Book1 Part 4. Life Identities. (Past Lives)
From rethinking things that happened, most of my special memories came out of sequence. They’re presented in order where it matters. A few life contexts of other times and places seem to belong together. Only their content matters, not sequence.
These memories clearly show I’ve lived other lives, here and elsewhere, hinting of many lives. They’re all experiences, some showing spiritual connections more than others. Amazingly, I’ve been given a tour of my personal archive of lives, a gray room like a deepfreeze. It’s where my permanent records are kept, each being a stack and the essence of a life. It’s possible to relive any of them, either emotionally, or by fully reliving it again. Nothing’s lost, be it good, bad, beautiful, or ugly; all the low and high notes of our music.
Management allowed me to relive a few earlier lives, any I chose, partly assessing the content of each. Reincarnated lives, is it so radical a thought? Only if you’re closed to the truth, though you’ve lived many times before throughout all history. Most people aren’t explicitly given to remember. They’re still undergraduates in this world. Nonetheless all your lives are part of you, added like layers upon your soul.
In my experience, each is amazing to relive. One confirms I’m Darius written by Ezra and Daniel; another reveals just how the Great Pyramids were built; another shows the meaning of a God-given identity. And there are other vignettes offered. Still others are in later chapters, appropriately… Yes, many lives!
One shows a life walk in Jesus’ service similar to Paul’s, but at Whiting, not here. Samantha, ahead, clearly shows that life’s errors must be reconciled. If not in the present life, then you shall in another, because it’s essential for regaining your spiritual balance going forward.
Altogether this collection of vignettes reveals other lives, bringing insights and views for understanding the truth and the meaning of life. Life isn’t a funny riddle at all. Each has become a building block of who you really are under the skin. They’ve cast us all to be who we are, steered by the major life choices we made in our past life. This is only revealed now, in special times. We’re each still responsible for our life’s behavior.
Book 1 Chapter 32. Quality of Lives.
One night at Okee I read one of the many wonderful non-fiction books from my lucky auction. It’s about discovering and using the ‘universal God-principle’ within us. Too fascinating to put down but in a while I drifted to sleep.
The book was a catalyst because that night I went into a dream that wasn’t. It was so vivid and clear as I was revisiting my own incarnated lives. It wasn’t easy and when I had enough, I came awake and fully to consciousness with everything completely in foreground memory. I understood it all, in itself unusual. My body-self had been at rest but the other of me traveled somewhere gathering more special knowledge to give you.
Here’s the setting; I suddenly found myself in a grayish ‘room’. If it’s small, I don’t recall seeing any walls. The place is filled with a soft white haze, like I’ve seen opening the door to a deepfreeze locker. The light-haze spread locally over the stacks, and seemed thicker nearer the stacks of irregular white wafers. They’re a pile of flat objects, each an inch thick, relative. And they’re white like snow-ice, each layered upon the other.
Some stacks are bigger, some smaller, each representing a completed life. The irregularly shaped wafers are like chapters of a book, achievement scenarios, not units of ‘time’. The floor had many stacks and I looked around at them. Some farther away are shorter but I’m in a cluster of about 15 piles of taller ones; 12, or 14 layers or higher, some knee-length. The farther away I look the less I see of anything because of the haze. It’s hiding many beyond my immediate surroundings.
I’m here to revisit some lives and implicitly knew this. I understood that the standing objects are spiritually a product of each past life. I remember seeing the fog-haze in another place, while traveling in the hyperspace. It’s also a phenomenon of subheaven.
So! These are my lives… thinking to see what they’re like and expecting it’ll be like induced-viewing, something TV-like, experienced at District Central. It wasn’t! I thought What are these life essences about? I chose one that seemed interesting from its shapes and configuration of layers, a taller pile. I entered one after the other, not by assuming any character or personality and not by reliving any part of them played out as a physical life. I ‘entered’ by willing myself to and I was ‘in’.
Upon going in I was being filled with its content, not with visions but powerful abstract feelings. My senses were filled with the total product of that life. Each time I felt the rush of a series of complicated emotions, but abstract in meaning, feeling a kind of knowledge, somehow. They were all extremely complex emotions, filling me with a rush of impressions. And from it a knowing came that’s most difficult to describe, a kind of emotional knowledge.
