Epilogue - A Gift from Heaven - Painting the Future of China

It was an ordinary night. As I drifted into a deep dream state, a familiar vibration began to move through my body. Then I felt myself separating from it.

My consciousness rose slowly at first, then higher and higher, as though drawn upward by an invisible current. Eventually, I reached an immense field of light. It was unlike anything I had seen before—radiant, peaceful, and almost overwhelming in its beauty.

The moment I entered it, I somehow knew where I was.

This was Heaven.

Within the light stood a radiant, winged being. I could not explain how, but I immediately sensed a familiarity between us, as though this was not our first encounter.

For several moments, neither of us spoke.

Then the being broke the silence.

“Do you remember what we told you? Heaven has given you a gift for writing. You are 神笔马良—Ma Liang with the Magic Brush. Whatever you write will manifest into reality.”

For readers unfamiliar with the story, Ma Liang with the Magic Brush is a beloved Chinese folktale about a poor boy who receives a magical brush capable of bringing whatever he draws to life. Before long, greedy and powerful men discover his gift and try to exploit it for their own benefit. Ma Liang refuses to let his power serve their greed. Through courage and ingenuity, he outwits those who seek to control him and uses the brush instead to help ordinary people build better lives.

The words stirred an old memory.

Years earlier, during my time in Abadiânia, spirits I had encountered there had used the same expression. Later, my extraterrestrial guides had said it too. They had jokingly called me 神笔马良.

At the time, I had taken it as little more than an affectionate joke.

But now, suspended in that extraordinary light, hearing the same words once again, I felt something shift inside me.

For the first time, I wondered whether they had ever been joking at all.

“Then I need to write,” I said, suddenly animated. “I need a pen and paper. Right now.”

Almost at once, a glowing pen and a scroll appeared before me.

I did not hesitate. I reached for the pen and began to write, treating the scroll as something between a declaration and a wish list.

“Hmm… first,” I said, gathering my thoughts, “one of the most important lessons I have taken from my spiritual journey is that no lasting progress can occur in China without fundamental political change. Power must eventually return to the people. If genuine democracy is ever to take root, the present authoritarian structure cannot remain.”

The being listened.

“Very well,” he said. “What else?”

I paused.

“I deeply admire Gao Zhisheng, Zhang Zhan, Chen Guangcheng, the human rights lawyers caught up in the 709 Crackdown, Xu Zhiyong, Li Qiaochu and Ding Jiaxi from the New Citizen Movement, and the many activists who have fought for freedom, civil rights, religious liberty, animal welfare and, above all, human conscience.

“If China is ever given the chance to begin again, I would want people of that moral calibre to take on positions of leadership and public responsibility—to help build a democratic government capable of genuinely serving the Chinese people. But courage alone would not be enough. Those entrusted with power would need compassion, integrity and the moral discipline to remember that public office is a form of service, not personal elevation.”

“Oh – and Gao Zhisheng’s draft, Constitution of the Federal Republic of China.”

I lowered the pen to the scroll again.

“That, too, must find its way into reality. Those who signed the Constitution should one day have the opportunity to serve as senators and political leaders, chosen through the will of the people. Whoever governs a future democratic China must be bound by constitutional principles and remain accountable to those they serve. Democracy may never produce a perfect society. Its deeper value lies in something more modest and essential: limiting the concentration of power and preserving the space in which individual freedom and human rights can endure.”

My pen stopped.

I turned towards the radiant being.

“You know,” I said slowly, “I have an extraordinarily strong feeling about Gao Zhisheng. I think he could become the first president of a future Federal Republic of China.”

I hesitated, surprised by the certainty of the thought.

“I don’t know why. I just feel it very strongly—as though he might be the person we have been waiting for.”

He smiled.

“What else?”

I kept writing.

“Well, I want the newly formed democratic Federal Republic of China—or whatever name it may eventually have; the name itself matters less to me—to understand the deeper causes of human suffering that I have discussed in my talks and in this memoir. That includes the interference of reptilians and negative archons with the human mind and consciousness through etheric implants and entity attachments.

“I am writing this down so that it will manifest into reality: the newly elected government will establish formal cooperation with the positive extraterrestrial alliance and work with them to remove negative reptilian and archon bases operating within Chinese jurisdiction. Once that interference is removed, people will be able to reclaim their peace of mind and their true free will.

“Perhaps they might also share more advanced knowledge with us, along with technologies capable of bringing greater harmony and abundance to humanity and the Earth. And perhaps,” I added, smiling, “we might have something of value to offer them in return.”

As I wrote the words onto the scroll, I found myself hoping, with unexpected sincerity, that they might one day take form in the world—if this gift I had been given truly possessed the power to bring the written word into being.

