THE UNICORN HUNTERS
by snakeappletree
©2016 ordo octopia
PREFACE - SCRAWL
She asked me, what is the worst thing i have ever done. I asked, the worst action i did, the worst experience i lived through, the least moral choice i made, what do you mean by that? She told me that i know what she means. I asked her if the war hero, the veteran with medals from the queen for honor in battle, for service to his country, is he a good man? She agreed, he is. I asked her if the blood of innocent children on his hands is a good deed, for he confessed to me that the enemy he fought are the child soldiers who are avenging the murder of their peasant families by western dictatorship. She agreed that is a crime.
I question her morality system and on this basis i refuse to tell her the things i have done by which she will judge me. I asked her if judging someone from a position that is known to be twisted and hypocritical is a valid way of understanding a person. She could not answer, her mouth was so hard. Eventually she wiped away a tear and explained to me that she had been willing to forgive me anything because of her love for me. I told her that she may love me now but how could i, a survivor, know she would not twist it and use it against me some later time. She asked me why am i being too hard on her? And i told her, because if you don't harden up you cant cope with the experiences which i have been both punished and forgiven by myself and by the gods, for having been caught up in. She asked me again, what did i do?
This, really, is where the story begins.
What it takes to touch a unicorn is purity, and only once grounded to the world of substance can a unicorn be harmed. Their magick is their purity and their purity is fragile. The same is true of angels. I am neither a unicorn nor an angel though compared with many i am both. But i have something, something i won long ago, believing it would help me to become more pure than i was. And perhaps it has. I was one of the unicorn hunters, trained by them. Though i left and went my own way. What i have is a feather plucked from the wing of an angel. A real one; not one of these people who live such a way that others call them angels without really believing such a mighty thing could exist. Let me explain this to you and heed it well; angels are a pain in the arse. They are not good for humans, for the simple reason that their control the fabric of the world around them, much like a unicorn does with its heart hardwired to its mind. Angels hearts are wired to their wings.
You would think it to be white but it is not, it is golden in colour and glows only when the sunlight flows through it, just so. The angel did not drop the feather as they are reputed to, by way of a blessing. I plucked this one from it and it caused the creature pain. Angels claim to serve their god but they don't, or if they do, its not a god working for the best interests of humans. They think they do but they are incapable of offering us free choice and for humans, free choice is what gives us our power. Its not black vs white choices either, good vs evil. Its not even one vs the other. Simply to have choice in life rather than to be controlled by fates. The angels hardwire grid lines, make destinies which conform to their own selfish needs. And we humans fall into them, believing on the angels ego that to do so is better than to not do so.
On this basis angels are enemies of human evolution, and this is the justification by which i attracted one toward me, and took only one of its feathers before releasing it. The paradigm believed by the angel cannot accept my stance, my perception, i fall outside of the grid it projects onto the world to understand it by. It being a compassionate creature does not see me as an enemy. I could have killed it and still may yet do so, for with this feather i have a link directly back to the heart of the angel itself.
I use it for several purposes. I have inserted a nib so that i can use dip ink and write with it in the ancient way, empowering the words. The feather heals itself after every time i pluck the nib from it, the feather cannot be muddied.
CHAPTER ONE - TWIN SOULS
I truly cannot say whether this should best be described as a story or as a tale. It has strands, a horse-hair weave by which to play a celtic violin. These are not sad tales, although they are at times dark, as fairy-tales should be; and at other times mirthful, as befits the new wave of the avant-garde. They entangle and between them tell a story which requires patience and dedication to appreciate, skills sadly lacking in today's mainstream culture of digital immediacy.
The story of the unicorn hunters really begins long before I had learned the popular use of that title to mean a couple who seek a single male to share their bed.
Nevertheless it invokes a steampunk universe breaking forth into sunpunk. The former, a contrived and mechanical Victorian era penny dreadful, substance of swashbuckling romance and dastardly foes. Clockwork and powder powered pioneers of progressive autocratic reformulation. The latter a twenty-first century visionary movement fusing art nouveau aestheticism with ecology harmonious technologies; solar panelled insects. Give me genuine 80s cyberpunk, graffiti concrete ghettoblaster pounding hip-hop and industrial decay, anyday. And for the 90s Jeff Noon’s Vurt.
These are the roots and the subcultures as is, representing the twist. As the spiral progresses to its point. This phrase is a cliche and works on many planes. Phrases become codex to those in the know. It is a secret scene.
It begins in a dingy basement. We had yesterday tech and drugs safe for kids. We had imagination. We gamed, rolling dice and developing our sight. In later years this developed in myself to a perception from which I can remote view, not only into our own dimension but others also. Evidently I was useful to somebody and they took me on and used me. Psy-op training starts young. By my late twenties I had assimilated enough of what I had been through, into a training process and insight into what is going on in the world we live in at this time. Most of the people in this society dare not believe the truth of it; electronic mind control, a society constructed of agents. As I write, HAARP (High Altitude Aerial Research Program) is still in operation. The public story; weather control. This decade disclosure of military files has revealed that those weather balloons seen all over the world during the late twentieth century were ufo’s after all, and that aliens do really exist.
We are living at a time where people are so caught up in their own bubble that they find it difficult to cope with this level of information, and so they ignore it; the ostracise those of us who are aware. We think differently, about the world, about what humans are, about physics and spirituality. And so that is the background within which I write. The leap in paradigms from watching movies unrelated to your immediate experience, about a topic; and then to experience it first hand, requires suspension of disbelief beyond many peoples capability. People do not want to appear gullible, and cannot identify the difference between gullibility with the skill of suspension of disbelief. For, as this teaching continues; it is the ability to unplug your belief system at will from the particles of the environment around it into which it radiates; and to step instantaneously into an entirely different dimension.
The Unicorn Hunters come from all over space and time, from other dimensions and other worlds. They fell in love with the magick and knew deep to their core that they had it too. In them, it did not dry up enough to make them forget it entirely. For them, its dwindling came as a challenge to overcome, not as an inevitability to accept. Which is the core of what it is all about.
By observation alone, one may assume that a horse shakes its head not to loosen its mind but to loosen its mane. To the Horse, well, who knows what a Horse thinks?
And the Horse thinks; it should be free, and wild. The compromise of being looked after by humans, fed and manicured, at the cost of its liberty to roam; does this truly compensate for running with the herd through a landscape un-fenced?
We dream of such a landscape. Floating under the awning of our hover-sofa’s with a videogame joypad, travelling over landscapes cultivated but in so many places left to grow wild. We dream of a freedom beyond us and we figure out ways to get to that state as a lived reality. These are the dreams of a unicorn.
The unicorn is representative of the universe. It makes multiple versions, other dimensions, conform to its stream, to its journey, to its passage through. It teaches us this succinctly. When you have heard a unicorns song, sometime in childhood in the semi-starlit drift before sleep, from the quiet core of the - forest you can trust - then your soul is tainted forever by its dreaming. And when it dreams and you dream with it, that is when you learn; that is when you joy, when your spirit fires freely through the confusion of manifest night. Your soaring!
We had to catch one for ourselves. We banded together and set out on the path of bringing together knowledge and skills, insights and fragments of memories of times outside of the laughterless beyond. Each of us unique and yet each of us the same, for the necessary persona to achieve our goal was cultivated by the training methods we formed between us. Shamanic and astral, we soared.
Our trap was hardwired to our signal, a signal which only a unicorn could follow. We had assembled it from the produce of our quests and it worked. We had the beast in the cage, a cage designed that even a unicorn for all its power could never escape.
The unicorn needed healing. We intended fully to break it to our will, just such as a horse is broken to serve man and is at this time in history deemed a socially acceptable behaviour of the wealthy who can afford to own a horse. In the few short years of our dreaming, this will all change as humanitarian rights are positioned at the centre of global law and equality rights are extended to include all wildlife, flora and fauna, indigenous to this world.
A unicorn is not exactly indigenous to this world, is it?
We healed it with beak of phoenix and all the usual alchemagickal rites. It could reach into our minds, naturally, and in doing so for the extended periods with which it fought to get us to sympathise with it and let it go; we formed a powerful strong bond, a mental link. It took over Meadow first before any of us. A unicorn cannot stay linked to a human mind for very long before it must leave, for neither can fully sustain the other. For those brief outside-of-time moments while the connection lasts, a deep soul connection, a feeling of satori washes through, colourful information and knowledge compressed from multiple dimensions into the limited number a human imagination is able to sustain even when stretched to the fullest.
It is terrifying when somebody you know well abruptly has a complete personality change, becomes somebody else entirely, someone psychotic and wild, focussed on a particular sequence of actions and stopping at nothing to achieve some particular task. When sleepers awaken it tests the survivors and sends them for ever outside of a normal state of being. To know from experiencing it for yourself that humans do not function from the routines you feel safe enough with, that in some people a vampiric primal cortex urge is so close to the edge; overrides their mind and takes control of them wholesale.
What you learn from going through it both ways; seeing your mates freak out and from experiencing it from the inside, when it happens to you; trapped inside yourself while some spiritually toxic force seizes you; the only safe direction to go is to do what the programming is stimulating you to do, making you sick with a feel of wrongness, an adrenaline surge, fight-or-flight response masterfully controlled by its pre-patterend escape route being to perform whatever duty to which you have been assigned. People are not who they used to be.
We had all been through it and we all wanted to get out, to get out of the control grid sufficiently enough that it could no longer affect us; to set ourselves free and the others around us. It was this which brought us to the conclusion that our only safety was to acquire a unicorn, with which to fight back against the seering fear of somebody else’s intention.
For me, it was better than to return to the life I had escaped, a sleeping agent corporate military psychic assassin, programmed by remote and through too many experiences, had become aware of it enough to establish my own escape plan from their game. And yet even so, I could never be sure. I wanted security. Using my training I dared hope there to be something in the legend; and I had found my way through dreamtime, acceptance and exploitation, to belong with the group.
Meadow was easy to subdue, her message had been integration, compassion, understanding, love, and she had done it feral and nurturing, womanly and girlish, taking control and yielding utterly all at the same moment. It was several weeks before we found out that she is pregnant. The first moment of the story when it switches into present tense.
Our child had been speaking through us for some time, through our actions, bringing us closer together into this moment. What blessings are bestowed upon our child of that moment we will discover joyfully through time. She thinks it’s twins.
CHAPTER TWO - GARDEN, CENTRE
We explored all of the frequencies of light; she and I, using our bodies and chakras as both conduit and catalyst. As we shared our insights we changed the focus of the group. Expanding into one another as with ourselves, we together broke through the same veils which had seen mystery schools form, study and lose cohesion and focus.
We encountered what the Mayans call the 6th Age; a perception best described in its fictional form as Mythpunk, that one will come into better focus as people begin to comprehend how the dimensions work. When we see more truly by acting more purely to our own unique spirits, the environment and its people all become equally alive and enchanted by an essence not to be found in the lower dimensions. We see spirit come alive in our environments; elementals, and in our arts and crafts; totems. Everything is living and obeys only its own natural laws of physics. People look closer to their true nature, everything does.
This is the realm into which the unicorn hunters had been attempting by their nefarious methods to achieve access. To see everything as it truly is, without the filters imprisoning the human mind. Souls who the guardian collective had imprisoned lest they unleash their wild without refined appreciation enough to use such powers wisely, or at least harmlessly. This is what the higher dimensional extra-terrestials are talking about when they say humans are a species with a lot of power and a lot yet to learn.
Outside of the grid of physics imposed upon the ignorant by collective consciousness, a mainstream which was as yet incapable of comprehending much less yielding such power as is unleashed by integrating awareness more fully, the unicorn hunters as so many other magi before them discovered realms of raw potential, ephemeral realms of dream, ever shifting, populated by denizens more fabulous than we could ever have imagined. Most glorious yet, that we are they; that the dimension in which all walk openly comes as a perceptual shift rather than as a physical relocation. Matter conforms to will. This phrase is a scientific law in the 6th age.
Some places have power and we needed a base, a high energy location to enrich and harness our abilities.The unicorn provided this easily; it opened into our lives the very next day.
The Garden Center has polytunnels, a paddock and high brick walls backing onto a forest which rolled down a steep slope to a narrow river precisely where it met the apex of its curve. Meadow found it while looking for a site for her hand carved caravan. The business was up for sale and between us we could cash all our assets and establish a start-up loan sufficient to meet our needs.
We up-scaled the trap and gave the unicorn a field in which to roam. It stood at forests edge dejected, forlorn, losing its lustre. As we came to know our new surroundings, we felt the energy surging up from the ground. Somewhere below our feet was some type of crystalline mineral, tonal harmonics. The plants, Life, thrives on it.
The trap is a tether; Meadow calls it a mantel. A twysted cord constructed of materials of rumour, ancient tomes and insight born of experience.
As we got to know the locals in the farm shop and traditional British pub, we were introduced to a legend of the hillside upon which our ranch is situated. In the old days there was a standing stone circle on the site, its quarry is said to be in the forest but nobody can quite ever find it, overgrown as it is. The stones now form a large proportion of the nearby church situated on an ancient spring. The church was bought from the church a century ago by a committee of the local farmers; there are two although there used to be more, three empty farm-houses falling down and four if you count the one down in the valley which is mostly forest now.
I sat in my new room and drew pictures, free-form imagery of urban environments being left to nature, reverting toward forest, as habitation patterns and lifestyle changes take hold during the next centuries, toward a more ecologically sustainable balance with the planet; petroleum and plastic based products replaced with eco-electric, compressed sawdust and bio-plastic. Custom 3D-printed goods replacing productivity infrastructure. Delivery by sky-drone courier companies direct from factory.
The door knocked. It was Jake.
“Hey man, wanna come up and jam? I got the system set up.” He is an accomplished musician although he believes himself to be crap.
Jake got into unicorn hunting after a revelation that some bits of musical equipment genuinely do have some sort of mystical power and it goes far beyond fetishism in the spiritual sense of objects into conscious entities, demons with whom we can communicate. Jake discovered that group psyche about a type of object can be harnessed when you enter a transcendental state of unity with the flow of the music and the instruments making it. He began experimenting with reading by feeling the collective consciousness and tapping into it by playing. He discovered that he could easily project into it.
The two ways to do this are to create a perfect piece of music which others listen to, or to skilfully plug into it in realtime by playing guitar for example better than anyone else is doing at that time. When you refine your empathic perception into such a focus, any other world masterly players who are simultaneously playing, anywhere in the world, can feel each other, hear each other, they are the ones setting the rhythms by which other intuitive people are picking up on - they don’t even need to hear the music audibly. And then it goes into playing specific rhythms or frequencies anywhere throughout space-time, because music is about resonance.
Jake's playing techniques harness the energies of the world grid. He realized that there was a cause and effect in different areas of life, whatever he had been thinking and feeling at the time, translated by some method of connection he alone knows how to comprehend, the result of which being he thinks he can cause events to happen by manipulating sound. Thankfully he does most of this while wearing headphones. After he started researching the relationship between extra-sensory psychology with observing and interacting other dimensional dream universes, he was drawn into the focus of the unicorn hunters.
Jake’s room is a mattress surrounded by cables and boxes covered in buttons from which lights flash. He has transplanted it almost exactly as it was in his old flat, into his room here. His wardrobe consists of smart designer black clothes and loose baggy black clothes.
“Not right now, man. I’m exhausted and I was about to go to sleep. Tomorrow though definitely.”
“No worries. Have you seen Meadow?”
“She’s outside staring at the moon, probably.”
“Cool. Do you know when the others are arriving?”
Sandy is a banker and has both financially and bureaucratically invested more than any of us in securing this place. Because of her job she will be the one spending least amount of time actually occupying it. Sandy and I have been through a lot together, we were teenage sweethearts, both married and divorced other people, we have an on-off relationship which is currently in off mode due to us both having had a string of other partners since we got back together for a brief fling after the divorces. She doesn’t know about me and Meadow being together yet but she will the moment she arrives because she is super intelligent.
