starve. The ancients understood this and painted it as four horsemen riding together, War, Famine, Pestilence and Death, each one opening the gate for the next.
Sasha and I set out to trace a single disease through time, and the trail led us everywhere at once. It ran from Stone Age graves in Latvia to the court of Justinian, from the Black Death in Sicily to the Chinatown fire in Honolulu, and from Sumerian tablets to the measles wards of 2026.
What we found reads less like a series of accidents and more like a pattern. Disease follows catastrophe, catastrophe follows cosmic upheaval, and at certain moments a death in the right bed at the right hour bends the whole river of history toward war.
“A death in the right bed at the right hour bends the whole river of history.”
We call those moments the intersections. This series asks what creates them, how humanity reacts when they arrive, and how we move from the consciousness that keeps reproducing them to a partnership paradigm that heals them at the root.
Cartoon idea: Four horsemen stuck in traffic behind a fifth rider on a bicycle labeled “Partnership,” who waves them past with a peace sign.
Fire From the Sky, Famine on the Earth
Image prompt: A volcanic eruption blotting out the sun over a frozen wheat field, peasants holding empty baskets, rats streaming from a granary, and a faint red planet hanging in the ash-dimmed sky.
The chain begins above us. In the Anunnaki chronicles Zecharia Sitchin decoded, Nibiru swings through the inner solar system on its long orbit, and its passage about 13,000 years ago triggered the Deluge. Its pull tore at Mars on the way in, stripped the planet Lahmu of its atmosphere and wrecked the Anunnaki way station there. Cosmic upheaval reshapes whole worlds, and Earth feels every pass.
Science traces the same chain on a smaller scale. Volcanoes and meteor streams darken the sky, the harvest fails, starving people and starving rats crowd together in the granaries, and the fleas carry Yersinia pestis from one to the other.
| When | The catastrophe | The plague that followed |
|---|---|---|
| 536–547 AD | Icelandic eruptions veil the sun for 18 months; crops fail from Ireland to China | Plague of Justinian, 541, sweeps the Mediterranean and reaches Britain |
| 1257–1317 | The Samalas mega-eruption in Indonesia tips Earth toward the Little Ice Age; the Great Famine starves Europe | The Black Death, 1346, kills a third to half of Europe |
| 1815–1817 | Tambora brings the Year Without a Summer | A new cholera strain bursts out of Bengal and circles the globe |
The ancient tablets record this sequence in the same order. In the Atrahasis epic, Enlil grows weary of human noise and sends Namtar the plague-bringer first, then drought and crop failure, then the Flood. Each time, Enki teaches humanity how to survive. Science and scripture describe one pattern from two directions.
“Plague, famine, flood: the gods’ weapons arrive in the same order science now traces.”
Weapons of the Gods
Image prompt: A Sumerian temple relief come to life: Nergal with his plague mace, Namtar as a shadow over a sleeping village, a Greek maiden lifting the lid of a great clay jar as dark winged shapes pour out, and a mushroom cloud rising over the Sinai desert in the distance.
The Anunnaki understood disease as a tool of war. Nergal, called Erra, ruled as lord of plague and carried pestilence into Babylon in the Erra Epic. Namtar served as the plague demon who struck whenever Enlil wished to thin the human herd.
Sasha’s research adds two threads to this record. Marduk spread sickness among villages that opposed him. Enlil ordered his sons to guard the approaches to the Sinai spaceport with disease, so any Earthling who crossed the forbidden line fell ill.
The Greeks preserved the memory in the tale of Pandora. Zeus, an Enlil figure, punished humanity for accepting the gift of fire from Prometheus, an Enki figure, and sent Pandora with a sealed jar of evils. She lifted the lid, and sickness flew out into the world. Hope stayed behind.
The climax came about 2024 BC. Sitchin reads the Lament for Ur as the record of a nuclear strike on the Sinai spaceport and the cities of the plain, the Sodom and Gomorrah of Genesis. An Evil Wind of fallout drifted east, and Sumer sickened and emptied. That strike set a template the warlords of Earth follow to this day.
Cartoon idea: Pandora at a customer service desk returning the jar, while a frazzled Zeus insists, “No refunds on curses.”