Then I told the radiant being about another hope I had carried for years.

On a more mature Earth, I said, perhaps there could one day exist a Code for All Beings, upheld by a supreme tribunal whose authority transcended nations, governments and human political systems.

Such a court would belong to no country or ideology. Its founding principle would be simple but profound: humanity would no longer automatically place itself at the centre of moral value.

The code would extend beyond human rights to recognise the inherent dignity of sentient life itself. The Court of All Beings, as I called it, would protect the ethical boundaries governing life on Earth without assuming that human interests must always prevail.

If another being on this planet—human or animal, an indigenous Earth being such as Bigfoot, a nature spirit or a mermaid, or a being from the inner Earth—suffered injustice, oppression or systematic harm, it would no longer have to seek justice through a framework built solely upon human assumptions. It could appeal to a higher standard capable of considering its existence and suffering on their own terms.

Justice in such a court would depend upon whether life had been respected and whether coexistence itself had been violated. Greater power would confer no greater moral worth. Neither technological advancement nor any claimed rank of civilisation would place one form of sentient life above another before the law.

I knew how idealistic such a vision might sound at humanity’s present stage of development. But if the gift described to me that night was real, I was willing to test it. I wanted to see whether something written upon that heavenly scroll—however distant from the world as it existed then—might somehow find its way into reality.

The thought led me back to something more fundamental.

Human law, for all its sophistication, remains largely a system created by one species to govern the affairs of that same species. We have grown so accustomed to this arrangement that we sometimes mistake it for something universal, when it may simply reflect the moral limits of the civilisation that produced it.

Perhaps maturity begins when a civilisation no longer mistakes dominance for moral authority. Humanity may one day have to learn that sharing a planet is not the same as owning it.

If that day comes, it may represent something deeper than legal progress. It may mark the moment when humanity begins to relinquish its assumed position at the centre of existence and steps, at last, beyond the childhood of civilisation.

I looked at the scroll again.

“Hmm… and hopefully we can prevent World War III.”

The remark seemed almost embarrassingly simple after everything else I had written, but perhaps simplicity was appropriate. However grand our visions of civilisation became, none of them would matter very much if we destroyed ourselves before reaching them.

The being reminded me that time was running out.

“What else do you want to write down?” he asked. “I have to send you back. You cannot stay out of your body for too long.”

A mischievous smile came over my face.

My final wish, I decided, would be for myself.

I lowered the pen to the scroll.

“May the truth behind the smear campaign against my friends and me be brought fully into the light, so that the public can finally understand what really happened. May the sorrow, anger and pain we endured be transformed into something positive and returned to us as good karma. And may those who committed malicious or indecent acts face the consequences of their choices under the laws of karma.”

I stopped writing and looked at the being.

“You know, in the end, the karmic ledger has to be balanced.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Oh, and perhaps one more thing,” I said. “Just as a sarcastic little joke.”

I began writing again.

“Those people once smeared me by claiming that I had made more than 100 million yuan from my fans and followers, and that I owned several large mansions in Sydney, all paid for with their money. Perhaps that part could manifest into reality too—you know, just to piss them off as one of God’s little jokes.”

I laughed at the thought.

“They accused me of making money from something I had actually provided for free. Imagine if the accusation came true only after they had invented it.”

Then I remembered another rumour.

“Oh, and I rather liked the one about my wonderful husband and children. Perhaps not three children, though. Two would be enough. One boy and one girl would be perfect.”

For all the seriousness of what I had written, I could not resist ending with something personal. A vision of a better world did not require me to stop being human within it.

I straightened and took one final look at the scroll.

Political freedom. A more ethical civilisation. Justice for beings whose voices humanity had never learned to hear. Vindication for people who had been wronged. And, somewhere among all of that, a home of my own.

The wishes were impossibly large in places and almost embarrassingly ordinary in others. Perhaps that was precisely what made them mine.

Satisfied, I signed my name at the bottom and offered a final blessing before releasing the scroll into Heaven.

“As above, so below. May these wishes manifest into reality, for I have used the gift bestowed upon me by Heaven in the hope of bringing something better into the world, for others as well as for myself.”

Then it was time to leave.

The light began to recede, and I felt myself descending towards the body I had left behind.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the ordinary world. Nothing outside the window appeared to have changed.

But I carried with me the strange hope that writing might be more than a record of the world as it is. Perhaps, at its most hopeful, it is also a way of giving form to the world we are still trying to become.

And if there was even the smallest truth in what I had been told that night, then somewhere between imagination and reality, the first stroke of the brush had already been made.

- The End