“Sand said she will try to make it down for this weekend. Matthew wants you to pick him up from the station when he calls.”
Matthew is split personality. Either he is placid and dopey, a friendly travel salesman who until now has been living at home with his christian parents for his whole life, or he is a reckless pirate who has never been caught for regarding the world as his own personal playground, life as a game and all property as public even if it is locked. I have never seen him actually shift between these states. We call him the werewolf behind his back. He also invested a lot of money into acquiring this place.
“And the others?”
“Haven’t heard.”
"Ok night man."
"G'nite."
CHAPTER THREE - MERLIN'S MIND
"Marlen bach, ke be mennid u wal?"
Translation: Merlin boy, can you be mending the wall?
Authors note; i am no expert in the tongue of ancient Britons. This is purely atmospheric purposes.
Merlin was fed up. He could feel and at times even see through the eyes of another Merlin, one yet to come. He was unsure was it himself in the future, perhaps his next life, with whom he had this strange connection. It had become an obsession for him, strengthening his understanding of what was happening with him, and finding out why nobody else around him was experiencing life this way. They called it his madness, at times such as he tried to describe it. He had learned not to.
His father and mother did not understand it, feared it. He had ran away and lived five seasons alone in the deep woods, a time during which his ability enhanced. Though he studied with the wise whenever he could, to such extent they were talking of sending him to the white monks except for the work needed doing here, even his idle hands were better than none; becoming a man of learning in their foreign culture seemed impossible and felt wrong somehow, deep within him where the dark guide dwells. He spoke with it, it came to him in dreams. He knew the imagery and memories to be those of living another life in another age. Carved stone coming to life through forms at once both pictorial and writing. Merlin had ambitions to construct of wood as his peoples tradition similar symbols. The elders directed him toward the tree script and stories of his own culture, should in education he find a way to explain his sight. Were it ever useful to his people would have been another matter.
They told him tales of the crone who died a generation ago near here. Merlin spoke with her also and surprised them by 'just simply knowing' the hidden meanings of the stories she had told them, which were passed on verbally; stories which enchanted and inspired the tribes. Merlin read the stories for their wisdom and he taught others. Soon reputation his madness was replaced by acceptance of his intelligence. He was sent as envoy of his people to the local lords castle, to learn and to work, to find his way onto the nobles council. He was sent on missions as a spy and a messenger.
Merlin knew that he was connecting with souls, some his own and others who were around him now and yet sleeping, sleeping because in their dream they had work to do, work which took lifetimes to accomplish. Unifying all of the tribes to end war and begin progress so as to improve the human condition. He saw the patterns of life changing all through the ages and he recalled its long-sighted lessons in times of his peoples need.
This is how we remember him.
This chapter of the story is for Paul, who taught me around a stone circle at the turn of the millennium, a festival attended by thousands of people and not all of them sleepers; the Celtic battle dress of war against the oppressor, purple combat trousers and a hooded shaman top. Who told me the mental health services had classified him as schizophrenic for believing himself to be Merlin. He explained to me how he had connected with the Merlin energy, so much of the ancient ways made perfect sense to him. Who showed me the oldest standing stone in the city, placed long ago before romans came. The stone was crystal, some weathered gray type of granite containing large chunks of volcanically created quartz. A piece of the heart of the earth. We placed our hands on it.
This was one of my initiatory rites into Druidry, it happened because the Great Spirit guided us. What amazed me about Paul is he seemed to have stepped outside of being a man with concerns of a man and was walking the path of myth, it was holy energy. A different fire burned in his eyes, starlight pure and kind. He transmitted information by the pace of his breath controlling the level of his heart, my heart received and the brain converted it to memory and knowledge. I transceived all the workings of a man puzzling all of this out and crossing over into a world beyond todays society. Chance meetings born of destiny.
Where he had began to remember, I began to remember. Once having seen, shared, experienced, merged with other selves in other times and places, integrated that picture as a continuum. One can never go back. Modern society has no concept of integrity.
The legend says Merlin was born backwards in time.
The next fifteen years were visits from future selves, stemming back because I was reaching forward with such clarity of focus. I was diagnosed as schizophrenic by mental health services of the same instructions manual and put onto long-term sickness benefits. Several years later they adjusted it to more accurate, schizotypal disorder. Reclusive due to traumatic experiences, inability to retain close personal friendships, possibly belief in fictional versions of reality, typically sensory hallucinations in extreme cases - the classic 'hearing voices'.
When was the last time you heard a voice? When was the last time you listened? When did you last listen to the silence so keenly that you heard what is really going on in there? Did you hear it? Did you hear us, dancing all over time and singing our colours, partying and fighting to blood and bone to keep going, to keep it going for all of us. Those who do not hear the song, those who do not sing. Those who cannot see and cannot read the flow of patterns. Eventually it makes sense. I am one of those who hears them so well, it is the mundane mind of the deaf to which I am deaf. Yes i hear voices, did you mean by asking that do I hear imaginary voices? I ask not to be elusive but for clarity. The sleepers are robots, they have not learned to use their minds beyond reaffirming the status quo of the sleepers. They are disconnected from the flow of life, they do not know who they are.
We seek others like us, so we journey. Our tribes are scattered and more so due to the prejudice against us and all the other missions we have going on. Those who scatter us through time cannot cause us to forget, for we have awoken. Those who sharpen our focus as they pitch themselves against us, well informed by ancient records and ancient mystic which the rulers damn well know to be the higher truth even though their footsoldiers and the masses are gridded into a system which serves them well.
We have eternity because we make it so. And yet, we change on the journey.
Agents require a certain kind of traumatized mindset. They use a lot of either-or scenarios to test, left or right, working ways around a problem. The art of worrying. The pressure tempo of such frets is a loop cycle at whatever frequency they need to grip you, and then they change it, bringing you with it, the rise or dip in frequency connecting with left and right. Over a few cycles, rhythms develop, the grip becomes tighter and enables room for accessing a deeper level of the mind. Alpha Beta Theta Delta Omega clones and several more classifications. Experiences traumatic to the target are used as scenarios to progress and manipulate the target through different arenas, in which he or she acts out and opens gates into different perceptions. Effectively the human organism is used as a circuit to access other abilities, people and locations. What it does to the individual who inhabits the body, ultimately is burn-out. A lot of hypnosis is involved.
I awoke during these processes because it was necessary for me to do so for them to access specific requirements. I awoke because after so many repetitions, the observer makes sense on a wider basis. I anticipate a form of electronic artificial intelligence must go through these progressive self awareness stages, that is what evolution feels like and usually it is painful as we ingest alien materials and they mutate us psychedelically, physically, mentally. They, the controllers of this abominable experiment by which we its victims learn, they are always a step ahead.
The window was open for long enough for me to see the clear picture of the other side, and I figured it out with the help of others who were in similar positions to myself. They link us together as crews to do missions because many minds are better than one in holding open the gates for them to send the bulk of information they send through. We are the stargates. When we awake we remember little of this. My crew found a way to get free and that's what we did, dwindling in our number as we went. I refuse to return to help the others because to do so I will fail in my intention to get totally clear of the ones doing this. It attracts attention. This was our rule, no going back. We know that eventually we will by laws of nature, great spirit, reconnect elsewhere. Now is a time of healing the trauma, a time which will take a lifetime.
What we know of the ones doing this is insignificant to how it connects with the knowledge of my ancestors, the cultural traditions of Celts and Druids, of the Mayans and Egyptians, so many others. Living knowledge that the myths are a living thing. These same evolutionary developments that occur when we start using more than ten percent of our brains, described in ancient stones, stories and songs, traditions we keep alive because they are our guiding symbols. The monocracy cannot prevent that, ever, despite their consistently trying for thousands of generations.
The pain sharpens the focus. The freedom release is to go in the direction of least pressure. At its edge, we pause for a moment and in this short gap we see both sides of the gate and decide, step through or turn back? We keep going. Knowing now enough to activate the gates simultaneously, all across time. Knowing that the change is coming, is here, and has been. Three sights at once into a single focus, piercing depths of time. We make our flow.
CHAPTER FOUR - RIDING
Meadow tames me with spring softness into an autumn comfort. Directs my skills to positivity. I need her. I cannot tell you who or how many who's i have been used against my will to kill by remote. I cannot tell you what other depravity I was involved in. When i began healing instead of harming, as my will and awareness grew stronger, when i began riding higher and with more positive light, the back of my heart erupted with light and i began to become invisible to the ones who were stealing me from my sleep and forcing dreamings upon me. These dreamings are not fantasy, they are really real in the really real real. It is far outside the bounds of Mental Health textbooks, what officially is known about it is classified military secrets. Meadow taught me a white light meditation, filling myself with white light as i breathe until my body glows with it. Inner tranquility.
Meadow is not on mental health benefits as she has avoided the system entirely throughout her whole life. For most of it she has lived in forests, on traveler sites, squats and her friends council houses, all across the country. What she needs comes to her and she goes where she is needed. She embodies freedom. Her journey has brought her to this place.
The garden centre has a converted barn extended by a corrugated metal shelter which we all hate despite it being useful, providing an outdoor place to sit in the dry and stare through the few plants left by its previous owners at the trees behind it from the road. After a few days here we had re-oriented our center away from coming in, into looking out. We discussed sky-places from where we project down our understanding of the place from the air, and decided to meet there tonight during dream.
My skill at astral travel, remote viewing and an ability to connect with others, riding hosts, to have persuasive powers as a voice in their head which many mistake for their own mind to be doing the talking because they cannot see; all this is why my role as facilitator. My focus. Its inner systems. Meadows gentleness takes us through into the dimensions we want to go. Her emotion. Its inner symbolism. Jake boosts my scope, we work together, with his ability to connect with frequencies which he hears as sounds. His harmony. Its rhythms. The music of our souls.
"When the others arrive shall we have a pentacle." Expresses Meadow. Her voice speaks the words not as a question, she talks backwards like that "from cider and origin." It sounds or feels like she says, festival rather than pentacle. She speaks on many levels and challenges us to accept. This is our riddle game. We all play it endlessly. What makes us the shamen is that we do so knowingly. Meadow most of all.
That night we dreamed intensely.
It took us a while to orientate; i was stuck in the forest until i remembered, upward! Meadow down by the river tho to her it appeared as a stream. Jake swooped in and two others, spirit guides or other travelers, perhaps but we don't like to think about that the shadow ones, lost guides turned nasty. We could all feel them and in the minds eye perhaps see them. United we function as one eye, usually we need time to orientate. We have done this a few times before but only once so powerfully, when we brought along the unicorn and vision-made this place into being. We do not all see each others spirit guides, though they are not always presenting themselves visibly anyway.
The presence of others took its effect as we mingled and accepted our relationship with the others at deeper soul level of understanding than is easy to write about in words. We settled into each other by making peace, sharing understanding, feeling their chakras insert into our own and adapting to the balance. In the balance often barter. Their powers became ours for the journey.
We flew over our landscape, seeing the ruins, a column of white so bright we could not look toward it, the stone circle, the spring. Fields and forests. Dreamers more conscious than human sleepers, animals in their burrows and nests, involved in their own Dreamings.
We saw deadlands beyond where industry, concrete and gaseous metal had closed areas off of the dream. We felt starlight like water upon us. We waited until the density above our heads had lifted, so we may rise. Waiting at the Gate until accepted, a natural sign will alert you to the opening of the second gate. To go through the first is to bring dust of your journeys with you. To go through the second is to enter cleansed that you may see the next crossing more purely as it truly is. A lighter frequency. And then to the next gate. A gate is a moment expanded through time. It can be depicted through symbol. We share common symbols, between us have a repertoire sufficient to deal with most crossings.
An awareness flows through us; it is because we said hello to the stones. The word for stones is also light. Crystal, but the emanation for which crystal is a conduit. It affects the light grid through which particles filter with such high refinement that sleepers cannot see it, only dreamers and the dead, and those of other realms who share this space for their passage or their home.
From the higher perception we did our work. When we awoke on a different wave of consciousness the next mid-late morning, we remembered as much as we can of it. Jake made voice recording, I wrote in my dream diary and Meadow told us what she had seen. We shared our information and extrapolated what we must do now. We had our mission for the time of us being here, tasks we must perform. It all works for the balance so that the paths of our lives and those around us can continue toward the highest frequencies possible. Gradually through centuries we are working toward a state of attaining higher and higher frequencies. This is the Ascent and it affects our consciousness. We awaken.
Except that night, for that dreaming, it did not go like that. The strangers were together, one like us a unicorn hunter and its spirit ally, although one could as easily call it the other way around, a spirit and the human with whom it travels. Often, so often it is human sleepers who are bound by spirits of the Otherworlds, we see this regularly.
The unicorn hunter was not from our time although in the astral and especially so close to a shrine, matters of time ceased to matter. We learn an alternate system of physics. Spirit sciences. Time is mass and mass is time. In the realm of conscious dreaming it is the self who creates an ephemeral version of mass, it is our lucidity and focus by which we create time. Our group enhances this, our balance unique and its own flow. The unicorn hunter and his ally were harmonic to our own flow, by desire.
He was excited to meet us. I visualized him as a short fat man dressed in steampunk attire, leather straps and breeches. His ally was deflecting the shrine light from behind him so that he did not cast a shadow, by this he was difficult to read, to know, to see. His presence was strong and assertive, we did not shift or scatter, we held with him. It felt important to do so.
Around the shrine, countless other dimensions shifted, a spine of kaliedescopic spokes rotating, through which energy rises. As other energy threads flow around the core, gates open through which other dreamers find their levels.
"How did you find us?"
"Unicorn."
We knew this meant it wants rescuing, obviously another unicorn hunter would have some sort of ability to hear its call for help, he would after all have been listening for such things.
His gesture, interpret that however you will, the symbol image of a ghostly smokey unicorn head in the space between us momentarily at chest height, his desire to capture one revealing his quest and beyond that his true nature, murderous black of his eyes, sureness of such volume and gravity it made dense of the particles around us, held up only by the hope of his aspiration.
We were at once accused, revered, and requested that he may invite himself upon us, through us to meet our unicorn, a wild power which we had enslaved for our mastery. The dreaming unicorn swept up through us.
"Who is this guy?"
His power was immense. He released the unicorn from our bond, using our guilt reaction and pride as a lever. Had he intended to do so was irrelevant; the will of the unicorn was far beyond ours. We were swept up with it. I felt Meadow beside me gripping it by its mane. Jake gripping its tail. Something dark flew up past us, travelling faster than the unicorn only by a degree and within its flow. The elation of that freedom and the fierce drive of the unicorns desire to escape its tether and run fast and far, we felt that too in its entirety. As the unicorn shed its attachments to that place, it shed us, as a snake sheds its skin. It shed us so powerfully that we also shed ourselves. And yet we fripped, sending one another bursts of energy to strengthen our bond. If one of us had fallen, we all would. It was a challenge we did not intend to face.
The unicorn slowed.
The spirit ally of our encounter was now projecting a shield to shadow all three of us from the awareness of the unicorn. It did not know we were there! It was relaxing, we all were. Shaking its mane and trodding its new ground. Its heart hardwired to its brain and beyond, it had gone home to a safe place. Around us... green haven.
We had to be quiet incase the unicorn heard us thinking. We knew that we had to capture the unicorn again: in case we got stuck here, even if not for our original purpose. And then the scene changed.
We were in a large luxury stable. The colours of the stable are the same as those on the ring which the cunning spirit ally had placed over the unicorns horn; a tether! Brown, tan and silver. The steampunk guy was waiting for us.
