From the Back Cover

Seven And An Eighth tells a story of the seven sisters that is personal, full of heart, and looks at patterns of energy created by their work throughout world history. We see their work upon this planet through their relationships as sisters, mothers, and lovers. Our vision of the spiritual master needs to leave the top of the mountain and be claimed as an integral part of our identity as human beings. Embedded in their story are practical spiritual tools and lessons for us all.


Genre: Mythology and Folk Tales


I stand upon the bow of the tour boat with the murky waters of the Ganges flowing beneath my feet. As I stare at the water, I superimpose the memory of standing in the heavens while watching Shiva pour the radiance of Ganga onto the Earth, dividing into four rivers of healing light. At that time, I so wanted to be bathed in the light of Ganga as it embodied in the waters of the Ganges. Now I cannot even touch the polluted river before me without fear of being exposed to dangerous bacteria. Yet deep within the waters, I still sense the heart of spiritual union that imbues India with that special connection to Source that we call God. Light is dancing in my eyes as the reflection of the sun bursts out on the surface of the water. The bright light before me sends me deeper into the memories of my spiritual journey. I started that journey in the dark subconscious domain of the spirit and was transported by the light of love into dimensions that continue to challenge my understanding of the world and beyond.

Chapter One

“My touch is both a curse to a few and a gift to others.”

The Hooded One

In the long ago times of human consciousness, the sacred touch of the Divine Oneness created seven sisters who came to Earth to teach the wonder and joy of being Light Beings in physical form. It is said that they were a result of the union of Atlas and Plieone, but the truth of their entering into the Earth Plane is a story that will take the human mind back to its origins and forward into its future. The Seven Sisters were the embodiment of those truths and this is their story as seen through my eyes. Who am I? I am known as Ignomatius to the ones who chose me to tell their story. I feel as if there is a geas laid upon me that compels me to write about my experiences with these Beings of Light. Gather your courage and let go of your preconceptions as you join with me on this journey.


This summer has been wet and chilly. I am sitting in my back room looking out the picture window and enjoying the sun as it briefly illuminates the trees and lawn. A patch of light holds the bright color of a cardinal as it feeds on the emerald lawn. My eyes follow the splash of color as it moves in its quest for a late afternoon snack. The shadows and light play in the leaves of the trees as the wind from an approaching storm blows across the yard.

I put my book to the side as I enjoy the beauty before me. Perhaps I will find the meaning I have been looking for in the simplicity of the life cycle of my back yard.

The discarded book is a compilation of Greek legends and stories. For the last several years, I have been searching for spiritual meaning: meditation groups, gurus, channeled entities, A Course in Miracles, and even sweat lodges. While I have had moments of wonder and connection, no one path has emerged that feeds the yearning in my heart. I thought the drama of the Greek gods and goddesses might entertain me through another rainy weekend but the author of this book was too literal in his interpretation of the gods.

Surely there was some basis for the powers of the gods described in the legends. Did the gods once walk the earth or was it just stories meant to feed the imagination? My favorite theory was of some kind of interdimensional beings who had visited our planet.

As I ponder my spiritual path, the clouds move in and hide the late afternoon sun. As the gloomy darkness gathers around me, my thoughts turn to the dream that has been haunting me. I can only remember bits and pieces, but I know it had recurred several nights a week. My memory holds visions of a narrow, winding stairway and a hooded figure leading me deeper into the darkness. I know I should be afraid as images of the hooded figure flash through my memory, but for some reason I am very attracted by what lay at the bottom of the steps.

I return my attention to the room before me as lightning flashes and the storm starts in earnest. No brilliantly colored birds are on the lawn now. I turn on the lights and go to prepare my dinner. My spiritual answers will have to wait for yet another day.


We are going down stairs. It is dark and damp and quiet except for my rambling. I seem to be chattering incessantly to the figure before me. I have seen her before in my dreams a hundred times, beckoning me to follow. This is the path to the Mysteries, I am sure. A lifetime spent searching and now, at last, I am here. She bade me to stop and puts her finger to her lips in a gesture of silence and then points. I look in the direction that she is pointing and see . . . nothing. We wait with her arm raised and directed towards something I cannot see. Nothing happens. I begin to doubt myself and the situation. Is this another dead end?

She drops her arm and turns to me. I don’t even know if it is a she, I can’t really tell. I have always referred to it as “she” in my dreams. In the darkness something brushes my forehead and I feel a great pain, like the skin on my forehead is being peeled away. I gasp and fall back to sit on the step behind me, sure that she’s going to kill me! I clutch my head and as the pain subsides, I feel no blood. Still breathing heavily, I take my hands away in the dark and see them outlined in light. It is so odd that for a moment I just simply stare at them, unable to grasp or process anything.

I finally look up and there is light everywhere, but not light. My mind is reeling. I look at the figure in front of me and it glows with life, a powerful beacon that is somehow connected to everything around it. I can barely process the meaning of it all. Then I see her hands reaching toward me again and I tremble at her touch, in fear of how I will be transformed again. Her hands cover my ears and it feels like a bolt of lightning flashes through my brain. I can literally see all the structures: the pineal gland and the pituitary gland are spinning. The amygdala is lit up.

