Kachina 

The Kachina's Return Part I

The day started off regular enough. Get up at 5:30, shave, fix coffee, stoke the fireplace and then go out and feed the dogs. Come back in and pour a cup, shake off the January chill and sit there in the chair and listen to the dogs bark, knowing that they are wanting more than just food. Wanting to be let out, wanting to be petted and talked to, wanting to be human for a while. Wanting to be right in your way, no matter where you step. Pour another cup of coffee, all the while thinking and letting the thoughts go up and out with the rise of smoke in the fireplace. Sitting there in the silence, watching as the human finger curls into the handle of the cup and the human hand wraps around the outside of it, feeling the hotness of the ceramic surface as it warms the hands propped up by the elbows on the table, which also support the upper arms, the shoulders, and the head with eyes staring intently out over the coffee cup, through the hazy window, out past the back porch, focusing on the center of the octagonal deck in the backyard. The eyes shift left with the advent of the first photons streaming in as the sun breaks over the top of the rise in the east vineyard. A rabbit pops out from under the deck and slowly hops toward the dogs driving them wild. Breaking the silence. “Welp, time to go,” the words curl up and out and vanish in the air. The hands push off the table, the cup goes into the sink with yesterday’s and the day before’s cups, making sure there is no clinking of glass or any other sound to break the silence other than the barking of the dogs and the shuffling of feet out the back door, down the fourteen or so steps, across the rock pathway, and out onto the deck, looking over toward the east vineyard to check the level of the sun.
On the morning of January 25th, the moon became full. Did it have a name? It seems like he remembered once that it was called the Full Wolf Moon or something like that. He didn’t know for sure. He knew some basic lunar lore like “once in a blue moon”, “harvest moon”, and he remembered some of the lyrics to “Moon River”. He even had a standard answer whenever anyone asked him the question, “What do you know?” His standard answer was, “Well, you know, there’s no dogshit on the moon.” Maybe he heard somebody else say it. Maybe he made it up. Anyway there was the full moon in perfect juxtaposition with the rising sun and the centerline of the octagonal deck, bisecting the deck at twenty-three and a half degrees from center, just like the manuscript called for, just like it said it would be. He tightened the rope belt around his waist and stepped barefoot onto the edge of the deck, taking a deep breath and walking slowly toward the center.

The Kachina's Return 

Down In Mexico

Who is taking the picture? It could be Jenny. Only Darjeeling knows. But whoever she is, she’s his partner, the same one who, a week before was so pissed off she practically destroyed him with her look of anger when they were at the Mission and she was standing in the rain. Walking along in the mission in the rain he had snapped a photo of her being pissed off. He took her for granted she said. He had taken her too early from her mother she said. She said, she said. “You married young, just like your ma,” he said. He just took her photo with his Konica C-35, pushing it right up next to her face and laughing and telling her to come on and get in the car. “Let’s get on down to Mexico,” he said. Two days later, they camped in Monterrey, eating enchiladas and drinking Tecate, and listening to some American kids singing gospel songs in the camp next to them. It irritated him to hear them sing like they were on some mission from God to “save” everyone who didn’t think like they did. The two of them lived on a bag of oranges and bread and peanut butter they brought from the States. They drove and camped, not saying much but watching in awe as Mexico unfolded before them in the windscreen of the ’71 Duster.
They blew through Saltillo, laughing as they passed the Colonel Sanders logo of the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant. “Dedo lickin’ bien!”, Darjeeling yelled out the window, laughing at the reaction of the little Mexican kids on the street and reaching back to grab another Tecate. In the desert near Concepcion del Oro they encountered the first of the dust devils that escorted them as they drove the highway, alone and together. Near Zacatecas they began seeing the miles of what appeared to be a rock wall, the rock being round and smooth. But for what purpose? To divide what? Following this along the highway, they came to the Olmec ruins of Las Ruinas de Chicomostoc where Darjeeling watched as mushrooms popped up behind him as he made his way to climb the desert ziggurat of the ruins. A true Mayan pyramid shape reaching into the Mexican sky. He climbed it to the first level and leaned back against the slanted stonework, crossing his arms and gazing into the sky. The old caretaker of the place came up to him when he walked back, taking him by the forearm and leading him into the little hut that served as a museum. On shelves were stacked bowls, utensils, and a few human bones. And a bottle of cheap Mezcal. The oldtimer held out his hand and pointed to his palm. Darjeeling understood and reached into his pocket pulling out some 50 peso coins and placing them into the old man’s hand. He continued to point to his palm and talk in Spanish which Darjeeling did not understand. Darjeeling kept putting more and more coins into the old man’s palm, and each time the old one would point again. Finally, his partner told him that the old man wanted American money, not Mexican. Darjeeling looked at her with the look of “How did you know that?” “You take me for granted,” she said. He looked puzzled. They left and the Dust Devils picked them up where the dirt road met the highway and the smooth rock wall led them on into the desert.

