A Faraway World.

 

From the Desk of George Barnard.

THE ARTICLE set out below deals with two rather horrific happenings that I witnessed by “remote viewing”, thought to be the same thing as Universe Reflection. It is promised to us by our Spiritual Guardians that such events are no longer possible since the last quarter of the twentieth century, and I fully agree. We are watched over now in what has become a wholesome, friendly universe, but these kinds of things were a reality in our dark past.

The visions, and what led up to them, are here explained step by step.

My Boomerang Won’t Come Back.

It seems that when you are the father of a small bunch of young children, you are meant to be able to do anything. You are explicitly trusted to have all the answers to such “disasters” as a favorite broken toy, how it can be made whole again, and preferably within the next ten seconds.

That’s how I found it to be, because every conceivable squeaky, wobbly, or broken toy would land on my desk with an expressed demand, like, “Mom said, you will fix it.”

If on occasions it could not be nailed, screwed, or glued back together, I used to tell the children that “my boomerang wouldn’t come back either,” and they soon grasped it meant their toy was deemed to be “terminal”, a part of history, and to be replaced or forgotten about.

The reference to the boomerang related to a popular song of that time about an Aborigine boy whose boomerang refused to put itself on its return flight path no matter what the child tried. Our children all loved that song, but as they grew older the ambiguous answer about the boomerang would no longer do. I had to think of something new, something equally “hazy” that would still be understood.

Send It To The Colonies.

In the sixties and early seventies, our business imported much of its requirements from Britain. These goods, mostly photographic materials, could only be imported on indent – a “you pay us first, and we might perhaps let you have it” system that did not work very well.

British manufacturers, including some multinational companies, sponsored little in the way of quality control, and the attitude of sending second-rate goods to “the old colonies” would only die a belated death, as many countries in the British Commonwealth looked elsewhere for their quality supplies.

My firm “got stung” on some occasions for large sums of money, until we erased from our list of suppliers all those small, un-progressive minds that were based in “la Grande Bretagne”.

What a long-overdue decision! The daily task of running a small manufacturing firm became noticeably easier for me.

Mom said, You Could Fix It.

For almost ten months of the year after school was out, the children would play in our aboveground pool. Sometimes they would have a quick swim before school hours.

One fateful morning they found our garden flooded with thousands of gallons of chlorinated water, the galvanized metal of the pool rusted through, and its lining ripped to shreds. “Mom said, you can fix it,” I was told.

“Go tell Mom, it was another of those products sent to ye olde colonies,” I told them. They left to tell her, but they did not understand. Sooner or later they would figure it out.

It was my task to make them think, wonder, guess, discuss things, develop their minds and imagination.

“It’s like this,” I finally told the three, “In every galaxy there is one world out of thousands to which all things that don’t work are sent. This planet is that world in our Milky Way. Whatever it is that is likely to break down, we get it. And God made a deal with the British that the worst of galvanized swimming pools be sent to Australia. So, there you have it. This planet is the rubbish dump of our universe.”

It was clear they knew I was only fooling. They were pleased about getting a brand new and bigger pool, but some “family members” were greatly displeased by what I had told the children.

The Midwayers – by then my Teachers, Companions and Advisors of some years – warned me that one fine day those words would come back to haunt me if I insisted on continuing to tell that untrue tale. As always, in those early days, I didn’t take too much notice of what they said, and suggested they might read up on Murphy’s Law.

Eventually, they would convince me, but that was to happen months into the future.

Greatly Favored.

Midwayers never give up. Each time I joked about this planet being the “garbage dump of the local universe”, they would urgently prompt me to change my story. My “Spirit Guardian Friends” were endowed with a much more advanced, sharp, quick-witted sense of humor that I really enjoyed, as well. They didn’t think much of my sense of the ludicrous, and the joke about this earthly dump was not at all agreed with.

We on this earth were greatly favored, for their Hero – the one I knew as Joshua ben Joseph – had lived His human life here. He was a Creator, one of many. Also, this earth was a kind of holiday resort, with many celebrated and advanced Visitors regularly visiting here. Earth was famous, and its scenery, too, was incomparable, I gathered.

They had given me a lot to think about. There was also no doubt about the many Celestial Visitors. When viewed by the Midwayers, the image of what they saw could be imprinted on my mind. Often there would be a dozen or more onlookers of greatly varied sizes. The process was called “reflection” – “we think it, you see it”.

I guess it was “Universe Reflection” that was happening then and still is.

Then a series of events prompted me to once again consider the status of the planet, and especially its security, to be not all that crash hot.

Abductions – True or False.