I did four piles one after the other, each filling me with awareness of its turns and variants. Each one was very satisfying by the time I emerged from it. Each in its own different way carried a good and happy total result to me. Each was emotionally different, and abstract both in content and in feelings. Each produced a different summary result, happy feelings and good achievements. I was happy, satisfied, and uplifted by the summary experience of each one.
It’s a sampling. I evaluated each storm of abstract waves coming as feelings. It allowed me to feel life's influences without being crowded by details, envivo, to get its sense of balance and justice. A different assessment came from each one. I stayed long enough for the feeling of satisfaction of its full weight and essence. When total understanding came, I instantly found myself outside again.
I didn’t want to do many, it’s so emotionally taxing. The intensity of feelings coming from absorbing one after the other was cumulative, and mentally trying. The taller stacks I found to be very turbulent and I struggled to stay in one of them. It was so hard to deal with, without being able to say why or what. It’s content was emotionally ripping me. It’s the Confederate war! And emotionally it was tough to embrace. So after doing four of them I was emotionally weary. It’s done!
I returned and raised from ‘sleep’ with feelings of excitement. Something really interesting happened, I went somewhere again – my gray room. And I could remember it all, everything! … and few experiences are like it.
Nothing I read before sleeping was about reincarnated lives or about spiritual products or records. I’d read about people living their lives in the God-Principle and deriving personal power and abilities from it. But somehow it’s my key to travel spiritually, visiting archives of my lives in distilled form. It’s a splendid demo of who we really are, spiritually, to be doing such things. The goods of who we totally are, are on-deposit. Nothing’s ever lost or swept out of the circuitous path that has formed our true essence.
Now the pay-off, an insight came: The abstractions and such intensity of emotions and feelings as I experienced, are the basis in truth of all the world’s greatest art and music. All the world’s Elders access their archives, though few here in life are permitted. We know the ones that are by their extraordinary work. It doesn’t mean ‘undergraduates’ have no talent, they do. Some are given it, but they don’t have access to heaven’s vaults.
The distillates of life as translated into music, produces tones, phrases, melodies, and tunes in music of extraordinary power and mood, all its intricacy, grace, intelligence and simplicity. It’s new insight to such great and prolific composers as Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, Wagner, Weber, Tschaikovsky, and the many giants of music… and of all cultures. J.S. Bach was Thomas. I can hardly speak for visual arts, though there’s a resonance. And these days I only know music to hear. We all know the great artists do use their genius to create great works, similarly.
Such brilliance was sent into this world, sharing themselves with us. They’re given the means. Their own spiritual archives flow into them and is translated as expressions of themselves in their music. Great spirits create extraordinary music. Both live forever, cycle to Cycle. This doesn’t leave out great virtuosos, the musicians and conductors, too. It takes genius to know and to express genius.
Another late coming piece is that prominent identities in God’s story are also sent bringing us their music of spirit. I’m realizing that Beethoven was David, and Mozart was Lot, for example. Yes, Germans, ‘Galician’ music of this District in Heaven’s grand plan. And many of us had a turn at it. Darius was Shubert, given with a marker. His surname is in my own family lineage, Austrian side. That, and my affinity for his music.
Some other life vignettes I’m given are these, one arriving lately in 2006:
 One brief vignette opens with me in the field with some of my army. It’s in ancient times on a clear sunny day. My general is our emissary to a great king and has arranged a meeting. We come up a hill where the king is seated on a chair the size of one by a telephone stand of today. It’s a small strait-back chair of carved wood, short curving objects like arms, some skins, leather, metal, and braided ropes are attached.
He’s about forty, big, heavy not fat, a gregarious man, wearing a small hat, maybe he’s lightly helmeted. He has a jumble of skins, like a vest and some fabric worn over his upper body. A skirt-like thing is worn from his waist, bare legs, leather footwear, and no weapons. He has rowdy long blond hair, wide-open green eyes like with levity, darker blond brows, and a thin patchy beard. He appears a little sunburned. His language isn’t ours. I’m thinking they are Hittites. His men were standing in a semi-circle yards away during our meeting, except one, who attended the king. Our men were away, too, in a bunch. There’s trust.
