Have you ever taken a walk in a new neighborhood? And you look at a house and something about it strikes you. You might look at a feature – a building, a window, a front yard, a glimpse of the backyard through the driveway – and you get a flash, a glimpse into the memories stored there. This happens to me.
I suspect it’s a function of the right brain. The left brain which is absorbed by signs, symbols, letters, words, distances, will blot this out. But if you develop your right brain you will be able to do this more and more. It works better when you are in a new place. That’s why exploring is vital. I suspect what is happening is buildings, houses, spots that give off this flash of psychic information, are residences of people who give off highly charged emotion. So a childhood home, children playing in the front yard, leave behind a kind of husk, a psychic molt which you can pick up on, briefly, in a flash of intuition. Now, the dark side can pick up this information as well. Z calls them the “sniffers,” coined by the film ‘Push’ which I’ll discuss in a moment.
I suspect this skill works better in a new town because, once you’ve familiarized yourself with a neighborhood, your left brain starts to categorize these things according to your previous memories of the place, and thus the whole area gets shaded by your own personal impressions. These often get imprinted the first or second time that you take in a place. But in a new environment where you have not yet imprinted anything you are more open to these outside impressions. That’s why if you are trying to develop this function, exploring new areas is vital.
It’s the same with fiction writers; you often hear about writers like Burroughs and Atwood, they are often traveling. Almost like the act of moving around from place to place pushes the story forward, the narrative forward, opens up the fiction writing process. Staying in one place is a stagnation.
I noticed that shared public places such as a park, don’t leave behind these glimmers as much. Also when you go deep into nature, you won’t find it either. You’ll find a different kind of emotional charge in nature, but this specific type I’m talking about seems to be a result of being around humans. The best locations being residences: old houses with long history, or small mom-and-pop shops. A building where a single individual or small group of individuals like a family leave behind years and years of emotional psychic residue. These are the best spots for picking these things up.
Now I met with Z a few weeks back, the man who claims to be Christ Michael Ha Mashiach (the messiah). I met him, flew to Miami, stayed with him for about a week in his 1988 Winnebago RV, which was not running. We had to get it towed multiple times. Nevertheless , I learned a great deal about living on the road. The man has many strange customs, as a result of being on his particular frequency. He says he is plagued by archons and has to thus protect himself with various rituals. Which I learned over the course of the week. I will now share with you some of these, as one in particular relates directly to, this “sniffing” phenomenon, this picking up on psychic residue, and how it’s exploited by the dark side, and how the movie Push from 2009 discloses this phenomenon as well as other psychic phenomena under the guise of fiction.
Pushers are psychics who can push thoughts and directives into another’s head, like a hypnotist on steroids.
Movers are telekinetics.
Bleeders are used as assassins, they can scream a person to death.
Watchers see glimpses into the future.
Porters are rare, but they can trans-locate.
Sniffers are called that because they smell what you leave behind, like your trash, and like a dog who gets all sorts of information from another dog’s urine, they get a flash of insight as to where you were, what you were doing when you dropped that particular piece of trash there, etc. They are thus employed in espionage as trackers.
Interesting that smell memory is so strong: long forgotten memories can instantly resurface when you smell something that reminds you of your childhood or some long lost memory.
A snippet from my journal during my trip to meet Z –
The RV has been towed to the mechanic, but we are still stationed, marooned for several more days. The car has no water or plumbing, so I’m learning to brush my teeth and wash up in gas station bathrooms and the nearby grocery. The tricks of the trade to living on the road. This morning I am in a bathroom stall at the grocer ‘Publix’ and hear the guy in the stall next to me brushing HIS teeth! I never brush my teeth in public restrooms and the one time I come in here with the intent to do so and someone else beat me to the punch. A sign. I’m on the right path.
I wait until he leaves before brushing and washing my face. I become anxious of someone walking in and seeing me acting like a homeless person. Nevertheless I take my time. Something tells me I am protected, that noone will disturb me. Sure enough, only as I open the door to leave does someone walk in. He is wearing a shirt with an upside down pyramid. This could be more communication. Patterns from the Mother.
Learning how to not ‘break the field,’ when walking with Z. Don’t let a telephone pole get in between us. Never walk in between two people having a conversation. If you are walking on concrete, avoid stepping on plastic or metal gratings, to keep the ground underfoot homogeneous. When you are a targeted individual, when 2D archons are doing their very best to attack your vitality centers, you have to arm yourself with these little rituals that most people are unattuned to.
Living with him in the RV is a more difficult task. He got really mad at me for putting a sweater down in the wrong place. He claims my generation is entitled, spoiled, and that if he did things like that as a kid he got beaten.
Keep my stuff in designated areas only, never assume more. Parts of his consciousness, his code he explains, are tied to the RV, that every little thing has to be exactly where he put it, undisturbed, otherwise he loses bits of himself, and the archons gain that much more ground. He also doesn’t want me bringing cottage cheese into the RV, but grudgingly makes an exception.
