I was understanding things on a deeper level. Every song became a message, a Word from another world, not of which the composer intended, but of the divine message that lay within the lines of its matrix. The numbers and lyrics began to tell a story, the rhythm as a chant, the voice from beyond—a revelation from the blindness of who I thought I was to that which the words now described.
I heard in the music the relationship between the worlds: the cry of desperation from below, the love and hope from above, the countless souls reaching for what was always within. I could track within the choruses a timeline, the development and interaction of the dimensions from beginning to end, the journey that accumulates in this day.
However, the most significant result of these changes was an instinctive understanding of dimensional physics, and with it, the connection between the mental and the physical. It became normal to simply stare at things and understand the most profound lessons about life, deep things, things of which I’d never heard or even considered.
I can remember one example of a beautiful mountain forest: I sat atop Pilots Knob in Red River Gorge, Kentucky, viewing the valley below. There I witnessed the countless trees reaching for the sun in vanity just as humanity does for truth, yet the roots of our earthly existence refuse to let us ascend toward the reality for which we seek.
And with the view of God, I wished to touch them from above, but they could not let go of who they perceived themselves to be. We war within ourselves; we fantasize about extra-worldly things: God, angels, magic, and eternity. We reach within our minds and hope for the heavens but ultimately are stuck to the matrix in which we live. Indeed, we are rooted, no different than those trees, to the ground of our human selves. And such are the woes of a temporal life.
There is a way out: I pondered how fire could change the forest into oneness; how it could make many one; how it would free the molecules of the physical into the reality of the air, the spirit of a higher dimension. I realized the advantage of transformation, how the atoms were no longer enslaved to the earth but risen into the liberty of the sky above. It was fascinating to realize that this was the lesson for humanity as well, how an inward burning away of our human self-image would release a far superior creation. And though one reality would be destroyed, an even better life would be attained.
I fancied the forest, the endless pines and poplars, but also the generations of deadness that accumulate beneath them. Each morning, countless millions of dew drops form upon the limbs, each refracting a bit of sunlight upon the tinder below. For most however, the focus is too far, just beyond the reach of rightness, each drop in itself meaningless. They take no part in the grand scheme of spiritual transformation as neither do we in and of ourselves.
It does, however, take but a single drop in perfection of alignment—in just the right order, at exactly the right distance, and at exactly the right time. It may have been luck, but it happens: On a given day and a given drop, the right distance and refraction, the heat and focus occur to create fire.
It begins with but a slight breeze, the coercion of the invisible, the unseen but undeniable influence of something that is beyond our control and understanding. Indeed the spirit is the key to the consuming fire that approaches. It creates that small, insignificant ember that in turn will destroy everything as we know it. The wind whispers; it summons something that already exists within. It didn’t make the fire, yet it pulls from within our hearts that which we know, somehow, is already there. This, I know, is the simile of ourselves upon the coming day.
But the fire of restitution would need to come from within, not without. They must find the Word inside their souls, the change not forced upon them, but that they themselves deemed eternal survival. The fire potential was there, packed away within the fiber of their very being, no different than those trees, within them the light yet unrealized, but by design a new creation.
Throughout the next two decades, I would catalog the images and thoughts of my mind, thousands of them, with countless thousands more yet unrecorded. At first I wasn’t sure what they meant, but then, over time, the meaning revealed itself. In dreams and daydreams, small bits at a time, the wisdom would come to dissipate the clouds of confusion. As it did, a crystal-clear understanding emerged of something that was from far beyond this world.
I pondered the pyramids as well; I measured and studied, not to learn, but to confirm. I was possessed to know if others were seeing what I saw. I had to know if this was just me. As I read what others had written, I instead recollected what I already knew, an instinct of involvement myself. Somehow I saw them, a people; I saw me at another time and in another life. The realism was overwhelming; the view from my own eyes, then, as I walked, as I traveled, the interactions.
I took an interest in my Bible for the first time, not out of religious duty, but because as I read verses I saw so much more than mere history or literalism. I instinctively counted every facet of its content, recognizing patterns and codes of which I’d never heard nor seen. There was beneath its words an obvious and undisclosed study.
Shortly thereafter, I bought practically every religious book I could find: The Jewish Bible, the Koran, many of the ancient Hindu texts, and every single Jewish and Christian non-canonical book that was ever written. I found within these scripts a common thread of exacting information. It was all there: the same detailed data. Indeed, they were all telling the exact same story beneath their obvious and outer facades.
Over time my insights grew. Yet what I could plainly see only scared or annoyed those around me. This was the paradox, the irony of my event: so much knowledge yet clueless how to use it constructively. It brought me no heaven and, in many ways, only created more hells. Though comforting to contemplate, this new intellect did nothing to change the world in which I lived.
My options limited, I found solace in sleep. Each night I lay in bed, pondering the events and images of my past. Perhaps what I did next was in fact because of my religious upbringing or, perhaps I lacked the skill sets to navigate my predicament with more finesse. No doubt you will think this cliché and simplistic, but I did it nonetheless.
