reply to post by one4all
Thank you for posting the accounts and never mind the negative energies, it is understandable that by the very nature of your post that you would get
some is it not?
I found your recounting to be fantastic but for all that I also found them to be believable not because I am gullible but because some of your early
academic life seems to have some similarity to my own and some very strange, difficult to explain events have happened to me also.
At a very early age I was apparently seen as a child prodigy. My mother and father were even visited in Dusseldorf (my father was in the Royal
Military Police) where we lived at the time by academics that showed me pictures of dinosaurs from a thick book.
I remember that I was able to name every dinosaur I was shown and tell if they were meat eaters or plant eaters. The man with the book became more and
more excited and afterwards one of the men talked to my father and mother in another room while the other sat in front of me and smiled, played with
my beloved toy metal ME109 fighter, making arcs in the air with it. I was five years of age at the time and I only vaguely remember this meeting.
I do know my father was very proud afterwards and told me I was going to grow up to be a palaeontologist. I knew even as he explained what they did
for a living that I did not want to be a palaeontologist.
My father bought me the encyclopaedia Britannica soon after these men had visited us and I read all the volumes before I was seven years of age though
I struggled with the written words I somehow managed to get the “gist of it” because I ached to know more. I was never without one of the many
books and for me what was important was not going outside to play but reading, reading and more reading.
Years before this event I used to suffer terrifying dreams that would happen way too often, reoccurring dreams that plagued me. I was about four or
five and the “dreams” would involve seeing four men in black patterned armour that would descend through the ceiling of my bedroom and every time
it happened I would scream the house down and always my mother and father would rush into the room and have a terrible time trying to calm me down.
It became a recurring pattern and night after night these “men” in their strange medieval looking armour and helmets would drift down through my
ceiling. All I can remember of details is that the patterns on the armour were like writing but like nothing I have ever seen before. The closest
thing to it would be Arabic but a very, very loose resemblance.
Only a few years ago my mother told me that as a baby I my screaming would rush her into the bedroom and my eyes would be transfixed, focused on
something on the far wall. If she stepped into my line of sight I would simply look right through her, screaming like my lungs were going to burst out
of my mouth. I do not remember this but my mother does and she says the memories still gives her the chills.
In 1978 I lived in Port Kaituma and was living there when the Jim Jones massacre took place. I remember seeing shrouded bodies in white in rows ready
to be flown from the airstrip back to Georgetown and in the same year A huge tree fell and killed nine GDF pioneers right near me during the day of
the Pagwah water festival. The accident was so close that I was thrown off my feet.
While everyone else ran around swearing and screaming in panic, I ran into the midst of it and watched it all too calmly, no emotion at all. I felt
nothing even as people literally coughed up their lives and died in front of me. I was nine years of age. Others who had seen the tree come down had
said a flash of light had struck the base of the tree but this is impossible as there were few clouds in an otherwise pristine sky.
I lived at the base because my Uncle was the base commandant and my father and mother had both been granted inclusion into the GDF because my uncle
had pulled some strings back in Georgetown.
During my teenage years I lived in Camberwell London and I was hit with recurring nights of terror as I would wake up from a dream totally paralysed
and trying to scream but the effort of screaming was so difficult it was like trying to scream underwater. The fear was so great though that I would
eventually be able to scream but the effort was so strange and powerful I sounded like a pig. Not so much a scream but a shrieking exhalation of
The dream I would wake up was always exactly the same. It started with me transfixed in a geostationary orbit hundreds of miles above the earth and I
would begin to be stretched from one horizon to the other like a rubber band.
I could feel the sensation and it felt awful. The details of this dream were so vivid I remember the sun blazing off the ocean below, seeing cloud
formations with dazzling silver and gold, land topography so intense the imagery was utterly overwhelming. However when the feeling of being stretched
became too much to bear I would wake up paralysed, fighting with all my might to just be able to scream. It seemed to take an eternity to scream,
knowing my brothers were sleeping in the same room, knowing my parents were in the next room. It felt like drowning.
In 1982 as a teenager I started to write a book and the effort consumed me to such an extent I would lock myself within a cupboard and type by
lamplight on an old imperial typewriter my father gave me. I gave up the few friends I did have and my life became writing this accursed book. All I
could see and think about was the book and the goal that I had to finish it. Within a few months I had written over one hundred thousand words and my
fingers were joint sore and blistered.
Those old imperial typewriters were not built for typing.
I never allowed anyone to read the book but one day my father did read it when I was in school. It involved a catastrophic battle on the earth and in
space. Earth was losing to a race of reptilians I called Thargonians. I had started in the beginning to call them Draconians but it seemed too
clichéd and at this time I knew nothing of UFOs and the reptilian myth.
Within weeks of finishing the book I burned it in a nearby valley in a weirdly ritualistic fashion and forgot about it.
The book was called “The game”
[edit on 12-10-2009 by SmokeJaguar67]