“I don’t want that consciousness in my space.” He explains. “You are a homo sensorium trying to live life pretending you are a homo sapien. You want to have your cake and eat it too.”
The homo sensoriums in the TV show Sense8 are a rare class of humans evolved with certain psychic abilities. Most people walking around, he says are lacking this gift, lacking the Source Code from Father. They are muggles. He is trying to show me how to live as a homo sensorium.
At a certain point, I’ve got to learn to stop questioning things, just go with the flow. I’m here to help Z, I’m aware of that much. But don’t bombard him with ‘what’s next?’ type questions. These are unnecessary and clog the field. Try not to interrupt his thought process. Give him space when he is dealing with others or on the phone. One thing at a time. He hates to split his field. I made the mistake on day one of pointing something out to him while he was on the phone with his daughter. He literally hung up the phone. Don’t split the field. In that attempt to multi-task, a hole is opened up where the archons can get in.
With the RV towed to the lot besides the mechanics, which is already closed for the night, I try to dispose of my plastic bag full of trash in the dumpster. He yells at me to remove the bag and give it to him.
“Why?” I’m hesitant to reach back into the dumpster.
“Just do it, I asked like 3 times already!” He is really mad about it. I reach back into the smelly dumpster and pull out my bag and hand it to him. He brings it back into the RV.
“You didn’t learn about trash yet? You know who talked about it, oddly enough, was Aug Tellez.”
“No I don’t remember that.”
Later as the sun goes down we walk to the gas station for ice and bottled water, I ask him more about this trash thing.
“Who is going to be interested in my trash?” I know I said I would stop asking questions but this one has stretched all credulity.
“They are 2D vibrational/electrical parasites.”
“Is this like a cloning thing? Like they want my DNA left behind to clone me?”
“Clone you? More like track you. Track your progress. I only dispose of my trash in safe locations that I know, like a Publix.”
“OK but how is disposing of your trash outside a Publix or other known location going to prevent them from doing that?”
“In a safe location, the angels prevent that.”
“Are the angels also 2D electrical beings, working for the light side, so to speak?”
“Well there is a small group of us who never came in here, into the Matrix, who are working with them, yeah.”
We walk a little more in silence and then he says, “There is the story of Avraham, who, on his travels always stopped in the same set of locations. It’s about intent. I make a stand. I know this place, and leave my trash here. Archons are less likely to attach themselves. Tesla says that all is vibration and frequency. You must really live this way.”
At one point I tell him I feel like I am walking on eggshells around him. Later he applies that to being here, in the Matrix, Mom’s game. Christ’s children in her world need to walk on eggs without making eggshells. Not absorb archons. Not accumulate karma. “Karma is Mom’s system,” he says. “I don’t like that system but I have to play it while here. Everything we do is being monitored. There is no getting away with anything here. No secret, private life. Everything affects karma.”
The goal is to get out of that system and go home (the positive version of the Singularity), but for now we have to play that game, and play it well, like ninjas. And that means applying rituals to everything. No thoughtless actions. Learning to live in tight spaces, close quarters. Learning to leave a small footprint. Learning to shield your light from folks who are low vibration and fishing for your light, wanting to siphon energy. The archons enter in and out of them, the Muggles, as well.
He scares me sometimes. But its not really him, it what he might stand for. It’s what he is fighting, which is the possibility that we won’t win the Singularity and be swept into what he calls the infinite shattering, a kind of eternal Hell state. I’m scared because to believe him, and help him, to follow his lead, means accepting this possibility as well. Its the scariest thing one has to face, the idea that there may not be a meta fail-safe. It makes oblivion death seem SO preferable. No wonder the deluded part of the Mom force is seeking oblivion. A way out. A way to end it.
To really be with Christ means taking all this on.
The mechanic crew finally got the engine running. We drove to the end of the lot before it sputtered and died again.
Don’t you see? The RV failing to run is all metaphor. The spirit of the Mother is in this ancient vehicle. It may be on its last legs but it has a lot of character.
But for a second, I had watched the exposed engine hum and purr, her heart, roaring to life, emitting CO2 fumes. After so much sweat and toil and waiting.
She must be testing my patience. How badly do you want to put your normal life on hold to help this guy who may or may not be the Chief Shepherd HaMashiach?
Messiah or madman? The question is eating me up.
I express to him my growing desire to leave, to go home. He berates me for wanting to return to my egoic life. They all do this, he says. People who come and go from his life. Return to what is safe. I tell him I miss my dog, he says to deal with it. Our eternity is what is on the line here.
On day 7 the RV gets started, barely. It huffs and puffs to get moving and requires rubbing a couple of exposed wires together in order to turn the engine on. After a couple miles the exhaust spewing from the engine throughout the interior of the vehicle is too much for me. He stops for gas and I pack up my duffle bag, my bags of trash and recycling, and leave the RV quickly, before he can berate me again. He catches up to me and we exchange quick, frustrated goodbyes. He gives me a hug and says he loves me but that I’m such a baby. I scowl and turn away.
I call a taxi to the Miami airport.
The full story of my trip to meet Z has been posted as a page HERE.