We were exhilarated, we met him with laughter despite we acknowledged him as thief.
"There are those who would not go to the liberty of preserving the animal; taking simply the tusk. Cutting it off. Killing the beast."
We climbed off the unicorn. It was standing still, listening, observing. Its heart flared out in reach to analyze the surroundings. Its tusk flared out for same purpose and to project its will into the particles from which the realm was constructed, to re-shape them. The projection failed, they remained as they were.
"It is a strong chain. Specially made."
He would have attacked us if he were hostile. He was confident. A thief bothering to open up conversation with the people from whom he had stolen, directly following the theft.
"Yet truly, the unicorn is not yours to keep. It having become property is now appropriated. Thus sealing the bond upon it. It escaped from you, its first gate. There are three with your binding and this is the second. It binds you also into its service. In course, I shall no longer be its master. What I do is a necessity, and a consequence of the path which yourselves started."
"Who are you?"
"You still seek to possess it. You have done your bit and may do so again in the full circle of time. This is the bind I have worked into my... it's tether. Already you have learned much, already you are experts at this chase. Welcome. There are some of us who have been doing this for some time."
"Are you Victorian?"
"We should find the third. The unicorn knows already what must befall it and what path it will shape."
The unicorn was looking pissed off.
"Worry not, we are a step closer toward capturing a unicorn."
"We had already caught it." Sarcastically.
"No, indeed you have not. There are planes and depths you do not know of, places where unicorns go, we can barely imagine."
"Where are we?"
"Within the ring, of course."
"What will you do with it?"
He smiled.
Back in the normal world:
"I can't believe we lost a fucking unicorn."
CHAPTER FIVE - ELECTRONIC MIND CONTROL
This is where things get complicated because the atmosphere changes as a lot of new people are introduced to the reader very quickly. This story works on a lot of levels so we use memetic keys here, assigning memorable symbols as catch-phrases to easily recall what people are about. We discuss this openly within the group so that we all share the same frames of reference and we try not to let it become bitching sessions behind each others backs as it so easily could. By the end of the chapter you will see what is happening and will have got to know the newcomers, one in particular. You will also have learned how close-knit communities are accused of being cliques and even cults by outsiders, and trained in how to quickly bond groups intimately as well as other problem solving techniques useful in analytical thinking. This chapter also poses a riddle which it does not answer, in the form of the chapter content. You can integrate it and in doing so will value why it is necessary to go about it in a methodical way as outlined.
Sandy arrived the following day bringing with her two colleagues, her co-investors and co-owners of the property. Matthew the werewolf and a new guy we hadn’t previously met, Roger. Roger has the strangest, most disturbing story I have heard in a long while. Meadow used her guile to very quickly get the information required as to the background of the people whose property we are living on. She focussed on Roger because he is the one who she felt most uneasy with; the one who needs the deepest healing. At face value her flirtation and strict boundary setting was a full-on, uncompromising session of vetting him as a potential bed-partner. Meadow works on many more levels than we do and we respect her methods because they work. She rapidly got him to open up and lay his psychology bare before us all and feel comfortable doing so. A lot came from it.
Being targeted by Remote Mind Control and Remote Energy Weapons are two different, but interrelated things. It does get confusing when they interrelate especially for the target / victim / test subject. Most such individuals are unable to express what has happened to them; it is more difficult given that the social paradigm asserted and reinforced as social normality is actually deigned against the victims from explaining their stories without causing themselves even more problems. Meadow handled it by taking control of the meeting, she is obviously the dominant member of our group which is surprising given that she weighs next to air and wears layers of gypsy style hippy rags. When asked about this she explains that she has fairy blood. It’s convincing.
Roger claims to have been a test subject for Jamie Holmes. In 2013 James Holmes was allegedly victim of a state controlled remote mind control program involving targeted electronic energy weapons. The official story is that he went crazy, a lone gunman who shot up a cinema full of people. The factual evidence contradicts the official verdict in many places; for example it is physically impossible for one gunman to have fired so many shots from such angles within that time-frame, especially when the witness reports contradict the necessary ninja acrobatics to have done so; etc. That itself is a harder level of evidence than the contradictory traumatized witness reports which unlike bullet holes are ultimately hearsay.
Holmes himself is now so full of chlorine he will never be able to function fully as a normal human again. He would probably confess to anything in the chemically induced state he was in and not even know he was doing it. Holmes says that he was compelled to dye his hair red, wondering why his mind was doing weird fucked up things to him. He does not remember most of the incident. Struggling against the compulsion makes it worse. Flowing with it makes it better, is the only release from the sickness and pain. At the time this occurred, he was so abused by the officials who captured him, most of which genuinely believed what they were told, that they were dealing with a psychopathic killer; that volume of hatred aimed at any person is enough to screw them up. Hatred has a vibration, a tone. This can be reproduced digitally. It is a weapon of psychic attack in much the same way focussed Love is a weapon of planetary Healing.
We are Healers, holistic therapies, light-workers, soul-level empathic nurturers. Our method here is to Love. We know that the most damaged people are those who need the most love to heal. Those who others would target with hate, we try to understand them, to reach into them with Love because it is the only way to stabilise and raise the vibrational spectrum of the whole species. We are psychic as you have already become aware. We can read your mind as you are reading this book and these words, by us and about us; we are sensitive enough to do it. That is how vibrational harmonics works. It is not a science you have been taught about, indeed you have probably been taught that such things are hippy-nonsense bogus science. I assure you that it is not bogus.
The FBI patented 40 types of ‘mind transfer device’ in the early part of the 21st century having along with DARPA invested millions of dollars into research and development of them. They do not think it is bogus hippy nonsense. In the following years we are witnessing evidence of these inventions being used in society. We have to logically accept that these are a real thing in the world now; it is necessary even if only to comprehend the fullness of this tale on its own merits. The better you understand 21st century science, the better you will accept what we have already integrated and use as a practical application. They are advanced and they cover their tracks well. What we call psychic awareness, the state calls schizoptypal disorders. This is the level of prejudice against the few of us who are more evolved than the mainstream, capable of clearer thinking. We argue that the core of this has to do with chemical atrophication of the pituitary and pineal glands of the brain, caused by carcinogenic fluoride and chlorine and other such chemicals in the food; detoxed by the mellow spice turmeric. Caused by the invisible smog of electronic devices such as wifi and cellphones which disrupt our natural organic evolution and biological balances.
Unlike most unfortunate individuals segregated by lack of education into shamanic awareness, we have been fortunate; we have received that eduction and work collectively. You read last night about our adventures into Dreamspace. We cannot develop these abilities until we learn to stop hating and start loving. All. Of. The. Time. We are threatened by Haters and we are sensitive to the negativity wave they emit. Those waves actually affect the physics of the world around them; Dr Emoto has showed this very clearly with his scientific experiments. Haters manifest a different laws of physics to that manifested by Lovers. It really is as simple as that to comprehend. Haters hate it, they know we can go higher than they can. They do all sorts of sick and evil twisted things to maintain their illusion of control, usually fear-inducement. Fear-inducement is a global industry.
Conspiracy theorists have asserted that the same less-traumatized witness at Aurora whose reports were used by the authorities was also the same witness whose reports were used by the authorities after the Sandy Hook shootings two years later; photographs o the women confirm this. Her reports contradict what a lot of the other, independent witnesses are saying. She is also the same witness whose reports have been used by authorities in several more similar mass shooting incidents occurring all over America. This is a facet of why a lot of independent researchers do not trust the official verdicts and why there is a belief that electronic remote mind control weapons are being employed in society during false-flag incidents, by the same subversive agency. Such researchers are of course discredited, but not disproven, by agents of the same agency which is apparently operating within the state. Most state workers and officials themselves either do not believe in the conspiracy or are too afraid to voice their opinions given the scope of the operation.
Several years previously to the Aurora shootings in America, a similar incident occurred in South Wales, Britain. Roger has also been through a similar experience to that of Jamie Holmes, involving guns, gang-stalking and what psychiatrists describe as symptoms of schizophrenia, happen to also be the same symptoms of directed energy weapons. The two incidents are at face value entirely unrelated. There is nothing to connect them other than some strange coincidences, too strange to ignore. Roger showed us photo’s taken shortly after he had felt compelled against his comprehension to dye his hair red shortly before he was unlawfully arrested. He has also since been diagnosed as schizophrenic and described the same tinnitus/radionic/schizotypal symptoms as James Holmes.
It seems a common theme around here. He is the one who concerns us the most. We joked that Sandy is collecting us here; a building full of males who have gone through too much for 'normal' soeity to even believe, who have all been diagnosed for various reasons as schizo. This was certainly a bonding experience for the group although a somewhat dark one. The state professionals who made the diagnoses are assumedly from the same educational background and employment network; uniformly have no interest in our own opinions of what is happening to us, either as symptoms or what we personally believe to be the cause of those symptoms and related experiences.
Roger does not know where the plastic replica gun came from that he discovered in his apartment after the police had released him from custody after having arrested him on an allegation that he had pointed a gun at a local gang. It seems most likely that the police had put it there themselves while searching his apartment during the hours he was in custody wondering what the hell was going on. The gang, a faction of the Syndicate, are known for causing trouble in the area to anyone who stands out and with his hair dyed lucid red, Roger stood out a lot. He never even wanted red hair, it alienated him and made him stand out; an easy target to spot from a distance. A mark. He cannot explain why he was compelled to do it; only that 'he felt that he had to, as if someone else was controlling him to do it'.
Having recently escaped from the same city, I happen to have heard of the gang who Roger is talking about. A friend, a spiritualist whose brother had been brutally beaten to death by a gang of thugs wearing the same gang colours. The local court decided a verdict of Not Guilty given that my friends brother technically had died of a brain clot in hospital four hours after the attack, and not in the street during or shortly after the attack. That’s the South Wales Justice System for you. The gang Roger is talking about were wearing the same tracksuits. It is chav culture, their shell-suit tracksuits mimic the police uniforms and are completed with a baseball cap of the same colours, black with white stripes. They are cheap from the local discount stores. I do not know if the stripes indicate rank within the gang. They have similar rules for trainers (footware).
The city we have left behind has its own sub-cultural groups. A generation ago it was one of the most violent towns in Britain. After much bloodshed, the heads of the criminal underground decided that if they all wear exactly the same gang colour to represent that they are now all one gang, it would not only ended the gang violence but it also makes it impossible for the police to identify who has done any particular crime. Witnesses describe an individual or group who could be any one of a hundred or more individuals. They all wear the same uniform, haircut and gang colours. Nobody can stop them.
The gang leaders certainly ended the violence between themselves; and more clever than that encouraged their own kids to do the same; and more clever than that, convinced their kids to join the police. Now the situation in the city is such that half of the police force are a part of the gang families, all one big family. The resulting corruption is a nightmare for anybody who is not a part of the syndicate. It is at time of writing expanding outward and yet retains its core principles of collective unity. It sucks for everyone who is not part of the gang family network who now own the whole county at most levels of society. Welcome to chav culture as mainstream; demographically it competes only with Islamic immigrants bringing Sharia law to Britain. They call it the Massive.
Roger is not a part of the syndicate and is now in hiding, living here with us because both the criminals and the police, both sides of the syndicate, want him dead. He swears that he was being followed for months and hearing strange noises like electronic tones, low bassy oscillations and high pitched hissy sounds which made him feel sick, like tinnitus tones. These audio hallucinations are according to the psychiatry books, symptoms of classic schizophrenia. Jake, being a sound engineer who has researched thoroughly into the effects of sound waves and frequencies on the human psyche and energy fields (you should hear his lecture on eigentones!), offered to demonstrate to us tomorrow how certain sounds can be emitted at a spectrum which bypasses the ear and affects the middle ear, using specialist but easily available equipment. With mobile phones this can be done inaudibly, affecting us without us even hearing it. Particular frequencies affect the brain and do indeed sound like tinnitus; high pitched tones which make you sick, low frequency oscillations which screw up our energy field. We are bio-electromagnetic beings and these types of sounds mess that up, can make us go crazy. It is why we escaped overhead power cables and wifi signals and cellphones to come here to a rural place living as close to medieval as we possibly can; to restore our health to its full potential.
Using the excuse of schizophrenia as a cover story for targeting individuals with remote energy weapons seems to be a logical and believable cover story especially to people with no insight into either tinnitus or psychic development; people who cannot comprehend a world where both hemispheres of the brain, the logical left and creative right, are working together in balance. Haters are typically left-brain dominant, an imbalance encouraged by the state schooling system and achieved by chemical laden diet. It is designed to crush right-brain creative thinking, a factor in why societies are exploited and capitalized upon by the industries making a lot of profit from hate, ego and fear.
The conversation left us feeling glum and we all went to our separate bedrooms feeling a cloud hanging over our heads. The building does not have enough bedrooms so camp-beds were made in our communal living space. We thought it through carefully with our own differently shaped minds before falling into an uncomfortable sleep. We did not meet in Dreamspace that night, the vibe had changed because of the newcomers to our circle, none of whom are trained as we three in the mystic art of Dreamsharing. It was decided without words that we have to heal the newcomers in the ways we can; our intention for our countryside retreat to be a place of healing. Roger is the first amongst us whose story has alarmed us sufficiently to raise our shields and be on guard; contemplating the necessity to lock our bedroom doors because of sleeping in a building with a known and confessed psychopath. Meadow describes is as "vibing (vibrating) city grime."
Roger did not actually shoot anybody and has no memory of pointing a gun at the gang who had previously been harassing him. We were dubious about this; everybody is. He might be lying to protect himself or to appease us, a new social group into whom he is hoping to integrate. He might be genuinely telling the truth and have no memory of it. He might genuinely be telling the truth and not actually have done it in the first place. This is the riddle posed and one we must accept. The police beat him up in the cells during his interrogation because they are friends and blood family with the gang members who the police say made the allegation. Roger emphatically denies all allegations. Despite this and the fact there is not any evidence other than the gun was discovered in his apartment during their search; that they did not take it as evidence or press charges, severely disturbed Roger to the extent that he had a mental breakdown because of the trauma induced him on that day. He is self-aware enough to have integrated that he was being followed around for months previously, which added to his stress-load; and that he had indeed been hearing audio hallucinations which were disturbing his sleep and impairing his thought processes for weeks prior to the arrest. Stress induced classical textbook schizophrenia if not merely post-traumatic stress disorder.
It was not until the Aurora and then the Sandy Hook incident was aired on television and the internet conspiracy theory networks began collecting data strongly suggesting it to have been a false flag attack perfectly timed for Obama to change the gun laws over the Atlantic in the USA, did Roger join all of the dots and realize the extent to which his own experiences was a cover-up for a much, much larger scale operation than he could assimilate at the time. Obviously by then his diagnosis as schizophrenic was just yet another incident which had helped him to get onto long-term sickness benefits in Wales because of his British citizenship. His father having recently passed away left him some funds which through his friendship with Sandy he wisely put toward securing the Garden Center we now call home. The benefits agency are probably going to stop his benefits for having such a large sum of money pass through his bank account, however; investment in an eco- agri- business will enable him to survive financially: if we can make a go of it here. That depends as much on our ability to get along as a community as on our ability to produce and sell.
We collectively require more energy to stabilize our community, and so; you are beginning to see why we needed that Unicorn. You, reader, assumed this story would be a mythical fantasy about a bunch of hippies taking magic mushrooms and living in vans, exploring psychedelia. You got more than you bargained for. This story is based on real life. Free to believe or disbelieve whichever parts of it you choose, you will of course make your own mind up. I did warn you that it is going to be a wild ride. Hunting Unicorns is not a simple feat. Unicorns are psychedelic and thus require advanced modes of thinking. Schizotypal disorders, wild and untamed, scary though they are, are necessary to achieve the goal. What they now use the phrase ‘outside of the box thinking’ to describe. Normal, chemical-zombi, socially-indoctrinated minds are never going to be able even to see a Unicorn much less get close enough to touch one.
