“How do I know you again?”
The woman just smiled, seeming to enjoy my struggle to understand the situation. Then she drew in a sharp breath and said, “Oh, we go way back.”
When I had first bumped into her on the streets of Prague, I had immediately thought I recognized her from my first job in Korea. She and I had worked together at English Village, a surreal little amusement park near the DMZ where Korean families could go to practice their English skills in a foreign-like setting. Park guests would even enter through a mock-immigration station, where they would answer friendly questions from native English speakers before entering the park.
She and I had been teachers there in the One Week Program in which schools from around Korea could bring their students for one week of immersive English instruction at the park. I was in the drama department, where students would write scripts for plays in English, then rehearse and perform them. I remember walking out of a classroom of students dressed as characters from Shrek and high-fiving a giant purple hippopotamus — one of the five costumed characters that wandered the park — as “Wheels on the Bus” played over the PA system. Children would stop any foreigners they saw and ask us to sign their passport books. There was a pub where we were encouraged to hang out and mingle with the guests, and at night, we had free run of the park. It was fantastic.
And I was certain that I had worked with this woman there. But had I? The more we talked, the less I began to associate her with a former coworker. She still felt familiar, but I was finding it harder to place her within the narrative of my life. It hadn’t seemed strange to me at all to have met her as I walked down the hill from Prague Castle. It’s not unusual at all for expats to bump into familiar faces as we wander the globe. Accidental meetings usually occur in airports, but it’s not unheard of to see a familiar face walking along the beaches of Vietnam or hanging out in a club in Amsterdam. She had been the one to initiate contact. I had been walking past her as I gazed out over the old city below, and I had heard her call my name. When I turned to look at her, I felt instant familiarity.
“Oh, hey!” I smiled, stopped dead in my tracks. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi!” she smiled, walking over to me. “Fancy meeting you here! How’ve you been?”
We exchanged the usual pleasantries, and as we did, I was able to place the face as someone from my early days in Korea. She was… Kiwi, I thought? She had a slight accent. Maybe South African? But definitely familiar. Maggie! Yes, that was it. The next thing I knew, Maggie and I were in Old Town, having a drink at the Green Faerie, an absinthe bar that she had read about on a travel blog. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. I may have already had too much absinthe. Our conversation at the Faerie remained cheerful, a joyful reunion of two people that had been friends, were friends, but who had not seen each other in several years. She asked a lot about my family, not so much about our mutual friends. But I figured she was just being her usual friendly self. Nothing ever seemed odd until after she was gone again and my head cleared.
After a few drinks, she said, “Are you staying in Prague or moving on?” I told her I was staying at a cheapie hotel, more of a hostel but a private room, near Wenceslas Square. She said we should pick up some wine and go there as it would be cheaper than shilling out the tourist prices for drinks. I was single, alone in Prague, and I had had the good fortune of bumping into a beautiful girl who wanted to drink in my private room. I practically floated out of the Green Faerie. I barely remember picking up the wine (or the wine glasses, as I do not usually travel with such fragile items), but I clearly remember unlocking the gate to my hotel and the door to my room. I remarked to her about how many spiders I had seen around the city. And I had — Prague in the summer seemed to be the spider capitol of the world, and their webs had covered the ornate statues on the Charles Bridge. “I had to escort one of the lil’ buggers out of my room earlier, so just beware,” I said as I showed her into the old room. “There may be others in here.”
I held the door for her, but she just stood there, holding the bottle of wine in her hand and a wry little smile at her lips. So, I made a sweeping gesture with my hand and said, “After you.” Her smile broadened a bit as she said, “Thank you, sir!” and entered the room.
She went to the bathroom and rinsed out the glasses as I went to work on the cork, and soon we were sitting by the window that looked out on the courtyard below as we sipped a lovely 2009 Bordeaux. Then she set her glass down.
“So, what do you remember about me?” she asked.
I shrugged, taking another sip of wine. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I remember working with you in Korea.”
She smiled. “Oh? What do you remember about that?”
“English Village?” I wagered a guess. “You worked in the… art department? With Michelle and Tatyana?”
She held my gaze, smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t think I know Michelle or Tatyana.”
“Well, then,” I said, “Just how do I know you? I’m sure we’ve hung out before.”
“Yes,” she said. “A few times. Remember the magic dildo?”