Mexican Dust Devils 

Mexican Dust Devils

Mexican Dust Devils – A Photo of Darjeeling at the Tropic of Cancer 1975

The look on Stephen Darjeeling’s face is one of contemplation and extreme concern. But there are many things that can’t be seen in this picture. The red 1971 Plymouth Duster with a white stripe sits 30 feet in front of him. If you look closely you can make out the tornado emblem on the rear fender. Full of camping gear and a red, white, and blue Coleman cooler full of Tecate, it has just made the desert trip from Monterey to Zacatecas to Guadalajara to Puerto Vallarta and is on the return trip, having negotiated the Sangre de Christo Occidental from Monterrey to Guadalajara, topping the crest of the mountain range and seeing Guadalajara below, and what appeared to be a forty five minute drive that turned into two and half hours. Darjeeling had crossed at Nuevo Laredo only five days before, driving into Mexico to hook up with the Huichol natives of Nayarit state near Puerto Vallarta. His look of concern is for the Mexican Dust Devils that are descending on the Duster and him, and off in the distance appear to be five mounted cowboys, comancheros on horseback kicking up dust that turns into the murderous desert dust devils. He’s not a stranger to this and that’s why his look is one of concern and not fear, although fear of these desert occurrences is legitimate. His concern is also for the cargo he carries in the Duster. He watches intently as the comancheros ride back into the cloud of dust and disappear, he studies the dust devils as they bear down on him, knowing that their intent is to carry him away and blow him into dust and leave him lying in the desert somewhere on the twenty three and a half degree line of the Tropic of Cancer. You can see from the photo that he is gathering energy from his surroundings. You can see the imprint of the Chi-Rho cross on his face. In his pocket, the round outline suggests that he is carrying some sort of what he perceives to be a power object. You can see the flux lines from the top of his head to the soles of his Chippewa boots, multicolored and moving like the Aurora Borealis around him, egg-shaped and full of power, enhanced by the knowledge given him by the Huichol medicine man, and the sacrament of dreams. He has become the peyote deer.

Comix Haiku

Katzenjammer Kids
Mott The Hoople Out Our Way
Skeezix Alley Oop

Octagon Mandala over Vortex Mandala constructed according to "The Statements".

Octagon Mandala over Vortex Mandala constructed according to "The Statements."

Two Wrongs Finally Make Aright - Part III

Aside from the enormous eyes, one of the most distinguishable features was the three tufts of a hairlike substance on top of the smooth, bronze colored head. These were evenly spaced in a triangle pattern with two of them directly over the two large eyes. The third was located where the Brahmanic aperture would be found on Earth humans. Each tuft was of a golden braided stringlike substance which waved like kelp in the sea. On the end of each strand was the typical eight pointed star. The strands were all of the same length but each individual had a different length according to their height. If one of them turned toward the other, the golden strands on the two foremost tufts pointed toward each other. He then noticed that on some of the taller individuals, the Brahmanic tuft was covered with a brilliant green emerald-like substance and that these seemed to be the ones that the others turned to the most. Often in turn, a group of three or four would approach a green-tuft and appear to communicate and bow. This bow was returned by the Green-Tuft.
“Darjeeling, you have saved our precious Kah-chee-Nahz and we are grateful.” Stephen heard this fill the room and echo and reverberate as the sound filled his head. All of them were looking at him now and were bowing towards him. He bowed back and the white stars that had held him were now released. He was able to talk. He tried to explain how he had gotten the Kachinas. “They were in an auction and I picked up the smaller one and I felt power drain out of me leaving me weak. Then they seemed to be speaking to me telepathically and telling me to take them home.”
“That is the way with the Kah-chee-Nahz,” he heard in his mind and the echo in the room. He tried to tell which individual was speaking to him and finally settled on the one nearest with the brightest green tuft. “They sought you out and called you to them. Then you built the octagonal deck as you call it. The Kah-chee-Nahz had you do that so we could come to them and take them home.”
“You are most welcome here,” Darjeeling bowed toward the tall one. He stuck out his hand toward the tall one but was stopped.
“You cannot touch us yet because we are not whole in this place. Soon you will see us as we really are, but until then you cannot touch us. It would be too much for you to withstand because of our green energy. We will change this soon so we will be more compatible with you. But for now, we are leaving.”
“Don’t go!” Darjeeling started forward but felt the two stars on his chest again.
“We will return soon,” the voice echoed.
“I want to go with you!” he pleaded.
“That is not possible yet, either,” Tall One said, “Someday maybe as you often say here.” And with that all of them turned toward the door, two of them reverently carrying the two Kachinas on pedestals of green light. Tall One, the last to leave, turned to Darjeeling and said, pointing toward the digital clocks and thermometers, “The two that read the same temperature are wrong, the third is right.”
Darjeeling watched as they all rode the green light to the center of the deck and dissolved, one by one, into its glow.