That night as we all lay fretting about the story in our beds, Jake played us all some very soothing Solfreggio tones from the speakers in his studio to help us sleep peacefully. So much for medieval simplicity; the technological equipment of his sound studio is necessary for us to function, living this lifestyle, being who we are through no fault of our own.
This chapter began with an explanation that we use pet-names for each other. Matthew the Werewolf had been in his prototypical subdued and quiet-mode for the whole evening. Roger Red-Hat was the name of a character in a pre-school book used to teach some of us to read basic words so obviously with his red hair dye and the brain boosting techniques of Edward de Bono’s Six Hat concept which Sandy Lane, now renamed Sandy Hook to keep the theme established in this chapter going, uses in her work and is encouraging us to also use as a successful problem solving technique. Jake the Pirate because he uses a lot of samples in his music, his mantra is ‘three second rule’ and ‘significant proportion of original creative intent’ which covers him legally for remixing other peoples soundbytes without prior written consent. Jake the Pirate was another kids cartoon we are all vaguely familiar with.
Meadow speaks for herself; we don’t need to give her another name as she genuinely is on another level and we respect that. Her hippy title says it all and she will be the first to laugh at the ridiculousness of assigning names to a thing as monkey brained detachment from instincts and reliance on projected mental structures, symptomatic of our loss of connection with nature. The Buddhists call it ‘samsara’ which means ‘programmed confusion’. I haven’t told you my own name yet. Let’s see for how long we can keep that going.
CHAPTER SIX - MEADOW's NOTEBOOK
The following day, Meadow hid.
It transpired that she had been copying some pages of her hand-crafted notebooks, collating it into the following manuscript written in beautiful, fun and easy to read, flowery writing of several colours and embellished with flowers, hearts, wiggly lines, spirals, tears, angry faces and scratchy violent attacks to punctuate the content of the text. It took five pages of A4 paper and she pinned it up on the wall of our communal area. We all read it that evening after a long walk down to the standing stones together as a group, finding that Meadow had already been there and left some of her jewellery and a light-cotton prayer-scroll from India? adorning a beautiful Beech tree near the stones by way of pagan offering to the spirits of the place. Meadow is subtle, gentle and hugely influential even in her absence.
Her Notes are as follows:
Throughout my life, I have never cared enough about money or social prestige to get me rich or acceptable. I care about emotions. I did psychology by way of counselling nvq2 because it is the closest available to the truth; that people of all walks of life would come to me to discuss problems they were having and always, it was emotional counselling techniques which I developed myself, which got to the root of the problems and from which the right course of healing action could be ascertained.
I live in a culture where a lot of people, to adjust to society, pretend to be robots. They detach from their emotions completely. They have very concise control over their own emotions to be able to do this. It is a form of self-repression which usually results in random outbursts, a pressure based explosion which could go in any direction. You cannot know a person until you have experienced their full range of emotional cycles. There are many others, most of them around here, who actively persecute those with emotions. Society trains us, channels us, into specific subcultures depending on our individual emotional cycles. These are a type of emotional castes. What is deemed appropriate in one setting might not be appropriate in another.
When the Emo subculture emerged, non-emo’s hate the emo’s and persecute them for being pathetic. At least they have a banner now; when I was growing up we didn’t even have that, I like most of us was persecuted. Now there is a thing called Emotional Neglect which is sufficient to have your children forcibly adopted. You can tell when people are emotionally happy. I was taught the hard way to become emotionally self-reliant at a very young age, which doesn’t work because as well as quality self-time, we need company, the human need for community as a part of our emotional and psychological make-up, our well-being. And yet like so many others, throughout life, any signs of emotions I did show were persecuted by the majority.
The strange thing, I will elaborate on; I use the word emotion here (above) to mean both positive and negative emotions.
Hate, Envy, Greed / Sadness and Happiness / Empathy, Compassion, Loving
What they call emotional wellbeing are all the third listed category.
How we work as emotional organisms is that we bounce off and feed off the emotional ranges of those around us.
I have categorised these into 3 sections with the negative emotions (dark side of the force) on one side and positive emotions (light side of the force) on the other. Sadness is considered negative but is also necessary to balance the positive; it serves a dual function and it is not in itself negative the same way the dark side emotions are negative. Likewise, Happiness can be achieved by both sides, by different means; simply put, by anger being satisfied or by loving being satisfied.
In the society I grew up and have lived in for most of my life (South Wales UK); people do not call these dark side emotions, negative. They call them ‘normal’ and they actively reward those who are owned by them. Such people are given more sex, more money, better work, prestigious positions, they are recognised as being ‘normal’. The robot people are recognised as being simply cannon-fodder with various uses, the ‘sheep caste’. Until they do anything different from their robot-routine in which case they are accepted into a different caste, or more likely if it is an extreme pressure-burst, regarded as sociopathic and probably dangerous. It is locally regarded as acceptable to be happy only if that happiness has come through laughing at cruelty or by use of the negative emotions to achieve it; revenge based satisfaction.
My personal insight is that all of the dark side people are the sociopaths and they should not be rewarded. However I have had to adjust to survive in the world and accept that in practical terms, they are more powerful than the robots and the light side people combined, most of the time. It is ironic because unlike the other groups, they cannot actually control their own emotions, thus are slaves to the biggest and most negative influences on society; they are actually the problem, causing problems for the other groups.
The positive emotions of compassion, empathy and loving, the light side emotions; these are what local people usually refer to as emotions. The haters resent these. The haters and robots both mimic these for personal gain. It is possible but not always easy to tell the difference between fake, acted positive emotions by a hater or by a robot, and the genuine thing. But most people around here cannot tell the difference because they do not experience these emotions as authentic experiences. They mimic them to get what they want from people and yet at the same time, they regard those who do experience these things genuinely to be weak people. They all require giving. They are all genuine. That is the difference; the dark side emotions are about the self, taking, and anger.
I recognise that the up-shift, to accept the light-side giving emotions as preferable and beneficial to self and to others, requires ability to love others and to love self. Only from that position can we see how things really are. That love is not a made up fantasy, it is not something we receive but something that we connect with and allow it to flow through us, from us, toward others. It is giving and in this we become better, higher vibrational people. We heal. Those living in denial of this are lower spectrum base energy people, generating a lower spectrum culture where abuse is more likely and more acceptable as normal.
The difference between ‘forgiving’ and ‘not actually giving a shit’ are a factor in the fakery of attacking someone for not belonging to the same energetic emotional caste as yourself, usually from the darksiders, occasionally from the robots. They see the system as a grid, not as a lived reality. A system to be exploited; they are manipulators, they are not authentic people. Because they do not themselves experience the full range of emotions and because they detach from the lightside emotions but they do not detach from the dark side emotions.
This broken paradigm is mainstream in South Wales, at most social levels. It is highlighted in childcare where social services, themselves not functioning fully as individuals or as a group, have the power to take children away from parents who are not lightside based. What happens in practise more often than not is that darkside based authorities remove lightside children because they do not themselves resonate with the higher vibrational spectrum; when the lightside parents collapse from stress and emotional devastation of losing their children, they fall down more easily into the darkside at which time the darkside agents have won. The parents only method to get their children back, if at all possible, is to become robots, manipulators, thus proving their ‘normality’ and an ability to survive in this culture. Basing an understanding of reality purely on my observed emotional-psychelogical model is insufficient in dealing with the advanced fabrications of the darkside state workers. That is why I grew up in traveller vehicles and was never registered with the British state.
The system is used merely as a system of levers by which to exploit people. The actuality of the children’s emotional wellbeing is secondary to that. It is the same in the police and in the law society. It does depend on the agent making the reports and whose case it is; there are lightside care workers who do their job well. The problems is that we need balanced and higher spectrum agents to be in control, what we have is the darkside ones are in control because they have removed the lightside ones by foul means. It is the same at all levels of life until you find a way to get raw away from the system, far away from people caught up in these cycles, and can safely survive only as a lightside agent.
I know that I am lightside, therefore I get exploited. Protecting myself and others has been a life-lesson. We cannot rely on the system because it is corrupt by darkside agents. I do not know the answer but raising awareness of this, in the simplest possible terms, is necessary. Becoming totally self-reliant, on paperwork, for food and clean water, as a community is the only way our species is going to escape from the 20th century negativity as it spills over perfected into the 21st century era.
We are the social change for a better world and a thriving, evolving, spiritually developing human species. The state and urban communities with their electronic technologies, are all darkside sickness. I am not a fundamentalist for believing in a better way of living and for living by example.
Remember (and it is not difficult to forget this):
lightside = empathy, compassion, stability, loving, caring
balance = happy and sad
darkside = hate, envy, greed, anger, revenge
You can use you instincts to evaluate a person very quickly.
There is also: indifferent, zombi, sheep, robot, numb; caste of people who are simply either unable to evaluate other people or else do not respond as if having evaluated other people. They typically rely on mimicry, acting, rather than genuine activities. Displays of emotion are authentic or acting? Often difficult to discern.
With this model contrasted against the basic Chakra model, we have an interesting hierarchy of emotions where each emotion can be recognised to exist at a specific vibrational frequency, pitch or tone, measurable electronically in Hertz. This can be reproduced electronically using machines as well as organically, such as for example projecting our own emotions outward onto others or into a place. Social pressure, environment, food, air quality, clothes, comfort, and many other factors affect our personal and collective balances and the frequencies at which we vibrate. Some factors disrupt and fragment while others stabilise us, at different harmonics. The darkside emotions are all lower down the scale than the light side ones. In a human organism the Heart is at the centre and it is through this that empathic communication occurs; by healing this we very often heal all of the other problems a person is experiencing and creating.
The word ‘suffer’ means ‘voluntary discomfort’ rather than ‘victim of’. We do not have to live in sufferance; those who do, choose to.
CHAPTER SEVEN - JAKE'S LAB
"What do you think happened that night?" I asked. We were planting rows of seeds into trays of plant-pots in the corrugated plastic sheet roofed potting shed, open on one side to a courtyard area facing the paddock.
"The ownership people arrived. They crashed down our access to the dreamplanes because we are living on their land. Its not their land but they believe it is, they have their paperwork deeds which the governors and their agents the police respect as if they are a more real thing than the human spirit." Ever the voice for freedom, Meadow.
"Or that someone more powerful than us did a number on us. We didn't expect we were being stalked." Jake suggested as an alternative.
We are still studying the sciences which interlink the three worlds of Human concerns, Nature and the Spirit worlds. An aboriginal map describing the aspects of Life which we must strive to work in balance with. The Human world is obsolete to the other two which can happily exist without our concerns projected onto it. We cannot say the same for our relationship with the others, although it is widely accepted that Human world is at imbalance with the other worlds is because we ignore it and deny it. Openly living in harmony with both other planes of existence is something for which the state has diagnosed us as schizotypal for attempting to achieve; social prejudice against shamanism endorsed by their textbooks, as Meadow has expressed, the pieces of paper they rely on and believe to be a more real thing than the Human spirit.
"The Victorian." I bring it to the fore. Perhaps there is a relationship between the Victorian and the three co-owners of the garden centre.
"He had that thing with him." Jake says.
"A spirit ally. I have heard of such things."
"It would benefit us to acquire our own."
Meadow sighs. "You would have to capture one by the same way we were attempting to bind the unicorn. By beating its will. You would be surprised how many you have already acquired without knowing it. Jake, your dense electronic and plastic metal demons upstairs, they have a form of spirit which helps you, it is like a brain map through which energies flow, we perceive as sounds. Altogether it is alive although bringing it into our dreaming would likely alter our harmony too much. I have been visiting the crystals and attracting some helpers, nature spirits, mostly for this place to make it a healthy environment for plants to thrive but perhaps we can also use the source there to bring through something that can help us, next time we go into dreaming together."
"When will that be?"
"It depends how much energy we can muster. Tradition is to use the moon cycles but I dont think that really matters for the sort of work we do. We can try again after the brat-pack have left, after we have done what we can by way of healing them. They all carry the city taint."
"Roger wants to stay. He likes it here and he needs to get out of the city probably more than any of us."
"Also he co-owns it. Technically he is one of our employers."
"We should train him up. Bring him in on it."
"That is going to take years and you know it. The state his mind is in, he needs stability. Taking him into dreamspace is going to screw with our balance, you know that."
"He has potential though. He knows about different states of perception and how screwy the mind is."
"Its going to take all of our combined efforts to focus him. We can help him for sure but we still have to go on without him. Hes not ready to take on the Victorian anyway. Even discussing this openly with him is dangerous, for us. We have to protect ourselves."
Most of this conversation was psychic and not actually put into spoken words. Breathing and watching the colouration of energy fluctuation and harmonizing between us; right brained awareness spectrum which are invisible to the left brainers. Empathy borderline autism. Sharing emotions and communication through fluctuations within that.
"Where is he anyway?"
"He went for a walk into the village to check out the facilities."
"Shopping addiction. City taint."
Jake did it. He showed Roger his studio. The two of them hit it off; Roger had some experience with wind instruments and a little guitar. They discussed sound and music and feeling and vibe. Jake played him a sound byte through headphones, they were just getting into it when Meadow and myself gatecrashed them.
“That’s a personal, special sample. Not many people ever heard it before.” Jake explained. “I was just teaching Roger about how the music boxes are magickal instruments. They take us outside of scientific physics and into the world of folk and folk-lore. Check it out.”
The sample was Jakes ex girlfriend saying the words “I love you.” From the sound of her voice she meant it too. It was beautiful. I was about to ask what happened to her when Meadow interrupted me with a gesture, warned me not to. Jakes smile hid pain.
“It gets, exciting; when you do this with it.” Then he played us a short section of the music they had made together, her playing some sort of eastern sounding medieval string instrument. “I love you, you know that, don’t you?” She said. He voice was really nice, she sounded quite young. I said as much.
“This is the sample bank for the track. It’s all in there.” He explained and showed us a list on his computer screen. Everything was arduously named so you could see immediately what was what. “Do you notice anything?”
After a moment we collectively came to the realisation that whatever he was pointing out to us, none of us were getting it. He played “I love you” again.
And?
Then he played it backward. We have all heard vocals played backward before and they usually sound like someone speaking in German or Russian. This time the voice very clearly said; “You know that, don’t you?”
“Wow. How did that happen?”
“To be honest, I am not entirely sure. I did not think to play it backward until after we had already added the original sample to the song, and heard it through a couple of times. It needed something else and that’s when devilishly, decided to play it in reverse too. Whatever it would have sounded like played backward the first time around, my belief is that it was ah, warped somehow by its interaction with the other sounds, the way that folk music blends together to create something more beautiful than the sum of its parts.”
He was choosing his words carefully because these catch phrases were a part of our groups training toward establishing a working frame of reference which we used constructively in our dream sharing. Jake was clever like that.
“It fitted so perfectly. So when I later thought to play that sample backward on its own, without the song - it simply sounds like it sounds.” He played it by itself again. “You know that, don’t you.”
His mood was sad. It was obvious that he had not seen her for a long time and that something sad had happened between them. Which in turn explained why he had dedicated so much of his time alone in his studio with his machines becoming excellent at what he does with them.
“I didn’t know sound could do that.” Roger said, changing the tone before it became an uncomfortable silence.
“It doesn’t usually. Like i said, there is magick. The physics of sound engineering are not a clinical science; they warp timespace. A lot of it has to do with how our perceptions work, how our ears interpret grains of sound to try and make sense of them. Someone who does not know how to speak English language very well probably would hear that quite differently to how we all do.”
Suddenly we felt very small and alone in a vast universe, and took comfort together in each others presence as a group. Roger was included in this. It was a strong and important moment in our collective, a bonding experience.
