Chronicles From The Future: The amazing story of Paul Amadeus Dienach

And the truth is that, between the ages of 19 and 22, Alexis seemed to be one of those fine souls who depart this life too soon to get where they truly belong faster. And yet this did not happen. He was not meant to die young. He was meant to grow old and grey and give to the people that he so much loved the greatest spiritual gift in the history of humanity!

“He was neither a God nor a prophet,” said Stefan, “and yet he was the chosen one to see things divine and eternal and show them to his equals.” And he continued, “He didn’t prophesise the future, but he did see and show the things that always have and always will remain unchanged and untouched since the beginning of time and he proved to people just how much they had overestimated not only the findings of science, but also the spiritual potential of their ‘antennas’. He saw, not with his physical eyes, but with the eyes of his heart, and taught in such a way that nobody ever asked for evidence or doubted him. Because what he showed people, what he taught them, was one of these things that can’t be proven empirically, like God or love… In order for someone to understand it, a whole different path must be taken and a whole different level of faith must be attained…”

I recall what Lain told me one day: “The further people remove themselves from such values, the harder it becomes for them to one day find a way to comprehend them. If you forget it, it will forget you.”

From what I understood, the path that leads to the understanding of these things has to do with the inner evolution of our biological species. It is a path that was completely inexistent in my era—the era of one-sided science and technology—a path that could have only been paved by those insightful and visionary men and women of the Aidersen Institute, which is exactly what happened, around the year 790 of their chronology.

THE STORY OF COSTIA RODULOF17-VII

(In Latharmi again)

I didn’t go anywhere else today and I truly wish I could stay here longer, to lose myself among the rosebushes and find shelter in the shade. I’m by myself. Every once in a while I see passers-by and foreign pilgrims make their way through the flowers, looking for some solitude. I hastily jot down my impressions. I’m taking it all in: this beautiful view, this amazing feeling, this magical colour of the rose petals, this wonderful fragrance so generously wafting in the wind. All this makes me relive the moments of my past life, my normal life…

Parents narrate to their children the story of 1086 (3482 AD)

, the story of the old man, Costia Rodulof, and that spring morning when the leaves of this incredible plant opened for the first time and human eyes saw that rose petals reflecting the “pale blue sky”.

The little unge, Lelia, knows the true story of Costia. According to her, the seventy-year-old florist was a holy man who adored children and flowers. Birds used to land on his shoulders and drink water from his hands. He lost his only child when it was only five. After that tragic incident, he dedicated his life to relieving human suffering. The mature now florist once had the vision to create the blue roses, which now decorate the streets of Latharmi, for the first time in rose-breeding history.

For several decades, says Lelia, this holy man gathered seeds and planted them, trying thousands of different combinations in order to achieve the desired result. For years and years he planted and replanted, he changed soils, he changed countries, but in vain! Eventually he despaired of trying…

Half a century had passed when, one day, two bright rosebuds attracted the attention of three passers-by in Generali. “Who does this garden belong to?” the passers-by asked some Mindre skole children who were playing around there. A couple of them were startled at the sight of the blooming roses. It had been drizzling all day and the sky was full of heavy black clouds. Before you knew it, a crowd of people, teachers, florists, gardeners, craftsmen, ordinary people who happened to be passing by the garden, had gathered around the rosebush and were staring at its blossoms. The children played truant, the passers-by ignored the rain; no one could stop staring at the miracle. It was as if the light that had been hiding behind the threatening clouds had found shelter in the petals of these roses.

Some people went to call Costia Rodulof. The crowd had surrounded the rosebush but none would get closer to it until old Costia arrived. They showed him the rosebuds. He didn’t say a word. He stretched out his trembling right hand and, as soon as he touched them, he burst into tears. It was the dream of a lifetime for the florist. A little girl said: “Mary-Lea sent them to us for the 100thanniversary of her death!”