The Heirs Who Never Ruled
Image prompt: A candlelit Tudor bedchamber at Ludlow Castle, a pale fifteen-year-old prince in the bed, his Spanish bride Catherine weeping beside him, and through the window a ghostly Camelot fading into mist while a young Henry VIII looms in the doorway.
Plague killed few crowned kings. It killed heirs, brides and princes, and those deaths redirected dynasties far more often than they ended reigns.
My own ancestors, Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, staged a deliberate act of myth-making in 1486. After the Wars of the Roses, they arranged for their first son to enter the world at Winchester, the city England then honored as Camelot, and they named him Arthur. The new dynasty would restore the Round Table and heal a broken kingdom.
In April 1502, Prince Arthur died at Ludlow Castle at fifteen, five months after his wedding to Catherine of Aragon. Chroniclers tied his death to the sweating sickness, a mysterious fever that swept Tudor England. The crown passed to his younger brother Henry, and Henry VIII took the throne, six wives, a break with Rome and a century of religious bloodshed.
“One fever at Ludlow, and Camelot became the court of Henry VIII.”
The pattern repeats across the centuries:
- Maelgwn Gwynedd, the mighty Welsh king of the Arthurian age, fell to the Yellow Plague in 547.
- Cadwaladr of Gwynedd, last British king to claim all of Britain, died about 682, and Welsh prophecy promised his return. The Tudors claimed that promise for themselves.
- Alfonso XI of Castile died during the siege of Gibraltar in 1350, the one reigning European king the Black Death claimed.
- Princess Joan of England, daughter of Edward III, died in Bordeaux in 1348 on her journey to marry Pedro of Castile, and an English-Spanish alliance died with her.
- Simeon the Proud, Grand Prince of Moscow, died in 1353 along with his sons, which ended his line.
- Henry and Charles Brandon, the boy Dukes of Suffolk and nephews of Henry VIII, died of the sweat within an hour of each other in 1551.
Each death opened a door for someone else, and history walked through it.
The Poisoner’s Table
Image prompt: A long royal banquet table split down the middle in time: on the left, Edward IV in Plantagenet robes clutching his chest beside a jeweled goblet; on the right, a grim modern Kremlin office with a teacup, an open high window and a prison cell in the Arctic snow beyond.
When plague fails to strike, the ambitious lend it a hand. Domination consciousness treats a rival’s life as one more obstacle on the road to the throne.
In April 1483, Edward IV fell ill at Westminster at the age of 40, robust and in his prime. Ten days later he lay dead, and whispers of poison spread through the court. His death delivered his young sons to their uncle Richard, the two princes vanished into the Tower of London, and the Wars of the Roses roared back to life until Henry Tudor ended them at Bosworth.
Russia has refined the poisoner’s art into statecraft. Alexander Litvinenko died of polonium in London in 2006. Sergei Skripal and his daughter survived Novichok in Salisbury in 2018. Alexei Navalny survived Novichok in 2020, returned home, and died in an Arctic penal colony in February 2024, where officials blamed “sudden death syndrome.” Critics of the Kremlin keep falling from high windows.
“When plague fails to strike, the ambitious lend it a hand.”
Neglect works as a slower poison. The United States recorded 2,242 measles cases in 2025, the highest count since 1992, and 93 percent struck the unvaccinated or people of unknown status. With a vaccine skeptic, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., at the head of Health and Human Services, the country stands on the edge of losing the measles elimination status it earned in 2000. Policy itself becomes a plague-bearer.
Cartoon idea: A Renaissance food taster and a modern Kremlin tea lady compare notes over a goblet labeled “Definitely Fine.”
The Unloved Child at the Crossroads
Image prompt: A storm-tossed ship of infants wrecked on a rocky shore with one baby, Mordred, alive in the surf; beside it an old Norwegian wanderer, Peer Gynt, facing a hooded Button Moulder who holds a glowing casting ladle, while a woman in a cottage doorway, Solveig, shines with golden light.
Who sits at the poisoner’s table, and what forges them? Sasha names it plain: domination consciousness grows from the infantile part of the psyche Freud called the id, the part that demands the world bend to its hunger. Every person carries that part, and the tyrant lives inside it.
