Jan 15, 2002 - Visualization and
"Tertiary" Midwayers |
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The Chinese Student It was just prior to the official opening of World Expo 88 in Brisbane, Australia, when I met up with a young Chinese student called Kwae Mo San. Kwae was a student in one of the local medical universities where he studied -- of all things -- acupuncture as it was taught with the use of electrical impulses. It was said that Kwae could read the human aura like no other could, and this unusual gift was considered to be of great advantage in his pursuit of his future occupation in the healing arts. Although acupuncture was something typically Chinese, hardly of common use in Australia, the twenty-four-year-old convinced me that a lecturer/technician in his Brisbane College was teaching methods unheard of in China at that time. The Chinese national was paying for his tuition by doing casual work in an engineering plant belonging to a long time friend of mine. In that engineering plant is where I met Kwae, when I spent a week away from the demands of my own factory and spare time clinic. The Philosopher's Stone On the day before my return to my hometown, two Chinese medical students moved into a new apartment in Brisbane, and they invited me to their house warming party. Kwae Mo San was also there as a guest of his two countrymen. By ten o'clock that evening we were all still enjoying the wonderful Chinese dishes that simply kept on being served up. It was a banquet, no less, but Kwae Mo San had something else on his mind. He was reading my aura, and asked me to let him touch my philosopher's stone. "Philosopher's stone? I'm not an alchemist," I told him, "I don't have anything of the kind." The Chinese student would not be convinced of that. Here was a persistent young man who wanted to see and touch a philosopher's stone. In the rural areas of China, he told me, there was an alchemist doctor, and this doctor operated on poor Chinese peasants. Without the use of acupuncture, this "alchemist" would cut open his patients, lift out cysts or cancers, and close the wounds by simply squeezing the flesh back into place. The operations would take only a few minutes, and without scrubbing up, the doctor would move onto the next patient. The doctor would then take the stone from his pocket, move it backwards and forwards over the patient's body, and that ensured the patient would not bleed. "Kwae Mo San, I do not have a Philosopher's stone," I told him. "Check your study books on the subject of auras." "Only once before do I see an aura like yours," he told me. "I see it on the alchemist doctor." The Bereaved Mother Moments later, Jacyntha, a young mother who had just lost her only child to a drug overdose gate crashed the party, and I was used by the Midwayers to do some Delta (deep-mind) TRing to lift her out of her suicidal mood. It later occurred to me that Kwae Mo San, the aura specialist, might well have observed the "mind connection" I had with the Midwayers at that time. This would mean that the Chinese doctor, who performed those minor miracles, if indeed he existed, might also be working with the 1,111, but I would never know. At that time, communication with the Midwayers was so rare as to be almost absent. I was in constant pain, and the connection was strictly one-way only… well, almost completely one-way. I felt disinclined to tell Kwae about my "Spirit Guardian Friends." I was not altogether certain I had not become a dead loss to them all. Frequent Doubts Many weeks later, the "alchemist doctor" in China was still frequently on my mind. I was alone -- "a freak of nature" -- working with those who share our space, but not our time. I knew no one who, like me, socialized with those of another realm. And, since communication was often hard to achieve, there were frequent thoughts of, "did I dream all that?", "did I make it all up in my mind?", even, "have I long ago lost the story line?" It's not easy to communicate with Midwayers, mostly when you least expect them to come through, but to still always consider yourself to be totally sane, for, in no way can you be just average. Pictures, Sound, Touch, Smell and Movement. An old Chinese with a sparse gray beard, and wearing a somewhat soiled white coat, stood at an operating table made from a few wooden planks. From the open structure that was his operating theater, I saw fields of corn and cabbages. Stretched out on the planks was an elderly man who was talking to the doctor about the pain he had been suffering. Then the patient stopped talking, as the old surgeon reached for something in his coat pocket, brought it out, waved it over the old man's belly, and returned the item to his pocket. Without a moment's hesitation, the surgeon cut into his patient's flesh, removed a white, stringy lump of tissue, and closed over the wound. The fresh air that drifted in from the fields mingled with the smell of a deep, open wound. There was no sign of any swabs to be used, no antiseptic liquid. There was no nurse to assist the doctor. There were more patients queuing up to take their turn under the knife. There was no blood! It had taken perhaps no more than fifteen seconds to perform that seemingly miraculous task. But now the old doctor just stood there, his hands on his patient's stomach. In prayer? In meditation? Offering his gratitude for another successful venture just completed? Touching the man with his healing hands? I would never know, but I took the opportunity to step forward, touch, open, and peer into the old "alchemist's" pocket to see that famous philosopher's stone. There