All of a sudden I can hear her voice in my head! It is booming and loud and I am afraid. “You have been blind and deaf too long. It is time for you to see and hear the full spectrum of the world around you.”

“Please,” I beg her, “don’t do anything else. These gifts of telepathy and seeing auras are beyond what I can hold.” I sense a sad smile on her face even though I cannot see it.

Again she speaks. “You have searched for this for years and now that you are here, you would deny what you have searched for? How human. It is good for you that I have learned compassion, for this is just the beginning of the journey and already you are overwhelmed.”

Again her hand comes toward me and I am so overcome with fear that I am paralyzed. This is not the treasure I had expected, not what I had been searching for at all. I hear her voice reply, “Or is it?” Then her hand touches me and I sink into oblivion. Sweet oblivion.


I hear a steady down pouring of rain. We have had much too much rain lately. I shake my head. Something about my head . . . then I remember my dream of last night. Was it really a dream? It felt so real. I can still remember the pain, then the lights and then her voice inside my head. It all comes back and I bolt out of bed as if by standing I can make the dream feel more unreal. I can still feel the pressure of her touch. Who is this hooded woman?

I fall to my knees when her voice answers me in my head: “I am one who has been lost in time and my journey has led me to you.”

I am awake. This is not a dream and her voice is still in my head. “And hearing my voice is the least of the work we have to do together, Ignomatius.” I try breathing deeply and get up and decide that a cup of tea will help me feel more normal. My head remains silent, so I proceed to the kitchen and prepare the water and the teacup. It’s a weekend morning. No voice in my head yet, so I keep focused on my breathing and my tea preparations. First, boil the water. Put the loose leaf tea into the pot, English breakfast this morning. Let it brew for a full five minutes to be nice and strong. I am pacing back and forth as I wait. My Scottish heritage comes out when the tea is finally ready and I add lots of sugar and cream. I go out to the family room in the back of the house to watch the morning light on the trees. I sip my tea.

“A perfect cup of tea this morning.” I nearly spill the tea all over myself. “You might as well relax. Why don’t you meditate and see what we can do?” I stubbornly sip on my tea and stare at the yard. She may be in my head, but I can pretend to have some semblance of control. I’m sure I am stark raving mad. My friends were right about dabbling in esoteric mumbo jumbo, it clearly is dangerous.

I sense a sad smile from her and I can feel the emotion behind it. Do I really want to know? “What do you want to know?” I want to know the meaning of life. And how to get the love that I want and need. And what is God’s plan? I am rambling again like I was in my dream last night. It disturbs me even more because it so parallels my experience in my dreams. Maybe I am still asleep.


Sleep has been difficult the last few days. I am afraid that she will appear in my dreams again. Then I am afraid that she will not appear in my dreams again. I don’t know which one scares me more. The whole experience is beyond anything that I’ve ever known. Am I losing my mind or is this real? Voices talking in your head are a sign of being crazy, but her voice is so calming. Her presence touches me in ways that I cannot describe.


I am dreaming again. I know this is a dream. I have dreamt it many times. I am following the hooded figure down the steps. Down . . .down. . . they spiral down into the darkness and I follow her. Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn deeper into her light. I can see the lines of light radiating from her through the darkness. This is different from my other dreams. I nearly stumble on a step. A surge of energy flows through me as I remember my last dream and her touch, both the pain and the gentle love. Perhaps I can wake up before she touches me again. I stop and struggle to wake up. She turns to me. She waits. I can feel her waiting just as if I was feeling myself wait. There is that sense of a sad smile again and I stop trying to wake up. Her sadness draws me on even more than the light. Such a burden to bear.

Her voice is in my head again. “Mankind has hungered for my touch down through the ages. And you fear that touch!”

I am not sure if it is a gift or a curse. “I can hear your thoughts. My touch is both a curse to a few and a gift to others. You need not fear me. We have planned this connection several lifetimes ago. You will use this gift to journey beyond your imagination.” I focus on my feet as we walk down. . . down. It is too much to focus on the hooded figure that I follow. She is more, so much more, than I had ever dreamed. I can feel her power when she talks to me. It’s like stepping into a waterfall and being pummeled by the water.

“Ah, but what do you find when you walk through the waterfall?” I continue on as if my thoughts were my own and as if my mind was not being read like an open book.

When we finally reach the bottom, she turns to look at me and slowly raises her arm to point. My eyes follow to where her arm points, but this time it is as though my whole being follows to where she has pointed. I am transported into the point of light at the tip of her fingers. As I gaze upon it, I am engulfed by it. I am. . . I am. . . I am something, someone else. So big. So very big. My sense of identity fades away.


Maia was a creature of the air. She drifted about the Earth Plane for a long time vaguely aware of the energies and happenings below her as she passed over land and water. Her form radiated colors as she changed with each thought that went through her mind. Mind was still new to her, as was form. It took a while to get used to being in form. Time as a linear flow was a new experience to her and now she needed time to gather herself together before she took up her actual work.