Vortex Mandala constructed according to "The Statements." 

Two Wrongs Finally Make Aright - Part II

The compact disc player in the upstairs sitting room suddenly came on. The sound brought Stephen out of his real-time dream of tuft-haired aliens landing on the octagonal deck in the back yard. The voices of Anonymous 4 sang out in adoration of St. Nickolai calling out, “Nickolai, Nickolai,” so real that he expected to see gifts fly over the transom of the outer doorway. He punched the Zen chime-clock. 3:00 am. He threw off the sheet and looked around the room. “What the . . ?” he mumbled. “What the . .? was one of his favorite sayings that he used in public or social situations to express wonderment but this time it was a real “What the . .?” The three clocks with digital temperature gauges were glowing on the desk. The Kachinas were rearranged from their original positions, now facing the door to the outer balcony. They, too, were glowing with a kind of a lime-ish green foggy color. Their features were more clearly defined and their eyes shown black with a star-shaped point of light in the center. There was a steady knocking at the door. Darjeeling had always known that he would be faced with this situation, so fear was not a factor in his next decision. He went out of the bedroom and around the corner to the great room where he could see both the octagonal deck and the outer balcony of the bedroom. There at the door were two tuft-haired aliens and there were more on the deck, walking out of a foggy, green beam of light that emanated from the octagonal center of the octagonal deck. The two immediately turned and looked at him, their three inch diameter shiny, black eyes emitting beams of light from their star-pointed centers. Darjeeling ran back into the bedroom and went straight for the door, taking a final breath before opening it. As he opened the screen door, he bumped them and they turned the eye beams on him, pushing him back gently, two eight pointed stars lighting his bare chest, pushing him back toward the center of the room. He put out his hand and an eight pointed star pushed it back. He started to speak and another eight pointed star covered and closed his lips. The two went toward the Kachinas moving across the floor on a pedestal of the green glowlight. Whichever way the one went the other went also and if the one turned, the other also turned casting the glowlight about them and illuminating objects in the room with the eight pointed stars. The stars seemed to stick to Stephen and the other objects in the room. He could still move but whenever he did, the two would look at him and he could feel the star pressure on his chest. He began to look at them more closely to determine their structure and appearance. He heard them making some sound but it was nothing that registered with him. They seemed to be looking up toward the upper room where the CD player was and he thought he heard one of them say something like “Nee-cho-Eli.” Then the player went silent. He heard the Kustom amp power up and saw the red light come on on the ten position equalizer on the Les Paul Wannabe. The strings began to vibrate, playing the blues runs he had last played. The Zen chime clock gonged three times, then three more times, then three times again. He heard a commotion at the outer balcony door and saw more of them riding the glowlight up to the doorway, gliding into the room and giving out a vibration that was part sound, part light wave, and part air pressure. The sound began to take on the characteristics of other sounds in or near the room. He heard one of them make a sound sort of like a dog bark and partially recognized the sound that his dog Browne made whenever a train went by in the distance. A couple of them seemed to be vocalizing “Nee-cho-Eli, Nee-cho-Eli.” They all looked lovingly at the Kachinas.
Darjeeling looked at them more closely. His heart was heavily beating and his breath raced in and out. They, too, watched him intently. He thought to himself about how beautiful their appearance was to him. He began to feel a sense of peaceful wonder. The soft, green glowlight filled the room and the eight pointed stars punctuated the objects there. All of them appeared similar in structure but were of different sizes, some larger and taller than others, none of them seemed to be any taller than four and a half or five feet tall. Proportionally, their “thickness” was about one third that of their height, so if one was three feet tall, it would be one foot thick. They, for the most part were cylindrical and were supported on a pedestal of the glowlight that was brighter than the glowlight they cast and which extended out from them about four inches from the base of their main body. The pedestal base made up about one foot of their height regardless of their overall stature and was translucent. They left no indication of a trail or of any kind of print or pressure on the carpeted floor. Their main distinguishing features were the enormous, black shiny eyes with the starpoints and the three tufts of hair coming out of the top of their head which made up about half of their height. The end of the body and the beginning of the head was marked by a change in color. Their body from glowlight pedestal to where the head began was a lusterless black which seemed to be a covering something like suede leather. In fact, Darjeeling thought it might be a cloak of some sort as it moved back and forth over the green pedestal as they moved about the room. At the top of this cloak there was a collar of sorts with a pinpoint of light where an Earth human’s adam’s apple might be. A small inch high indentation was all that demarcated the change from body to head and at the top of this indentation the head rose straight up in line with the body except for a three inch thick covering of the glowlight which covered all of the head except for the large, round eyes. There was no indication of mouth, nose, or ears, only barely perceptible holes in the glowlight which were conical and extended toward the head through the light, ending at a one quarter inch diameter eight pointed white star. These stars roughly coincided with the Earth human location of ears, nose, and mouth and rotated one way and then the other periodically sending out beams of white light in random order according to their locale on the head. There were no discernible hands or arms on the cylindrical, flat black body, but again there were areas of the glowlight which highlighted the body and which were able to extend outwardly from the body in any direction. These were not tentacles but more like light beams which had the characteristic white star on the end. Darjeeling watched as the light beam from one emanated toward the oldest and tallest Kachina and attached itself by brightening the white star. The Kachina underwent a dramatic transformation from a solid lifeless form to a vibrant being which seemed to Darjeeling to now have lifelike qualities.