I froze as images played through my head like a movie, but all at once like an explosion of memory. “Oh, shit,” I managed, setting my glass down before I dropped it. I remembered. We had hung out in Korea. We had been in a hotel room, and she had shown me a device that repelled water with inaudible sound waves. I had stood in the shower with it and not gotten wet at all. She had moved her arm inside the wall without damaging either her arm or the wall. The device could be molded, manipulated, pulled apart to form little pocket-sized balls or stretched out to resemble what I had jokingly described as the magic dildo. I knew this woman, but not in the capacity that had gotten me involved in this current conversation. I was certain we had met before, and we had. In Korea, in Pittsburgh, in the back hills of Pennsylvania, in…
“…in time.” She was saying. She would see me in time. And here we were again. In Prague, a place with a famous clock. How had she found me here? Had our run-in been an accident? I had no idea. How had I forgotten all of the times we had seen each other before? Where had she been? I was so happy, and somehow relieved, to see her again, but now I had so many questions rushing to the forefront of my mind that I felt unsteady. A wave of déjà vu hit me so hard that I briefly wondered if she had slipped something in my wine. I knew she hadn’t, but I hadn’t felt such a mental surge since I couldn’t remember when.
“Things are moving more quickly now,” she was saying. “Take a moment, and then ask.” I took a moment as more memories flashed across my mind. Her, standing over me, eyes as dark as the night sky above, all black. “Nanotech,” she had explained. “Perfect night vision, and data collection, pictures, videos, and the like.” Then she blinked and her eyes were blue again. Blue. Now her eyes were brown. The woman sitting across from me in a cheapie hotel room in Prague had brown eyes. And brown hair. I realized I had never seen this woman before in my life. So why had I been so sure I recognized her? It wasn’t her, at least not in this form. It was her in the sense that I knew to whom I was speaking, but now she was looking at me through a different face.
Maggie. That wasn’t really her name. I spoke her real name and she nodded. “It’s good to see you again.” She smiled. “Out in the world, are we?” And we laughed. And there she was. I was focused again. She was my friend, and I had known her longer than I had even realized. She had explained before about who she was, where she was from, and what she was doing. We knew we could trust one another.
She was human, or at least had been at one time. Now she was so much nanotech and avatar, but her humanity shone through with each knowing glance. She was one of those descended from a small group that had been taken to the other side of what was called “the veil” — the elecromagnetic frequency that hid one reality from another. Her people had been given an advantage over those of us that had been left on this frequency. They had been given knowledge and technology, and they had been watched over and guided by higher dimensional entities that had fought with our original progenitors over our very creation. Our side had been left in the wilderness as theirs had been taken over and taught, shown more of the bigger picture of reality. And we had all evolved from that initial creation history-cum-myth that has existed for thousands of years.
As our side had been in an imposed quarantine due to our questionable nature, her side had been guided and engaged, interacting with a higher consciousness that had groomed them to join with a sort of “godhead” collective. My mind was swimming as it usually did in these situations, like a person desperately treading water in a tidal wave of thoughts. She reached over and touched my arm, and my mind was still again. My arm tingled where she touched it, almost a numbing sensation. And there it was, that old familiar devotion I felt for her. Again, she just smiled.
“Do you remember what I’ve told you so far?” she asked. I nodded. I did. “Do you know why I am here now?” I started to nod, but then realized she had already told me everything of this strange history. This visit was for something new.
“We’re advancing now,” she said. “And your people should be prepared to do the same. However, there is too much conflict, turmoil, misunderstanding and doubt with your people. This transition period will be disruptive for your civilization. Those in power here blind you with false information and divide you to manipulate you and control you. Because of these deceptions, we’re not sure yet of the destructive force this may have, but we do know that it will likely cause a collapse of the social core.”
I blinked at her. I almost blacked out, but maintained. Hadn’t I already been aware of this? Haven’t I already been addressing this impending disaster with close friends and family? Hadn’t I already been ranting about it on this very blog? Hadn’t everyone already told me I was being paranoid and overreacting? Keep in mind, this meeting was in 2013. Back then, such things were still seen as unthinkable. In the United States as well as in many other leading nations the idea still skirted the defensive wall of It-Can’t- Happen-Here. Today, as I write this, our arbitrary little calendar has just flipped over to 2022, and now people are realizing.
Back in 2013 she was explaining to me again.
“My people are beginning the process of joining with the higher consciousness. We’ve essentially been immortal for three thousand years and have out-evolved the need for the physical form. This is why my appearance changes, and yet you recognize me as we are connecting on a deeper psychological level. This,” she poked herself in the shoulder, “is an avatar.” She reached across the table and poked my shoulder. “As is this. Yet unlike your condition, my consciousness can survive completely without the need of the shell network of the avatar. Do you remember me telling you the importance of developing conscious integrity?”
