To Be

How did the spirits find their way home from thousands of years in disunity, a collective point to reconcile your groups souls. With the other souls a spirit of unity in family lines, are we better, or have we made better struggles, that went before. From the once shorter lives to the medically inspired extensions of lives. Now given more time to reflect, but in some ways over extend our blip of time upon earth.

I’ve always looked to the dense low pulse of the galaxy, beyond the atmosphere a little bit further than I can go. Whilst looking up in awe, but I don’t feel lost.

For we are part of this good, in stillness I feel gravity in touch with my span of conscious. Time, I can’t believe how quickly from birth to our now it is. Where are we going I think of the term relative and how constricting, it is you are me as I am me and yet be still and know I am God, from a divine energy we crawl grow and go back to source in many lives to be. whether we are a grain of sand or a human being to be, we are creation we are one.

Alien Renewal

We knew the end was near and had looked for remote locations for evacuation, the general consensus of opinion was that it had to be remote. High with fast moving clear streams and plenty of dense woodland coverage, a certain valley came to mind, from memory as a child. It flooded me in delirious colour, swimming in breezes.

Contrasts with sun and shade in equal measure, the valley did have a name but in a location I cannot reveal. There were seven of us mimicking the number of Adepts in imagination and study. We had taken this role and put it in our minds to give purity to our mission, as we were to go farther to be hidden, than most would dare to venture.

We the seven had visited our apocalyptic reservation as individuals over many years, building supplies, seeds, vessels and storage, not necessarily the buildings of recognised habitation. More as semi submerged and appropriate camouflage. There would be no family units there, as it would be morally unwise to believe in futures. As such all seven survivors were males of sound mind and varied technical ability, plus we were trained in the procedures of Kundalini ensuring our own spaceship of mind was available to us when the end of time caught up with us, which inevitably it would. As we could occasionally go further away in a skyline, tainted with the mist of virus and the lid of inevitable death. The earth would be clean again for the perceived Alien renewal.

An Ode to the Vulnerable.

Science unknown to science, there was a calculated measured beginning in incalculable spans beyond our mental reach. Talk of rounds, seem to be a struggle, maybe not even true and who thought of us and the devastation to come man has been proved in creative fires and discourse but does not man improve, no he does not. The fault line is in the voracity of greed manipulation and destruction.

It is always others who appear to have more statues in time that stand and then fall. There should be no statues in a humanity that does not like one another it is plain to see the disabled amongst us are the easiest to target.

Mental health, well a bit longer before attacks reign down, as we know those that have ruled have an abysmal historical track record of the will to dedicate resources to these afflictions.

How fortunate they are, that they do not have to endure the closed doors. For many disability conditions, it is not trendy and campaigns are often window dressing for a self gratifying I am medal worthy so called society.

The world however is full of secret tears, behind doors, out of site so we betide any administration that dares to cut budgets to the health of the lost and vulnerable.

Abduction

Leave no stone upturned, that is what they say if you want to discover the truth this was the case with the missing saucers from Mars or thereabouts. Legend has it that many years ago in the early hours of Christmas 1958 those travelling to Scotland to visit relatives had the most startling and fleeting episode of that time.

A young boy in the vehicle turned by chance, only to be blinded by seven disc shaped bright white objects travelling at split second pace. Mum and dad for once took themselves out of their woolly jumper mentality. It was all too silent but it had happened, dad thought that nobody would believe them so for the next sixty years that they would keep quiet and indeed they did. That is until their son paid a visit to the Highlands. He had bought a hundred square feet of heather bound land, through a scheme. Whereby one could purchase a plot that would always be yours and also help preserve the Scottish Highlands.

The son with great difficulty managed on this day to find his tiny plot in the heather vastness where eagles circled and watched him, as if guarding a sacred area the son sat down and could sense pulsing and thin blue strands of light emitting from pinholes in the heather.

With mental precision he put together in his mind a jigsaw, his instinct told him “I remember this is one of seven saucers carrying adepts from all those years ago on a Christmas night. With that thought the ground beneath enveloped him, this was the price of remembering the light consumed him and this man, SON to a father and devoted mother was never seen again and the clock ticked and the night went on oblivious.

An Ode To Little Professor

The little professors of the English households they travel, they know it all, they believe they know governments, and all the characters. Wake up you are fools, you know them not.  For it is all a psychological con, the con of control.  For you are being gathered and controlled in a new Orwellian state a state of spies. Lock down gives time to sort the wheat from the chaff. But don’t forget we are all one world and not an eccentric folly. Promoted by silly ex public schoolboys who read the papers for breakfast.