Two Wrongs Finally Make Aright - Part I

Stephen noticed the two digital clocks on his desk each morning as he ritually sat down in the rocking chair in the bedroom and began to put on his shoes. The digital clocks were identical and had been “gifts” given to him for his prompt response to the renewing of his subscription to the weekly news magazine that he despised so much. He despised the mag because it never gave a true account as to what was really happening in the world, but rather emphasized the bizarre phenomenon of American culture where he perceived that the so-called “normal” American reader was beginning to believe things that she or he read and that could not possibly contain an ounce of truth in the reporting of either politics, entertainment, or sports. There just were not any truly believable facts any more. For instance: The story on Greg Lemond winning the Tour de France contained a lingering hint that perhaps doping was involved. It wasn’t outrightly stated, but the inference was there. So did he or did he not dope? Or the story on Michael Jackson that reported his implication in a sex scandal with little boys that implied that even if he, Michael Jackson, were found to be innocent, he probably was still guilty. So did he or did he not grope? All the while, the two digital clocks, side by side, silently changed the time; the one on the left reflecting Central Standard and the one on the right showing Central Daylight Savings time. This setup precluded Darjeeling from having to either “spring forward” or “fall back”, to reset time from one to the other and back again, a biannual event that caused him a lot of discomfort in readjusting his own biological clock to the new time. If only there was a grand solution to this problem of time. Stephen called it “El Grande Problemo del Tiempo.”
But on this day, the 9th anniversary of Jerry Garcia’s death, or Jerry Day as Stephen and others had named it, the problem wasn’t with time. He laughed to himself as he thought about Jerry and how he had once described how he and the other members of the Grateful Dead were able to stretch time in order to play more notes in any given time measure. If a second of time is expanded then there is more space for music, and space was the key ingredient in Jerry’s guitar playing and in the Dead’s concert performances. So more time equals more space and more space means more freedom to move and more freedom ultimately leads to liberation from the mundane. Darjeeling’s thoughts turned once more, not to the problem of time, but to the current problem at hand: Temperature. Each digital clock contained a built-in thermometer that registered, in this case, room temperature. He hadn’t expected to get a free thermometer with each clock but there they were in the bottom right hand corner, able to register either Celsius, which did not register with him at all, or Fahrenheit with which he was more familiar having adjusted to it first since his arrival. As he stumbled toward the rocking chair he looked at both time and temperature: 6:15 am CST on the left (South) and 5:15 am CDT on the right. 74.6 degrees Fahrenheit showed on the left and 75.2 degrees on the right. What? An anomaly in the temperature? It was bad enough that there was a problem with time. But now there was a problem with different temperature readings within one foot of each other. He looked at the desk to discern what the cause might be. Could it be the Kachinas? He had given them ample corn pollen from the garden and had invited them to come and knock at the back door anytime, promising to faithfully let them in. He breathed a sigh as he noticed a cold Mickey’s in close proximity to the southern digital and moved it over to the ice cream parlor chair he used as a table next to his rocking chair and his Les Paul wannabe guitar and vintage reproduction Kustom amp. “That should explain the temperature variation,” he breathed to himself. He even felt between the two gauges to see if he could determine the difference. He thought he did. Then it was all solved to his satisfaction. He reached behind the Kustom for the power switch, took a swig, and played a couple of blues runs.
The Mickey’s was long gone and the bottle empty and warm when he looked up and discovered that that had not been the problem The two thermometers still showed a variance in room temperature of 0.6 degrees Fahrenheit. What could it possibly be? A poltergeist? A crack in the fabric of reality? How about this: One of the thermometers must be wrong. He then settled in with the acceptance of that possibility and began to determine which of the two was correct. There were three possible statements that could be made about this problem:

1. The Southern thermometer gave a false reading and the Northern gave a true reading.
2. The Northern thermometer gave a false reading and the Southern gave a true reading.
3. Neither the Southern nor the Northern gave a true reading.

The only way to prove which, if either, was correct was to read another thermometer and verify which digital thermometer it matched. He walked around the corner to the air conditioning thermostat. Not good enough, he realized as he looked at the analog dial. He quickly ruled out the Torricelli gauge on the piano. Not accurate enough to read to tenths of degrees, he thought. Darjeeling then realized that he did not have any other thermometers that could measure the temperature accurately enough. The only solution was to get yet another digital clock with thermometer and compare the three. He called the digital clock company and ordered another digital clock, overnight express guaranteed next day air delivery. It came within 24 hours. He unpacked it and set it directly between the two. He scoffed at the fact that the new one might give yet another reading, knowing full well the rigorous ISO 9000 regs that governed this type of instrumentation. He waited patiently one more day. It was like the pagan Christmas holiday he had observed since his arrival. He was giddy and couldn’t sleep with tomorrow’s anticipation of a problem solved. And in order to make the experiment unbiased, he did a curious thing: He split the difference in time on the middle clock making it read exactly one-half hour before and one-half hour after the clock on either side. He did not want quantum influences to negate the outcome of the verification. He punched the digital clock sleep alarm next to his bed and set it for 5:00 am. The soft Zen chime helped him fall into REM sleep.