She asked me, what is the worst thing i have ever done. I asked, the worst action i did, the worst experience i lived through, the least moral choice i made, what do you mean by that? She told me that i know what she means. I asked her if the war hero, the veteran with medals from the queen for honor in battle, for service to his country, is he a good man? She agreed, he is. I asked her if the blood of innocent children on his hands is a good deed, for he confessed to me that the enemy he fought are the child soldiers who are avenging the murder of their peasant families by western dictatorship. She agreed that is a crime.
I question her morality system and on this basis i refuse to tell her the things i have done by which she will judge me. I asked her if judging someone from a position that is known to be twisted and hypocritical is a valid way of understanding a person. She could not answer, her mouth was so hard. Eventually she wiped away a tear and explained to me that she had been willing to forgive me anything because of her love for me. I told her that she may love me now but how could i, a survivor, know she would not twist it and use it against me some later time. She asked me why am i being too hard on her? And i told her, because if you don't harden up you cant cope with the experiences which i have been both punished and forgiven by myself and by the gods, for having been caught up in. She asked me again, what did i do?
This, really, is where the story begins.
What it takes to touch a unicorn is purity, and only once grounded to the world of substance can a unicorn be harmed. Their magick is their purity and their purity is fragile. The same is true of angels. I am neither a unicorn nor an angel though compared with many i am both. But i have something, something i won long ago, believing it would help me to become more pure than i was. And perhaps it has. I was one of the unicorn hunters, trained by them. Though i left and went my own way. What i have is a feather plucked from the wing of an angel. A real one; not one of these people who live such a way that others call them angels without really believing such a mighty thing could exist. Let me explain this to you and heed it well; angels are a pain in the arse. They are not good for humans, for the simple reason that their control the fabric of the world around them, much like a unicorn does with its heart hardwired to its mind. Angels hearts are wired to their wings.
You would think it to be white but it is not, it is golden in colour and glows only when the sunlight flows through it, just so. The angel did not drop the feather as they are reputed to, by way of a blessing. I plucked this one from it and it caused the creature pain. Angels claim to serve their god but they don't, or if they do, its not a god working for the best interests of humans. They think they do but they are incapable of offering us free choice and for humans, free choice is what gives us our power. Its not black vs white choices either, good vs evil. Its not even one vs the other. Simply to have choice in life rather than to be controlled by fates. The angels hardwire grid lines, make destinies which conform to their own selfish needs. And we humans fall into them, believing on the angels ego that to do so is better than to not do so.
On this basis angels are enemies of human evolution, and this is the justification by which i attracted one toward me, and took only one of its feathers before releasing it. The paradigm believed by the angel cannot accept my stance, my perception, i fall outside of the grid it projects onto the world to understand it by. It being a compassionate creature does not see me as an enemy. I could have killed it and still may yet do so, for with this feather i have a link directly back to the heart of the angel itself.
I use it for several purposes. I have inserted a nib so that i can use dip ink and write with it in the ancient way, empowering the words. The feather heals itself after every time i pluck the nib from it, the feather cannot be muddied.
CHAPTER ONE - TWIN SOULS
I truly cannot say whether this should best be described as a story or as a tale. It has strands, a horse-hair weave by which to play a celtic violin. These are not sad tales, although they are at times dark, as fairy-tales should be; and at other times mirthful, as befits the new wave of the avant-garde. They entangle and between them tell a story which requires patience and dedication to appreciate, skills sadly lacking in today's mainstream culture of digital immediacy.
The story of the unicorn hunters really begins long before I had learned the popular use of that title to mean a couple who seek a single male to share their bed.
Nevertheless it invokes a steampunk universe breaking forth into sunpunk. The former, a contrived and mechanical Victorian era penny dreadful, substance of swashbuckling romance and dastardly foes. Clockwork and powder powered pioneers of progressive autocratic reformulation. The latter a twenty-first century visionary movement fusing art nouveau aestheticism with ecology harmonious technologies; solar panelled insects. Give me genuine 80s cyberpunk, graffiti concrete ghettoblaster pounding hip-hop and industrial decay, anyday. And for the 90s Jeff Noon’s Vurt.
These are the roots and the subcultures as is, representing the twist. As the spiral progresses to its point. This phrase is a cliche and works on many planes. Phrases become codex to those in the know. It is a secret scene.
It begins in a dingy basement. We had yesterday tech and drugs safe for kids. We had imagination. We gamed, rolling dice and developing our sight. In later years this developed in myself to a perception from which I can remote view, not only into our own dimension but others also. Evidently I was useful to somebody and they took me on and used me. Psy-op training starts young. By my late twenties I had assimilated enough of what I had been through, into a training process and insight into what is going on in the world we live in at this time. Most of the people in this society dare not believe the truth of it; electronic mind control, a society constructed of agents. As I write, HAARP (High Altitude Aerial Research Program) is still in operation. The public story; weather control. This decade disclosure of military files has revealed that those weather balloons seen all over the world during the late twentieth century were ufo’s after all, and that aliens do really exist.
We are living at a time where people are so caught up in their own bubble that they find it difficult to cope with this level of information, and so they ignore it; the ostracise those of us who are aware. We think differently, about the world, about what humans are, about physics and spirituality. And so that is the background within which I write. The leap in paradigms from watching movies unrelated to your immediate experience, about a topic; and then to experience it first hand, requires suspension of disbelief beyond many peoples capability. People do not want to appear gullible, and cannot identify the difference between gullibility with the skill of suspension of disbelief. For, as this teaching continues; it is the ability to unplug your belief system at will from the particles of the environment around it into which it radiates; and to step instantaneously into an entirely different dimension.
The Unicorn Hunters come from all over space and time, from other dimensions and other worlds. They fell in love with the magick and knew deep to their core that they had it too. In them, it did not dry up enough to make them forget it entirely. For them, its dwindling came as a challenge to overcome, not as an inevitability to accept. Which is the core of what it is all about.
By observation alone, one may assume that a horse shakes its head not to loosen its mind but to loosen its mane. To the Horse, well, who knows what a Horse thinks?
And the Horse thinks; it should be free, and wild. The compromise of being looked after by humans, fed and manicured, at the cost of its liberty to roam; does this truly compensate for running with the herd through a landscape un-fenced?
We dream of such a landscape. Floating under the awning of our hover-sofa’s with a videogame joypad, travelling over landscapes cultivated but in so many places left to grow wild. We dream of a freedom beyond us and we figure out ways to get to that state as a lived reality. These are the dreams of a unicorn.
The unicorn is representative of the universe. It makes multiple versions, other dimensions, conform to its stream, to its journey, to its passage through. It teaches us this succinctly. When you have heard a unicorns song, sometime in childhood in the semi-starlit drift before sleep, from the quiet core of the - forest you can trust - then your soul is tainted forever by its dreaming. And when it dreams and you dream with it, that is when you learn; that is when you joy, when your spirit fires freely through the confusion of manifest night. Your soaring!
We had to catch one for ourselves. We banded together and set out on the path of bringing together knowledge and skills, insights and fragments of memories of times outside of the laughterless beyond. Each of us unique and yet each of us the same, for the necessary persona to achieve our goal was cultivated by the training methods we formed between us. Shamanic and astral, we soared.
Our trap was hardwired to our signal, a signal which only a unicorn could follow. We had assembled it from the produce of our quests and it worked. We had the beast in the cage, a cage designed that even a unicorn for all its power could never escape.
The unicorn needed healing. We intended fully to break it to our will, just such as a horse is broken to serve man and is at this time in history deemed a socially acceptable behaviour of the wealthy who can afford to own a horse. In the few short years of our dreaming, this will all change as humanitarian rights are positioned at the centre of global law and equality rights are extended to include all wildlife, flora and fauna, indigenous to this world.
A unicorn is not exactly indigenous to this world, is it?
We healed it with beak of phoenix and all the usual alchemagickal rites. It could reach into our minds, naturally, and in doing so for the extended periods with which it fought to get us to sympathise with it and let it go; we formed a powerful strong bond, a mental link. It took over Meadow first before any of us. A unicorn cannot stay linked to a human mind for very long before it must leave, for neither can fully sustain the other. For those brief outside-of-time moments while the connection lasts, a deep soul connection, a feeling of satori washes through, colourful information and knowledge compressed from multiple dimensions into the limited number a human imagination is able to sustain even when stretched to the fullest.
It is terrifying when somebody you know well abruptly has a complete personality change, becomes somebody else entirely, someone psychotic and wild, focussed on a particular sequence of actions and stopping at nothing to achieve some particular task. When sleepers awaken it tests the survivors and sends them for ever outside of a normal state of being. To know from experiencing it for yourself that humans do not function from the routines you feel safe enough with, that in some people a vampiric primal cortex urge is so close to the edge; overrides their mind and takes control of them wholesale.
What you learn from going through it both ways; seeing your mates freak out and from experiencing it from the inside, when it happens to you; trapped inside yourself while some spiritually toxic force seizes you; the only safe direction to go is to do what the programming is stimulating you to do, making you sick with a feel of wrongness, an adrenaline surge, fight-or-flight response masterfully controlled by its pre-patterend escape route being to perform whatever duty to which you have been assigned. People are not who they used to be.
We had all been through it and we all wanted to get out, to get out of the control grid sufficiently enough that it could no longer affect us; to set ourselves free and the others around us. It was this which brought us to the conclusion that our only safety was to acquire a unicorn, with which to fight back against the seering fear of somebody else’s intention.
For me, it was better than to return to the life I had escaped, a sleeping agent corporate military psychic assassin, programmed by remote and through too many experiences, had become aware of it enough to establish my own escape plan from their game. And yet even so, I could never be sure. I wanted security. Using my training I dared hope there to be something in the legend; and I had found my way through dreamtime, acceptance and exploitation, to belong with the group.
Meadow was easy to subdue, her message had been integration, compassion, understanding, love, and she had done it feral and nurturing, womanly and girlish, taking control and yielding utterly all at the same moment. It was several weeks before we found out that she is pregnant. The first moment of the story when it switches into present tense.
Our child had been speaking through us for some time, through our actions, bringing us closer together into this moment. What blessings are bestowed upon our child of that moment we will discover joyfully through time. She thinks it’s twins.
CHAPTER TWO - GARDEN, CENTRE
We explored all of the frequencies of light; she and I, using our bodies and chakras as both conduit and catalyst. As we shared our insights we changed the focus of the group. Expanding into one another as with ourselves, we together broke through the same veils which had seen mystery schools form, study and lose cohesion and focus.
We encountered what the Mayans call the 6th Age; a perception best described in its fictional form as Mythpunk, that one will come into better focus as people begin to comprehend how the dimensions work. When we see more truly by acting more purely to our own unique spirits, the environment and its people all become equally alive and enchanted by an essence not to be found in the lower dimensions. We see spirit come alive in our environments; elementals, and in our arts and crafts; totems. Everything is living and obeys only its own natural laws of physics. People look closer to their true nature, everything does.
This is the realm into which the unicorn hunters had been attempting by their nefarious methods to achieve access. To see everything as it truly is, without the filters imprisoning the human mind. Souls who the guardian collective had imprisoned lest they unleash their wild without refined appreciation enough to use such powers wisely, or at least harmlessly. This is what the higher dimensional extra-terrestials are talking about when they say humans are a species with a lot of power and a lot yet to learn.
Outside of the grid of physics imposed upon the ignorant by collective consciousness, a mainstream which was as yet incapable of comprehending much less yielding such power as is unleashed by integrating awareness more fully, the unicorn hunters as so many other magi before them discovered realms of raw potential, ephemeral realms of dream, ever shifting, populated by denizens more fabulous than we could ever have imagined. Most glorious yet, that we are they; that the dimension in which all walk openly comes as a perceptual shift rather than as a physical relocation. Matter conforms to will. This phrase is a scientific law in the 6th age.
Some places have power and we needed a base, a high energy location to enrich and harness our abilities.The unicorn provided this easily; it opened into our lives the very next day.
The Garden Center has polytunnels, a paddock and high brick walls backing onto a forest which rolled down a steep slope to a narrow river precisely where it met the apex of its curve. Meadow found it while looking for a site for her hand carved caravan. The business was up for sale and between us we could cash all our assets and establish a start-up loan sufficient to meet our needs.
We up-scaled the trap and gave the unicorn a field in which to roam. It stood at forests edge dejected, forlorn, losing its lustre. As we came to know our new surroundings, we felt the energy surging up from the ground. Somewhere below our feet was some type of crystalline mineral, tonal harmonics. The plants, Life, thrives on it.
The trap is a tether; Meadow calls it a mantel. A twysted cord constructed of materials of rumour, ancient tomes and insight born of experience.
As we got to know the locals in the farm shop and traditional British pub, we were introduced to a legend of the hillside upon which our ranch is situated. In the old days there was a standing stone circle on the site, its quarry is said to be in the forest but nobody can quite ever find it, overgrown as it is. The stones now form a large proportion of the nearby church situated on an ancient spring. The church was bought from the church a century ago by a committee of the local farmers; there are two although there used to be more, three empty farm-houses falling down and four if you count the one down in the valley which is mostly forest now.
I sat in my new room and drew pictures, free-form imagery of urban environments being left to nature, reverting toward forest, as habitation patterns and lifestyle changes take hold during the next centuries, toward a more ecologically sustainable balance with the planet; petroleum and plastic based products replaced with eco-electric, compressed sawdust and bio-plastic. Custom 3D-printed goods replacing productivity infrastructure. Delivery by sky-drone courier companies direct from factory.
The door knocked. It was Jake.
“Hey man, wanna come up and jam? I got the system set up.” He is an accomplished musician although he believes himself to be crap.
Jake got into unicorn hunting after a revelation that some bits of musical equipment genuinely do have some sort of mystical power and it goes far beyond fetishism in the spiritual sense of objects into conscious entities, demons with whom we can communicate. Jake discovered that group psyche about a type of object can be harnessed when you enter a transcendental state of unity with the flow of the music and the instruments making it. He began experimenting with reading by feeling the collective consciousness and tapping into it by playing. He discovered that he could easily project into it.
The two ways to do this are to create a perfect piece of music which others listen to, or to skilfully plug into it in realtime by playing guitar for example better than anyone else is doing at that time. When you refine your empathic perception into such a focus, any other world masterly players who are simultaneously playing, anywhere in the world, can feel each other, hear each other, they are the ones setting the rhythms by which other intuitive people are picking up on - they don’t even need to hear the music audibly. And then it goes into playing specific rhythms or frequencies anywhere throughout space-time, because music is about resonance.
Jake's playing techniques harness the energies of the world grid. He realized that there was a cause and effect in different areas of life, whatever he had been thinking and feeling at the time, translated by some method of connection he alone knows how to comprehend, the result of which being he thinks he can cause events to happen by manipulating sound. Thankfully he does most of this while wearing headphones. After he started researching the relationship between extra-sensory psychology with observing and interacting other dimensional dream universes, he was drawn into the focus of the unicorn hunters.
Jake’s room is a mattress surrounded by cables and boxes covered in buttons from which lights flash. He has transplanted it almost exactly as it was in his old flat, into his room here. His wardrobe consists of smart designer black clothes and loose baggy black clothes.
“Not right now, man. I’m exhausted and I was about to go to sleep. Tomorrow though definitely.”
“No worries. Have you seen Meadow?”
“She’s outside staring at the moon, probably.”
“Cool. Do you know when the others are arriving?”
Sandy is a banker and has both financially and bureaucratically invested more than any of us in securing this place. Because of her job she will be the one spending least amount of time actually occupying it. Sandy and I have been through a lot together, we were teenage sweethearts, both married and divorced other people, we have an on-off relationship which is currently in off mode due to us both having had a string of other partners since we got back together for a brief fling after the divorces. She doesn’t know about me and Meadow being together yet but she will the moment she arrives because she is super intelligent.