I did. The idea is that these avatars, as she called them, are merely a protective shell that allows a consciousness, a mind/soul, to remain intact as it develops. It is the pupal stage of a young soul, and when the larval form dies, the soul is released to survive on its own. Does a caterpillar think its life is ending when it weaves its chrysalis? Or is it aware of what it will become? Sadly, it does not often manage to do this, and it either dissolves into the collective with no individual identity remaining, or it reincarnates to continue the integration process, to solidify itself as an independent consciousness. Although integrity as the quality of being honest and having a strong moral compass is important, the definition she referred to had more to do with the state of being whole, undivided. Surviving as an intact consciousness without need for a physical body was the true goal of conscious evolution. In these physical bodies, we are blinded to the real world that exists all around us. Or perceptions are limited to the “visible” light spectrum and electromagnetic frequency of this reality. There is so, so much more.
I thought for a moment about the impermanence of these avatars, these meat puppets we move around the board of life. My mind flashed through stories I had heard all my life: The Tamam Shud case. The curious case of the lead mask deaths. The Man from Taured, although that one didn’t even leave a body. I noticed how many of these wayward forms had been men. An unknown female body is rarely recovered. I honestly could not think of any occasion that I had heard or read about of a recovered female avatar being regarded as unusual. For her part, Maggie let my mind wander a bit before bringing me back to the table. She was good at keeping me focused. I think I fell in love with her long ago, and because of this, I am a total loss at normal relationships. Woe be to the woman who chances a partnership with this dumb lunk!
Focus. “We’ve discussed before how these worlds are schools, and we are all students, developing an awareness and an ability to be complete souls capable of sharing in the larger collective.” I recalled all of this now. “My grade, if you will allow the analogy to continue,” (she seemed to remember that I had loathed school as a child), “is preparing for graduation, and yours as well should be preparing to move up to a higher grade.” As above, so below. She existed on a higher frequency where they had a closer relationship to the consciousness that existed on an even higher plane, what we often refer to on this level as “Heaven.” We are below them all, and dangerously close to the lower, darker, “Hell” realms. And it is our own collective consciousness that is currently being manipulated by lower, darker forces to bring ourselves further down into that horrible layer of fear, hatred, chaos, and cold. It’s all over our media, on the twenty-four-hour news networks, in our entertainment, and all along the shattered field of the political scene: division, disinformation, destruction.
As their civilization is about to rise further, ours is about to fall further — perhaps fall so far so as to be irretrievably lost. She was here to warn me. She was of the “fifth column,” a group of entities on her side that still regards our civilization as family, if the poorer relations. And despite a moratorium on contact with us, she and her fellow fifth column friends had been sneaking information to our side since the separation, trying to guide us to the higher, lighter realms. And yet, here we were, still sinking fast due to our fear, ignorance, and greed.
“There is still time to save some of you,” she was saying. “We may be able to create a new divide, a new veil, to drop between the higher-minded of your peoples, to protect you from the fate of the fearfully ignorant.” Now she had my full attention. I wanted to be saved. I wanted to help save whomever I could. Perhaps her people had a plan.
“Still, it’s uncertain, however, as I have yet to know the full extent of our integration. We are fully formed consciousness, and we only use avatars when we need to move from realm to realm where consciousness alone is not fully recognized.” These avatars are used by all sorts of higher and lower entities that exist without need of the corporeal. These are the cryptids, the variety of “extraterrestrial” forms (the most common being the little Grays), even many of the UAPs themselves are simply avatars bearing a single or collective group consciousness. She always chose avatars that appealed to my sense of physical desire. I felt flattered by that and yet I am fully aware that this had a purely scientific motive: I would pay closer attention and be more open to a figure that I found attractive. That’s human nature. Me ape man, after all.
“How do you mean?” I asked. “Will we lose contact?” I was suddenly fearful at the idea of losing her entirely. I knew she and I would never consummate our relationship in the physical sense, and I knew she had no romantic interest in me. I was basically a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher. She found it amusing, and yes, useful, but that was all it would ever be. I didn’t care. I just feel so fortunate to be in contact, and I always loved when she contacted me, and I did not and do not want this to end.
“The collective is a godhead consciousness,” she was explaining. “It is essentially the concept of what it is to be God. This higher consciousness is a collective of billions upon billions of like-minded higher consciousnesses, and that combined energy is powerful enough to create its own reality. On your level, reality has always beget consciousness, but as your own scientists are starting to realize, it is a two-way street. The Uncertainty Principle, the Heisenberg Principle, whatever you call it, was an early lesson to teach you this. Ultimately, consciousness is primary. Reality is created by the collective form. We are, essentially, evolving to be God, or to join God as it grows and develops, and as far as we know, will join with an even higher consciousness that as of now, is still unknown to us.” The Universal Mind.
