Cetacea Landing

Accelerating evolution reaches Cetacea


A Demon Typhoon Threatens

painting #1 of storm story


A woman crash-landed first and survived. The second boat also crashed onto the beach.


painting #2 of storm story


They have reached Cetacea and bring direct word from the semi controlled full-speed social evolution of France. This has been their goal and they made it; It is the dawning of Aquarius and they are on location. The winch was exactly where their map showed it would be and she used it to haul her boat and its priceless cargo above the storm surf. That’s when she saw trouble. She untied her boat from the winch, tied down the sail double strength, and ran as fast as she could dragging the winch rope with her. She lashed her partner's boat tightly to the winch rope and then climbed into his boat. She had no real plan other than to save him from crashing surf on jagged rocks.

His boat was laid on its side, half-way out of the water. He had saved his cargo but had been swept out to sea by the howling demon storm. She struggled to the stern of the bucking wave-battered sailboat, found the anchor, and swiftly cut it from its rope. Her knife was sharp and for that she allowed herself a quick flush of pride.

Then, without hesitation, she coiled the rope and aimed carefully. The waves were looming swiftly and larger. It was now or never. Roaring waves crashed on nearby rocks. There would be no second chance. She heaved the coiled rope. He lunged and caught it!


painting #3 of storm story


She pulled him from the danger of the rock cliff, tied off the rope, and worked her way shoreward to the bow. Leaving him to pull himself to the boat, she jumped to the beach and ran to begin hauling boat and man to safety with the winch.

Names remain unknown. Reports vary almost hourly. Loren and Bonnie are still working their way north from Paso Robles; They’ve been bogged down somewhere near Salinas; Trapped by reality unfolding faster than fiction.

The evolutionaries so freshly arrived from France were half blown and half stumbled onto a road leading straight into the forest. There had been just enough time for both sailboats to be secured to the winch post; cargoes had also been tied down.

The storm was pounding ashore. Its strength was rapidly increasing. They held hands to support each other from being blown off their feet. There was no way to stop now. Leaning backward, they stumbled, caught themselves and were blown, almost running across the last of the yellow beach sand; onto a red sandstone road and straight into a forested wind tunnel. A small hill and what might be recently harvested fields were not far ahead. Was a sign of civilization imaginings of hope? They could not tell for sure. They desperately need a refuge, close. More distant pacific coastal mountains appeared and disappeared like a mirage in the roiling storm.

She puled his head close and shouted straight into his ear, "If I die and you live, know me by my full name; I am Joan de la vie." He could not answer for that is when they began running to keep up with the wind.


painting #3 of storm story

They were soon running as fast as they could. Joan began jumping and gliding with her arms spread and legs held ready to land and run again, until her feet couldn't keep up and she was forced to jump and glide. Her partner followed suit and they approached the cleared area they had previously seen almost as fast as the wind. Joan was glad for the heavy backpack that helped keep her on the ground, its irksome weight had become a blessing.

A pole set across the road and secured to posts at either end became visible through the blinding rain. They burst from the forest almost floating on wind. Rainwater slammed into the front of a shack at the gate, the water rippled upward as a vertical puddle on the wall, it flowed up and over the roof in sheets. Could this little shack stand? They weren't worrying much about tomorrow as they slammed into the cross pole. It was a simple gate and it held fast against their combined impact. They began working their way to the door. Shelter from the storm was close at hand.


painting #4 of storm story


They struggled to move either an arm or leg; One at a time was all that was possible. Joan finally rolled herself off the end of the pole and onto the wall. She continued rolling; pinned to the wall by wind as if she were pulled to the ground by gravity. She rolled until she reached the door and then across it. Her partner, being heavier, opened the door; He was yanked inward onto a porch, not far. Joan held on to his pack and added her strength, they popped inside at the same time. They slammed the door shut during a brief change of wind and then walked two steps across the porch and knocked on an inner door. There was no answer so they opened it, outwardly, toward them. They entered a warm and well-lit inside coat-room. There was space for their bulky packs and a bench to sit and change into wrap-on one size fits all indoor slippers.

Although already less dripping wet, they decided to carry their warm, dry slippers with them as they climbed a short stairway upward into a fairly large round structure made of lashed poles. The ceiling was high. The building totally silenced the raging storm outside. Nothing shook. Nothing rattled. The place was solid as stone; Their emergency storm shelter was storm-safe and warm as toast. More doors led to other rooms.

They felt themselves as alone in a large silent room that held a kitchen, a table and comfortable chairs. They opened the nearest door. It was a bathroom, with hot water, a modern compost toilet and a tiled shower stall. The next two doors were small bedrooms, each with a desk and chair. Another door led to a second outside storm porch. They had entered via the back door. The larger main entry room had a door to the outside and a second door that opened into a drafty unheated hallway. They followed that to an empty barn, listened briefly to wind howling through cracks, then quickly returned to the warmth inside.

Joan's partner had been chilled in the cold northern pacific surf, and colder yet in the wild wet dash through the forested alley of the typhoon funnel. He was first to shiver his way into the hot shower. Joan opened their packs. She moved her partner's separate personal pack and its belongings to his room and then assembled the various components that created a satellite communication link uniquely known within the autonomous democracy of accelerating evolution. She had established an autonomous democracy lab in her own personal headquarters room. Joan was momentarily impressed by the load they carried as part of the Aquarian dream yet shrugged it off. It had happened. Dawn is near. Everyone feels it. The age of Aquarius is new and different.

Joan sat down at her work desk with the technology representative's book open. She examined the components of communication available between Earth's ground zones via both Eurosat and Asiasat. Outside the window above her desk, she saw a hint of evening blue sky, and then she saw more blue; The storm was ending as night began.





Demon Typhoon © Garrett Connelly
All rights reserved