Let’s not call them “Nordics”

The memories keep flooding back now. For many years, it has been the odd trickle from a breach quickly repaired, or the occasional spill when the damn was overwhelmed. The variety and seeming randomness of it all, is yet another revealing, an indication of the scope of programs in which I was involved.

The most recent revealing was of a period of time in which I worked with a group of Nordics, and there is greater clarity of the reasons for what seem mixed messages about them and their natures. Beautiful people in the way our kind measure such things, but incredibly dangerous and unpredictable as well. I could feel the aura of callous and random aggression they carry, how they could one moment seem as placid as a sloth and the next as dangerous and deadly as a viper. They would easily kill any one of us that they found annoying, and they see us as little more than monkeys.

In the memory, I was with a group of seven or eight of these people in a kind of simulacrum of a large dwelling. It was mostly empty, with little furniture and no decoration, the walls grey and cold in the dim light. It is likely that I spent several days with them, sleeping on the floor when it was allowed. I remember feeling the kind of tired fuzziness of sleep deprivation.

I think I was chosen for my innate telepathy, because this is their preferred method of communication, as well as my highly sensitive hearing and pitch sensitivity. My voice would not be unpleasant or harsh to their ears, because I speak quietly and pitch my tone in the lower register. I would also be able to hear them and distinguish the sounds they made as they were practicing our speech, something they do not need to do with their telepathy. And though I have lived in the Southern U.S. since a small child, I have no discernible accent. Indeed, many have said I sound like someone from the west coast.

In a darker vein, that choice was also likely from my upbringing through a great deal of abuse and could cover myself with a kind of meekness which they expected from a lower life form.

The feeling that I was in constant danger was thick as soup, and I was completely alone with these people. They would return me to whatever facility they had taken me from at their leisure. My sense is that they enjoy intimidation and got a kick out of me stepping carefully around them, as well as my fear of them. I was a puppy in a room full of people who found enjoyment in kicking puppies. Throughout the encounter, I was careful not to look them full in the eyes. I do not know if this was to mitigate the telepathic reaction or simply because they would be offended with such boldness from a “lower being”. I think it was some of both.

One young woman of small build, much slighter than their norm, had loaded a dishwasher in a haphazard and strange manner. For height and build comparison, think Natalie Portman, and her hair was a kind of light brown or dark blonde that had no real lustre. Part of their “practice” for living among us, I assume. Her “work” included an electronic power supply along with other electronic components. I removed the power supply and began explaining to her, carefully and with only a few words, that electronics should not be allowed to get wet, that they would not work or that they might catch fire. She looked at me with a kind of contempt, the way that a teenager might when instructed by her elders to do something she preferred to ignore. Yet I waited for acknowledgment and comprehension from her as though this was my job to teach them. She seemed to provide it, her speech hesitant as though speaking was not her normal way of communicating. I could barely hear what she said, and had to strain to make out the words. They escape me even now, though I always knew what they intended to say through a psychic connection.

Her reaction was communicated to a group of them who were all sitting on the floor together in a larger and completely empty room, what would have been the living room in this large house. They all made a bit of a mocking “aha” of this lesson, giving me a kind of gratitude and acknowledgment which was the sort you might give to a dog who learns a particularly challenging trick and performs it successfully. I was careful to play along.

They seemed to shift in appearance at all times and rather randomly while interacting with me, as though they had no or little concern about how they appeared to me. It is likely that they maintain a kind of glamour in public and the nature of it is not wholly clear to me. Maybe they were using me to practice this “shapeshifting” to determine the best bandwidth(s) upon which to broadcast. They seem to be masters of occlusion just as are the reptilians. For example, I remember one of the males seeming smaller and more slight, then as very large with bulked muscles. I am not sure which is the true form, though considering their fondness for intimidation, it may be that they are naturally small and only like to appear larger when they wish to intimidate us.