“So, when you are absorbed into the collective, will you be lost as an individual?” I asked. “Am I going to lose my friend or gain a God-buddy?” She laughed at my joke, and I was reminded of why she also enjoyed speaking to me, almost as much as I enjoy speaking to her. I hope she enjoys my company equally to the enjoyment I feel from hers.
“And wouldn’t you like to have a God-buddy?” she grinned.
“You kidding?” I asked. “Who wouldn’t? I’d be unstoppable!”
“Unfuckingstoppable!” she joked, bringing back a conversation she and I had had when I was a much younger person.
I asked again: “Will you be lost to the collective?”
“No,” she explained. “We maintain our individual consciousness, but we can join the collective to influence the reality of our world at any time. Or we can remain closed off in our own little consciousness pockets for periods of meditative rest or rejuvination. It’s like having an apartment in a large city. You can go home, close the door, and have your privacy, or you can go out into the streets, shout, vote, move the collective as you will. And the more people you have moving with you, the greater your influence over the whole. And on that level, we are all on the same page, mostly. We are all moving toward the same reality, one of plenty and comfort and joy. From our perspective, your level looks like a Jackson Pollack painting of poison ideologies and anger.”
“Yeah, that’s how it looks to me, as well,” I replied despondently. I felt a sorrowful pity radiate from her countenance.
“I know,” she said. “And this is why we like you, and why we want to help you.” Here, she was using the plural ‘you.’ I just felt it. It’s not just me. They contact many others. They initiate contact at a young age, usually when we are newly reincarnated, around the age of three. Depending on what we carry with us from our previous “lives,” they judge us on a scale of consciousness integrity and emotional stability. Woah-oh, what I want to know, is are you kind? The initial contact is tempered according to the child’s response: Fear or love. They do not want to create trauma in the mind for the developing soul, so if they trigger a fearful response, they discontinue contact. They may continue to observe and try again a little later, but if fear is the main response, they disengage. If, however, the contact is met with an open-minded curiosity, then contact is continued. Guidance is provided in a very subtle way.
I recall one day when I was around seven or eight years old, I was sitting in the basement of my grandparents’ house in northern Pennsylvania. It was a large house, as back when they bought it there was still a thriving middle-class, and the middle-class could afford such things. The basement was a comfortably furnished recreation room, with shag carpeting, wood-paneled walls, nice furniture, and a full bar along one wall. The house sat on a quiet street just one block from the university.
Now at the time of this incident, I was a mere boy of no more than eight years. I sat on the shag carpeting of that basement, playing with my blocks and Hot Wheels cars, making tracks for them to run on. I was alone, as I usually was when such things happened. As I played, I heard a clear voice, directly beside my left ear, say “Not beyond the wall.” Or was it “Knock behind the wall”? I couldn’t make it out, but I sat upright, stiff as a board, every tiny hair on my skinny little body standing on end. There was, of course, no one else there. It was around three o’clock in the afternoon, and the bright summer sun was pouring in through the windows, placed high up at ground-level in the walls. Also, the overhead lights were all on, so I felt little fear. More than anything, I was surprised, curious, and yeah, maybe a little creeped out. I had definitely heard a man’s voice speak to me. But as it was daylight, and my grandmother was just upstairs, drinking her afternoon G&T, smoking her unfiltered Lucky Strikes, and watching her “stories,” I didn’t run screaming for the stairs up to the kitchen. Instead, I listened. Silence.
“What?” I finally asked no one, aloud. Still nothing. So, I asked again. “What did you say?” Again, silence, except for the faint murmur of incensed voices discussing the latest scandal on Days of Our Lives coming from the upstairs TV. My senses were heightened from the initial surprise, but now there was only silence around me. My courage grew. “What did you say? It’s okay, I won’t tell anybody.” And there it was – my deal with the silent mist of strangeness. I had said I wouldn’t tell anyone. And it started talking.