The deal is this; the bigger king wants an alliance with us, a pledge backing him as he moves to consolidate his position with an array of adversaries. I’m curious but friendly. My general explains it’s customary in his land, whenever making such a pledge that we do so solemnly… by clasping him with my hand under his thigh.
Clearly, it’s outlandish and strange and I recoil in surprise at the custom… both then and now. So I stepped away ten yards upslope, pausing, thinking about it. I now see the field is dry, yellow with tall straw and dead. It’s winter. Again my officer came, saying This is how you must show we’re making such a formal alliance. I conclude we want his alliance, signaling Yes. Then I approached. The king waited sitting on his chair. Kneeling at his right, I firmly slap-clasped him under his right thigh with my right hand saying, I agree. Not a handshake, which shows that such rituals and symbols were current then.
With this the king brightened, smiling broadly, stood up and looked me in the eye, flamboyantly, praising our decision in his manner with heaping superlatives. But he had anticipated nothing. Thus, a new alliance was sealed, our nation and his. The vignette ended exactly here. It took me years to finally place this one, correctly.
But notice now that we did all the pledging, not he to us. It’s a totally one-sided deal that couldn’t fly today, but it’s how we did it with him in those days. It’s implied that our alliance is two-way, because even then we’re guided, particularly then. We’re not stupid! Five years after this vignette I saw, clearly, a surprising thing. We were the Israelites making that pledge and it’s in the time of Jeroboam II. He was me, Darius.
 Another flash in history is this. I was lecturing, speaking to an unseen audience in the middle of a large round room, a soft yellow-tan color with a plain dome ceiling. A man arrived walking directly up and interrupted. He’s beaming, joyfully smiling. He wore a loose dark magenta robe and a tall round similarly colored hat. He looks Caucasian so I’m thinking he’s Persian rather than Sumerian.
He’s excitedly showing me flat oblate beige tablets and they’re covered with marks. He said You need to see this! We have means to keep knowledge.
I’m directly and casually accessible to him, maybe not king but a man of intellect and personal freedom. We’re standing in a large one-room building with large open arches and a vaulted dome ceiling. The floor was darker with flat terracotta-like plates 1½-feet square. I was there teaching some people but wasn’t given to see any of them. He quickly explained about the symbols, their values, and how they give us the means. This symbol meant thus and so, and what the others meant. And I immediately got excited, too, seeing its potential. I said I want to learn all of it right away and we left together. The vignette ends here.
It shows I was somebody in early times, maybe in Elam of the Middle East when cuneiform writing began appearing. That’s early, about 15-centuries BCE. But maybe later, like in the time of Lot and Abraham because such progress was slow. So far I’m not given to see when.
 Another vignette is in another Endtime. The scene opens and we are walking. The place is a path at the crest of a long low sand-and-rock ridge. The region is of fine sand, light beige in color in a very desert-like land, no trees or plants. It’s sunny with not a cloud anywhere and our shadows show a dark contrast directly under us. It’s mid-day.
We’re leaving our city not by a road but by slowly picking our way along a sand ridge in the desert. The city isn’t visible twenty miles back of us but we’re frequently looking back. I look back and see a long sparse line of other people following on the path. I’m leading with a staff or stick. The nearest person is a woman ten yards back.
She’s tall of slender build, coal-black hair and eyes, and a very attractive face. She’s my wife in this vignette, but it’s not like ‘O yeah, I remember her’ because I don’t. It means that after this life on Earth, you’ll not be given to remember your ‘loved ones’, nor they, you. It’s not impossible, but it’s a seldom given privilege and given only to some Elders, who do recognize each other from another life.