Arthurian legend tells the origin story. Morgause, Arthur’s half-sister, bore him a son, Mordred. Warned that a child born on May Day would destroy him, Arthur set the May-born infants adrift on a ship. The ship wrecked, and Mordred alone survived, raised in exile and starved of a father’s love. He grew into the traitor who met Arthur on the field of Camlann, where father and son struck each other down.
The pattern reaches into our own century. According to his niece, the psychologist Mary Trump, the young Donald Trump lost his mother’s care at two and a half, when a hemorrhage and emergency surgeries after the birth of his brother left her bedridden for months, and his father met the child with cold indifference.
Love alone falls short as an antidote. Enki showered his son Marduk with devotion and tutored him in cosmic mathematics on the Moon, yet Marduk believed himself cheated of his birthright, and righteous indignation carried the gods to the fires of Sinai.
“The tyrant lives inside the infant who believed the world owed him everything.”
Henrik Ibsen offers the cure in Peer Gynt. Peer spends his life as a liar, a slave trader and a self-crowned emperor, loyal to the troll motto “To thyself be enough.” In old age he meets the Button Moulder, who comes to melt him down with the scrap because Peer failed to become a true self. Peer searches for proof of his own existence and finds it in Solveig, the woman who waited for him all her life. His true self lived, she tells him, in her faith, her hope and her love.
The Michael Newton Institute’s research into the life between lives describes a similar remedy. Guides cleanse the souls of killers and manipulators, and the most damaged return to Source for recasting, as Ibsen’s Button Moulder intended. My own cosmology names the entity that leaps from tyrant to tyrant across history Nemesis, and Thoth’s warning in the Emerald Tablets describes such beings slipping into the councils of the powerful.
Where History Turns
Image prompt: Enki, Ninmah and Thoth standing in a crystalline observatory aboard a Vimana above Earth, studying a luminous holographic web of timelines; at one glowing node a Tudor prince, at another a Mordred on a battlefield, at another a modern city, and from each node a golden thread reaches toward a future Earth ringed in green.
In my Time Lord of Nibiru series, Enki, Ninmah and Thoth run simulations of Earth’s timelines and watch the domination system they inherited from Anu’s Nibiru play out to its end. Each projection ends the same way: a world blown apart, Tiamatted like the planet that once orbited where the asteroid belt now drifts. So the Time Lords hunt for the intersections, the hinge points where a single death, a single unloved child or a single act of mercy sends history down a different road. Camelot stands among the most critical of them.
The Time Lords hold no monopoly on this power. Every intersection in this article turned on a human choice: a ruler who hoarded grain, a father who abandoned his son, a court that reached for poison, a government that turned against vaccines. Each choice flowed from domination consciousness, and each could have flowed from partnership.
“Every intersection turns on a choice, and every choice can flow from partnership.”
This series maps the road from one to the other in three movements:
- The problems, from cosmic war and planetary catastrophe to the abandoned child, the settler who displaces the native and the systems that enslave through empire, religion and money.
- The reactions, the prisons, wars, scapegoats, denial and cults of personality that keep the cycle spinning.
- The solutions, from Carl Rogers’ encounter groups and Leonard Doob’s peace workshops to Marianne Williamson’s ceremonies of forgiveness, the Hawaiian right to walk away from an unjust chief, the sacred balance of masculine and feminine through tantra, and the inner work of kundalini awakening, chakra balancing, clearing with our parents, past-life healing and psychotherapy.
Solveig saved Peer Gynt with love. Humanity holds the same power, and the next intersection waits for us to use it.
Next in the series: Don’t Get Tiamatted, on the cosmic war that birthed domination consciousness, from the Draco and Lyran conflicts to Anu’s military empire on Nibiru.
Janet Kira Lessin | Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. | © 2026 Aquarian Media
Research: Claudia Lenore
Sources
THE INTERSECTIONS: Plague, Poison and the Deaths That Turned History
FROM DOMINATION CONSCIOUSNESS TO PARTNERSHIP PARADIGM, Part 1
Janet Kira Lessin | Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. | © 2026 Aquarian Media
Research: Claudia Lenore
Title image prompt (Minerva): Large high-detail collage, wide format: a pale rider on a gaunt horse crossing a medieval European town at dusk, a darkened sun veiled by volcanic ash above, a red planet with a long comet tail in the sky, a Tudor prince on a deathbed in the lower corner, a poison goblet glinting on a banquet table, and a glowing golden crossroads in the center where many timelines branch outward.