Maia was the first sister of the Pleiades to enter the Earth Plane. She was the embodiment of “Will To Be”. “Will To Be” is the first aspect of Source. “Will To Be” created the Heavens and the Earth, it was the breath that created life. Maia was basic life force energy in its purest form capable of maintaining identity and consciousness. She drifted in her pure state for eons before she coalesced into a feminine being to take up her work with the peoples of the evolving Earth.

Her thoughts started taking form around her. At first, they were the rain, and the clouds, and the lightning that travels in the sky. Then they were little birds that flew down to the earth and back up again, totally changed by their experience. There was much to think about in form. It was disconcerting. It required time. She floated.

Maia was the pure, molten energy of fire. Her energy flowed as vast glowing waves of heat and liquefied metals. She was star energy encapsulated in earth form, she was “Will To Be” in primal fire form. Her thoughts beat as waves upon the planet’s crust around her. Mountains moved. Earthquakes swallowed whole areas of land. She created her own equilibrium by releasing thoughts up to the surface that emerged as violent volcanoes. Oh, the power and the glory of fire as it flowed in the inner heart of the Earth: it intoxicated her soul. As elemental power on Earth, when her thoughts flowed, the planet changed. Maia took the form of fire as it was shaped by land around her, long, slow patterns of flowing energy that erupted to the surface in great release. She flowed like magma being released from the center of the earth.

Maia was water, endless, boundless water. Her depths were immeasurable. Her body was fluid. Her thoughts flowed through her. There were no boundaries or limitations of being. She was “Will To Be” as it manifested in complete adaptability. Nothing could withstand her endless touch. All things around her were changed by contact with the fluidity of her being.

There were other beings in the water, in her essence. Some were so small as to be hardly felt within the flow of her consciousness. Others swam through the waters as their behemoth bulk left wakes behind them in both the water and her consciousness. Her essence buoyed them up in their environment. She nurtured them and they lived and died within the matrix of her form as water.

Maia was earth. She was the solidity of the rocks. She was the breaking down of the rocks into soil. She was the growth of the soil into trees. She was the bark of the trees being ingested and becoming earth on four legs. Earth was solid and yet it changed as constantly as the air, water, and fire. Earth was the weight of her thoughts upon her. Earth became the expression of her thoughts as she learned form.

Maia was spirit. Her Spirit and consciousness reached out to the elements and shaped them into being. Spirit touched fire that was Maia and fire became basic life energy. Spirit touched earth that was Maia and earth became flesh and bone. Spirit touched air that was Maia and breath animated the flesh and bone. Spirit touched water that was Maia and the waters of the earth flowed through the veins of flesh and bone. Spirit and consciousness imbued all form that was Maia and was glorified in her essence.


The scene shifts dramatically and I am breathless as I stand within a stone circle, no longer a goddess but a witness to the next phase of Maia’s transfiguration into a human form.

It was the dawn of the Winter Solstice. As humanity gathered around the globe to ask that more light come to the earth, waiting for the sun to rise and give the sign that Helios had once more returned to bask the Earth in his Light, the Immortals gathered to use that energy to create one of their own.

They came together at the meeting place walking through the portal, as if from thin air, into the circle of stones that held the energy of the work they were here to do. There would be a birthing on this day. The Immortals, known as the gods and goddesses of Olympus and the Pantheon, were here to bring forth another one of their kind.

Athena came through the portal carrying the Palladium. It was their most sacred object, as it contained the essence of one of the original beings who had visited the Earth Plane long ago, and who had started the process of evolving the creatures of the planet into a higher consciousness. Athena was its guardian, the protector of its purity.

The stone circle had been prepared. There were lines of light connecting each stone, one to the other and then circles within circles within circles. Athena carefully placed the Palladium at the exact center of the circles. Each Immortal present went up to the Palladium and touched it silently for a blessing in preparation for the work they were there to do. Then each one went to take their place within the interlocking circles. The Palladium pulsed with creation energy. Atlas and Pleione stood on either side of it with their hands clasped, enfolding the Palladium in a circle of their arms. They were surrounded by a circle of male Immortals.

Male Immortals: the manifestation energy of that circle crackled in the air around them. The oneness of the Divine Masculine manifested into the duality of the Earth Plane as the physical representation of the Doing Energy of Source. Two other circles of female Immortals interlocked with the masculine circle. The female Immortals held the Energy of Creation and provided the creation matrix to generate the manifestation of the masculine circle.

Each circle joined hands and Atlas began the work with a single, deep throated note that was picked up by the rest of the Gods. The droning chant went up two notes and then slid back down. Went up again and held. Pleione joined in and then the Goddesses high voices joined in the chant.

How to describe the sound of creation? Each voice held the notes in the perfection of the God or Goddess as they were manifested. The deep timbre of the male voices was buoyed up by the lighter tones of the feminine. As the tones of the inner and outer circles merged, another layer of sound was added to the chanting. It was as if the angels sang with them. The sound of creation? Simple, clear notes that held the fullness and wholeness of existence itself. As the tones changed higher and lower, the light within the circles was blinding to mortal eyes.

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