As they shared the “lesson” with each other, one of the males said something to me about my hair. He is the one who first seemed slight—like a young male teenager to my eye—and then as a very large adult human male. I have very thick hair which I have nearly always kept long. The joke is I have enough hair for five people—which is quite true. He was telling me something about holding my hair up on my head, and as he held it this thing looked like a short sword. He rather mimed and mumbled that it was too much hair to do so (their hair was thin and only to their shoulders). As he noted my “inadequacy” he exclaimed that my hair was “disgusting!” It was the loudest and clearest word that I heard from any of them during this encounter. I, continuing the play and performance, made a little sweep of my arm through my hair, lifting it in one movement from shoulders and back, and said, “no, it is beautiful!” I realized that like the Klingons of Star Trek fame, one must maintain a certain level of bravado in order to avoid their disfavor, and it worked. They comprehended both my unshrinking demeanor, the “lesson” on how hair like mine is viewed in our society, and the “joke” on me and them. Each of them made a kind of barking laughter, tilting their heads back as they did so. It was a sound unjoyous, with an energy of a dangerous gang who would  turn on you should you fail them. Yet I am here to tell the tale, so they must have returned me home at some point.

This is where the memory ended, though I feel that I was there for some small period of time so that they could observe how a human lives and behaves in a “native” environment. I understand now why I have felt some small amount of dread when “Nordics” are discussed and my internal disagreement with the way some experiencers seem to elevate these beings in their expression and thinking. It is in my thinking that they have well-perfected their occlusion methods and the glamourie has enabled them to generate a kind of romance around human thinking where they are concerned.

Perhaps this account will shed some light on this for you.

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We Don’t Need Unity

We Don’t Need Unity

I send out this call to all those who spin their wheels arguing about “Unity in the Community” and demand or jostle for space in the dialog. Please stop.

Those calling for unity are generally speaking, demanding that their beliefs or stories not be challenged. They find disagreement and challenge to be stressful on the one hand, or they are untruthful and so find those things undermine their agendas. This is simply part of the human experience, and nothing more than this. It doesn’t mean that there is some conspiracy or government interference to create “dis-unity”, because no intervention is needed when a group of people behave like children, and no infiltration is required of a body that has no power to unseat them. I have other opinions on the latter and may address them in a future post.

What we need is Harmony. Imagine a large orchestra of 50-100 classical musicians. If you have had the pleasure of hearing one live, you will understand what a sublime experience true harmony can be. Now imagine if the wind section was out of tune with the string section, and what a miserable experience can be attained when a sublime one is the potential.

It doesn’t matter if anyone agrees or not. It doesn’t matter even if someone is lying. You can experience harmony with any human being if you are a mature individual who can interact and speak without fear, rancor or aggression. Honest conversation is possible even with liars, if that liar can weather the accusation and make a reasonable choice to either stop lying or own it. A person who lies is doing so out of fear. They need healing, not demonization and shunning.

And let us not choose captivity to the false binaries propagated through the various programs and social engineering, such as one must be either (a) truthful or (b) lying. The reality is that reality is not what we think it is, certainly not when our thinking has been engineered along certain spectra, rubrics and tangents. Sufficient exposure to a quantity of same (linear age) reveals how little we “know” when that knowing has been defined wholly by things external to our inner being.

In an orchestra, you have hierarchy, but in a group hierarchy is not necessary. In fact, hierarchy is more often than not the mechanism by which groups and their creative potentiality are destroyed. As one who has participated in an intentional group mind, cultivated and nurtured through the exercise of focused awareness and consciousness, I have perhaps a unique insight in this conversation. A fluidity of roles encourages a needful dynamism wherein all can benefit from the inspiration available in all roles. We learn best by doing, and as those communities that once practiced fosterage and apprenticeship knew, allowing the young to practice a variety of roles demonstrated their strongest skills and offered a mechanism to strengthen areas where weakness was present. It’s not up to me or any other individual to define what this fluidity of roles will look among the Awakened, but we must be ever vigilant about the hierarchy program and our fears of setting it aside. In this fluidity, there is no “higher” or “lower” (false binary alert), and there is nothing lost.

Now continue our metaphor of Harmony beyond a simple (yet not so simple!) classical orchestra, and see Gaia herself as a giant, multi-faceted, collection of achingly wondrous diversity. Is there not an inherent balance and harmony in her Being? Have not humans existed within her framework in a state of harmony?

We don’t need grand celestial or galactic metaphors, or tales of alleged distant societies on other worlds to offer us a model of what harmony and peace should be or become. We already possess those things in abundance. What we need is to do the work of focused intention and conviction to OWN our inner core, and let go of this childish standard that our story and beliefs are sufficient grounds to ostracize and demonize those who differ from us. Then can Harmony begin, but only then.