The Black Rider Returns
Image prompt: A pale horseman riding out of a storm cloud over a sweep of history: Byzantine domes, a medieval harbor with plague ships, a Victorian port, a modern city skyline, all lit by the same sickly green light.
Plague rides with company. Every great pestilence in the human record arrives on the heels of something larger: a darkened sky, a failed harvest, an army on the march, a ruler who hoards grain while the poor starve. The ancients understood this and painted it as four horsemen riding together, War, Famine, Pestilence and Death, each one opening the gate for the next.
Sasha and I set out to trace a single disease through time, and the trail led us everywhere at once. It ran from Stone Age graves in Latvia to the court of Justinian, from the Black Death in Sicily to the Chinatown fire in Honolulu, and from Sumerian tablets to the measles wards of 2026.
What we found reads less like a series of accidents and more like a pattern. Disease follows catastrophe, catastrophe follows cosmic upheaval, and at certain moments a death in the right bed at the right hour bends the whole river of history toward war.
“A death in the right bed at the right hour bends the whole river of history.”
We call those moments the intersections. This series asks what creates them, how humanity reacts when they arrive, and how we move from the consciousness that keeps reproducing them to a partnership paradigm that heals them at the root.
Cartoon idea: Four horsemen stuck in traffic behind a fifth rider on a bicycle labeled “Partnership,” who waves them past with a peace sign.
Fire From the Sky, Famine on the Earth
Image prompt: A volcanic eruption blotting out the sun over a frozen wheat field, peasants holding empty baskets, rats streaming from a granary, and a faint red planet hanging in the ash-dimmed sky.
The chain begins above us. In the Anunnaki chronicles Zecharia Sitchin decoded, Nibiru swings through the inner solar system on its long orbit, and its passage about 13,000 years ago triggered the Deluge. Its pull tore at Mars on the way in, stripped the planet Lahmu of its atmosphere, and wrecked the Anunnaki way station there. Cosmic upheaval reshapes whole worlds, and Earth feels every pass.
Science traces the same chain on a smaller scale. Volcanoes and meteor streams darken the sky; the harvest fails; starving people and starving rats crowd together in the granaries, and fleas carry Yersinia pestis from one to the other.
| When | The catastrophe | The plague that followed |
|---|---|---|
| 536–547 AD | Icelandic eruptions veil the sun for 18 months; crops fail from Ireland to China | Plague of Justinian, 541, sweeps the Mediterranean and reaches Britain |
| 1257–1317 | The Samalas mega-eruption in Indonesia tips Earth toward the Little Ice Age; the Great Famine starves Europe | The Black Death, 1346, kills a third to half of Europe |
| 1815–1817 | Tambora brings the Year Without a Summer | A new cholera strain bursts out of Bengal and circles the globe |
The ancient tablets record this sequence in the same order. In the Atrahasis epic, Enlil grows weary of human noise and sends Namtar the plague-bringer first, then drought and crop failure, then the Flood. Each time, Enki teaches humanity how to survive. Science and scripture describe one pattern from two directions.
“Plague, famine, flood: the gods’ weapons arrive in the same order science now traces.”
Weapons of the Gods
Image prompt: A Sumerian temple relief comes to life: Nergal with his plague mace, Namtar as a shadow over a sleeping village, a Greek maiden lifting the lid of a great clay jar as dark winged shapes pour out, and a mushroom cloud rising over the Sinai desert in the distance.
The Anunnaki understood disease as a tool of war. Nergal, called Erra, ruled as lord of plague and, in the Erra Epic, carried pestilence into Babylon. Namtar served as the plague demon who struck whenever Enlil wished to thin the human herd.
Sasha’s research adds two threads to this record. Marduk spread sickness among villages that opposed him. Enlil ordered his sons to guard the approaches to the Sinai spaceport with disease, so any Earthling who crossed the forbidden line fell ill.
The Greeks preserved the memory in the tale of Pandora. Zeus, an Enlil figure, punished humanity for accepting Prometheus’s gift of fire, an Enki figure, and sent Pandora with a sealed jar of evils. She lifted the lid, and sickness flew out into the world. Hope stayed behind.