“Sand said she will try to make it down for this weekend. Matthew wants you to pick him up from the station when he calls.”
Matthew is split personality. Either he is placid and dopey, a friendly travel salesman who until now has been living at home with his christian parents for his whole life, or he is a reckless pirate who has never been caught for regarding the world as his own personal playground, life as a game and all property as public even if it is locked. I have never seen him actually shift between these states. We call him the werewolf behind his back. He also invested a lot of money into acquiring this place.
“And the others?”
“Haven’t heard.”
"Ok night man."
"G'nite."
CHAPTER THREE - MERLIN'S MIND
"Marlen bach, ke be mennid u wal?"
Translation: Merlin boy, can you be mending the wall?
Authors note; i am no expert in the tongue of ancient Britons. This is purely atmospheric purposes.
Merlin was fed up. He could feel and at times even see through the eyes of another Merlin, one yet to come. He was unsure was it himself in the future, perhaps his next life, with whom he had this strange connection. It had become an obsession for him, strengthening his understanding of what was happening with him, and finding out why nobody else around him was experiencing life this way. They called it his madness, at times such as he tried to describe it. He had learned not to.
His father and mother did not understand it, feared it. He had ran away and lived five seasons alone in the deep woods, a time during which his ability enhanced. Though he studied with the wise whenever he could, to such extent they were talking of sending him to the white monks except for the work needed doing here, even his idle hands were better than none; becoming a man of learning in their foreign culture seemed impossible and felt wrong somehow, deep within him where the dark guide dwells. He spoke with it, it came to him in dreams. He knew the imagery and memories to be those of living another life in another age. Carved stone coming to life through forms at once both pictorial and writing. Merlin had ambitions to construct of wood as his peoples tradition similar symbols. The elders directed him toward the tree script and stories of his own culture, should in education he find a way to explain his sight. Were it ever useful to his people would have been another matter.
They told him tales of the crone who died a generation ago near here. Merlin spoke with her also and surprised them by 'just simply knowing' the hidden meanings of the stories she had told them, which were passed on verbally; stories which enchanted and inspired the tribes. Merlin read the stories for their wisdom and he taught others. Soon reputation his madness was replaced by acceptance of his intelligence. He was sent as envoy of his people to the local lords castle, to learn and to work, to find his way onto the nobles council. He was sent on missions as a spy and a messenger.
Merlin knew that he was connecting with souls, some his own and others who were around him now and yet sleeping, sleeping because in their dream they had work to do, work which took lifetimes to accomplish. Unifying all of the tribes to end war and begin progress so as to improve the human condition. He saw the patterns of life changing all through the ages and he recalled its long-sighted lessons in times of his peoples need.
This is how we remember him.
This chapter of the story is for Paul, who taught me around a stone circle at the turn of the millennium, a festival attended by thousands of people and not all of them sleepers; the Celtic battle dress of war against the oppressor, purple combat trousers and a hooded shaman top. Who told me the mental health services had classified him as schizophrenic for believing himself to be Merlin. He explained to me how he had connected with the Merlin energy, so much of the ancient ways made perfect sense to him. Who showed me the oldest standing stone in the city, placed long ago before romans came. The stone was crystal, some weathered gray type of granite containing large chunks of volcanically created quartz. A piece of the heart of the earth. We placed our hands on it.
This was one of my initiatory rites into Druidry, it happened because the Great Spirit guided us. What amazed me about Paul is he seemed to have stepped outside of being a man with concerns of a man and was walking the path of myth, it was holy energy. A different fire burned in his eyes, starlight pure and kind. He transmitted information by the pace of his breath controlling the level of his heart, my heart received and the brain converted it to memory and knowledge. I transceived all the workings of a man puzzling all of this out and crossing over into a world beyond todays society. Chance meetings born of destiny.
Where he had began to remember, I began to remember. Once having seen, shared, experienced, merged with other selves in other times and places, integrated that picture as a continuum. One can never go back. Modern society has no concept of integrity.
The legend says Merlin was born backwards in time.
The next fifteen years were visits from future selves, stemming back because I was reaching forward with such clarity of focus. I was diagnosed as schizophrenic by mental health services of the same instructions manual and put onto long-term sickness benefits. Several years later they adjusted it to more accurate, schizotypal disorder. Reclusive due to traumatic experiences, inability to retain close personal friendships, possibly belief in fictional versions of reality, typically sensory hallucinations in extreme cases - the classic 'hearing voices'.
When was the last time you heard a voice? When was the last time you listened? When did you last listen to the silence so keenly that you heard what is really going on in there? Did you hear it? Did you hear us, dancing all over time and singing our colours, partying and fighting to blood and bone to keep going, to keep it going for all of us. Those who do not hear the song, those who do not sing. Those who cannot see and cannot read the flow of patterns. Eventually it makes sense. I am one of those who hears them so well, it is the mundane mind of the deaf to which I am deaf. Yes i hear voices, did you mean by asking that do I hear imaginary voices? I ask not to be elusive but for clarity. The sleepers are robots, they have not learned to use their minds beyond reaffirming the status quo of the sleepers. They are disconnected from the flow of life, they do not know who they are.
We seek others like us, so we journey. Our tribes are scattered and more so due to the prejudice against us and all the other missions we have going on. Those who scatter us through time cannot cause us to forget, for we have awoken. Those who sharpen our focus as they pitch themselves against us, well informed by ancient records and ancient mystic which the rulers damn well know to be the higher truth even though their footsoldiers and the masses are gridded into a system which serves them well.
We have eternity because we make it so. And yet, we change on the journey.
Agents require a certain kind of traumatized mindset. They use a lot of either-or scenarios to test, left or right, working ways around a problem. The art of worrying. The pressure tempo of such frets is a loop cycle at whatever frequency they need to grip you, and then they change it, bringing you with it, the rise or dip in frequency connecting with left and right. Over a few cycles, rhythms develop, the grip becomes tighter and enables room for accessing a deeper level of the mind. Alpha Beta Theta Delta Omega clones and several more classifications. Experiences traumatic to the target are used as scenarios to progress and manipulate the target through different arenas, in which he or she acts out and opens gates into different perceptions. Effectively the human organism is used as a circuit to access other abilities, people and locations. What it does to the individual who inhabits the body, ultimately is burn-out. A lot of hypnosis is involved.
I awoke during these processes because it was necessary for me to do so for them to access specific requirements. I awoke because after so many repetitions, the observer makes sense on a wider basis. I anticipate a form of electronic artificial intelligence must go through these progressive self awareness stages, that is what evolution feels like and usually it is painful as we ingest alien materials and they mutate us psychedelically, physically, mentally. They, the controllers of this abominable experiment by which we its victims learn, they are always a step ahead.
The window was open for long enough for me to see the clear picture of the other side, and I figured it out with the help of others who were in similar positions to myself. They link us together as crews to do missions because many minds are better than one in holding open the gates for them to send the bulk of information they send through. We are the stargates. When we awake we remember little of this. My crew found a way to get free and that's what we did, dwindling in our number as we went. I refuse to return to help the others because to do so I will fail in my intention to get totally clear of the ones doing this. It attracts attention. This was our rule, no going back. We know that eventually we will by laws of nature, great spirit, reconnect elsewhere. Now is a time of healing the trauma, a time which will take a lifetime.
What we know of the ones doing this is insignificant to how it connects with the knowledge of my ancestors, the cultural traditions of Celts and Druids, of the Mayans and Egyptians, so many others. Living knowledge that the myths are a living thing. These same evolutionary developments that occur when we start using more than ten percent of our brains, described in ancient stones, stories and songs, traditions we keep alive because they are our guiding symbols. The monocracy cannot prevent that, ever, despite their consistently trying for thousands of generations.
The pain sharpens the focus. The freedom release is to go in the direction of least pressure. At its edge, we pause for a moment and in this short gap we see both sides of the gate and decide, step through or turn back? We keep going. Knowing now enough to activate the gates simultaneously, all across time. Knowing that the change is coming, is here, and has been. Three sights at once into a single focus, piercing depths of time. We make our flow.
CHAPTER FOUR - RIDING
Meadow tames me with spring softness into an autumn comfort. Directs my skills to positivity. I need her. I cannot tell you who or how many who's i have been used against my will to kill by remote. I cannot tell you what other depravity I was involved in. When i began healing instead of harming, as my will and awareness grew stronger, when i began riding higher and with more positive light, the back of my heart erupted with light and i began to become invisible to the ones who were stealing me from my sleep and forcing dreamings upon me. These dreamings are not fantasy, they are really real in the really real real. It is far outside the bounds of Mental Health textbooks, what officially is known about it is classified military secrets. Meadow taught me a white light meditation, filling myself with white light as i breathe until my body glows with it. Inner tranquility.
Meadow is not on mental health benefits as she has avoided the system entirely throughout her whole life. For most of it she has lived in forests, on traveler sites, squats and her friends council houses, all across the country. What she needs comes to her and she goes where she is needed. She embodies freedom. Her journey has brought her to this place.
The garden centre has a converted barn extended by a corrugated metal shelter which we all hate despite it being useful, providing an outdoor place to sit in the dry and stare through the few plants left by its previous owners at the trees behind it from the road. After a few days here we had re-oriented our center away from coming in, into looking out. We discussed sky-places from where we project down our understanding of the place from the air, and decided to meet there tonight during dream.
My skill at astral travel, remote viewing and an ability to connect with others, riding hosts, to have persuasive powers as a voice in their head which many mistake for their own mind to be doing the talking because they cannot see; all this is why my role as facilitator. My focus. Its inner systems. Meadows gentleness takes us through into the dimensions we want to go. Her emotion. Its inner symbolism. Jake boosts my scope, we work together, with his ability to connect with frequencies which he hears as sounds. His harmony. Its rhythms. The music of our souls.
"When the others arrive shall we have a pentacle." Expresses Meadow. Her voice speaks the words not as a question, she talks backwards like that "from cider and origin." It sounds or feels like she says, festival rather than pentacle. She speaks on many levels and challenges us to accept. This is our riddle game. We all play it endlessly. What makes us the shamen is that we do so knowingly. Meadow most of all.
That night we dreamed intensely.
It took us a while to orientate; i was stuck in the forest until i remembered, upward! Meadow down by the river tho to her it appeared as a stream. Jake swooped in and two others, spirit guides or other travelers, perhaps but we don't like to think about that the shadow ones, lost guides turned nasty. We could all feel them and in the minds eye perhaps see them. United we function as one eye, usually we need time to orientate. We have done this a few times before but only once so powerfully, when we brought along the unicorn and vision-made this place into being. We do not all see each others spirit guides, though they are not always presenting themselves visibly anyway.
The presence of others took its effect as we mingled and accepted our relationship with the others at deeper soul level of understanding than is easy to write about in words. We settled into each other by making peace, sharing understanding, feeling their chakras insert into our own and adapting to the balance. In the balance often barter. Their powers became ours for the journey.
We flew over our landscape, seeing the ruins, a column of white so bright we could not look toward it, the stone circle, the spring. Fields and forests. Dreamers more conscious than human sleepers, animals in their burrows and nests, involved in their own Dreamings.
We saw deadlands beyond where industry, concrete and gaseous metal had closed areas off of the dream. We felt starlight like water upon us. We waited until the density above our heads had lifted, so we may rise. Waiting at the Gate until accepted, a natural sign will alert you to the opening of the second gate. To go through the first is to bring dust of your journeys with you. To go through the second is to enter cleansed that you may see the next crossing more purely as it truly is. A lighter frequency. And then to the next gate. A gate is a moment expanded through time. It can be depicted through symbol. We share common symbols, between us have a repertoire sufficient to deal with most crossings.
An awareness flows through us; it is because we said hello to the stones. The word for stones is also light. Crystal, but the emanation for which crystal is a conduit. It affects the light grid through which particles filter with such high refinement that sleepers cannot see it, only dreamers and the dead, and those of other realms who share this space for their passage or their home.
From the higher perception we did our work. When we awoke on a different wave of consciousness the next mid-late morning, we remembered as much as we can of it. Jake made voice recording, I wrote in my dream diary and Meadow told us what she had seen. We shared our information and extrapolated what we must do now. We had our mission for the time of us being here, tasks we must perform. It all works for the balance so that the paths of our lives and those around us can continue toward the highest frequencies possible. Gradually through centuries we are working toward a state of attaining higher and higher frequencies. This is the Ascent and it affects our consciousness. We awaken.
Except that night, for that dreaming, it did not go like that. The strangers were together, one like us a unicorn hunter and its spirit ally, although one could as easily call it the other way around, a spirit and the human with whom it travels. Often, so often it is human sleepers who are bound by spirits of the Otherworlds, we see this regularly.
The unicorn hunter was not from our time although in the astral and especially so close to a shrine, matters of time ceased to matter. We learn an alternate system of physics. Spirit sciences. Time is mass and mass is time. In the realm of conscious dreaming it is the self who creates an ephemeral version of mass, it is our lucidity and focus by which we create time. Our group enhances this, our balance unique and its own flow. The unicorn hunter and his ally were harmonic to our own flow, by desire.
He was excited to meet us. I visualized him as a short fat man dressed in steampunk attire, leather straps and breeches. His ally was deflecting the shrine light from behind him so that he did not cast a shadow, by this he was difficult to read, to know, to see. His presence was strong and assertive, we did not shift or scatter, we held with him. It felt important to do so.
Around the shrine, countless other dimensions shifted, a spine of kaliedescopic spokes rotating, through which energy rises. As other energy threads flow around the core, gates open through which other dreamers find their levels.
"How did you find us?"
"Unicorn."
We knew this meant it wants rescuing, obviously another unicorn hunter would have some sort of ability to hear its call for help, he would after all have been listening for such things.
His gesture, interpret that however you will, the symbol image of a ghostly smokey unicorn head in the space between us momentarily at chest height, his desire to capture one revealing his quest and beyond that his true nature, murderous black of his eyes, sureness of such volume and gravity it made dense of the particles around us, held up only by the hope of his aspiration.
We were at once accused, revered, and requested that he may invite himself upon us, through us to meet our unicorn, a wild power which we had enslaved for our mastery. The dreaming unicorn swept up through us.
"Who is this guy?"
His power was immense. He released the unicorn from our bond, using our guilt reaction and pride as a lever. Had he intended to do so was irrelevant; the will of the unicorn was far beyond ours. We were swept up with it. I felt Meadow beside me gripping it by its mane. Jake gripping its tail. Something dark flew up past us, travelling faster than the unicorn only by a degree and within its flow. The elation of that freedom and the fierce drive of the unicorns desire to escape its tether and run fast and far, we felt that too in its entirety. As the unicorn shed its attachments to that place, it shed us, as a snake sheds its skin. It shed us so powerfully that we also shed ourselves. And yet we fripped, sending one another bursts of energy to strengthen our bond. If one of us had fallen, we all would. It was a challenge we did not intend to face.
The unicorn slowed.
The spirit ally of our encounter was now projecting a shield to shadow all three of us from the awareness of the unicorn. It did not know we were there! It was relaxing, we all were. Shaking its mane and trodding its new ground. Its heart hardwired to its brain and beyond, it had gone home to a safe place. Around us... green haven.
We had to be quiet incase the unicorn heard us thinking. We knew that we had to capture the unicorn again: in case we got stuck here, even if not for our original purpose. And then the scene changed.
We were in a large luxury stable. The colours of the stable are the same as those on the ring which the cunning spirit ally had placed over the unicorns horn; a tether! Brown, tan and silver. The steampunk guy was waiting for us.
We were exhilarated, we met him with laughter despite we acknowledged him as thief.
