Sirian Ruler Urian the Great

Urian. Detail Sirius Square

Excerpt from experiences with the Sirian ruler Urian the Great.

Urian the Great was the second son of the ruler Eros of Cibia and his queen Nellik Nairobi, who escaped her fate as a member of the nomadic Black Nairobi Tribe. However, through his descendance, Urian was chosen heir as a tribe leader and religious master. He used his tribe to win the power combat with his brothers and also became ruler after his father. During his time, a new culture appeared as a mix between the Cibian court tradition and the migrant tribal life of Black Nairobi.

When I became a yogi, Urian began to live his own life.

How to make a PSI machine.

What you need: A short plank, a slender round pole, the inner cardboard part of a toilet roll, a flat piece of glass, a short shirt needle without a tip or a little nail, a bigger nail, a piece of cardboard, glue or tape. Use the big nail to fix the pole to the plank in a standing position. Glue the glass to the top of the pole. Glue the cardboard to one end of the toilet roll. Fix the short tipless needle or nail to the middle of the cardboard with the tip inside the roll. Tread the roll over the pole so that the short needle is resting on the glass plate. If you have any psychical powers, you skould be able to make the roll turn around the pole by holding the palms of your hands about 4 cm away from the sides of the roll.

How to turn a PSI machine into a handmixer.

I was sitting peacefully at my breakfast table drinking my morning coffee when Urian suddenly appeared. It was never my intention to try the PSI machine on him. It was just an idea popping up when I caught sight of it in the middle of the experience. I was laughing inside all the time. I dared not laugh out loud, because he was so aggressive. Urian was furious when I forced him to hold his hands beside the roll and make it turn. It was spinning wildly. That gave me the idea to make a psionic handmixer. I taped two forks on either side of the roll, put the PSI machine, now a PSI handmixer, into the middle hole of a baking tin and poured cream into that. Thus I made Urian whip cream for me.

I didn’t really understand what I was doing. Urian was absolutely stark mad now. He revenged himself horribly. First, he slapped me in the face when I finally released him, then disappeared in a flash with a bang. Two days later I got sore lips. During the following two days after that, my whole face got blotched. My sexual lust increased. This lasted for three more days before everything returned to normal.

Once I had a crucial conflict with Lord Shiva and asked him to never contact me again. Therefore, in a dream, he sent, in my eyes, the most unlikely messenger I could imagine.

The dream began as an incident which had actually happened a couple of years before. My husband and I came driving in my car on a small road in the wild forests between Norway and Sweden. We had just let off a friend of mine at her summerhouse in the area. At the Swedish/Norwegian border lay a small village where the local grocery store was located in a beautiful old wooden house. On the other side of the road a primitive petrol pump was put up, to serve the Norwegian customers with cheap Swedish gasoline. The pump was connected to a tank situated above the ground. We stopped to fill up the car. Here the events turn weird. Out from the shop comes a tall blue figure with curly black hair. I especially remember how his hair is curling upwards in the neck. When he turns around facing us, I recognize Urian.

”We buy the whole tank,” I say.

Urian lifts it up on the roof of my car, and I throw our backpacks on top of that. However, the tank has suddenly become a vat or barrel, with an open top, and a terrible splash is heard. Urian raises his brows.

”You know you can’t carry your luggage in your fuel.”

Then I awoked.

The first time I stayed in Gurumayi’s ashram in South Fallsburg, upstate New York, I lived in the dorm far away from the main ashram. We were driven back and forth in a bus.

Then one night after the evening program, a young girl in the bus began to yell for Urian. I was sitting in the far back, only able to see the necks of the other passengers. I tried to guess which neck belonged to Urian, and I spotted him by the colour of the skin and the black hair curling upwards in the neck. It turned out I was right. The girl wanted him to follow her down the road to buy a hot dog. I did my best to manoeuver him into Amrit the coffeeshop. There I offered him a cup of coffee and some cookies. I tried to lead the conversation to Sirius Solar System, but he avoided cleverly the subject, at the same time as he let me understand he knew what I was hinting at. He was loving and humorous, though, much better in real life than in my stories.

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