Officer Bolin

Huey knew better than to go up to the front porch. He should have just walked into the barn and waited. But, like Huey always told himself, “Ain’t no time like the future,” and walked right up to the house. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said peering at her name tag, “Uhh, Deputy Bolin? Is that right?”
“That’s correct, I. . .”
“Hey Deej, what’s happenin’ man?" Huey cut Deputy Bolin off and went straight for the cooler of beer, flipping up the lid and grabbing one before the lid fell back in place. “I’d offer you one ma’am but it looks like you’re on duty.”
“Are you Huey Ning?” Deputy Bolin asked.
“Nope,” Huey flung the gold cap off the beer bottle, arcing it up and over the squad car and into a five gallon bucket sitting next to a tree.
“Is that your green Ford Ranger you just drove in?” Deputy Bolin was really getting frustrated now and just a little nervous as she looked at the two men in front of her. Darjeeling looked harmless enough but this other guy, there was something that didn’t look right about him. Then he looked her right in the eyes. His eyes were bluer than any blue she had ever seen. But more than that, they sparkled and had a kind of fluorescent effect. And the pupils were not round but star shaped. He was only a few feet in front of her now and he pierced her with those eyes, right to the brain. She almost felt dizzy but regained her composure. He smiled at her. She couldn’t take her eyes off of his. She felt herself drifting away, out into some space that was glowing with a light beer bottle green glow. Little stars like the pupils in his eyes danced in front of her and she heard tiny voices all around calling her name. “Ann, Ann, Ann,” they cried in a soft cadence, “Ann Bolin, we are here for you.” She shook her head and brought herself back to the old two-story farmhouse in Louisburg. Bright little stars still danced in front of her for a bit and then faded. “What in the world was that?” she said out loud.
“Stephen.”
“I’m sorry?” Officer Bolin checked herself over before looking up.
“You asked if I am Huey Ning and I said nope and now I just said Stephen. I am Stephen Ning.”
“Where is your brother then.”
“He went to shit and the hogs ate ‘im,” He and Darjeeling recited simultaneously and then laughed and high-fived each other. The lid on the cooler flew open and out came two more beers, Darjeeling with one in each hand then kicked the lid on its downward track, slamming it shut.
“He’s not my brother, did you see the green fog and hear the voices of the Ancient Ones?”
Officer Ann Bolin stepped back and put her hand on her service revolver. ”What’s going on here?” she asked. The dog behind her didn’t budge as she backed into it then headed for her car. They both scratched their heads as she drove off.
“What did you do to her, man?”
“Hey, I thought is was you and that green fog you’re always in. Oh shit, here she comes back, let’s give her the disappearing act.”
“Right!”
Huey lifted the lid on the spider hole and jumped down, rolling to the left as Darjeeling jumped in after him, pulling the camouflaged lid shut and turning the two-by-four lock into place. With headlamps on, they made their way toward the barn, pulling themselves along on the little wheeled carts they had made. They passed the house tunnel and the escape tunnel that daylighted out in the field west of the house and came to the barn entrance in about five minutes. Huey reached up and grabbed the two-by-four lock and twisted, then pushed up on the lid. He pushed up again but the lid wouldn’t open. The third time he pushed, the lid gave and he peered out into the barn. Albert, the Tibetan Yak dog, licked his face. “That ignorant son-of-a-bitch was sitting on the lid,” Huey said back down to Darjeeling who laughed and followed him out of the hole. They brushed themselves off and headed for the Ranger.
To Darjeeling, the 1994 Ford Ranger was a big piece of turquoise. He had acquired it in an Indian trade a few years back and had restored it to good condition mechanically and cosmetically and also had added a few other “features”, as he called them that enhanced the Ranger’s performance. Darjeeling was no gear head, but he could do what was needed in the area of repair so that the Turquoise Ranger responded whenever it was called upon. He and Huey approached the truck and Huey jumped in behind the wheel. Darjeeling never drove, he only rode. He walked over to the bay door and quietly opened it while Huey slipped the clutch and silently coasted out toward the driveway that led away from the barn and house, obscuring the vision of Officer Bolin by keeping the barn between her and the Ranger. Darjeeling hopped in on the shotgun side and left the door open as they drifted down toward the creek. He didn’t want to draw attention by slamming the door. Huey had his propped open too as they made the tree line. The grade was steep enough that they could continue to coast and turn toward the road before they had to start the engine. Once they cleared the creek and were behind the trees, Huey hit the ignition and let the truck idle up the incline toward the country road. Darjeeling could see Officer Bolin looking in the house windows as Albert licked her hand. She kept trying to get rid of the dog but that was like shit trying to get rid of flies. Darjeeling laughed, “That son-of-a-bitch is going to lick her to death.”
“That’s the way with them Yak dogs,” Huey said, “They will bother you forever.” He made the fence gate and so far had not made a sound. Darjeeling bailed out and lifted the latch on the red gate. The Turquoise Ranger idled through the gate and out onto the gravel road. The trees still sheltered them from the officer’s view. “She ain’t got a clue,” Huey laughed as they turned the corner and headed for Louisburg.
“Let’s get us some cold green ones, Huey,” Darjeeling stuck his face in the wind and looked on down the road.

Voynich Manuscript Update

Referencing the Voynich Manuscript page f[51v] the morphemological representation of the "aiin" root is found to be related to temporal parameters. The following is noted: saiin and daiin have single consonant prefixes that must refer to present and past tense. Whenever the root form is present with multiple consonant-vowel combinations, it attaches either "d" or "t" to indicate tense, e.g. chodaiin=cho+d+aiin, oteodaiin=oteo+d+aiin, qotaiin=qo+t+aiin. Qotaiin represents a different form due to the presence of the singular "q" that must require the "t+aiin" root instead of "d+aiin". From this observation it is evident that the word "todaiin" has a definition related to the German "toten" and is pronounced "to die in".