For the first time in my life I prayed, not because I was told to, not from religious servitude, but because I finally, really believed from my heart that it was the only chance I had at righting a world, my world, turned upside down. It was at this point that I made a humble, most genuine request to something I could neither see, touch, nor tell.
As unlikely a solution as prayer may seem, it was the only thing left to which I could turn:
Thy Kingdom come; above all else, above my life, above my health; above all that I know and love. At the cost of my breath and brethren…Thy Kingdom come. I’m all in. I don’t care what you do to me or mine to accomplish, but just do it. Go all the way and don’t stop till it’s finished. Please bring what you’ve shown me to the world.
From then on, for every still moment, day or night, -that was my one and only request of God: Thy Kingdom come.
And while I will not argue the practicality of such things, I will assert the end results. Real prayer brought real change, not overnight but over the days, months, and years. Who knows why or how it did, but it did nonetheless. At that time of course it seemed miraculous, yet who knows the greater truth. Perhaps if nothing else, prayer created a focal point that I otherwise lacked. Either way, change came.
Hand in hand with my lone requests came the steady erosion of my cares for the things of this world. Reputation, wealth and success increasingly became a mere vapor toward which I no longer reached. Slowly but surely I lost my longing for the whims of the flesh and, in turn, those shackles, those lusts, lost their strength to hold a new thing that welled within my being.
As the old me began to dissipate, I increasingly found comfort with the new me I was beginning to see. A new man was taking over my consciousness, a new mind; and though there will always be remnants of who I was in this world before, memories of my childhood and rearing on t
he farm, I am largely disconnected from that person now. Of course my interaction with family, my greetings to friends, are familiar. Yet they too sensed the changes that I could no longer hide as my personality flickered between the persona of two ages, new and old, then and now.
It was quite the transformation. One minute I was the Daniel everyone knew, the next, an entity that not even I fully recognized. Yet this new man was far more me than I had ever been myself. Within him I found comfort; I came to love this new being. He was smarter, wiser, more still within. Increasingly I was becoming a new creation; a part of myself with which I had long ago lost touch but was now returning as a dear old friend.
The tides of remembrance came in waves, reckless at first, turbulent and destructive to every relationship I had. But the change itself was relentless, unyielding, and unforgiving. Yet like those trees that I imagined burning, transforming into a new substance, the experience with the little old man was also as a flame within the dry tinder of my life. I wanted the fires of change, and now, finally, the fire within had come and had me.
It was the spark of a new imagination. With it came the destruction of the normalcies of the world in which I had thus far lived. Yet the knowledge of which was bestowed upon me was not given but recollected, the memories of another time and another life hidden within. But as the fires of change destroyed the old me, the more of who I was before would be revealed, the forging of a new reality. And yet the biggest events of all were still yet to happen.
The Seedling
As the days and months continued, my understanding of the images increased. I came to know that the pictorials I saw in my mind were actually describing the verses of the ancient scriptures themselves. In them I began to see a distinct and ever more obvious code. They told the story of a science visually and were likewise metaphorically detailed by the verses themselves.
The subject of the science was spiritual, but not at all as literal as the outward stories would suggest. That and the numbers in the Bible and in the images were astronomical in nature. Ultimately they seemed to tell the story of alignment, that is, Earth’s alignment. Exactly why of course, at first eluded me, though the answers would come in time.
I found through study that the Earth both spins and wobbles similar to a toy top. While the spin is measured every 24 hours, the wobble takes far longer to complete and is measured every 72 years. At this I found it interesting that there were also 24 books in the Jewish Bible and that Jewish religious lore claims that the Jewish God has a total of 72 names. Add to that the Islamic tradition of 72 “Houris” or virgins, and the numbers of these ancient religions seem to tell a different story than the literal version would indicate.
Accordingly, the 12 tribes, 12 apostles, and 12 imams alluded to the 12 cycles of the moon. The moon’s orbit can have either a stabilizing or a destabilizing effect on our planet; its path can literally alter the angle at which the Earth faces the sun. Thus if the moon’s orbit is offset as it travels around the Earth, then our alignment with the sun is likewise worsened.
Then there is the mighty serpent, or dragon mentioned in the books of Genesis, Isaiah, Job, Revelation, and elsewhere. This of course is the constellation around which Earth’s axis appears to rotate when measuring the 72 year Precessional movement. Obviously nothing more than a coincidental clump of stars, this point within the heavens was yet demonized in the lore of every ancient religion; but why?
Next was the number 70, mentioned repeatedly throughout the Bible, itself an alternate measurement of Earth’s wobble. The question I suppose is, why did the authors of those books feel that Earth’s tilt and/or wobble was important enough to encode within countless volumes of text? It must have been significant, but again, at first the mystery eluded my grasp.
