It is not that Truth is hidden, but unknown.

Umbe stepped onto the first, white step of the stairway going up. Mist had formed around it, white as well, and though it was clear where one ended and the other flowed, they seemed to exist together, as though something that could be both, was.

The others followed close behind. They didn't say a word, for what word could they say? They followed.

One step after the other, Umbe arrived at the top of the stairway that had extended into the mist, into the heights.

A presence appeared at the top of that segment of the stairway, which flowed into a platform, white as well and stretching beyond physical sight into mists. "Behold the Platform for the seekers of Truth," he said.

As the mists faded, the nine could see his face: that of a man in his prime, yet elder in a way; he had greying, dark hair; a kindly, benevolent countenance; dark, meek eyes; and was clad in an ivory robe, with a cloth-piece over his left shoulder.

"Welcome," said the man. "I am Ástar, Servant of the Lord and of M'alala, a Being of in-between realms, who bows to the Life in you."

The nine companions bowed. Umbe glanced back, though he was on the highest step and thus nearest their guide, as if half waiting for another one to lead the talk.

"Come," said Ástar, extending his arm around Umbe's shoulder, "I've been expecting you."

"I am Umbe Nasár," the hermaphrodite said.

Their guide nodded. "Yes, I know who you all are."

"Thank you for your presence," Menior said.

Ástar turned gleeful, calm eyes to him. "As I am glad of yours. The nine of Umbar," he added, extending the glance to all the others, "the nine seekers of their inner truths, who have descended into Íma to know themselves."

"We are here on a recognition mission," Sakna-Sa revealed.

With a mirthful smile, Ástar said, "Apparently of the external depth of a crater. Nothing, however, is left to chance. They who seek meaning find it, although they may construct a quest that apparently is unrelated. Those who find meaning, seek not the answers, but the ongoing process of becoming whole again, renewed through wholeness." Then turning his eyes to Umbe, said, "Welcome, traveller, to the Truth within. Step this way, please."

With a nod, he invited Umbe's companions to follow, and they did.

"For Truth to be revealed," Ástar continued, "the mind chatter must end. I invite you all to take a seat."

A circular white table surrounded by a total of ten white chairs was seen, and they all sat. Ástar was next to Umbe – Umbe was to his right.

"Right, now," Ástar continued. "The Truth of emotion has become revealed, now what do we do? Do we hastily let either thought or emotion govern us as though in a whirlwind, where we have no chance of discernment?" He looked at them. "I am not insulting any of you. I merely invite you to go beyond appearance."

Assenting nods.

"Agreed," Menior said, and Ástar turned to Umbe.

"When fear governs us, we are no longer free," Ástar said. "But let us step aside from the whirlwind and examine why we were there – how we have arrived to the point of fear, what lies we have deceived ourselves with, why we presume we are unsafe." He waited for an answer.

"The Boor colony is in a dangerous part of the Hexor Galaxy," Umbe said.

"What makes it unsafe?" Ástar asked.

"Meteor storms," Umbe said.

"Meteor storms," Ástar retorted, pondering, "are a natural expression of that place, is it not?"

"They are," Umbe said.

"So, my understanding is that you were born in a part of the cosmos where nature delights in such expression."

Silence.

"It is wrong to see the massiveness and strength in the expressions of life as direct threat," Ástar continued, "just like the brick sees not the fire that has formed it as harmful in its will."

"I see the logic," Umbe nodded.

Then inclining his head, Ástar said, "However, may I point that you are not in that place any longer? And still, you have brought it here with you."

"The fear in my subconscious," Umbe said, "expecting danger, feeling unsheltered."

Ástar gave a nod.

"On the logical level, I understand it," Umbe said. "However, in practice, I encounter difficulty."