"There are those who would not go to the liberty of preserving the animal; taking simply the tusk. Cutting it off. Killing the beast."
We climbed off the unicorn. It was standing still, listening, observing. Its heart flared out in reach to analyze the surroundings. Its tusk flared out for same purpose and to project its will into the particles from which the realm was constructed, to re-shape them. The projection failed, they remained as they were.
"It is a strong chain. Specially made."
He would have attacked us if he were hostile. He was confident. A thief bothering to open up conversation with the people from whom he had stolen, directly following the theft.
"Yet truly, the unicorn is not yours to keep. It having become property is now appropriated. Thus sealing the bond upon it. It escaped from you, its first gate. There are three with your binding and this is the second. It binds you also into its service. In course, I shall no longer be its master. What I do is a necessity, and a consequence of the path which yourselves started."
"Who are you?"
"You still seek to possess it. You have done your bit and may do so again in the full circle of time. This is the bind I have worked into my... it's tether. Already you have learned much, already you are experts at this chase. Welcome. There are some of us who have been doing this for some time."
"Are you Victorian?"
"We should find the third. The unicorn knows already what must befall it and what path it will shape."
The unicorn was looking pissed off.
"Worry not, we are a step closer toward capturing a unicorn."
"We had already caught it." Sarcastically.
"No, indeed you have not. There are planes and depths you do not know of, places where unicorns go, we can barely imagine."
"Where are we?"
"Within the ring, of course."
"What will you do with it?"
He smiled.
Back in the normal world:
"I can't believe we lost a fucking unicorn."
CHAPTER FIVE - ELECTRONIC MIND CONTROL
This is where things get complicated because the atmosphere changes as a lot of new people are introduced to the reader very quickly. This story works on a lot of levels so we use memetic keys here, assigning memorable symbols as catch-phrases to easily recall what people are about. We discuss this openly within the group so that we all share the same frames of reference and we try not to let it become bitching sessions behind each others backs as it so easily could. By the end of the chapter you will see what is happening and will have got to know the newcomers, one in particular. You will also have learned how close-knit communities are accused of being cliques and even cults by outsiders, and trained in how to quickly bond groups intimately as well as other problem solving techniques useful in analytical thinking. This chapter also poses a riddle which it does not answer, in the form of the chapter content. You can integrate it and in doing so will value why it is necessary to go about it in a methodical way as outlined.
Sandy arrived the following day bringing with her two colleagues, her co-investors and co-owners of the property. Matthew the werewolf and a new guy we hadn’t previously met, Roger. Roger has the strangest, most disturbing story I have heard in a long while. Meadow used her guile to very quickly get the information required as to the background of the people whose property we are living on. She focussed on Roger because he is the one who she felt most uneasy with; the one who needs the deepest healing. At face value her flirtation and strict boundary setting was a full-on, uncompromising session of vetting him as a potential bed-partner. Meadow works on many more levels than we do and we respect her methods because they work. She rapidly got him to open up and lay his psychology bare before us all and feel comfortable doing so. A lot came from it.
Being targeted by Remote Mind Control and Remote Energy Weapons are two different, but interrelated things. It does get confusing when they interrelate especially for the target / victim / test subject. Most such individuals are unable to express what has happened to them; it is more difficult given that the social paradigm asserted and reinforced as social normality is actually deigned against the victims from explaining their stories without causing themselves even more problems. Meadow handled it by taking control of the meeting, she is obviously the dominant member of our group which is surprising given that she weighs next to air and wears layers of gypsy style hippy rags. When asked about this she explains that she has fairy blood. It’s convincing.
Roger claims to have been a test subject for Jamie Holmes. In 2013 James Holmes was allegedly victim of a state controlled remote mind control program involving targeted electronic energy weapons. The official story is that he went crazy, a lone gunman who shot up a cinema full of people. The factual evidence contradicts the official verdict in many places; for example it is physically impossible for one gunman to have fired so many shots from such angles within that time-frame, especially when the witness reports contradict the necessary ninja acrobatics to have done so; etc. That itself is a harder level of evidence than the contradictory traumatized witness reports which unlike bullet holes are ultimately hearsay.
Holmes himself is now so full of chlorine he will never be able to function fully as a normal human again. He would probably confess to anything in the chemically induced state he was in and not even know he was doing it. Holmes says that he was compelled to dye his hair red, wondering why his mind was doing weird fucked up things to him. He does not remember most of the incident. Struggling against the compulsion makes it worse. Flowing with it makes it better, is the only release from the sickness and pain. At the time this occurred, he was so abused by the officials who captured him, most of which genuinely believed what they were told, that they were dealing with a psychopathic killer; that volume of hatred aimed at any person is enough to screw them up. Hatred has a vibration, a tone. This can be reproduced digitally. It is a weapon of psychic attack in much the same way focussed Love is a weapon of planetary Healing.
We are Healers, holistic therapies, light-workers, soul-level empathic nurturers. Our method here is to Love. We know that the most damaged people are those who need the most love to heal. Those who others would target with hate, we try to understand them, to reach into them with Love because it is the only way to stabilise and raise the vibrational spectrum of the whole species. We are psychic as you have already become aware. We can read your mind as you are reading this book and these words, by us and about us; we are sensitive enough to do it. That is how vibrational harmonics works. It is not a science you have been taught about, indeed you have probably been taught that such things are hippy-nonsense bogus science. I assure you that it is not bogus.
The FBI patented 40 types of ‘mind transfer device’ in the early part of the 21st century having along with DARPA invested millions of dollars into research and development of them. They do not think it is bogus hippy nonsense. In the following years we are witnessing evidence of these inventions being used in society. We have to logically accept that these are a real thing in the world now; it is necessary even if only to comprehend the fullness of this tale on its own merits. The better you understand 21st century science, the better you will accept what we have already integrated and use as a practical application. They are advanced and they cover their tracks well. What we call psychic awareness, the state calls schizoptypal disorders. This is the level of prejudice against the few of us who are more evolved than the mainstream, capable of clearer thinking. We argue that the core of this has to do with chemical atrophication of the pituitary and pineal glands of the brain, caused by carcinogenic fluoride and chlorine and other such chemicals in the food; detoxed by the mellow spice turmeric. Caused by the invisible smog of electronic devices such as wifi and cellphones which disrupt our natural organic evolution and biological balances.
Unlike most unfortunate individuals segregated by lack of education into shamanic awareness, we have been fortunate; we have received that eduction and work collectively. You read last night about our adventures into Dreamspace. We cannot develop these abilities until we learn to stop hating and start loving. All. Of. The. Time. We are threatened by Haters and we are sensitive to the negativity wave they emit. Those waves actually affect the physics of the world around them; Dr Emoto has showed this very clearly with his scientific experiments. Haters manifest a different laws of physics to that manifested by Lovers. It really is as simple as that to comprehend. Haters hate it, they know we can go higher than they can. They do all sorts of sick and evil twisted things to maintain their illusion of control, usually fear-inducement. Fear-inducement is a global industry.
Conspiracy theorists have asserted that the same less-traumatized witness at Aurora whose reports were used by the authorities was also the same witness whose reports were used by the authorities after the Sandy Hook shootings two years later; photographs o the women confirm this. Her reports contradict what a lot of the other, independent witnesses are saying. She is also the same witness whose reports have been used by authorities in several more similar mass shooting incidents occurring all over America. This is a facet of why a lot of independent researchers do not trust the official verdicts and why there is a belief that electronic remote mind control weapons are being employed in society during false-flag incidents, by the same subversive agency. Such researchers are of course discredited, but not disproven, by agents of the same agency which is apparently operating within the state. Most state workers and officials themselves either do not believe in the conspiracy or are too afraid to voice their opinions given the scope of the operation.
Several years previously to the Aurora shootings in America, a similar incident occurred in South Wales, Britain. Roger has also been through a similar experience to that of Jamie Holmes, involving guns, gang-stalking and what psychiatrists describe as symptoms of schizophrenia, happen to also be the same symptoms of directed energy weapons. The two incidents are at face value entirely unrelated. There is nothing to connect them other than some strange coincidences, too strange to ignore. Roger showed us photo’s taken shortly after he had felt compelled against his comprehension to dye his hair red shortly before he was unlawfully arrested. He has also since been diagnosed as schizophrenic and described the same tinnitus/radionic/schizotypal symptoms as James Holmes.
It seems a common theme around here. He is the one who concerns us the most. We joked that Sandy is collecting us here; a building full of males who have gone through too much for 'normal' soeity to even believe, who have all been diagnosed for various reasons as schizo. This was certainly a bonding experience for the group although a somewhat dark one. The state professionals who made the diagnoses are assumedly from the same educational background and employment network; uniformly have no interest in our own opinions of what is happening to us, either as symptoms or what we personally believe to be the cause of those symptoms and related experiences.
Roger does not know where the plastic replica gun came from that he discovered in his apartment after the police had released him from custody after having arrested him on an allegation that he had pointed a gun at a local gang. It seems most likely that the police had put it there themselves while searching his apartment during the hours he was in custody wondering what the hell was going on. The gang, a faction of the Syndicate, are known for causing trouble in the area to anyone who stands out and with his hair dyed lucid red, Roger stood out a lot. He never even wanted red hair, it alienated him and made him stand out; an easy target to spot from a distance. A mark. He cannot explain why he was compelled to do it; only that 'he felt that he had to, as if someone else was controlling him to do it'.
Having recently escaped from the same city, I happen to have heard of the gang who Roger is talking about. A friend, a spiritualist whose brother had been brutally beaten to death by a gang of thugs wearing the same gang colours. The local court decided a verdict of Not Guilty given that my friends brother technically had died of a brain clot in hospital four hours after the attack, and not in the street during or shortly after the attack. That’s the South Wales Justice System for you. The gang Roger is talking about were wearing the same tracksuits. It is chav culture, their shell-suit tracksuits mimic the police uniforms and are completed with a baseball cap of the same colours, black with white stripes. They are cheap from the local discount stores. I do not know if the stripes indicate rank within the gang. They have similar rules for trainers (footware).
The city we have left behind has its own sub-cultural groups. A generation ago it was one of the most violent towns in Britain. After much bloodshed, the heads of the criminal underground decided that if they all wear exactly the same gang colour to represent that they are now all one gang, it would not only ended the gang violence but it also makes it impossible for the police to identify who has done any particular crime. Witnesses describe an individual or group who could be any one of a hundred or more individuals. They all wear the same uniform, haircut and gang colours. Nobody can stop them.
The gang leaders certainly ended the violence between themselves; and more clever than that encouraged their own kids to do the same; and more clever than that, convinced their kids to join the police. Now the situation in the city is such that half of the police force are a part of the gang families, all one big family. The resulting corruption is a nightmare for anybody who is not a part of the syndicate. It is at time of writing expanding outward and yet retains its core principles of collective unity. It sucks for everyone who is not part of the gang family network who now own the whole county at most levels of society. Welcome to chav culture as mainstream; demographically it competes only with Islamic immigrants bringing Sharia law to Britain. They call it the Massive.
Roger is not a part of the syndicate and is now in hiding, living here with us because both the criminals and the police, both sides of the syndicate, want him dead. He swears that he was being followed for months and hearing strange noises like electronic tones, low bassy oscillations and high pitched hissy sounds which made him feel sick, like tinnitus tones. These audio hallucinations are according to the psychiatry books, symptoms of classic schizophrenia. Jake, being a sound engineer who has researched thoroughly into the effects of sound waves and frequencies on the human psyche and energy fields (you should hear his lecture on eigentones!), offered to demonstrate to us tomorrow how certain sounds can be emitted at a spectrum which bypasses the ear and affects the middle ear, using specialist but easily available equipment. With mobile phones this can be done inaudibly, affecting us without us even hearing it. Particular frequencies affect the brain and do indeed sound like tinnitus; high pitched tones which make you sick, low frequency oscillations which screw up our energy field. We are bio-electromagnetic beings and these types of sounds mess that up, can make us go crazy. It is why we escaped overhead power cables and wifi signals and cellphones to come here to a rural place living as close to medieval as we possibly can; to restore our health to its full potential.
Using the excuse of schizophrenia as a cover story for targeting individuals with remote energy weapons seems to be a logical and believable cover story especially to people with no insight into either tinnitus or psychic development; people who cannot comprehend a world where both hemispheres of the brain, the logical left and creative right, are working together in balance. Haters are typically left-brain dominant, an imbalance encouraged by the state schooling system and achieved by chemical laden diet. It is designed to crush right-brain creative thinking, a factor in why societies are exploited and capitalized upon by the industries making a lot of profit from hate, ego and fear.
The conversation left us feeling glum and we all went to our separate bedrooms feeling a cloud hanging over our heads. The building does not have enough bedrooms so camp-beds were made in our communal living space. We thought it through carefully with our own differently shaped minds before falling into an uncomfortable sleep. We did not meet in Dreamspace that night, the vibe had changed because of the newcomers to our circle, none of whom are trained as we three in the mystic art of Dreamsharing. It was decided without words that we have to heal the newcomers in the ways we can; our intention for our countryside retreat to be a place of healing. Roger is the first amongst us whose story has alarmed us sufficiently to raise our shields and be on guard; contemplating the necessity to lock our bedroom doors because of sleeping in a building with a known and confessed psychopath. Meadow describes is as "vibing (vibrating) city grime."
Roger did not actually shoot anybody and has no memory of pointing a gun at the gang who had previously been harassing him. We were dubious about this; everybody is. He might be lying to protect himself or to appease us, a new social group into whom he is hoping to integrate. He might be genuinely telling the truth and have no memory of it. He might genuinely be telling the truth and not actually have done it in the first place. This is the riddle posed and one we must accept. The police beat him up in the cells during his interrogation because they are friends and blood family with the gang members who the police say made the allegation. Roger emphatically denies all allegations. Despite this and the fact there is not any evidence other than the gun was discovered in his apartment during their search; that they did not take it as evidence or press charges, severely disturbed Roger to the extent that he had a mental breakdown because of the trauma induced him on that day. He is self-aware enough to have integrated that he was being followed around for months previously, which added to his stress-load; and that he had indeed been hearing audio hallucinations which were disturbing his sleep and impairing his thought processes for weeks prior to the arrest. Stress induced classical textbook schizophrenia if not merely post-traumatic stress disorder.
It was not until the Aurora and then the Sandy Hook incident was aired on television and the internet conspiracy theory networks began collecting data strongly suggesting it to have been a false flag attack perfectly timed for Obama to change the gun laws over the Atlantic in the USA, did Roger join all of the dots and realize the extent to which his own experiences was a cover-up for a much, much larger scale operation than he could assimilate at the time. Obviously by then his diagnosis as schizophrenic was just yet another incident which had helped him to get onto long-term sickness benefits in Wales because of his British citizenship. His father having recently passed away left him some funds which through his friendship with Sandy he wisely put toward securing the Garden Center we now call home. The benefits agency are probably going to stop his benefits for having such a large sum of money pass through his bank account, however; investment in an eco- agri- business will enable him to survive financially: if we can make a go of it here. That depends as much on our ability to get along as a community as on our ability to produce and sell.
We collectively require more energy to stabilize our community, and so; you are beginning to see why we needed that Unicorn. You, reader, assumed this story would be a mythical fantasy about a bunch of hippies taking magic mushrooms and living in vans, exploring psychedelia. You got more than you bargained for. This story is based on real life. Free to believe or disbelieve whichever parts of it you choose, you will of course make your own mind up. I did warn you that it is going to be a wild ride. Hunting Unicorns is not a simple feat. Unicorns are psychedelic and thus require advanced modes of thinking. Schizotypal disorders, wild and untamed, scary though they are, are necessary to achieve the goal. What they now use the phrase ‘outside of the box thinking’ to describe. Normal, chemical-zombi, socially-indoctrinated minds are never going to be able even to see a Unicorn much less get close enough to touch one.
