There Is Magic in the Telling … There is an extraordinary recording of Lazaris’ called ‘Discovering the Dreamer from Lemuria’ in which Lazaris takes the listener on a brilliantly beautiful meditation to meet The Dreamer and to enlist The Dreamer’s help in ‘dreaming into reality’ something the listener wants to create. The article that follows is an excerpt of the part of that tape in which Lazaris paints a lush portrait of the land that was (and is!) Lemuria and of its incredibly beautiful Dreamers. It’s a description you may want to read more than once, for ‘there is magic in the telling,’ and perhaps more than a bit of memory as well …
Lemuria is a Land That Imagination Forgot. Many will speak of it as legend or as fantasy or even as mythology. And that is perfectly fine; we have no objection. However, Lemuria was real in the physical fact, in the physical world. But it will never be conclusively proved to have been so. No amount of archaeological or anthropological exploration will ever conclusively prove that Lemuria ever existed. Because, you see, Lemuria existed beyond the Bridge of Belief, beyond the Bridge of Belief in the realm that God and God/Goddess/All That Is exist.
Lemuria was, and Lemuria is. Past tense and present tense. Lemuria is still real. Even now, it is still existing beyond that Bridge, and it is only to be found by the individual, only to be found by you, the individual you who is willing to cross that Bridge. And it is only to be found by those who are brave enough and courageous enough to suspend the illusion, the physical illusion, and to cross over that Bridge of Belief into the real, into the metaphysical realness to find the Land That Imagination Forgot, and in that land to find the Dreamer.
And as you cross the Bridge of Belief, as you imagine yourself lifting out of the logic and reason of the consensus reality, moving beyond time and space and beyond time-space, you can find that land that is and has been forgotten in imagination.
As one were to approach Lemuria by air, it would be located in the Pacific Ocean, far from other land masses, to be sure. And one would note first what seemed to be a cloud or a mist that seemed to hang low over the ocean. And out of that mist would poke mountain peaks that would be black rock … very dark, very black, like coal almost, almost shiny against the soft mist.
Indeed as one would be flying over it in one’s journey beyond the Bridge of Belief, one would perhaps miss it quite entirely, because all that would seem to be there was this innocuous sort of mist, with these mountain peaks that seemed to be sticking through. But as you would descend into that mist toward those black mountain peaks into what seems to be a black-and-white reality against the otherwise blue sea, you would emerge beneath the mist and see before you a most glorious land. It was a huge island, an island so large that people could live and die upon it without ever knowing they were on an island.
The waters would be bluer than any blue that you have ever seen. An aquamarine blue, a midnight blue, a steely blue, a soft turquoise blue — all kinds of blues, motley shades changing from one hour to another during the day. And along the shore would be the most beautiful sandy beaches. The sand was an almost white sand, almost a glistening sand, almost sparkling. At first you might think it was made of grains of diamond rather than grains of silica.
Once you found yourself squarely planted in this most glorious sand, you would notice that all that surrounds you seems somehow brighter, more brilliant than it ought to be. The greens, greener; the browns, browner; the slate grays of stone, greyer, more brilliant than you would expect, particularly since the entire continent is surrounded in a mist — not a haze, no, not even a fog, but just a gentle, almost imperceptible, but ever-present mist that keeps the edges soft. Shadows are present, certainly so, but they are soft-edged shadows. The sun is brilliant in the sky, and the blue of the sky is blue, absolutely, but always with a gentle mist that seems to accompany it. Yet everything seems to radiate as if the color and light were coming from the object rather than being reflected upon it.
The continent itself is surrounded by the various beaches, and in the very north and very south also by jagged rock, the land meeting the waters very severely in these areas. On the east and west coasts primarily, the beaches give way to lush forests, that in turn give way to the foothills — rolling, gentle lands that look almost as though one took a lush green blanket and shook it in the air and then let it fall as it might.