"That is not reason to be worried," Ástar responded, "for in being willing to look at this fear in contemplation, you shall be able to acknowledge the truth within. It's like looking at dense mist," he explained, gesturing to their surroundings. "At first, you see only it, but once you step closer, you are able to see through it. The blockage of its opaqueness is recognized as illusion. And so is fear – an illusion that seems real, and only our reaction to its presence blocks us. It is our response to that which is near, but unseen – what we expect the opaqueness hides – that causes us to seek shelter, to build a defensive wall. But that wall is our doing in response to what we believe is out there, mixed with what we deem necessary to do in order to shelter ourselves.

"Don't be troubled by that wall, nor by the mist, for their firmness is equal in proportion to your investment in each. In other words, fear is the consequence of an opinion, and our reaction is either helpful, or detrimental. We can see through the illusion, or we can build another."

"The protection is an illusion?" asked Umbe.

Ástar confirmed. "If the reason for it is clouded judgement, the consequence forms part of illusion as well. If there is nothing to fear, there is nothing to protect yourself against – both protection and reason for it are elements of the mind's design. The mind interprets, sometimes wrongfully; yet when it becomes unclouded, when through introspection and observance, one strengthens in discernment, and when through practice, one finds solid ground in reality, in what is truly there, the mind binds with the higher ways of Spirit, becomes gradually more complete in understanding, for it no longer responds to illusion; now it seeks Truth." He looked around. "And that is everywhere to be found, have we the eyes to see. But for the eyes to see, the mind must be unclouded by illusion – detached from it.

"Having lived in a harsh environment, your response-body to fear has been increased by every such event that produced fear; and having stored, compressed, pushed down deeper within you those feelings of uncertainty, they have pervaded all your truth. Now you see through the eyes of uncertainty, because that's how your culture has formed you to look out for signs of impending dangers. It was a defence mechanism, useful on your planet, but impeding you here, on M'alala. She is one of the most beautiful and most gracious Planet Beings of our galaxy, of this side of the cosmos, unique in her own way, but of course one of many.

"Now Íma, as learning experience provider, enables you to know yourself on a deeper level by taking responsibility for your own projections, for what you carry with you and project from, so that the patterns may be revealed and healed. Truth is, there is only Joy here, but for it to be true to you, you must believe it.

"Íma is a living entity herself, a storehouse of energy that extends herself into you," he turned to Umbe's companions, "and projects your inner worlds outwardly. She bestows creative energy unto you, giving you of herself, so that you may shape your worlds according to your Truths within; but when those Truths are affected by clouded judgement, by belief in the unreal – and the emotion power enhancement your reactions bring, which furthers the whirlwind – then it is dissonance that results in this act of co-creation.

"Thus Truth-Seeing is gazing through the mist, washing misperception down, stripping layers of illusion off, until the Image formed is no longer fragmentary. This level of purity, of having stripped down the layers of illusion, results in an Image that's harmonious with the Universal Truth of Creation. Knowledge pure. Truth undivided. The Primordial Reason and Source and Beingness. Life in the affirmative, at the superlative.

"But one cannot plant a field of wheat on the back of their palm," Ástar carried on, lifting one of his hands before him above the table. "Palms reunited can hold such crops. If one palm has this desire and the other one that, they build walls around them to defend the validity and implementation of their will – they turn against each other. Suspicion and fear creep in. But those are the clouded mind's responses. Do you understand?"

"It is clear," said Umbe, and each of his companions were silently agreeing as well.

"Are you willing to walk into the unknown with no desire of finding evil lurking there?" asked Ástar. "For if you find it is because you've projected it there. That's how Íma works." He turned his gaze at the rest of the Umbarians present. "You have all been given an immense grace, the gift of Íma's world-building energies. She constantly co-moulds our dimensions together with M'alala and the Higher Realms, and shows to you yourselves by opening a doorway that is best aligned with the work of your spirits in you. How much illusion distorts that work is seen in the Gateway that opens and the experience within."

Menior said, "The more predominant the Truth, the less impactful the illusion is."

"That's right," said Ástar. He turned to Umbe. "This mist that we're surrounded by are blessing energies. Now that you know all that I've said, are you willing to take the path of healing and release fear once and for all?"

