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2/5/17

I retain the past-life talents of being a prolific writer--it's just me. When I was in my senior year of high school, I took a typing class with the idea of being a science fiction author. I remember my class instructor--a very old-school, upright, proper woman. She taught us to sit up straight with raised wrists--here I am, slouching, typing on a computer with a simple erase button. We were taught on manuals, and only toward the end of the course were we allowed to practice on the electrics. One didn't correct mistakes--one simply didn't make them in the first place. This was around 1971.

I wrote and submitted a few short stories, all of which were rejected. One of them took a little longer to be rejected--it had a fellow who, as I recall, was dreaming he was awake, or some "Matrix"-like plot twist. It was pretty good and ahead of its time, though no-doubt I was borrowing on some of the work I'd read. I was brought up on Heinlein, and Norton, Clarke and Asimov. One or two of those stories I still reference on occasion in this blog, today.

Throughout most of my life I suffered from terrible writer's-block, until I launched this website. Then when I began delving into Mathew Franklin Whittier's life, the floodgates opened. I still feel a little reluctance to start working on the fictional account of his relationship with his first wife, which is in-process; but once I get started, it's quickly forgotten.

Lately, as I've mentioned a couple of times, I spend my lunch watching YouTube videos on alternative archeology. What I see on the History Channel is clearly the slick, commercialized stuff. The narrator must use the formula, "Could it be that? And if so..." three dozen times in each episode, to the point that instead of calling them, collectively, the "Interstellar Beans Show," I now call them the "Could it Be That and If So Show." This is not what I do in my presentation. In other words, where I speculate, I try to back it up. They do present some evidence; but the ratio of speculation-to-evidence on the History Channel seems to be about 80-20, or higher. And they make some logical mistakes. How can I put this--it's out of the box, but it's still materialistic and reductionistic. It's sort of what you get when you give a Materialistic drugs. I mean, they can see there's something more, but that something more still has to be in this physical universe--so every piece of evidence they find which blows the current socially accepted paradigm, must be due to aliens. Meaning, of course, distant, physical aliens.

I'm not saying they don't exist--all I know about aliens, is that there has obviously been a long-time government coverup. The evidence is more than convincing on that point. Also, I had an encounter of a sort, a few years ago. I was walking on the beach, when I first got together with my astral wife, Abby (my first wife in my 19th century lifetime). See, this is where I am writing to write, and not for an audience. Because if I cared who was reading, I would never reveal this so casually. Anyway, for the two or three people who will read further than this, I am walking, with her being presumably present, on the beach, at night, and I hear a loud sound of crickets. I know that a cricket sound has sometimes been associated with UFOs. I have never heard crickets on the beach before (and we are talking, loud enough to be heard over the surf). But this sound is clearly coming from the water. I kid you not. It could have been some kind of perceptual illusion, granted. But not only was it coming from the water, but it was localized--I could turn my head and it would be softer or louder depending on where I was looking. Very, very far off in the night sky, was what looked like a star, or an airplane--except it wasn't blinking. It was sort of a double-star, and it was moving; not erratically, as I recall, nor was it in a smooth arc like a satellite. Then it faded from view, and at the same time, the cricket sounds stopped.

I don't have verbatim communication from Abby--certainly not at that early point in our relationship--but what I felt from her was that the UFO was not accustomed to seeing a human consciously with an astral person, and was curious. And that they couldn't hurt me with her protecting me.

Imagination? I just don't know. I sort of forgot about it. Having a relationship with Abby across the Great Divide is so much cooler than UFOs, to me, I didn't really pursue the matter. I gather from one clip I saw online, that these might not be the friendly ones, though--someone reported a very similar experience with the cricket sounds, except in his case they were beaming up a cow for experimentation.

