My second set of extraordinary adventures was not at all what I had expected. My first adventure prepared me for them in some ways, but in other ways not at all.
Furthermore, I suspect that the engagements you’ll find recounted here will prove to be unique. My feeling is that they were intended for the sake of my development, and perhaps as test flights. The people who brought me into these adventures, after all, were no more experienced than I was. Yes, some of them are considerably more advanced than we are, but we’ve all been figuring it out as we go.
The most important thing about these adventures, in my estimation, is to gain the perspectives of advanced people. These people have imparted learning to me (which I hope I’m passing along as clearly as possible), but the crucial part of these lessons – and the part I’m certain they saw as essential – was the frame of mind that matches these lessons.
That is, they were not trying to simply give me facts, but rather to open my mind to the perspective from which these insights would be self-evident. Said different, they were not trying to cure my stupidity, but rather to help me see through a better set of assumptions about myself and the world.
Our real problem, you see, is not a lack of mental power, but a sea of obstacles that blocks our view, and thus our understanding. My advanced friend wanted to elevate me, so I could see past the thorns and brambles that gum-up so much of the thinking that occurs on this planet. That accomplished, the lessons would be utterly obvious to me and I’d find them on my own.
And so, what I’d really like from these books – for you and for myself (I read these more than you might guess, for my own edification) – is to see the world, at least partly, as my advanced friends see it. And I honestly think that has the capacity to change the world dramatically.
I am as sure as I can be that there will be more of these excursions, and I most certainly hope there will be. They are sometimes difficult for me personally, and are always intense, but they are eminently worth it.
I wish you all the best.
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It was months following my experience of October of 2016 before I began to feel like myself. Odd and sometimes powerful feelings kept striking me: For starters, I went through bouts of feeling like it didn’t really happen… convincing bouts of “it didn’t really happen.” And then there were repeats of the “How could you be such a special person?” issue that I dealt with while I was still in 1963.
But those weren’t the big things. The big things were the attitudes of my space friends. The ways they looked at our world were different, but different in a way I couldn’t really define, which made them very strange things to wrestle with. I wish I had a better way to describe this, but I haven’t come up with anything so far. Their attitudes were simple yet foreign, if that makes any sense.
In any event, their attitudes, while seemingly comprehensible, didn’t fit very well into our present world, and that made me unsettled in a pre-verbal sort of way. (Again, if that makes any sense.)
Nonetheless, within two months or so those things had sifted themselves inside me and I was feeling normal… or at least normalish. About a month after that, I began considering the possibility of another trip to a past world. The advanced men I had met along the way, Robert and Jim, seemed to think it was an interesting experiment. Being that they were more advanced than me, it was hard to be sure they weren’t holding something back, but these were exceptionally open and honest people.
I was somewhat less sure about the lady who initiated the adventure to 1963. She was sick the whole time she was there and willingly died to escape it. And so I had to wonder about the chances of it happening again.
My other concern was whether the lady would pull me back to another virtual world but not come herself. I lost sleep imagining “solo entry” scenarios. Having been through the process once, going and returning didn’t very much concern me, but would this woman, as fine a person as she seemed to be, really understand the intricacies of plopping me down into, say, ancient Rome? Naked and with minimal Latin, I could find myself shoved into the role of a slave. Granted, my knowledge would almost certainly get back out, but who wants to be a slave for even a few days? And some Roman slaves were chained.
Such were the thoughts that ran through my mind many nights, though not on the night between April 30th and May 1st, 2018, when my next adventure began. I’m not sure what time it was, but it came as I was shifting positions in the middle of my night’s sleep. Again I felt a surge of what we used to call “the power of the spirit” and opened my eyes somewhere else.
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It was dark, but I seemed to be in a hotel room. I was definitely laying on a made bed. There was a sliver of light from behind the curtains on the room’s lone window. Turning my eyes, then my head, I saw enough to conclude I was in a reasonable place. Everything I could see said it was a hotel in an older American city; if not Chicago, then Boston, Philly, New York or maybe Milwaukee.
The radiator in the room had told me it was a northern city. The big box of a television and the old-style telephone made it clear that I was somewhere… somewhen… between about 1975 and 1990.
Confident that I was basically okay and seeing no sign of my lady friend, I got about my business and rifled through the drawers, dressing myself in someone else’s clothes. They were too large, but they did the essential job. Quickly, however, I found myself becoming uncomfortable. With each new article of clothing, and especially as I pulled a few dollars in loose change from the top drawer and shoved it into my pocket, the damage I was doing became clearer to me. Last time we started by stealing from a big car dealership; this time it was from an individual. This was direct damage to a single person, not the muted and dispersed damage of thieving from a business.
Pulling on his shoes made things worse. There were old. This guy wasn’t terribly well off. And so I went back to the top drawer and pulled out some scraps of paper I had seen there. One of them was the hotel’s check-in receipt. It was from the Palmer House Hotel, an old Chicago hotel I knew very well. That finished locating me, at least.
The receipt said I was stealing from a Mr. Hugh Reynolds of Tomah, Wisconsin. I stepped to the writing desk and found a pad of paper and a pen. I wrote Mr. Reynolds a short note, apologizing for taking his clothes, adding that I did it only because of extreme circumstances, and promising to make it up to him. I left the note on his pillow.
As I placed the note, however, I got a view of the city, and I could see that it was deep winter. I knew there was nothing in the closet more useful that a well-worn sport coat, and so I scoured the drawers again, finding a thin sweater. Not a lot of help, but better than nothing. And so I dressed myself as quickly as I could, eager to be out of the room before Mr. Reynolds returned.
All of Book Two on Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B082GGSTS6/
Book One on Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KDQSBGZ
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