was nothing in his pocket but some dust, sand and lint. It was probably safer for the old surgeon to be known as an alchemist, I gathered at the time. Dealing with Spirits, Guardians, or Guides, might be frowned upon. At the time, and in my own mind, I called these experiences "Mind-to-Mind Full-Color Picture Thought Tranferances". They include Pictures, Sound, Touch, Smell and Movement. But more amazing, as I reached out and pulled at the old doctor's pocket in broad daylight to see the philosopher's stone, it was after midnight in Australia. Logically, it was pitch dark in China, also. I suggest that what I experienced was Universe Reflection, also that we cannot yet begin to understand the absolute brilliance of a technology that appears to have a total disregard for "linear" time. Copyright © George Mathieu Barnard, 2002 -- The 11.11 Spirit Guardian Documents. © 11:11 Progress Group |
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"AN INTERESTING INCIDENT" It was in the winter of 1971/1972, now some thirty years ago, when, already well past midnight, I was driving our big V8 station wagon back to our hometown. Next to me, my husband was fast asleep and snoring loudly. It was true that he worked sixty or more hours per week, and then in the evenings he worked as my dance partner. We had to travel away from home for the dance classes on four, or even on five nights per week, and then he would have to be up and about again by six of the following dawn to get to his regular job. We had agreed that I should drive home on those late nights so he could at least get some extra sleep. But I worked hard, too, and I would also be up at six of that following morning to get our half-dozen offspring ready for school. As well, I would then have to prepare the dance lessons for that evening. That thoughtless, snoring body, regularly beside me in the passenger seat made me angry and very resentful at times. On that long-ago cold night I was fighting to stay awake, but sticking to "the master's rule" of not playing my radio. He needed his sleep, he said. I wound down the window, yet the bitter-cold wind did little to revive me. I was already driving about ten miles above the speed limit, but we were still forty-five minutes away from home, our warm bed, and a well-deserved rest. I studied the road up ahead and glanced in the rear view mirror. There was not a car in sight -- a black night ahead and behind me. There were no Officers of the Law to be seen, and so I bumped up the speed by another ten miles per hour. I had no great need for a speeding ticket, that was for sure, but I wanted to get home as quickly as I could. I was so-o-o tired. "Get into the other lane!" sounded a loud and urgent voice. I swiftly changed lanes, and as I did, a car without headlights pulled from the side of the road. I screamed at the top of my lungs, "I missed that car by mere inches! The fool! Where did he come from?" The car that would have written our death warrants was now just a blur of an image in my rear view mirror. Instantly I knew where he had come from. He had charged onto the road from that little roadside bar I passed each week, and probably so drunk and 'legless', he would never find out how close he came to creating both his extinction, and ours. That snoring body beside me woke up the moment I swerved into the inside lane. "What on earth are you doing?" he demanded to know. "Have you lost your cotton-pickin' mind?" "Saving our bloody lives, is what I am doing!" I told him. I was trembling from head to foot. But I knew "the Voice", not I, had saved us, for I heard an audible Voice -- as clearly an audible sound as I have ever heard in my life. This most fortunate rescue happened many years before the Urantia Papers found me. It happened long before I learned about Midwayers and Destiny Guardians, and long before our Celestials Teachers were heard. I had no idea of what a Thought Adjuster could possibly be. As far as I was concerned, it was God who told me to get into the other lane, and with a Voice of such overwhelming authority, I instantly did as I was told to do. I have heard that Voice many times since then, and lived a most amazing life in the years following that event. And often I wondered about His decision to save our lives and for what reason His timely mercy. Nonetheless, I am incredibly grateful for His Amazing Grace on that winter evening so long ago. * I decided to submit this particular experience upon George’s invitation for me to
do so. Perhaps there are others who have had similar experiences of God’s remarkable
intervention, and want to write about it, and send it in. I for one would like to hear
about your experiences. Your sister… J. |
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Seraphic Assistance. It seems a thousand years ago, though it was only in the Australian summer of 1971/1972 when I established visual contact with members of the 1,111 Secondary Midwayers. They were ancient Warriors, Guardians, Healers, Messengers and Historians. "But were you always ethical in your ways," I asked them. I would not ever be associated with them if they were not "on the level" -- not subject to a strict moral code. "We are all ways vouched for by our Seraphic Superiors," I was told. "We fight. We win. We all ways win." "All ways" meant that they won every time, in every respect, and for all concerned. There were simply no losers as a result of whatever project they were ordered to tackle. Some months later I considered the involvement of the Seraphim. Why should they be hanging around, looking pretty, and not be doing something