What if the gateway to Agartha would have been relocated to the very center of a billion busy alpha city metropole where fashion and financial districts meet? Horripilation? Not at all. Perhaps when the Italian sculptor Arnaldo Pomodoro envisioned his Solar Disc, an extraterrestrial intelligence was capable to align diverse terrestrial forces in order to bring them locating the magnum opus there where it actually is, concealing the very toran to that secret ruling world, in disguise among passer-bys quintessentially too blind for even just inquiring about the identity of the ruler of the Earth. Until a day, a female street performer declaims in the premises of the Big Disc the prologue by the French inquisitive mind of René Guénon to the narration about the King of the World. And the mechanism starts moving opening up the underground secrecy for everyman.
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