All members of my family were witness to a disc-shaped craft that hovered over a nearby military installation and munitions dump in the dim dark hours of a summer’s night. The craft scribed a triangle in the air, over and over again, and its all-around blinking lights convinced us there were aliens on board. They appeared to be taking readings, pinpointing the exact location of tons of ammunitions. When it finally shot off into the stratosphere, we knew it was alien.

For nothing known on this earth could accelerate at such awesome speed.

Shortly after, I lost a much-admired colleague in a road smash that should never have happened. He left a wife and four children in endless grief, his many friends and colleagues in disbelief, or claiming life was horribly unfair. The deadly accident left me in a state of rebellion, and I once more voiced the opinion that terrestrial life stank, no matter what the Midwayers thought about their world. No one was safe, I felt.

Not long after that, we watched a television show that dealt with a supposed abduction of some people by the occupants of a flying saucer. The victims of that short-lived abduction had some horrible tales to tell about operations having been performed on them, and genetic material having been taken from their bodies. To me it represented outright rape… if. If it were really true.

I needed to check the veracity of their stories with my Midwayer Friends.

Ask And Receive.

Years prior, I had learned that the Midwayers had access to untold volumes of information about all kinds of subjects. My ever-reliable Friends could always be counted on to tell the truth, and they could, at a moment’s notice, establish contact with specialized creatures that were actual living libraries of 3D color movies of events in history that were long ago forgotten. They would not always consent to “drum up” the information I wanted.

On this occasion, I asked and I received. It was almost too much for my emotions to endure, as I watched the operations being performed on these hapless citizens in a clear “movie” from the past. The abductors were small, gray, with big heads in proportion to their bodies. It would have been a nightmare or night terror to experience this while asleep, but I was wide-awake, and watching human-like individuals stealing genetic material for cloning purposes – both eggs and sperm.

I was sure it was about all I could take and still “retain the storyline”.

Swiftly, there was more to come.

A Horror Planet and a View of the Future.

It took no time at all to arrive on a far-away planet. It was a desolate scene of bare earth and dust with only sparse vegetation, no roads in sight, yet there were high-tech buildings with ample cross bracing to each compartment.

This was a devastated world where endless, vicious wars had been waged on a most unstable planetary crust. There was peace now, but the world was in ruins with its flora and fauna decimated, squandered. And here lived the strange little gray-looking guys that were responsible for the abductions and medical operations I had witnessed.

Instantly, the next view came from a point inside a building. I noticed a huge conveyor belt and on it, what horror, human bodies moved slowly down to a floor below to be put into deep freeze. They were identical, dead, whole but for having been gutted. Their hollow bellies had been stitched up with a few course stitches.

I had landed in a human slaughterhouse where cloned individuals from my planet served as food, and yet… Yet I knew I was looking at a view of the future, and I knew that the gray-looking guys had the capacity to so retard human brain development, as to consider the human clones to be no better than mere animals.

These gray humanoids were highly advanced in the sciences, and yet, perhaps quite at ease in consuming human flesh out of sheer necessity, and after using these clones as robot-like slaves until maturity.

How Was That Done?

The experience had made me violently ill, but it had instantly cured me from telling people my chronic bad joke about this world being the galaxy’s rubbish bin. And of course, I blamed the Midwayers for giving me that awful experience. Who else?

I used to blame these poor guys for just about anything. Though mostly uttered in jest, those accusations never fazed them.

Fearing another horror movie, I let weeks go by before seeking renewed contact. I needed to know how it had been done – by reflection through some “Reflective Angel”, or did some “Spirit Selves” (Thought Adjusters) have the ability to drag their subject’s conscious minds all over the universes?

The desperate world I had viewed was in our galaxy, in our star group or constellation, but it was light years away.

There was another possibility I could think of, and this concerned the cooperation of two “Spirit Selves” communicating instantly over the distance, but surely, there would need to be dozens of other ways to get that 3D movie across.

Access to the answer was denied. The possibility of two Thought Adjusters functioning in this way was later confirmed to be right.

Changing Mores.

One wonders what it would take to have a well-advanced civilization of space-traveler technology remain, or regress to become, flesh-eaters of their kin and similar. Perhaps they are acts that are sanctioned even, as the mores must change to suit the desperate food shortage circumstances as existing on that globe.

Supposedly, if there ever were such a thing as “the rubbish bin of the universe, this world would have been it – the worst I could have been shown.

But, please, let me off before it ever goes that far on this world. And for now let’s appreciate and protect the gorgeous planet we still have.

I have often revisited what I saw on that day, and on the worst of some three dozen troubled worlds, and lately concluded that we may not be all that far removed from such a deplorable world of yesteryear. We are still primitive enough to occasionally stone people to death. We only stubbornly refuse to eat them.

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

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