On Empathic Ability

I'm an empath to the extreme of being a strange attractor, but I'm more apt to blame that aspect on my bio-electric messengers. I'm 5 antigens short of a proper rhesus factor, which puts me well outside 99.98% of the human populace. This makes those messengers stand out like a solar flare. Not only do people react to this curiously, but animals as well. In the case of people though they are rarely conscious of how oddly they are behaving. My friends are amused at how people get so magnetized, regardless of like or loathe. Needless to say this can be a right pain, so I prefer to avoid crowds altogether. To put a damper on it is practically impossible, so if need be, I just send out the "bugger off" signals. Mind you, some are just too thick to even register that, so I either have to tell them off or get physical. Too many have had the most unreal expectations so I'm not what you could call a friend of humanity. In my youth I seriously got wondering where I took a wrong turn in the causality curve. Fortunately a hindu friend explained something about Pashupati and the Rudra that made perfect sense- that true creation is in the ability to break from the norm and that some people just plain have that wild card predestiny.

On the other hand, my emphathic ability also has an ugly habit of the shared NDE. My worst case scenario was a family friend's death through massive heart attack. I was about 10km away at home when it hit me, sending me writhing on the floor in the most excruciating pain as if my whole body had seized up on me. To say the least, it really freaked out my family, although they have their own fair share of clairvoyance. Fortunately most we know that have passed, did so peacefully.

Yes, some people can really put a drain on you, but that can be reversed. Some are just plain soul-suckers and take full advantage of it. Throw it right back at them for everyone's sake, or you will undoubtably have to clean up one hell of a mess sooner or later. Forget the Wiccan rede, believe in that higher wisdom called "Murphy's Law".

Below the Channel of Light

It was late 1975 and I was preparing to leave Canada for good. My father was away in Germany, settling in my mother and brother, so I had the house to myself. One night as I drifted off into a light sleep, a face slowly emerged into my mind’s eye as a kindly voice spoke asking me if I’d like to visit a world “between worlds” where some folk would like to meet me. Although he looked human, there was a grace and elegance to him I had never seen before. His garments could have passed for Asiatic, very simple but nonetheless formal looking. I had the impression he was an envoy of sorts. No sooner I said “sure, why not?” I found myself in an extraordinary realm. Seemingly terrestrial, except that its sun was a brilliant mauve whose light seemed to effervesce rich blue to violet shades in the surrounding vegetation. I stood on a path of fine crushed crystal that glimmered opalescent shades as I proceeded up it. There before me stood a city of florescent white spires. In it’s midst was a tower holding a large streaming orb of rich orange light that pulsated. As its energy pulsed through me it had a pleasant warming effect. The path ended before the “wall” of one of the structures, so I stopped to examine it curiously. It wasn’t actually a wall but a light barrier of sorts. The man said “trust your senses” so I extended my hand to penetrate it. It was like pushing a very soft powder puff, so I entered. There, at the end of a polished corridor I was greeted by several beings that were strangely familiar to me. Interestingly, they were each dressed very differently. We spoke telepathically, not in words but empathic impressions. This was relief as I’ve always found having to verbalize my thoughts tedious, if not annoying. Needless to say, our communication was a fulfilling experience like no other before. All parties satisfied, our ways parted and then my guide led me to his flying vehicle for me to explore the rest of their realm. To make a long story short, it was a realm whose forms you could describe as being of solid yet transmutable structures of light. I watched as its sun and the landscape transformed in shape and colour. Quite an impressive experience. When we returned, I had barely stepped out of the craft when the image began to raster, rather like some kind of bad signal interference. For a moment I could make out some rather gastly looking creatures trying to make their presence known. My guide urged me quickly to awaken while he keep them at bay. I knew these creatures only too well myself, so we exchanged our farewells and I forced myself awake.