My wife is clothed in a plain loose flowing robe to her feet, off-white, and a matching head cover draped to below her shoulders. It’s Middle Eastern in style and appearance, even of biblical times. Men are similarly draped. But these are very advanced times compared to our here and now. All our people are similarly dressed. There’s no individuality of fashion seen. It says we’re a ‘religious’ sect, Jesus’ people of the times. They appear as Islam does now. She also wears leather-appearing sandals of simple design that passes today. Our garments don’t wrinkle and they appear silk-like, but aren’t as thin and are much stronger. It’s a fabric material far advanced of ours, here and now. None appear soiled and they all look like new.
As we’re looking back, a large intense flash is seen in the distance. A fireball is low in the sky. It means a nuclear-like weapon was just detonated low over our city in the atmosphere. My people are shouting and sobbing, crying out in anguish including me. I hear my own voice but it’s without words.
We all stop and look back. Suddenly a flying craft appears 200 yards over us, dark-painted like a stealth aircraft of these times. It’s a rounded triangle-like shape with a concave curve, as seen from beneath. It hovers, moving slowly and silently over us, advanced technology of a distant time from here and now. And this is consistent with a full-cycle Endtime, when there’s technical development far advanced of our present half-cycle.
The craft begins shooting a light- or particle-beam weapon that’s advanced of our lasers. People are hit and begin screaming. They’re dying. It moves slowly up the path toward me, shooting all of us. Next, I’m screaming. It’s hit me, too, and it stayed on… killing me. The vignette ends here.
Somewhere in us we remember the Endtimes. It’s hard and why I declined to do this one. Living to the End is a very tough passage… long and difficult. But for those who do, your reward is witnessing The Lord’s coming... and more. The biggest of rewards goes to the living faithful, who shall be transcended, still living, by our Father’s Will for them.
 A surprising vignette opens showing that I was once a cleric, a church leader of high standing. For two years I had no place for it, but in year ’99 the understanding came. Being one of the earliest vignettes, this was even inadvertently cut from the Book.
First in sequence I remember that The Lord gave me instructions to oppose church authorities. Next scene, I’m in Rome standing a few steps down from an open heavy wooden second-floor door. I’m by the top of narrow course of stairs. It’s built on an outside wall of a fine newly completed building. I look around seeing a large open inner courtyard. It’s all stone, very little wood was used, and no plants or trees there. The yard is wide, surrounded by buildings, and there are outside halls with arches and columns. They’re of bright warm-looking sandy-colored stone with brown masonry.
I’m alone for the meeting and arrived well dressed in reddish-black velvet, a half-cape and hat, and heavy black shoes. A hard-face Italian man is two steps up from me; black eyes and hair, no beard. At about age 45 he’s quite a sight. He’s princely in appearance, finely dressed in soft black slipper-like shoes, long black leotard-like stockings going to his ballooning short pants. His bilious shorts are of alternating red and yellow stripes about ¾-inch wide but have a broken pattern of black specklets covering the stripes, like seen on a Beefeater guard in recent times. He also wears a short black cape, a black hat but with a flare; the brim is pinned up Australian-style on his left side.
We’re having a heated row after leaving a contentious meeting that produced a raging clash of disagreement. They’re being unrelenting like a nest of stirred-up hornets; shouting, willful, and adamant to their view, particularly this guy, who’s followed me outside as I’m trying to leave. They’re angry but trying to be diplomatic and in control.
At the landing between floors I’m threatened again so I turn, assuring him that I will bring all of you down. I had come to make an appeal and to protest their policies that were then subverting The Church. But there’s no bringing them around to it. He was equally rigidly unyielding. So instead of us reasoning together, they’re pressuring me to pull back and bartering with me to come over to their view and new course.
The exchange only fired up my rage. I challenged them, again, assuring that they have no Authority. There’s no spiritual or historical precedence for their changes and policies. They were exploiting the faithful and worse, they invented and perpetrated acts of blasphemous behavior.
I was being pursued and being threatened with the gravest of consequences if I persist to come against them publicly. And that was the precise moment when I committed to vigorously oppose them with all my means to publicly discredit and expose them. I’d challenge and disrupt their control of The Church. The church adversary facing me was Leo X, a notorious Pope who was stripped of Authority by Jesus. The vignette ends here.
As for the meaning of this vignette, I’m being shown that the ‘protestant heretic’ is back. I, Darius, was Martin Luther.