"I can't determine how far I'll go," Umbe said.

"How about step by step?" asked Ástar. "You're in control."

"That I agree with."

"Fine," Ástar retorted. "My work here is done, then. I leave you with M'alala."

With that, Ástar stood up from the table, signalling to the others to remain seated, greeted M'alala with a deep bow, turned and disappeared in the mist.

The nine Umbarians had turned to see M'alala.

"Come, Umbe," she asked. "If you truly wish to stop letting fear dictate your life, you must rise and follow me. The choice is yours."

Encouraged silently by his companions, Umbe rose from the table.

"Worry not," she asked him, mists dancing all around, the platform elongating, the table beyond a spreading distance. "Trust yourself. Trust the Truth within and let it be your anchor."

Umbe stepped into the mists and journeyed ever further.

"Come," she repeated, and though she did not turn, there was increasing distance between them, and Umbe kept walking; yet the distance was steady and he covered it at a pace that was his own. "Look around," M'alala asked, "and do not fear what might be."

Umbe did as he was told, gazing left and right, then quickly back to M'alala, to make sure she was still in sight. In such gazes, he spotted misty clouds forming shapes that resembled faces, faces like Ástar's, though some were younger and others older, and some belonged to men, while others to women. They were there with him, accompanying him though standing still, ever present and aware, but not interfering.

And, "Come," M'alala said.

Step after step, Umbe went farther, catching glimpses of their surroundings.

Someone nodded a salute. He responded. And left and right, Umbe's response caused glee, and many faces, some new, some old, were smiling back to him, and Umbe was nodding – eyes ever returning quickly upon M'alala, but not with unease – and thus they kept on going.

"Come," M'alala repeated; at times, she appeared near and at others, far.

The more Umbe was advancing through the mists, the more they knew his essence, and the more the Boor became acquainted with theirs.

"There is nothing to fear," said M'alala. "Only a journey takes you further, and the journey can be made in peace. It's up to you, dear Umbe."

One step and then another, the journey was walked in peace. The misty whiteness extended arms of greetings, and, deep breath in, Umbe dared extend his hand in response. Another wave of blessings, a new and fuller light embracing him.

Umbe went on. I can do this, he thought. There is nothing to fear.

"Of course not," said M'alala. "You only suffer from the fear you bring to each new moment, so shed your fears of old, for they have long become unuseful. You are not in the Boor colony, but in a place that's real, a multifacetedness of Life."

He went further. A new stairway appeared before them: three white steps.

"Step onto the first and wait," M'alala said.

Umbe complied, stopping on the first step.

"Where are you from, if not from Life?" she asked.

Umbe gave a thoughtful nod. "I am from Life."

"Good," she responded. "Carry on. Move onto the next."

Umbe did.

"What are you, if not a form and an expression of Life unseen?"

The thought was logical. "Of course I am that."

"Now step onto the third."

He did.

"What do you fear the most?"

Umbe was startled and, jolting, his heel retreated.

"Do not fear, you shall not fall."

More arms of mists extended, placing the Boor back onto the third and final step. The question was repeated.

"I fear..." he hesitated, "a malice that might hurt me."

"That malice and fear are parts of illusion. True Power overrules them all. That Power is divine and is benevolent. If you can trust that, step farther."

Umbe took a step and arrived before M'alala, mists swirling around them. They seemed to be inside a cylinder that extended upward into heights unseen.

"I congratulate you, unfearful Boor who has discovered you are a vital and esteemed part of Life," she said. "I congratulate you on your trust. Now you may step forward."

"I will," Umbe replied. "Thank you."

M'alala smiled and she became ethereally long, part of the cylinder's inner wall, and then she faded from Umbe's sight.

"Whenever you are ready, brother," said someone from above, extending his hand.

It looked as though Umbe was in a crevasse, and about three feet above him there was another platform. The man who'd spoken was lean and strong. He wore a white garment, a very simple, knee-long robe. His ear-covering hair was brown and wavy. His eyes were brown as well.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked again. "The trustful, once more doubts?"