In the reallife events that followed, it became clear that this dream was a forewarning- namely that some contemptuous third party in the real world was trying to allure me into some kind of psychic entrapment. Then one spring morning as I slowly awoke there was the strangest feeling compelling me to go to my bedroom window. Suspicious, I complied and down there in the backyard I saw a fellow I knew from Halifax transit smiling back at me. I knew his presence was a telepathic projection, so I blocked it and sure enough he vanished from the scene. People had told me he'd been reported by his landlord, and his colleagues at Halifax Transit to the RCMP as a missing person. Then two weeks before I shipped off out of Nova Scotia, he showed up at my door with the most dubious claims of having been abducted by aliens. Being an acadian, he had gone off on vacation to his hometown in New Brunswick, and it was thereabouts he allegedly made contact. The really disturbing part of this whole charade was his behaviour, movements rather like a marionette, and the totally vacuous look as he delivered his message, like something else speaking though him, shallow and emotionless. I swear it was like looking into the eyes of a dead man. Irises dilated and not even the flick of an eyelid as I waved a hand before his face. An empty shell sucked of all that was recognizably himself. It didn't matter how I responded, it just didn't register. The voice spoke of some superhuman race watching over humanity, and that certain "chosen ones" were to be privy to their higher knowledge. Fortunately this lot was oblivious of the dream I was having when their bullshit tried to intervene. Nonetheless, those words sent a shiver down my spine. I simply responded yes, yes, until the bugger concluded that he would return at some appropriate time to take me there. It was to my great relief he then left. What they did not know, was that I was about to leave the country for good. When he came back a month later, only my father was there, locking up to return the lease to the housing office. My father aptly told him to fuck off, that I had left the country and wherever to was nobody's business. Having locked everything up, my father then got in his car and just left the jerk standing there dazed as he waved goodbye and sped off grinning.

This particular lot was not anything otherworldly but in fact some very real spooks of the MK Ultra mind control variety. Although I did not know who they were at the time, according to friends, some very real people were stalking me as well as encroaching them. Not only were such experiments being conducted illicitly around Montreal, but on people in the military community across Canada. My brother's first wife, who was a servicewoman in the airforce was one of their victims. She is still under compulsory medication for the psychotic state that lot left her in, but there is very little hope she will ever recover. Court cases in Canda are still ongoing.

Let there be wisdom in the proverb "KNOW YOURSELF"

Popular New Age Misconceptions

Having seen most of the pagan sites the internet has to offer across the world, I was utterly gobsmacked at the shear bulk of misinformation going around about "Native American spirituality". What's even worse is that some are charging big bucks for their hocum, and I'm not just talking about faux-injuns either. There are those who will use any trace of indigenous origin to offer you a vision quest from whatever hapless tribe happens to be fashionable at moment. Not every nation used sweat lodges, medicine wheels or dream catchers for that matter. Although I am quite solidly European. my mother lost her Prussian homeland to the nazis and then the soviets so I was born in Canada. My Father was a civil engineer in the military so we got chucked from one end of Canada to the other as well as Germany. Prejudical attitudes to "Germans" let alone my lack of religious denomination had me ostracized from so-called "civilized society" in those days. Of course being the volcanic tempered take no crap kind, I got labelled a "wild one" and landed amongst the métis wherever I went. Lucky for me that most of these places were gov't reserves where we attended the same schools- thus native heritage made an integral part of the cirriculum. I learned about the Ojibwa, Iroquois, Cree, Kwakiutl, to name a few, even the odd Hopi or Meso-American. They are as diverse as the ethnocultures found across any continent on this planet. No one-size-fits-all, in as much as starry-eyed idealists would like to aspire. That nature prefers to differ is the first law of quantum dynamics. Without it all gets sucked up into a black hole. That's just the way it is. Needless to say, whenever I see someone try to stir all these colourfully different nuances together into a sickly monochrome cliché, it really upsets me.