 A very short life vignette was this one. I’m looking out of a 2nd floor room seeing the adjacent wood building is afire, close enough to feel the heat. It’s been burning awhile because I see it’s nearly consumed. My view is wide, waist high, but narrow of about 4-feet going to a lateral wall support of fine marble.
I’m practicing and making music on a string instrument. A woman is standing at a column behind me urging that I continue and not be concerned about a fire I can do nothing about. In the moment I look around to her, seeing her face clearly. She’s dressed in a light blue loose-fitting dress going to her feet. It’s tied at her waist. I also remember that she interfered with my preference for a lady friend and I revolted, eventually.
Soon after I chanced to see her face, exactly, presented in The Illustrated World History, WH Wise & Co., 1938, on p.270. She’s Sarah again, ‘Agrippina the Younger’, the mother of the new Domitius, aka ‘Nero’, who schemed to have Emperor Claudius officially adopt me as his heir. The book came with the crateful received while I was with Lanah in Virginia.
 Yet another vignette is when I was a northern plains Indian in pre-USA. The scene opens with two men arriving to a knoll on horses. The first rider is friendly, blond, green-eyed, ruddy, burly, well-groomed reddish beard, and about 40. He’s smiling and respectful in greeting me. He’s obviously a frontiersman, dressed in tough reddish leather garments, seated on a big western-style saddle with wooden stirrups, tall leather boots. His horse is big, spirited, and about the color of his leather clothes.
Seems maybe he’s got a long rifle packed along the horse and wears two flintlock curved pistols, rounded on the ends, stuffed left and right in his belt at his belly. There was a rounded water jug tied on. He also wore a reddish-tan three-cornered hat, leather I think, and with a tan-gold ¾-inch band sewn around the brim.
The other rider is a white man, brown eyes, dark hair, no beard. He’s dressed all in black, trousers and gentlemen’s coat, white shirt and black string tie. He rides a dark horse, has a similar pistol stuffed into his belt in front, and also wears a three-cornered black hat. His has a white band on the brim edge. In re-seeing this, I’m thinking he’s clergy or an official. I see he’s solemn, even menacing in appearance, unsmiling, and riveted to me, disapprovingly, like I’m a savage. They’ve come for what I can do.
The frontiersman made a gesture to the distance and smiled. Then he learned down and gave me some coins. I took them and motioned to a tall pole standing about 300-yards in the vast low greenness. Then I suddenly took off running as they began getting a charging galloping response from their horses. They reared up and bolted after me. The race was on. Thirty yards back I hear them gaining on me, and put up a thought, which immediately kicked-in my special ability and I ran really fast, moving ahead fast and doing an unbelievable sprint. I beat them to the pole with about 40-yards to spare. They arrive smiling, even the stone-faced cleric. I could outrun horses! The vignette ended exactly there.
The reason I could outrun horses is that I was able to make a connection at-will to gain the power. I invoked my connection to heaven and used something akin to levitation, lifting the weight off my legs and feet. I did exactly that, ‘accidentally’ at least twice, while running the levee at Okee in this life. where. It’s a different world in a different district, Whiting. In the turbulence of writing for 12-years it got lost in the edit-shuffle.
Scene opens with a man looking at me. Only his head is visible above the crest of a hill. He looks Euro-like; full lips, light eyes, a thin growth of beard, thin dark brown hair and brows, no ears.
There’s a U-shaped slope between us. A tall dead tree, all-black with a few thick branches, stands in the near distance. Thin black clouds are rolling quickly by under the yellow overcast sky, no blue. In the foreground is a gray-clay hill covered with a checkered-pattern of plants 1-inch in diameter, each spaced about 1½-inches apart and about that same height, looking like spider plants of this world.
Their separation is striking as if somebody spaced them that way. I see it’s a characteristic of the plant type, suggesting that a single root system supports them all… like they’re one big plant. This is the near view from my homestead, which is located about 4000-feet up in the misty low passing clouds. A thousand feet below and to the right there’s a rectangular chunk of mountain, looking like completely chocolate brown rock in color. Nothing grows on it. It’s tipped over rising 20-degrees like a classical block-fault.