The climax came about 2024 BC. Sitchin reads the Lament for Ur as a record of a nuclear strike on the Sinai spaceport and the plain cities of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis. An Evil Wind of fallout drifted east, and Sumer sickened and emptied. That strike set a template the warlords of Earth still follow.
Cartoon idea: Pandora at a customer service desk returning the jar, while a frazzled Zeus insists, “No refunds on curses.”
The Heirs Who Never Ruled
Image prompt: A candlelit Tudor bedchamber at Ludlow Castle, a pale fifteen-year-old prince in the bed, his Spanish bride Catherine weeping beside him, and through the window a ghostly Camelot fading into mist while a young Henry VIII looms in the doorway.
Plague killed few crowned kings. It killed heirs, brides and princes, and those deaths redirected dynasties far more often than they ended reigns.
My own ancestors, Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, staged a deliberate act of myth-making in 1486. After the Wars of the Roses, they arranged for their first son to be born in Winchester, the city England then honored as Camelot, and named him Arthur. The new dynasty would restore the Round Table and heal a broken kingdom.
In April 1502, Prince Arthur died at Ludlow Castle at fifteen, five months after he married Catherine of Aragon. Chroniclers tied his death to the sweating sickness, a mysterious fever that swept Tudor England. The crown passed to his younger brother Henry, who took the throne, married six times, broke with Rome, and presided over a century of religious bloodshed.
“One fever at Ludlow, and Camelot became the court of Henry VIII.”
The pattern repeats across the centuries:
- Maelgwn Gwynedd, the mighty Welsh king of the Arthurian age, fell to the Yellow Plague in 547.
- Cadwaladr of Gwynedd, last British king to claim all of Britain, died about 682, and Welsh prophecy promised his return. The Tudors claimed that promise for themselves.
- Alfonso XI of Castile died during the siege of Gibraltar in 1350, the one reigning European king the Black Death claimed.
- Princess Joan of England, daughter of Edward III, died in Bordeaux in 1348 on her journey to marry Pedro of Castile, and with her died an English-Spanish alliance.
- Simeon the Proud, Grand Prince of Moscow, died in 1353 along with his sons, which ended his line.
- Henry and Charles Brandon, the boy Dukes of Suffolk and nephews of Henry VIII, died of the sweat within an hour of each other in 1551.
Each death opened a door for someone else, and history walked through it.
The Poisoner’s Table
Image prompt: A long royal banquet table split down the middle in time: on the left, Edward IV in Plantagenet robes clutching his chest beside a jeweled goblet; on the right, a grim modern Kremlin office with a teacup, an open high window and a prison cell in the Arctic snow beyond.
When plague fails to strike, the ambitious lend it a hand. Domination consciousness treats a rival’s life as one more obstacle on the road to the throne.
In April 1483, Edward IV fell ill at Westminster at 40, robust and in his prime. Ten days later he lay dead, and whispers of poison spread through the court. His death delivered his young sons to their uncle Richard; the two princes vanished into the Tower of London, and the Wars of the Roses roared back to life until Henry Tudor ended them at Bosworth.
Russia has refined the poisoner’s art into statecraft. Alexander Litvinenko died of polonium in London in 2006. Sergei Skripal and his daughter survived Novichok in Salisbury in 2018. Alexei Navalny survived Novichok in 2020, returned home, and died in an Arctic penal colony in February 2024, where officials blamed “sudden death syndrome.” Critics of the Kremlin keep falling from high windows.
“When plague fails to strike, the ambitious lend it a hand.”
Neglect works as a slower poison. The United States recorded 2,242 measles cases in 2025, the highest count since 1992, and 93 percent struck the unvaccinated or people of unknown status. With a vaccine skeptic, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., at the head of Health and Human Services, the country stands on the edge of losing the measles elimination status it earned in 2000. Policy itself becomes a plague-bearer.
Cartoon idea: A Renaissance food taster and a modern Kremlin tea lady compare notes over a goblet labeled “Definitely Fine.”