That night as we all lay fretting about the story in our beds, Jake played us all some very soothing Solfreggio tones from the speakers in his studio to help us sleep peacefully. So much for medieval simplicity; the technological equipment of his sound studio is necessary for us to function, living this lifestyle, being who we are through no fault of our own.
This chapter began with an explanation that we use pet-names for each other. Matthew the Werewolf had been in his prototypical subdued and quiet-mode for the whole evening. Roger Red-Hat was the name of a character in a pre-school book used to teach some of us to read basic words so obviously with his red hair dye and the brain boosting techniques of Edward de Bono’s Six Hat concept which Sandy Lane, now renamed Sandy Hook to keep the theme established in this chapter going, uses in her work and is encouraging us to also use as a successful problem solving technique. Jake the Pirate because he uses a lot of samples in his music, his mantra is ‘three second rule’ and ‘significant proportion of original creative intent’ which covers him legally for remixing other peoples soundbytes without prior written consent. Jake the Pirate was another kids cartoon we are all vaguely familiar with.
Meadow speaks for herself; we don’t need to give her another name as she genuinely is on another level and we respect that. Her hippy title says it all and she will be the first to laugh at the ridiculousness of assigning names to a thing as monkey brained detachment from instincts and reliance on projected mental structures, symptomatic of our loss of connection with nature. The Buddhists call it ‘samsara’ which means ‘programmed confusion’. I haven’t told you my own name yet. Let’s see for how long we can keep that going.
CHAPTER SIX - MEADOW's NOTEBOOK
The following day, Meadow hid.
It transpired that she had been copying some pages of her hand-crafted notebooks, collating it into the following manuscript written in beautiful, fun and easy to read, flowery writing of several colours and embellished with flowers, hearts, wiggly lines, spirals, tears, angry faces and scratchy violent attacks to punctuate the content of the text. It took five pages of A4 paper and she pinned it up on the wall of our communal area. We all read it that evening after a long walk down to the standing stones together as a group, finding that Meadow had already been there and left some of her jewellery and a light-cotton prayer-scroll from India? adorning a beautiful Beech tree near the stones by way of pagan offering to the spirits of the place. Meadow is subtle, gentle and hugely influential even in her absence.
Her Notes are as follows:
Throughout my life, I have never cared enough about money or social prestige to get me rich or acceptable. I care about emotions. I did psychology by way of counselling nvq2 because it is the closest available to the truth; that people of all walks of life would come to me to discuss problems they were having and always, it was emotional counselling techniques which I developed myself, which got to the root of the problems and from which the right course of healing action could be ascertained.
I live in a culture where a lot of people, to adjust to society, pretend to be robots. They detach from their emotions completely. They have very concise control over their own emotions to be able to do this. It is a form of self-repression which usually results in random outbursts, a pressure based explosion which could go in any direction. You cannot know a person until you have experienced their full range of emotional cycles. There are many others, most of them around here, who actively persecute those with emotions. Society trains us, channels us, into specific subcultures depending on our individual emotional cycles. These are a type of emotional castes. What is deemed appropriate in one setting might not be appropriate in another.
When the Emo subculture emerged, non-emo’s hate the emo’s and persecute them for being pathetic. At least they have a banner now; when I was growing up we didn’t even have that, I like most of us was persecuted. Now there is a thing called Emotional Neglect which is sufficient to have your children forcibly adopted. You can tell when people are emotionally happy. I was taught the hard way to become emotionally self-reliant at a very young age, which doesn’t work because as well as quality self-time, we need company, the human need for community as a part of our emotional and psychological make-up, our well-being. And yet like so many others, throughout life, any signs of emotions I did show were persecuted by the majority.
The strange thing, I will elaborate on; I use the word emotion here (above) to mean both positive and negative emotions.
Hate, Envy, Greed / Sadness and Happiness / Empathy, Compassion, Loving
What they call emotional wellbeing are all the third listed category.
How we work as emotional organisms is that we bounce off and feed off the emotional ranges of those around us.
I have categorised these into 3 sections with the negative emotions (dark side of the force) on one side and positive emotions (light side of the force) on the other. Sadness is considered negative but is also necessary to balance the positive; it serves a dual function and it is not in itself negative the same way the dark side emotions are negative. Likewise, Happiness can be achieved by both sides, by different means; simply put, by anger being satisfied or by loving being satisfied.
In the society I grew up and have lived in for most of my life (South Wales UK); people do not call these dark side emotions, negative. They call them ‘normal’ and they actively reward those who are owned by them. Such people are given more sex, more money, better work, prestigious positions, they are recognised as being ‘normal’. The robot people are recognised as being simply cannon-fodder with various uses, the ‘sheep caste’. Until they do anything different from their robot-routine in which case they are accepted into a different caste, or more likely if it is an extreme pressure-burst, regarded as sociopathic and probably dangerous. It is locally regarded as acceptable to be happy only if that happiness has come through laughing at cruelty or by use of the negative emotions to achieve it; revenge based satisfaction.
My personal insight is that all of the dark side people are the sociopaths and they should not be rewarded. However I have had to adjust to survive in the world and accept that in practical terms, they are more powerful than the robots and the light side people combined, most of the time. It is ironic because unlike the other groups, they cannot actually control their own emotions, thus are slaves to the biggest and most negative influences on society; they are actually the problem, causing problems for the other groups.
The positive emotions of compassion, empathy and loving, the light side emotions; these are what local people usually refer to as emotions. The haters resent these. The haters and robots both mimic these for personal gain. It is possible but not always easy to tell the difference between fake, acted positive emotions by a hater or by a robot, and the genuine thing. But most people around here cannot tell the difference because they do not experience these emotions as authentic experiences. They mimic them to get what they want from people and yet at the same time, they regard those who do experience these things genuinely to be weak people. They all require giving. They are all genuine. That is the difference; the dark side emotions are about the self, taking, and anger.
I recognise that the up-shift, to accept the light-side giving emotions as preferable and beneficial to self and to others, requires ability to love others and to love self. Only from that position can we see how things really are. That love is not a made up fantasy, it is not something we receive but something that we connect with and allow it to flow through us, from us, toward others. It is giving and in this we become better, higher vibrational people. We heal. Those living in denial of this are lower spectrum base energy people, generating a lower spectrum culture where abuse is more likely and more acceptable as normal.
The difference between ‘forgiving’ and ‘not actually giving a shit’ are a factor in the fakery of attacking someone for not belonging to the same energetic emotional caste as yourself, usually from the darksiders, occasionally from the robots. They see the system as a grid, not as a lived reality. A system to be exploited; they are manipulators, they are not authentic people. Because they do not themselves experience the full range of emotions and because they detach from the lightside emotions but they do not detach from the dark side emotions.
This broken paradigm is mainstream in South Wales, at most social levels. It is highlighted in childcare where social services, themselves not functioning fully as individuals or as a group, have the power to take children away from parents who are not lightside based. What happens in practise more often than not is that darkside based authorities remove lightside children because they do not themselves resonate with the higher vibrational spectrum; when the lightside parents collapse from stress and emotional devastation of losing their children, they fall down more easily into the darkside at which time the darkside agents have won. The parents only method to get their children back, if at all possible, is to become robots, manipulators, thus proving their ‘normality’ and an ability to survive in this culture. Basing an understanding of reality purely on my observed emotional-psychelogical model is insufficient in dealing with the advanced fabrications of the darkside state workers. That is why I grew up in traveller vehicles and was never registered with the British state.
The system is used merely as a system of levers by which to exploit people. The actuality of the children’s emotional wellbeing is secondary to that. It is the same in the police and in the law society. It does depend on the agent making the reports and whose case it is; there are lightside care workers who do their job well. The problems is that we need balanced and higher spectrum agents to be in control, what we have is the darkside ones are in control because they have removed the lightside ones by foul means. It is the same at all levels of life until you find a way to get raw away from the system, far away from people caught up in these cycles, and can safely survive only as a lightside agent.
I know that I am lightside, therefore I get exploited. Protecting myself and others has been a life-lesson. We cannot rely on the system because it is corrupt by darkside agents. I do not know the answer but raising awareness of this, in the simplest possible terms, is necessary. Becoming totally self-reliant, on paperwork, for food and clean water, as a community is the only way our species is going to escape from the 20th century negativity as it spills over perfected into the 21st century era.
We are the social change for a better world and a thriving, evolving, spiritually developing human species. The state and urban communities with their electronic technologies, are all darkside sickness. I am not a fundamentalist for believing in a better way of living and for living by example.
Remember (and it is not difficult to forget this):
lightside = empathy, compassion, stability, loving, caring
balance = happy and sad
darkside = hate, envy, greed, anger, revenge
You can use you instincts to evaluate a person very quickly.
There is also: indifferent, zombi, sheep, robot, numb; caste of people who are simply either unable to evaluate other people or else do not respond as if having evaluated other people. They typically rely on mimicry, acting, rather than genuine activities. Displays of emotion are authentic or acting? Often difficult to discern.
With this model contrasted against the basic Chakra model, we have an interesting hierarchy of emotions where each emotion can be recognised to exist at a specific vibrational frequency, pitch or tone, measurable electronically in Hertz. This can be reproduced electronically using machines as well as organically, such as for example projecting our own emotions outward onto others or into a place. Social pressure, environment, food, air quality, clothes, comfort, and many other factors affect our personal and collective balances and the frequencies at which we vibrate. Some factors disrupt and fragment while others stabilise us, at different harmonics. The darkside emotions are all lower down the scale than the light side ones. In a human organism the Heart is at the centre and it is through this that empathic communication occurs; by healing this we very often heal all of the other problems a person is experiencing and creating.
The word ‘suffer’ means ‘voluntary discomfort’ rather than ‘victim of’. We do not have to live in sufferance; those who do, choose to.
CHAPTER SEVEN - JAKE'S LAB
"What do you think happened that night?" I asked. We were planting rows of seeds into trays of plant-pots in the corrugated plastic sheet roofed potting shed, open on one side to a courtyard area facing the paddock.
"The ownership people arrived. They crashed down our access to the dreamplanes because we are living on their land. Its not their land but they believe it is, they have their paperwork deeds which the governors and their agents the police respect as if they are a more real thing than the human spirit." Ever the voice for freedom, Meadow.
"Or that someone more powerful than us did a number on us. We didn't expect we were being stalked." Jake suggested as an alternative.
We are still studying the sciences which interlink the three worlds of Human concerns, Nature and the Spirit worlds. An aboriginal map describing the aspects of Life which we must strive to work in balance with. The Human world is obsolete to the other two which can happily exist without our concerns projected onto it. We cannot say the same for our relationship with the others, although it is widely accepted that Human world is at imbalance with the other worlds is because we ignore it and deny it. Openly living in harmony with both other planes of existence is something for which the state has diagnosed us as schizotypal for attempting to achieve; social prejudice against shamanism endorsed by their textbooks, as Meadow has expressed, the pieces of paper they rely on and believe to be a more real thing than the Human spirit.
"The Victorian." I bring it to the fore. Perhaps there is a relationship between the Victorian and the three co-owners of the garden centre.
"He had that thing with him." Jake says.
"A spirit ally. I have heard of such things."
"It would benefit us to acquire our own."
Meadow sighs. "You would have to capture one by the same way we were attempting to bind the unicorn. By beating its will. You would be surprised how many you have already acquired without knowing it. Jake, your dense electronic and plastic metal demons upstairs, they have a form of spirit which helps you, it is like a brain map through which energies flow, we perceive as sounds. Altogether it is alive although bringing it into our dreaming would likely alter our harmony too much. I have been visiting the crystals and attracting some helpers, nature spirits, mostly for this place to make it a healthy environment for plants to thrive but perhaps we can also use the source there to bring through something that can help us, next time we go into dreaming together."
"When will that be?"
"It depends how much energy we can muster. Tradition is to use the moon cycles but I dont think that really matters for the sort of work we do. We can try again after the brat-pack have left, after we have done what we can by way of healing them. They all carry the city taint."
"Roger wants to stay. He likes it here and he needs to get out of the city probably more than any of us."
"Also he co-owns it. Technically he is one of our employers."
"We should train him up. Bring him in on it."
"That is going to take years and you know it. The state his mind is in, he needs stability. Taking him into dreamspace is going to screw with our balance, you know that."
"He has potential though. He knows about different states of perception and how screwy the mind is."
"Its going to take all of our combined efforts to focus him. We can help him for sure but we still have to go on without him. Hes not ready to take on the Victorian anyway. Even discussing this openly with him is dangerous, for us. We have to protect ourselves."
Most of this conversation was psychic and not actually put into spoken words. Breathing and watching the colouration of energy fluctuation and harmonizing between us; right brained awareness spectrum which are invisible to the left brainers. Empathy borderline autism. Sharing emotions and communication through fluctuations within that.
"Where is he anyway?"
"He went for a walk into the village to check out the facilities."
"Shopping addiction. City taint."
Jake did it. He showed Roger his studio. The two of them hit it off; Roger had some experience with wind instruments and a little guitar. They discussed sound and music and feeling and vibe. Jake played him a sound byte through headphones, they were just getting into it when Meadow and myself gatecrashed them.
“That’s a personal, special sample. Not many people ever heard it before.” Jake explained. “I was just teaching Roger about how the music boxes are magickal instruments. They take us outside of scientific physics and into the world of folk and folk-lore. Check it out.”
The sample was Jakes ex girlfriend saying the words “I love you.” From the sound of her voice she meant it too. It was beautiful. I was about to ask what happened to her when Meadow interrupted me with a gesture, warned me not to. Jakes smile hid pain.
“It gets, exciting; when you do this with it.” Then he played us a short section of the music they had made together, her playing some sort of eastern sounding medieval string instrument. “I love you, you know that, don’t you?” She said. He voice was really nice, she sounded quite young. I said as much.
“This is the sample bank for the track. It’s all in there.” He explained and showed us a list on his computer screen. Everything was arduously named so you could see immediately what was what. “Do you notice anything?”
After a moment we collectively came to the realisation that whatever he was pointing out to us, none of us were getting it. He played “I love you” again.
And?
Then he played it backward. We have all heard vocals played backward before and they usually sound like someone speaking in German or Russian. This time the voice very clearly said; “You know that, don’t you?”
“Wow. How did that happen?”
“To be honest, I am not entirely sure. I did not think to play it backward until after we had already added the original sample to the song, and heard it through a couple of times. It needed something else and that’s when devilishly, decided to play it in reverse too. Whatever it would have sounded like played backward the first time around, my belief is that it was ah, warped somehow by its interaction with the other sounds, the way that folk music blends together to create something more beautiful than the sum of its parts.”
He was choosing his words carefully because these catch phrases were a part of our groups training toward establishing a working frame of reference which we used constructively in our dream sharing. Jake was clever like that.
“It fitted so perfectly. So when I later thought to play that sample backward on its own, without the song - it simply sounds like it sounds.” He played it by itself again. “You know that, don’t you.”
His mood was sad. It was obvious that he had not seen her for a long time and that something sad had happened between them. Which in turn explained why he had dedicated so much of his time alone in his studio with his machines becoming excellent at what he does with them.
“I didn’t know sound could do that.” Roger said, changing the tone before it became an uncomfortable silence.
“It doesn’t usually. Like i said, there is magick. The physics of sound engineering are not a clinical science; they warp timespace. A lot of it has to do with how our perceptions work, how our ears interpret grains of sound to try and make sense of them. Someone who does not know how to speak English language very well probably would hear that quite differently to how we all do.”
Suddenly we felt very small and alone in a vast universe, and took comfort together in each others presence as a group. Roger was included in this. It was a strong and important moment in our collective, a bonding experience.