And we would suggest that interior to that, there is a mountain range, a beautiful mountain range that seems to surround the entire continent, to protect the interior. For the interior was known as The Magic Land, The Mystic Land, and those that would go there were only those who were called. Only those who, in their dreams or in their mystical explorations, were entreated to come would venture there. It wasn’t out of fear that others would not go. No, it was out of respect. For if it was not for you to go to the interior, then you would not go there. Therefore, it was in the exterior, the periphery, that the vast majority of the population lived.
In the north and the east there were the timberlands. These were beautiful forests, huge, virgin forests for the most part, as well as those forests that were cultivated. The lumberjacks (as you might call them now) would cut the timber to sell as their vocation, but they would do so not in a way to rape the land, to strip it of all the trees. No, they would systematically move from one area to another to prune the forest in a certain sense so that it might grow lusher and richer, so that it might give a better bounty in years to come.
As one moves southward from this timberland, the brilliant trees of timber would give way to the gentle farmland, to the gentle countryside. Here crops were grown and animals were raised and grazed. People gathered together here almost in familial villages — grandparents and their children, their aunts and uncles and nephews and nieces and first cousins and second cousins. They would all congregate and almost create their own villages, interacting with other villages, but creating their own, quite independent family units. They were beautiful, beautiful farmlands: gentle, rolling hills — wonderful country lanes that seem to lay like ribbons across the land.
As one moved farther south, the gentle farmlands gave way to mountains, beautiful mountains that would stretch all the way to the sea. And as you would pass through these mountains heading more westward along the southern boundary, you would come to what we call the mining country. This was an area where there was very little flat land, and what there was, was used for crops and raising animals. The main activity was that of mining precious metals — but also metals that you would now think to be quite innocuous, quite unimportant, that were often used for healing purposes and for mystical exploration. The mining country was a very profitable, very productive area. Indeed, this area would look most as like some wonderful area in Switzerland, with valleys that were lost to everyone, above the clouds in that way, and wonderful mountain streams that seem to bustle their way toward the ocean. It was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful.
As you moved farther north toward the true west, you would find jagged mountains with their sharp, austere peaks giving way to high plateaux, high flatlands upon which the savannahs existed — wild fields of grass that seemed to stretch forever. Some of this land was cultivated into huge farmlands where grain was grown. It was much like your Midwest and parts of Kansas and Oklahoma — flatland, but much higher — high plateaux that led to huge cliffs of a hundred or more feet that would drop drastically, severely to the water’s edge.
As one moved farther now into the northern portions — again along the periphery — the flatlands would give way again to mountainous ranges that would be uninhabitable: raging rivers, grander than any river you might imagine in your world, dumping billions upon billions of gallons of water into the ocean every second of the day. Huge fjords, as you think of them in the Scandinavian part of your world, where mountain ranges seem to lift straight out of the ocean, leaving finger-like bays or inlets that were raging with torrents of water. This breathtaking, but uninhabitable, area leads all the way around to the timber country where we began, in the northern and eastern parts of Lemuria.
As we say, most people lived and worked in the exterior lands, knowing of the interior, and knowing of the interior mountains that seemed to ring the civilization. And they knew that beyond those mountains was the Magic Land, the place where the mystics would learn to become the mystics they were. Often it would be that children — or adults for that matter, but often it would be children — would dream that they should cross the mountains and go to become a Crystal Climber. Sometimes, as they’d relate the dream, the parents would know what it meant and would take them there. Other times the parents would be totally oblivious to the meaning — curious, but not having any answers to it.
These would become the travelers — some of them The Witnesses, some of them The Teachers, some The Healers, and some The Dreamers — the travelers would come from the interior and seek out those whose destiny called them to come to the interior to become Crystal Climbers.
Indeed, at carnivals and festivals and various celebrations of solstices and equinoxes, the Mystics would gather together those that would travel with them. If you were a person so called, either in a dream or meditation, or given the message -by a Teacher, a Healer, a Witness, a Keeper of the Flame, a Keeper of the Truth, or a Dreamer — indeed you might travel with them for weeks, months, or sometimes even years, as you crossed these interior mountains to the interior land. Sometimes it might take as much as a decade before you would finally reach your destination.