Most of us have some vague childhood memory of some strange occurrence or other, something we may still wonder about on quiet nights but which we simply mark down to childhood imagination or a dream. This is the initial contact. Fully overt collective contact has also been attempted with our leaders, the scientists, governments, and militaries of the world. At that level, however, things have not shown much promise. Although some scientists are open to these ideas approaching a singularity, they are beholden to the governments that provide their funding, and if they speak, they are drummed out of what passes as the field of “recognized” scientific contribution in this world. In our species, on our level, the reptilian-brained types usually manage to rise to the top and take over leadership positions. This is why people have a subconscious fear of “reptilians.” These are people who thirst for power and who are motivated by greed, and they use hatred and disorder as their means to control. They use the divide-and-conquer tactics to their own gain at the expense of the collective and the world. And they are ultimately controlled by lower entities, the darker forces that are dedicated to dragging the full energy of our own collective consciousness down to the lower frequencies (Hell). We do have the same collective consciousness power of our family on the higher side of the veil, but it is hidden from us. However, there are successful studies such as the Global Consciousness Project being conducted at Princeton University that show us that we are capable of creating a better world just by joining our minds together. The lower entities do not like this, of course, and so they continue their campaign of division, and they have created a perfect storm of it now, right at the point of ascension. And this is largely due to the imposed quarantine of our species from those above us. We have not been afforded the proper guidance. When it does come, say in the form of the Christ consciousness, the power elite that controls our world tends to respond poorly. Remember that one guy? We beat the shit out of him and crucified him.
And that is another thing. The return of Christ is not what the evangelical idiots think it is. They will not one day hear a trumpet sound and look up to see Jesus descending on a unicorn from the clouds across a rainbow bridge in the company of a choir of winged angels. That’s infantile thinking. The return of the Christ means that a higher consciousness will once again visit our people with lessons and guidance as to how to raise our vibrational frequency, to escape the pull of the lower energies. This has happened many times before. Before Christ there was Melchizedek (Yeshua, often mistranslated as “Jesus,” himself was said to be a priest in the order of Melchizedek, Psalm 110:4). There was the Buddha. There was Thoth. And there have been others since, but we tend to ignore them now. We are directed to ignore them by the powers that be that are under the influence of the lower realms.
“You must try to remain above it,” she was saying to me in Prague in 2013. “There is nothing you can do at this point to change the direction of your collective. It is a quagmire, and you shouldn’t insert your hand lest it take your whole arm, and then your whole body. Isolate yourself. Focus on developing your integrity in the way I have shown you. You know of others that share your path, maintain contact with them and be a unifying force. We will direct you to others. As your world is soon lost, drawn down, you must strive to rise above and to reach out to the higher frequency. We will try to remain within grasp.”
“But you don’t know if you will be able to remain within reach,” I said. I looked out the window at the courtyard below. It had grown dark outside, and there was a poplar tree wrapping its branches around one of the five lampposts, creating a lovely dance of light and shadow. I could see the spider webs connecting the lamp to the branches.
“True,” she was saying. “But as I said, we can maintain our individual consciousness, a smaller collective that will still resonate toward you. We won’t forget you, and we will carry that connection with us.”
I smiled and thought barrel of monkeys. At that, she smiled with me, and I felt warm. I didn’t know if it was warmth from the wine or the company (likely it was both). The barrel of monkeys method was a trick she had taught me for carrying memories and experiences from one incarnation to the next. It helped with developing soul integrity. As it worked for the individual consciousness, it would work for the collective. Connect one to another, which will link to another, and so on, all the way from her new position with direct access to the “godhead”… all the way down to those of us here on the lower side of the veil who keep our eyes, minds, and hearts shining upward. Shared collective memories can be carried in the mind as well as in the building blocks of DNA. We can use these to our advantage.
I wanted to maintain contact with her, and so I began to link all of my memories of our contact while they were present there and then in my conscious mind. She saw me doing this, and reached across the table, taking my head in her hands. Light exploded behind my eyes. I woke up on the bed, fully clothed and on top of the sheets, and sunlight was pouring in through the window. I sat up. The empty bottle of Bordeaux and two empty wine glasses sat on the table by the window onto the courtyard. She was gone. And again, I felt sad and alone, like every time she would leave.
But I remembered all of it now. And now I can start talking.
2022 to 2025 will be a tumultouous time for our world. Those of us who can must rise above it. We can’t save it, we can only be pulled down with it, like passengers adrift around a sinking ocean liner. Link, connect, weave a web, link up the mind and our collective memories like monkeys in a barrel. We can’t remain attached to the world that these lower frequencies have made for us. The shift is happening now. A move towards the singularity of collective consciousness follows the singularity of biology merging with technology. We have to connect to something higher, and we have a better chance of being spotted from above if we are together. One consciousness in the storm, one light in the darkness.
Now my mind goes to white noise again. If I’m allowed to talk openly about these things now, then why does my mind always go fuzzy when I try? I need to go lie down. I need to listen to the ringing in my ears. Do you have that? Then you should do the same. What strange thing happened to you as a child? What vague memory to you chalk up to imagination or dream? Contact the writer: firstname.lastname@example.org and let’s start connecting.