A faint smile appeared on Umbe's lips. "I choose not to," he replied, and extended one arm up – and was instantly and almost effortlessly lifted.

"There you are," said the man. "I am Ethor."

"I am Umbe."

"I knew that." A friendly smile, pat on the shoulder. "Thirsty, are you?"

"I am."

"Good. Come." Ethor turned and through the mists arrived at a small, round table – a pitcher and two goblets, all silver, were on it. He poured water so pure it appeared to be radiating light. "Drink," he said, extending Umbe the goblet.

Umbe drank and was instantly refreshed.

"Come, my friend," said Ethor. "Let us sit."

They went as if next to a stone-carved, five-foot high fence overlooking gardens, the soft murmur of fountains nearby, and sat on two garden chairs.

"So here we are," said Ethor.

"Thank you for the drink," Umbe told him. "It's been refreshing."

"The pitcher's full if you want to drink some more."

Hesitating for a moment, Umbe replied, "I would."

Quickly, Ethor refilled his goblet and was back again. "Here you go."

Umbe drank. It felt like the water was refreshing his whole being, energetically and physically as well.

Ethor sat down. "I'm glad you're here," he said. "How may I serve you?"

Taken by surprise, Umbe said, "Your politeness is too great."

"Why do you think so?"

"Who am I, for you to serve me?"

"A brother from the eternalness of Life," Ethor retorted. "I rejoice in your being here."

Umbe could find no reply.

Ethor said, "Gather your thoughts. There is no rush." And he sat more comfortably, preparing himself to wait as long as necessary.

"The reason I am here," Umbe said at last, "is unknown to me. What is it?"

"To discover a quality of life aimed to help you bridge the way into a superior way of being," Ethor said.

"To acknowledge the friendliness of life and stop projecting from fear," Umbe mused.

"To free you from the grip of illusion, out of the need of defensiveness, out of harmful loops of projection, into the peace of being outside illusion," Ethor completed. "To learn to trust Life."

"Life, as a sentient..." but he was at a lost of words.

"Wholeness," Ethor said. "A sentient wholeness – all aspects of Divinity amassed, harmonious together and permeating everything and everyone."

"I am here to discover that," Umbe said.

"Not all at once!" Ethor exclaimed joyfully. "One grain at a time. Here's today's grain: you have made friends with Life by sitting with Ástar, confronting fear as led by M'alala, our Planetary Mother, and you have been recognized as a brother and a friend by me, the least of the group, but my friendship is nonetheless intact. What say you?"

He gestured with his hand as if inviting a reply, and Umbe found himself recalling Ástar's words, that fields of wheat can't grow upon a solitary palm.

"Your brother I can be," Umbe said. "A sibling," he corrected the technicality.

Ethor laughed. "I see. Sibling it is. I've meant no disrespect."

"None taken," said Umbe, starting to feel more at ease.

Trees of white in misty branches rose above them and fountains poured in crystalline gurgles.

"May I have my cup refilled?" asked Umbe. "I don't recall ever being so thirsty," he excused himself, a bit embarrassed and a bit amused.

"Sure," smiled Ethor and he brought the pitcher. "Drink as much as you want."

Umbe held out his goblet. "I have been granted the hospitality of your house and I am thankful for it. I shall carry this memory all my life."

Smiling broadly, Ethor replied, "It is I, then, who have received the greater honour: by serving you one moment, I have gained a friend for life."

They sat and talked for a while longer, and when the time came to part, Ethor said, "Farewell, my friend. Make good use of the dimension-door that shall open for you and your team, and greet them all for me."

"I will," said Umbe. "Thank you, and farewell."

They bowed their heads; Ethor touched his arm, mists formed and swirled, Umbe caught sight of the other eight Umbarians, rejoiced in seeing them; Ethor let go, stepped back into the mists; Umbe's fellow companions rose to meet him.

Smiling, Menior said, "You come renewed."