And the reason that you were called a Crystal Climber is because in this interior there were pillars of stone. They were like columns of stone — natural, of course, not man-made or human-made — that reached up maybe 100, maybe 200, feet above the lushness of the tropical forest that was the interior.
On top of the pillars of stone there were cities, huge cities, much as you might imagine Shangri-La or Valhalla must have been. Perhaps the first concepts that heaven was a City of Gold, a city of brilliant light, were of Lemuria, for these cities that sat atop the pillars of stone were called Crystal Cities not because they were really made of crystal, but because they glowed and glimmered as though they were.
Those such as yourself who were called would come and sit at the base of these pillars with that teacher or person who brought you, or sit at the base being called on your own. And you would learn to teleport. You would learn to alter your energy, alter your chemistry, alter yourself such as to visually disappear to those who would be sitting around you — and reappear, rematerialize, in the Crystal City that was at the top.
You see, there was no other way to get there. There were no elevators, no staircases, no bridges, no little indentations that you could laboriously climb. The only way to get to the top was to teleport. No one had to judge anybody else, because if you couldn’t make it to the top, if you couldn’t teleport yourself, then you didn’t belong there. And if indeed you did belong there, you would be able to learn to teleport yourself.
So those who were there were never questioned for their credentials, for the very fact that they were there was credential enough. There were those, in that sensing, who demanded, insisted that they belonged there — they just knew it, they just knew it — but if they couldn’t get there, then no one argued with them. Indeed their reality reflected the fact that they did not so belong.
In these Crystal Cities, you would learn. Some of the cities were Cities of Healing. Others were Cities of Teaching. Others were Cities of Dreaming. Those who became the inhabitants of these cities, high upon these pillars, learned to do their particular avocation/vocation to fulfill their spiritual destiny.
After the decade of traveling to get there, and perhaps six months or eight months learning to teleport, you might spend ten, 20, or even 30 years in this city, learning and growing and teaching. And in a certain time there would be those who would know that now they must go back into the world to heal and witness, and guard the light, and gain the truth.
And those who Dreamed knew that they had to return to dream. So they would teleport once again, leaving this wonderful Crystal City. Once again materializing on the earth, they would go forth into the exterior, not often to where they came from initially, but to where their work called them. The teachers would go and teach, and the witnesses would go forth and witness. And those that were Guardians of the Light, and Guardians of the Flame, would go forth and perform the functions of their guardianship. And those that were the Dreamers would go forth, and they would Dream.
Now a Dreamer was a very special kind of person, for a Dreamer was a person who could dream other people’s dreams. And in Lemuria there were those — rare, admittedly so — who could dream dreams for you. If you could find a Dreamer, you could tell them what you wanted them to dream, and they would dream your dreams for you.
They were androgynous people. Often it was difficult to tell whether they were man or woman. They were often very old, yet they seemed to be ageless. They were often very large, yet they seemed to be almost translucent, and therefore very light. Sometimes they were very thin and very fragile and frail, yet they seemed almost made of steel, and therefore very dense. A juxtaposition of opposites, of paradoxes, is often what the Dreamers looked like. Often very old, yet seeming so youthful. Often very young, yet seeming so very old. They were a contradiction, a combination.
And they would be in a place … often to be found on the other side of a gazebo. And you would go to them when they were ready to receive you, and they would ask you: ‘What do you want me to dream?’And then you would tell them. They would ask you a series of questions to which you must answer correctly. If you did answer correctly, then they would close their eyes, and seem to settle into a deep and wondrous sleep.
And then they would dream. They would dream your dreams. And they would dream your dreams into reality.
Lemuria is a Land That Imagination Forgot. As you can spark your own imagination, as you can travel on a Quest, crossing the terrain of Lemuria to find a Dreamer, you too can ask The Dreamer to dream your dreams. For dreams exist outside of time and space, and the dreams The Dreamer will dream for you will not manifest in Lemuria, but will manifest in your reality, in your world. The Dreamer can dream your dreams if you will cross the Bridge of Belief and journey the land of Lemuria, the Land That Imagination Forgot …
With love and peace …
Lazaris