http://www.newagefraud.org/

The Chilliwack Tribe

Although the Kwakiutl are a costal people of British Columbia, their domain reaches well inland into the mountains bordering the Fraser Valley.  It was twice I lived on the Soowalie reserve, first as child where I attended primary school in Vedder Crossing.  My father was going through basic training there as a construction engineer, so we spent a lot of quality time along the Vedder to Chilliwack lake where he loved to fish rainbow trout.  The white crested shear peaks and their cascades of falls from the spring melt were utterly breath taking.  To drink from their waters was pure energy and could keep one trekking for miles without exhaustion.  My father got on well with the local colour, though these were sad times for their folk.  To the valley dwelling evangelists, they were just plain drunks that would never amount to anything civilized, and shunned them like the plague. You could see them in the Empress hotel on their knees teetering in a stupor, yet never falling down.  Mind you, the army guys were no different, always enjoying a good piss-up for lack of anything better to do on a Friday night.  My father spent his adolescence in a gold mining camp in Northern Quebec, so this was nothing new to him.  You could say it was all like one of those classical scenes out of “Paint Your Wagon”, except set in the most astoundingly beautiful landscape.  I remember the stories of his escapades with his mate “Joe Smoke”, whose house you couldn’t miss way up on the mountainside- with “Joe Smoke House” emblazoned in big white letters on the tar shingled roof.  One night it caught fire so my father and his mates went to see what they could rescue.  When they got there, Joe suddenly fell to his knees in riotous laughter at the spectacle.  While the whole thing was ablaze, the animals were running around it inanely in circle making a tremendous ruckus. “Shit man, your house is burning down, what the hell are you laughing at?” they stammered awestruck at the inferno. “Oh who cares about that, I can build a new one- but just look at those crazy animals” he laughed.  Indeed, this is the difference of accepting your lot in life to appreciate the irony of the curves that nature can throw you. The bush-sense of survivalism, and the way of the warrior that my own ancestors also shared in common.  I remember the legends we were taught in that school, about the thunderbird and the spirits of the warriors dancing in the auroras on clear nights.  The songs I used to sing to the wights of the land as the sun rose over those fantastic peaks.  The rainbows after a spring shower and firey colours of fall, the mammouth trees and the pure blue glacial waters.  In the spring you could hear the mountain sheep clashing horns like shotgun fire. Watching those clever bears always up to something, and how they would fish and forage.  The place was just teeming with lessons in nature. I couldn’t have been in a better place, in those very formative years of early youth.

When I returned years later, it all came back to me as if I had never left.  The carvings on the war canoes and totems, and the stories of their clans. I would spend days trekking around the reserve to the homesteads of different friends. We would sit around the fire at night, throw in a cedar log to spice up the air, then exchange stories of our travels and experiences.  One night I had the rare pleasure of discovering that one of my friends had mastered the skills of a Hamatsa fire eater.  The academics had assumed that this tradition had died out since the gov’t restrictions on the potlatch ceremonies, but here it was alive and well, having been passed on to him by his grandfather.  Of course our fireside encounters were never complete without the odd stories of earthlights around Mt. Baker and the legendary Sasquatch. There, this creature is believed to a be an inhabitant of the otherworldly, an alterreality understood as being on the borderline of ours in those parts heeded by ordinary man and bear alike. Only the Hamatsa have psychic prowess to venture those parts, commune with its dark spirits and gain their knowledge unscathed. It is revered as the domain of the “cannibal spirits” or “supernaturals” of the underworld.  The story tells of the great hunger that drove their people into these reaches through the icy realms of the giants, where they transformed into "supernaturals" by the eating of human flesh.  Indeed there are a great many parallels with ice giants of nordic mythology. Not all nations came over the Bering bridge, but this one undoubtably did.  It is said that D'znoqua is a stealer of children in the night, but there is one story of two who escaped with the treasures said to be stashed in the creature’s lair.  Theirs was a very poor family, so it brought great fortune to them in a time of desperate need. In essence, it's just one of those things the academics will never catch on film, rather, is like any journey of the soul into the great unknown, a voice of the hunter-seeker that calls out from deep within us.

Playganisms

No surprise that a couple of Kerr’s muppets have been snooping around the old site again- undoubtably inspired by Mojie’s flying of the rebel flag. Heh, what were they expecting? More secret signs of the dreaded “heathen conspiracy”? Whatever Mojie has in mind, I’m sure she has every right to- not only for all those coercive accusations levied against her, but that derogatory attitude of a woman’s place according to the Havamal. Yes Alexa, I had the intimate pleasure sharing all those suggestive threat mails with my colleagues- so it was plain to see just how desperately all your guilt trip ploys hoped to play us against each other. You can also shove all that transfer psychosis about loyalty and trust. Your lot betrayed that one with the all too obvious trappings of Rising Hero. Thus, if anyone has a track record for interforum rivalries, it’s you lot. If you could, you’d try to blame us for An Fianna too. Yeah, talk to me about demonic possession, but like someone else I know, those voices in your head come from a bottle...and all the while you worn out Dion Fortune clichés cling desperately to your dreary old php boards, the rest of us have long since moved on to more inspiring things.