-----Original Message-----
From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]]On
Behalf Of Roger Pye
Sent: 26 August 2002 06:29
To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Subject: Pre-emptive Strike
In the Southern Tablelands of NSW, halfway (50 km) along a dirt road
from Braidwood (pop. 950) to Nowra (coastal town) there lies a hamlet
called Nerriga which comprises two churches, one hotel, a general store
(closed), a trading post cum filling station cum caravan park, several
cottages and a permanent population of nine. To the north-east of the
village on the way to Nowra is an arm of the Moreton National Park,
rugged volcanic country not for the fainthearted to explore. About a
kilometer to the south-west of Nerriga is a Crown reserve, a valley, in
the control of a local trust. The reserve contains a disused sawmill and
several wooden huts which were occupied by sawmill workers some 30-50
years ago.
One of these huts is sited not far from the creek (stream) which
meanders through the valley separating it from an almost vertical slope
to the west which is covered with trees. There are trees also to the
east on ground which rises shallowly to the road some 300 metres away.
The area around the hut is therefore wind-protected, the sun pours in to
it most days, and it can be very pleasant even on icy winter days.
I lived in this hut (Sunshine Cottage I called it) in the valley for 18
months just under a decade ago. I was a destitute woodworker; many's the
time I sat on the bench just outside the front door revelling in the
sunshine, watching white cockatoos, kookaburras (kingfishers), magpies,
currawongs diving and darting about as they do.
In the valley, I underwent emotional trauma almost beyond belief
interleaved with occasional and very brief ecstatic moments. I didn't
eat half-way properly either. Even so, whenever I need to go somewhere
in my mind, as happens from time to time, it is to Sunshine Valley I go,
to peace, quiet and reverence, birdsong, tortoises splashing in the creek.
Six months after I left the Valley, on 3 June 1995, I experienced the
first of what I have identified as 'downloads' of energy. I was then
living a solitary existence on a farm not far from Braidwood but on that
night I was in a theatre in Canberra, 80 km away, watching a musical in
which my eldest son (then 32) was the leader of the chorus. The download
lasted about 30 seconds and triggered an emotional outpouring which
robbed me of my complete memory for nearly 24 hours. I got home by
intuition - it took me three hours instead of just over an hour - and I
didn't 'recognise' anything when I reached there.
I wrote a book during the next five months, in fact started it the very
next day, even though I had written very little other than official
reports for most of my life. During the writing of it, memories returned
- but not all of them by any means - and by the end of October much of
what I had written about had happened as well but in far different
contexts to those in the book. I also possessed memories and knowledge I
had been unaware of before 3rd June.
Since then I have had half a dozen downloads, the last very recently. It
began at lunchtime Thurs 22nd August and went on for twenty-nine hours,
the longest yet. In terms of pre-emptive strikes, the following extract
of happenings (which occurred near the end of the download) may be of
interest:
*******************
I must have slept awhile for the window of the third eye was murky, so I
cleaned it and looked through in anticipation of seeing the sunlit glade
with trees and birds and a creek running through, and an old wooden
worker's shack with a ute parked nearby. But this time I didn't see that
at all. Instead everything was dark and I 'turned' away.
I had become cold again; the energy pouring into me from the golden rays
I had seen earlier must have dissipated, I thought. Yet when I touched
the crystal which hangs around my neck it felt fiery hot. Perhaps it
wasn't me after all. With an effort I opened the third eye once more.
The multitude filled the valley for as far as I could see, humanity
laughing, singing, dancing in the brilliant, loving sunshine. Birds
sang, a dog barked, frogs croaked, a lone kangaroo startled by the
racket loped across from the roadside to the creek and beyond.
In the distance a trumpet sounded and close to hand I heard the woman's
voice I had listened to earlier in the happening.
"Fifteen years, at the most you have fifteen years. By then there must
be a secondary structure in place if humanity is to survive, a fall back
system for the few who will be left. Do not waste this time."
As her voice faded away thick black clouds rolled in, blotting out the
sunlight and warmth. The full panoply and fury of thunder and lightning
blasted down into the crowd below. The laughter changed to wailing then
to screams then to anguished sobbing. I watched, terrified and
horror-stricken, as the armies of the world marched past in their
uniformed millions, leaving behind a featureless, blackened waste.
And of birdsong there was none . . .
roger