Next, the guy is running down-slope measuring his steps and coming toward me. He’s a Roman-like soldier dressed in dark body armor, not form-fitting but barrel-like, covering his torso. I see no weapon, no helmet, bare arms and legs but wearing leather sandals tied up to his knees. Then he passed from view at the hillcrest nearest me.
Looking around me I see a tall black-haired woman quietly standing about 50-feet away looking to me, apparently not a wife. Back of her is a blue-and-white house with an uncut grass-like lawn. But for its gabled roof, the architecture makes little sense by Earth standards. There are no windows or doors; must be the backyard. I’m by a modest shed of beige logs – no bark, with a gable roof and open sides. A thin walking stick of wood lies in a clutter of other stuff.
The soldier reappears, running to me. I know what this means and turn away, kneeling, crouching by the shed making a shriek, protesting. Next he’s hit me with his weapon, a stone on a rope used mace-like. Next, my skull is crushed. I heard and felt the crunch. Yes, they can and do kill us. But I’m instantly flipped into another reality and see that I’m flying, already arriving to Receiving. I instantly returned to Central in high heaven.
I was a leader killed for teaching and speaking The Way, another unbending guy answering a higher call. But like Jesus I was also out of step with presiding worldly ‘authorities’ and was hunted down by evil and unbelieving powers of the times.
This vignette shows the demise of Antony, disciple and Apostle of Jesus doing The Lord’s work. That was a different world of Jesus’ times to them, and my walk was similar to that achieved by Paul in his time of Jesus, here.
There wasn’t time for my assassin to even turn from his deed before I had arrived Home to God. Heaven’s time in this experience was a shift into hypertime. I was then free and so much faster than anything of that world.
 In 2004 the most surprising memory came, if it seems my lives, here, are all grand and glorious adventures. Not always, because paybacks are hell. Here’s an eye-opener.
God sent me to be a Eunuch. Yes, really! And I agreed to it before coming, because as I was being dispatched from District, I saw and clearly remembered Moses pronouncing it. And he waited for me to accept. Had I declined, my development would be on a different path than now. So here’s a mercifully short living vignette.
I was a young man of about seventeen, one born into crushing poverty and the most humble circumstances. The royal house recruited me as a candidate for the role. I had to agree, freely, nothing was forced in any way.
The proposition is this; life as a eunuch is agreed and accepted in exchange for a ‘better’ life, one of royal authority and privilege. Doing so I’d become one of power in the monarch’s name, with full access to palaces, treasury, and royal means. It came with all other comforts and conveniences but manhood. Every advantage was awarded to me.
All was carefully explained to me in advance and in detail. Of course they might have duped me, but they didn’t. Theirs was an honorable throne and their word was good. The realm took good care of their eunuchs, so essential were they of the times.
For everyone’s enlightenment including mine, my management of the higher realms had me relive the big moment. It went like this; I was standing naked in the hands of a number of others, the blademan standing ready before me to carry it out. It wasn’t as yet too late and they spoke of the life comforts ahead for me in soothing tones. They paused and in that moment I consented. Instantly the blademan moved and quickly acted. It was expertly done in only a second.
I’ve re-lived the most incredibly terrible sensation… and pain of being separated from my manhood in that moment. The sensation is much worse than the pain and I collapsed, screaming, sobbing, into the waiting arms of my mentor standing behind me. He’s the court’s senior eunuch, who immediately wrapped me in a heavy fabric something, hugging and consoling me. Then I’m given something to drink, which I’m now thinking might have been offered before the gelding. Most of the others there immediately left us. The moment was past, I’m a new eunuch.
Well, not a happy experience! But I was needed for my role as eunuch in God’s purpose, clearly. But for awhile I didn’t know why, or exactly when this was. I’ll offer the last part first, the when. I’m the eunuch (Acts 8:27), who the Apostle Philip cancelled his appointment for, going to the desert and finding me reading Isaiah. Darius was the Ethiopian eunuch overseer of Queen Candace’s treasury.
Now the connection to this life; at age 16 working in Hollywood at a produce stand, I met the one who was Queen Candace, a lady named Candace. She’s the mother of my dear friend and brother, Dave Vozzola, elder on my List. God rest them both!