constructive. Naively, I suggested they might get involved, too, since ABC-22, MNO-6, MNO-8, and I were often hard at work as a team. A Book Of Dreams. Within a few days, a book of dreams appeared on my clinic desk. It was a gift from a patient who had taken her many lessons to heart and finally solved the problem that had plagued her since childhood. I said, "Thank you so much." I wondered if I really needed that book, but read it from cover to cover until the early morning hours. Some of it actually made sense. There were ever-so-many sayings and proverbs in any of the languages that were spoken in my home, and that related directly to the massive amount of information in that little dream book. And soon, my vivid, often lucid, dreams all began to stay in memory during waking hours. Dreams began to "happen with a vengeance". But there was a problem; some were complex and convoluted, hard to translate, even though the meanings tended to be clear. Keep It Simple Stupid. I knew the Seraphim were involved with these dreams, and requested for them to keep the dreams simple, if at all possible. "Just three main points to the dream, if you can explain the opportunity or problem in this way. Give me the basics of what it is I need to know, and for me to save time. I'll leave it on the shelf for you to study tonight, Ladies." Things began to happen after that request, but to my dismay, the dreams did not apply to me. In no way were the translations of any use, until… Until I began to realize they belonged to my patients rather than to me. Some serious mischief that might have remained in the "obscure basket" was regularly available on the morning of the day during which I would treat that particular patient, with that particular cleverly-hidden psych ailment, cause for extreme neurosis, or hard-to-understand phobia. It was only one short step to program the patients to experience those revealing dreams for themselves. Amazingly, each of their dreams would have three -- just three -- major aspects, and they would be easy to decipher according to that little dream book. Frequently I would hear them say, "I never ever dream, but I dreamed a most incredible dream that night after I saw you last week." -- words to that effect. It convinced me the patients' own Destiny Guardians also took the time to read my little book of dreams. There was cooperation all around, and easy-to-translate "mysteries" for this therapist. "You dream every night," I used to tell them. "Request of your Angels to have you remember the dreams, and for them to make them concise, relevant, and simple stupid, like I get my dreams. If you didn't dream every night, likely, you would wake up quite dead by morning's light." It's good advice to get the little dream book, and ask for Seraphic assistance -- stop them from twiddling their etheric thumbs, for Seraphim will do almost anything for you. Moreover, considering the percentage of the "sleeping" brain's oxygen intake being registered in the high nineties, we're bound to be dreaming every night. Seraphim help you to remember if you ask them nicely. Cody's Dilemma. Just the other day, a nineteen-year-old was taught a relaxation/visualization exercise. Until recently, young Cody has wasted quite a few years of his life with some illegal, and habit-forming drugs. His high school education appears to be shot to pieces. He has run away from home, and has been told he no longer needs to return there. He comes from a home that believes in punishment and reward, though mostly punishment. As well, severe criticism is an almost daily event. Encouragement is entirely absent. But on top of all that, Cody is diagnosed bi-polar, and the condition is quite severe -- not yet stabilized with the appropriate medicine. Sandy and I took him in for a time, and the young man learned about our many Celestial Friends, and that life doesn't halt when one expires. But it's not all bad. The constant aggravation of such an unfavorable home environment would have kept his adrenaline output high -- his brain making neural connections at a greater than average rate, I feel. Cody has a brain and mind, more than adequate to make the needed changes to become very successful. The Session. After the session ended, he eventually opened his eyes, somewhat disgruntled about having been brought to the surface. He said, "Wow! I saw this tiny little tree amongst big trees. There was a powerful light that came from the Heavens, and there were lots of Angels all around me. The tree just grew and grew, until it stood high above all the others. That was a beautiful movie!" I told him, "With all the difficulties placed in your way, and all the problems you yourself have created in the past, you are now getting all the help you need. You can achieve anything. The sky is the limit, Buddie. That tree… is you." Neither his lucid dream, nor my instant "translation", had anything to do with conscious thought. It had everything to do with Seraphic and Midwayer input respectively. That's how it goes. Moments later, someone telephoned and offered Cody a permanent home. His face lit up, and he said, "That's two miracles come my way in one single day!" Copyright © George Mathieu Barnard 2002 -- The 11:11 Spirit Guardian Documents. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Notes: That useful little dream book is called, "Zolar’s Encyclopedia And Dictionary Of Dreams". I don't remember who publishes it. I left it in Australia, and perhaps I don't really need it any more. The dream translations just "happen"… like miracles. We recommend this method of "learning whilst you sleep". © 11:11 Progress Group |