Universe Reflection?


From the Desk of George Barnard.

The Chinese Student

It was just prior to the official opening of World Expo 88 in Brisbane, Australia, when I met up with a young Chinese student called Kwae Mo San. Kwae was a student in one of the local medical universities where he studied -- of all things -- acupuncture as it was taught with the use of electrical impulses. It was said that Kwae could read the human aura like no other could, and this unusual gift was considered to be of great advantage in his pursuit of his future occupation in the healing arts.

Although acupuncture was something typically Chinese, hardly of common use in Australia, the twenty-four-year-old convinced me that a lecturer/technician in his Brisbane College was teaching methods unheard of in China at that time.

The Chinese national was paying for his tuition by doing casual work in an engineering plant belonging to a long time friend of mine. In that engineering plant is where I met Kwae, when I spent a week away from the demands of my own factory and spare time clinic.

The Philosopher's Stone

On the day before my return to my hometown, two Chinese medical students moved into a new apartment in Brisbane, and they invited me to their house warming party. Kwae Mo San was also there as a guest of his two countrymen.

By ten o'clock that evening we were all still enjoying the wonderful Chinese dishes that simply kept on being served up. It was a banquet, no less, but Kwae Mo San had something else on his mind. He was reading my aura, and asked me to let him touch my philosopher's stone.

"Philosopher's stone? I'm not an alchemist," I told him, "I don't have anything of the kind."

The Chinese student would not be convinced of that. Here was a persistent young man who wanted to see and touch a philosopher's stone.

In the rural areas of China, he told me, there was an alchemist doctor, and this doctor operated on poor Chinese peasants. Without the use of acupuncture, this "alchemist" would cut open his patients, lift out cysts or cancers, and close the wounds by simply squeezing the flesh back into place. The operations would take only a few minutes, and without scrubbing up, the doctor would move onto the next patient. The doctor would then take the stone from his pocket, move it backwards and forwards over the patient's body, and that ensured the patient would not bleed.

"Kwae Mo San, I do not have a Philosopher's stone," I told him. "Check your study books on the subject of auras."

"Only once before do I see an aura like yours," he told me. "I see it on the alchemist doctor."

The Bereaved Mother

Moments later, Jacyntha, a young mother who had just lost her only child to a drug overdose gate crashed the party, and I was used by the Midwayers to do some Delta (deep-mind) TRing to lift her out of her suicidal mood.

It later occurred to me that Kwae Mo San, the aura specialist, might well have observed the "mind connection" I had with the Midwayers at that time. This would mean that the Chinese doctor, who performed those minor miracles, if indeed he existed, might also be working with the 1,111, but I would never know. At that time, communication with the Midwayers was so rare as to be almost absent. I was in constant pain, and the connection was strictly one-way only… well, almost completely one-way.

I felt disinclined to tell Kwae about my "Spirit Guardian Friends." I was not altogether certain I had not become a dead loss to them all.

Frequent Doubts

Many weeks later, the "alchemist doctor" in China was still frequently on my mind. I was alone -- "a freak of nature" -- working with those who share our space, but not our time. I knew no one who, like me, socialized with those of another realm. And, since communication was often hard to achieve, there were frequent thoughts of, "did I dream all that?", "did I make it all up in my mind?", even, "have I long ago lost the story line?"

It's not easy to communicate with Midwayers, mostly when you least expect them to come through, but to still always consider yourself to be totally sane, for, in no way can you be just average.

Pictures, Sound, Touch, Smell and Movement.

An old Chinese with a sparse gray beard, and wearing a somewhat soiled white coat, stood at an operating table made from a few wooden planks. From the open structure that was his operating theater, I saw fields of corn and cabbages.

Stretched out on the planks was an elderly man who was talking to the doctor about the pain he had been suffering. Then the patient stopped talking, as the old surgeon reached for something in his coat pocket, brought it out, waved it over the old man's belly, and returned the item to his pocket.

Without a moment's hesitation, the surgeon cut into his patient's flesh, removed a white, stringy lump of tissue, and closed over the wound. The fresh air that drifted in from the fields mingled with the smell of a deep, open wound. There was no sign of any swabs to be used, no antiseptic liquid. There was no nurse to assist the doctor. There were more patients queuing up to take their turn under the knife.

There was no blood!

It had taken perhaps no more than fifteen seconds to perform that seemingly miraculous task. But now the old doctor just stood there, his hands on his patient's stomach. In prayer? In meditation? Offering his gratitude for another successful venture just completed? Touching the man with his healing hands?

I would never know, but I took the opportunity to step forward, touch, open, and peer into the old "alchemist's" pocket to see that famous philosopher's stone.

There was nothing in his pocket but some dust, sand and lint.

It was probably safer for the old surgeon to be known as an alchemist, I gathered at the time. Dealing with Spirits, Guardians, or Guides, might be frowned upon.

At the time, and in my own mind, I called these experiences "Mind-to-Mind Full-Color Picture Thought Tranferances". They include Pictures, Sound, Touch, Smell and Movement. But more amazing, as I reached out and pulled at the old doctor's pocket in broad daylight to see the philosopher's stone, it was after midnight in Australia. Logically, it was pitch dark in China, also.

I suggest that what I experienced was Universe Reflection, also that we cannot yet begin to understand the absolute brilliance of a technology that appears to have a total disregard for "linear" time.

Note: If you would like to know about Jacyntha, the mother of the teener that was given an overdose, just post George Barnard The details will likely be forwarded to you in doc form.

© 11:11 Progress Group.
Toujours au Service de Michael.

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