The Unloved Child at the Crossroads
Image prompt: A storm-tossed ship of infants wrecked on a rocky shore with one baby, Mordred, alive in the surf; beside it an old Norwegian wanderer, Peer Gynt, facing a hooded Button Molder who holds a glowing casting ladle, while a woman in a cottage doorway, Solveig, shines with golden light.
Who sits at the poisoner’s table, and what forges them? Sasha names it plain: domination consciousness grows from the infantile part of the psyche Freud called the id, the part that demands the world bend to its hunger. Every person carries that part, and the tyrant lives inside it.
Arthurian legend tells the origin story. Morgause, Arthur’s half-sister, bore him a son, Mordred. Warned that a child born on May Day would destroy him, Arthur set the May-born infants adrift on a ship. The ship wrecked, and Mordred alone survived, raised in exile and starved of a father’s love. He grew into the traitor who met Arthur on the field of Camlann, where father and son struck each other down.
The pattern reaches into our own century. According to his niece, the psychologist Mary Trump, the young Donald Trump lost his mother’s care at two and a half, when a hemorrhage and emergency surgeries after the birth of his brother left her bedridden for months, and his father met the child with cold indifference.
Love alone falls short as an antidote. Enki showered his son Marduk with devotion and tutored him in cosmic mathematics on the Moon, yet Marduk believed himself cheated of his birthright, and righteous indignation carried the gods to the fires of Sinai.
“The tyrant lives inside the infant who believed the world owed him everything.”
Henrik Ibsen offers the cure in Peer Gynt. Peer spends his life as a liar, a slave trader and a self-crowned emperor, loyal to the troll motto “To thyself be enough.” In old age he meets the Button Moulder, who comes to melt him down with the scrap because Peer failed to become a true self. Peer searches for proof of his own existence and finds it in Solveig, the woman who waited for him all her life. His true self lived, she tells him, in her faith, her hope and her love.
The Michael Newton Institute’s research into the life between lives describes a similar remedy. Guides cleanse the souls of killers and manipulators, and the most damaged return to Source for recasting, as Ibsen’s Button Moulder intended. My own cosmology names the entity that leaps from tyrant to tyrant across history Nemesis, and Thoth’s warning in the Emerald Tablets describes such beings slipping into the councils of the powerful.
Where History Turns
Image prompt: Enki, Ninmah and Thoth standing in a crystalline observatory aboard a Vimana above Earth, studying a luminous holographic web of timelines; at one glowing node a Tudor prince, at another a Mordred on a battlefield, at another a modern city, and from each node a golden thread reaches toward a future Earth ringed in green.
In my Time Lord of Nibiru series, Enki, Ninmah and Thoth run simulations of Earth’s timelines and watch the domination system they inherited from Anu’s Nibiru play out to its end. Each projection ends the same way: a world blown apart, Tiamatted like the planet that once orbited where the asteroid belt now drifts. So the Time Lords hunt for the intersections, the hinge points where a single death, a single unloved child or a single act of mercy sends history down a different road. Camelot stands among the most critical of them.
The Time Lords hold no monopoly on this power. Every intersection in this article turned on a human choice: a ruler who hoarded grain, a father who abandoned his son, a court that reached for poison, a government that turned against vaccines. Each choice flowed from domination consciousness, and each could have flowed from partnership.
“Every intersection turns on a choice, and every choice can flow from partnership.”
This series maps the road from one to the other in three movements:
- The problems, from cosmic war and planetary catastrophe to the abandoned child, the settler who displaces the native and the systems that enslave through empire, religion and money.
- The reactions, the prisons, wars, scapegoats, denial and cults of personality that keep the cycle spinning.
- The solutions, from Carl Rogers’ encounter groups and Leonard Doob’s peace workshops to Marianne Williamson’s ceremonies of forgiveness, the Hawaiian right to walk away from an unjust chief, the sacred balance of masculine and feminine through tantra, and the inner work of kundalini awakening, chakra balancing, clearing with our parents, past-life healing and psychotherapy.
Solveig saved Peer Gynt with love. Humanity holds the same power, and the next intersection waits for us to use it.
Next in the series: Don’t Get Tiamatted, on the cosmic war that birthed domination consciousness, from the Draco and Lyran conflicts to Anu’s military empire on Nibiru.
Janet Kira Lessin | Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. | © 2026 Aquarian Media
Research: Claudia Lenore
Sources