I found that Earth is indeed tilted almost 24 degrees from being perpendicular to the sun. According to scientists today, this angle alters slightly, perhaps a degree or two, back and forth over a 41,000-year cycle. At the moment, however, it is in fact straightening at an alarmingly fast rate. With this, I couldn’t help but ponder if there was a connection to all these numbers in conjunction to Earth’s sudden and rapid realignment.
Upon further revelation and research I discovered that there are in fact thousands of verses in the Bible, Koran and Vedas that speak either allegorically or pictorially of what seemed to be an opening in space, i.e., portal-mechanics. If so, and if my hunch was correct, then the implications that perhaps the ancients knew of such things thousands of years ago would be shattering to the outer-dogmas of our religious beliefs.
How could this be? I wondered. At that time in 1990, portals were only an underdeveloped theory in Einstein’s notebook, where-as the scriptures were literally thousands of years old. No one at the time knew of the data I was finding in the Bible and other ancient texts. How then could the authors of those writs have possibly understood such things?
Likewise I noticed that one of the mind images I drew formed what at first glance appeared to be a geometric flower or lily in its center. The image comprised 12 circles, each with double outer lines and each with 12 pie-shaped divisions. These in turn were surrounded by a crisscross of lines that formed 12 stars of David, a symbol that has been identified with Judaism for millennia. I hadn’t actually drawn those 12 stars myself; but were the natural result of the lines and circles as they interacted. This in itself was a fascinating incident.
Far more sobering, however, was that within the image’s center was the likeness of an opening, not unlike the portals we see in movies. In further dreams and visions came the most peculiar image of a man imposed upon it, then color, a beautiful luminescent green. The image seemed to relay a powerful message every night as I sleep, but what?
Taken as a whole along with the word-code I was finding, things were getting a bit scary. I pondered, could this have really meant something or was it a mere coincidence? There was a connection here and I knew it, a piece and a part of the solution I sought. I was onto something and it gave me goosebumps to realize what was being uncovered before my eyes. To even entertain that this was possibly what the little old man had downloaded that day with only the touch of his hand was surreal.
The problem I was having, and as I would discover over time, was knowing these great mysteries without the wisdom and discernment to articulate and present them to others. Knowledge can bring great power but without clarity, knowledge in itself is vain and destructive. Thus the ancient science that I was discovering would come at a price. More than once I would learn the lessons of God the hard way, not only on how to explain this information to others, but more so, of how to be a worthy recipient of such an unheard-of gift.
But to see these things from the ancient perspective was unique. How so, I pondered, could it be possible that a 3,000-year-old text was authored by someone who apparently knew more about the space/time continuum than Einstein? What’s more, that identical data was found in not one but multiple religious texts from around the world. Likewise the more I came to understand this science, (I should say, remembered the science), the more it also tied into other ancient megaliths, such as the pyramids, Stonehenge and the countless temple ruins across the globe.
No doubt maturity was an issue at the time. When it came to the images, portal science and the scriptures, I was like a kid in a candy shop. I would get so excited, talk so fast, and babel so much, that no one could keep up, much less understand the depth of what I had said. I was untempered, to say the least.
As it were, however, God apparently knew I had more to learn. I was but a humble country boy who had seen little of the world. I had almost zero first-hand knowledge of other cultures, races, or religions, much less the suffering of people beyond the cuts and bruises I incurred on the farm. I worked as hard as or harder than anyone anywhere; I was an animal in that sense. Yet had little appreciation for the plights and views of others around the globe.
I lived in a very small world at the time, not on purpose of course, but because
of where I was raised and worked. To be fair, most people around the world are this way. We are naturally wary of others, whether out of ignorance or preconceived ideas. Social and religious stereotypes and propaganda tend to inflame our feelings as well and help ensure that we overlook the viewpoints of those from different backgrounds. Yet again, almost every culture does this to some degree.
I needed life experience and was about to get it right between the eyes. This next event would also happen while at work, and to say that I didn’t see it coming would be an understatement. That particular day I was making part runs for the mechanics shop at the concrete plant. The parts truck was a 75 International pickup, a real horse in its day, though by 1990 it had seen more than its fair share of miles, age, and abuse. It did well enough however to drive from Middletown to Louisville and sounded good to boot. The old thrush muffler bellowed the trucks raw power and made quite the show when rolling into a parts house.
This day I was dispatched to a dealership that was in a part of town with which I was unfamiliar. I had little love for the city and even less knowledge of its countless streets and alleys. As you might guess, therefore, I was completely lost in under 30 minutes. Worse yet, we didn’t have cell phones back then and it seemed a bit risky to stop and ask directions, considering the area in which I now found myself.
This part of Louisville was comprised of the old row houses that are commonplace in the older ghettos. Their old, worn wood-siding sported ten or more coats of lead paint through the decades, as did many of their sagging roofs with two or more layers of mismanaged shingles. The sidewalks were typically cracked throughout with litter and garbage all around. You get the picture.
The Book of Daniel and the Mystery of the Resurrection Machine Page 4