Now, the why: Such a mutilation in life is sent as a strong spiritual correction, harder than the common remedies for sexual impropriety; homosexuality. Its truth is well understood by this pilgrim! And it’s exceptional stuff, even drastic, but essential to spiritual balance. It’s reserved for some hard cases… like me, Mark Antony.
Case in point is Zheng Ha, eunuch, Admiral and world explorer of the East before any of the Euros. Of us he’s the one known as Pontius. The oceans have often been his domain in worlds like here. He has an affinity for sailing in general.
Without robbing the thunder of a later chapter, I reveal just this. Prior to life as a eunuch, I was a womanizer and a rascal who dumped his marriage, his responsibilities and obligations, including his life mission. That, and taking up with a royal consort of a brother… and it goes back in our lives even farther. For accumulating such behavior, God has a remedy: eunuch!
In retrospect and by God’s grace, I’d rather live ten utterly poor, desperate, and difficult lives of hardship, and living alone, than be a eunuch in a life again. It happens quickly but the experience is everlasting and it’s unbelievably harsh.
Harsh, because I remember!
Book 1 Chapter 33. Egyptian.
Year’s end 1997, an amazing vignette began playing of life in a different time and place. I was dynamically reliving an exciting segment but without connecting to what’s happening. I viewed it as an observer, not focused on its content. It’s such a curious thing to see that I was interested in the process of it playing, not its meaning.
The vignettes are life-bites remembered mostly from this cycle. But there are others from distant cycles, elsewhere. Only one is left of my own original Cycle of life walks. Others are sealed, mostly irrelevant, since my identity has changed at least three times that I remember.
When it finished and was all in mind, over the next few days I looked at it critically. What it shows is really surprising as recorded in this chapter. I lived as an Egyptian specialist, a type of priest. Obviously Egypt is a special place on Earth and was named for a District in heaven. It’s significant in our development over the millennia.
I relived an experience that confirms just how the ancients constructed their wonderfully massive structures and monuments. Heavy construction, like the pyramids, truly was not labor-intensive, no matter if the ‘experts’ these days ever understood that or even suspected it. No ramps, pulleys, levers, or labor gangs struggled with it.
Here’s the scene. Four of us arrived at a small rise at the bank of a shallow Nile river marsh only 100-yards wide. Reeds grew on both sides along the edge. We’re dressed alike with sandals tied up our legs, wearing a short reddish-brown skirt-like wrap-around garment to mid-thigh, an opening on left thigh as we walk. We also wear a full skull-fitting cap of soft tan-brown leather with notches for our ears.
We are each wearing a medium-dark off-purple jersey-like form-fitting shirt, coarsely woven, no collar, and with long sleeves. The color of the jersey is hard to describe. Its total appearance is like dark purple, magenta-like. As a kid I had a chemistry set and one of the chemicals looked like it, potassium permanganate. Each of us is softly golden tanned. We’re physically fit young men with eyebrows and lashes but without body hair showing anywhere. We’re priests, a kind of specialist and we’re Egyptians, dressed identically to priests seen on the ancient temple walls.
I was first down by the water and turned to see the others arriving. I’m particularly given to see the face of our master, age thirty, who’s taller and quite fit. I watch him choose his steps coming down the bank, showing me a focused concentration and a pensive face. He held a certain firm but placid state of mind. What I saw is very significant, he was holding a certain balance, mind and spirit, for doing our work. It’s a clue to what we’re able to do.
This was the day when we came for the first time, to demonstrate our individual ability. We lift heavy objects with nothing more than our mind, using our directed will and our mental conditioning. Our master taught us how to use a well-known well-mastered skill in those times. Each of us engaged our knowledge and ability in turn. I was last.
A large block of stone rested in the shallows, a small mound rising from the water 40-feet from us. It was white like limestone, 1½-foot square and about 9-feet long, probably two or three tons. Master looked toward it and it slowly, easily, lifted a height of 10-feet, showing us what we needed to do. Then he lowered it slowly to rest. Each of the others stepped up and did it, too, in their turn… some with minimal hesitation of a novice.