When I say "two or three people" will continue reading, in actuality, my stats tell me that an average of four people read this blog per day. I don't know whether these are the same people, or different people. I also see that my article on my method has more than twice the number of views per day. In fact, right now, for February, it's the most visited page on this site. That means people are interested in how I propose to study and prove reincarnation, but not in me, or my particular pilot study. This reminds me of guitarist extraordinaire Eric Johnson. When I first became aware of him, he had a loyal following of guitarists because of his blazing technique. In a concert some 25 years ago, he asked, from the mic, how many in the audience were guitarists. About a third raised their hands; and he invited them up to the front for a quick guitar lesson! Of course, he was playing electric. I have been featuring his music to open the pages of this website for at least the past 15 years, and trying to point out to people that he's a mystic, as well as a virtuoso guitarist. Now, finally, he's touring acoustic, and people are picking up on it. They are interested in his music, and not only in his technique. When I say he's a mystic, check out the song opening this page, "Last House on the Block," originally from his "Alien Love Child" album (this take I'm using was recorded live, in Europe). The song is about wanting to reach one's last incarnation, and attain spiritual Freedom. He finally concludes that no matter how you try, you can't do it on your own, but what is in your hands is to develop your relationship with God, who will then assist you. Do you think I'm reading all that into it? Let those with ears to hear, hear. That's his philosophy--everything he does is veiled like that, two-tiered. Which is precisely the way I used to write in the 19th century--old-school mysticism. Now, however, I'm "out." (Maybe as things get worse and worse in the U.S., I'll wish I wasn't.) But at least, after 25 years, Eric's musicianship, and not just his technique, is being recognized. Perhaps another 25 years, and they'll recognize what he's saying, as well, on both verbal and non-verbal levels. (I should really open this page with a piece from his new acoustic album--but I want to make the point that he's a mystic, which he is very reticent about, and this piece I'm using is the best example.)

Perhaps it will take me 25 years. I'm 63, so depending on when we're counting from, I am probably looking at posthumous recognition.

Now, when it comes to alternative archeology, I have been gradually weeding through the nonsense and trying to zero in on the good sources. (I did this for a long time with mediums, and now I'm on to ancient archeology.) I've identified two whom I think know what they're talking about: Michael Cremo, and a Russian lady with a heavy accent named Sylvie Ivanova. She tickles me, because she is as combative as I am regarding the establishment view. She calls mainstream scientists "penguins." And she calls their theories "ridiculous."

And then she backs it up. And backs it up, and backs it up, and backs it up.

Just like I do, with reincarnation.

What's interesting, to me, is to see that she is perceiving the mainstream in precisely the same way I am. We are all snowed, folks. We, as a society, have no idea the extent to which the Gatekeepers and social Elite have been bullshitting us. Once you poke your head up out of the layers of bullshit, you have to reorient yourself to keep from going crazy. There is socially-defined "crazy," which means, awake; and then there is actual crazy. I am definitely crazy, in the sense of having broken free of the constraints of official social programming. But I am not crazy in the clinical sense (inasmuch as that science, also, has not been perverted).

So the same social filtering process goes on in the field of ancient archeology, as in the field of reincarnation studies. The "penguins" have us by the throat, and are pushing us down into the mud. For example, I gather from several sources that the Smithsonian has received numerous giant skeletons over the years (going back to Mathew's time, when they used to be reported in the papers), which they then proceeded to squirrel away and never mention again. Anyone who dares break free of this stranglehold by the Scientific Elite, is marginalized. You are almost forced to ridicule them, as Sylvie does.

I did this 165 years ago. I created an academic philosopher named "Dr. Digg" for a humor magazine that was the answer to Britain's "Punch." Most people just thought it was light-hearted, goofy fun. But I was trying to point out the same phenemenon. I wrote this series, in that lifetime, anonymously, and for reasons unknown, a very unlikely, bland sort of fellow ended up with the credit. If you look up the "Carpet-Bag" today, you will see this character, and the others under the umbrella pseudonym, "Trismegistus," attributed to writer and career educator Benjamin Drew. I've proven it was myself, Mathew Franklin Whittier, not Drew.


Dr. Digg, A.S.S.--a 19th-century "penguin"

What good did my lampoons do? I don't know. I think three people in the "choir" got it; the "congregation" just thought it was mildly amusing and never guessed the deeper message.

But then, the instant I mentioned Abby in this blog, all but the same three people clicked off to another page.

I just like to write...

Best regards,

Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.

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Music opening this page: "Last House on the Block" by Eric Johnson,
from the album, "Europe Live"

 

 

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