In my turn I didn’t succeed. Master said You cannot do this unless you absolutely know and believe you can do this by your will… Now make it happen. Focus your mind, concentrate, and simply lift it. I knew I could because everyone else had. I tried again, focusing on the block a few seconds, feeling a certain weight of concentration at the front of my mind above my eyes. I directed my mind toward the object and completely around it knowing I could make it lift… when it so easily began happening.
Simply lifting it, slowly moving it upwards is so implicitly done. Mind-feelings that I projected made it happen as if I’m connected to it. But my feelings actually seemed like secondary thoughts, as if by some detachment, as if there weren’t really a connection. There’s no strain on me to do it. Once it begins to rise, it takes no effort of concentration to hold up, or even moving it around. It’s amazingly easy. If you have spiritual balance, try that on an idle day!
It’s so simple to do and not strenuous, but it takes more than belief. A certain projected concentration is needed, intending it to rise, a human technique. So, I was successful but still only a training novice and this summary is presented as a novice experience. Nonetheless, it’s enough to know what it’s like to lift something big for the first time.
I lifted the massive stone to a desired height so easily, and doing so, Master gave us all his approval. I gently directed the huge stone slowly down with my eyes, just as I’d lifted it. Nothing was left untidy, hanging in air. Unattended awhile the stone would actually settle by itself, not crash down suddenly for lack of concentration.
So there it is. I picked up the slab without rotating it at all. No hands or arms were involved, only a focus of mind directed by my eyes. When it was down, I looked to Master who approved by motioning with his head to go. We all turned and climbed up the bank going the way we’d come. Practice was over, ability demonstrated and it was enough.
But why there? Heavy stuff is found just about anywhere…but in swampy places. Yet, it’s where he brought us, meaning lifting is easier there without crowding in of other nearby objects. This Egyptian revelation shows the ancient people foundthe way. They’re more spiritually advanced than we, using power of other dimensions around us, levitating and moving objects at will. They simply lifted it and walked along with it in the air, moving it at will as they went.
It does help explain baffling discoveries of ancient feats of construction, the Great Pyramids, Machu Picchu, and other mysteries of some Pacific islands. They’re baffling as seen in our present self-imposed limitations from our spiritual blindness. The ancients knew. It shows us that our culture of today is unnecessarily shallow, closed, and narrowly focused. Spiritual pursuits are too much bother these days, where’s the commitment? We all have far greater natural powers of spirit than we imagine, a clue to who we really are.
Who now believes in the ancient spiritual truths? Our God-given abilities are automatically denied by ‘experts’, those so closed to the truth. Able people prefer to occupy themselves with self-limiting superficial things. We’ve flatlined ourselves! Our superficial pleasures, comfort, and consumption are what matters most these days…ever more sales, surrounding ourselves with distractions of ever more superficial stuff.
So the ancient truth and knowledge of the ages is now revealed, and our culture simply shrugs at it. Who can begin to know, when they’re so busy and covered up with rubbish? Well, it takes discipline and a clear mind to resurrect powers of spirit that everyone possesses. Anyone can levitate freestanding objects including themselves if they’re of the right mind and spirit. It takes balance.
These are the real possibilities in this world. You are equipped but if you’re ready and willing, are you able… will you try? It takes a certain technique making this happen, but it’s not difficult if you know how, clearly as I’m shown. You have everything I’m able to offer and it’s simple to do.
Like knowledge of the divining rod, I’m not seriously trying to do this. When have you witnessed levitation of anything? The world buys equipment to move heavy things, because we’ve lost our way, denying our God-given abilities. Yet we have them. But you do it, you try, keeping in mind that our self-spirit is embedded in the hyperspace all around us. It’s free to everyone. We are part of it, we have access. More power is within you than anyone dreamed. Use the God-given power you already possess, as a few have discovered. You must develop discipline before developing your inner self to use the power.
I often thought how useful it’d be making levitation happen for my doubting friend, Thomas, by leaving his car standing eight feet in the air. Yes, even Jesus had to prove it to Thomas. One more thing to offer: We do lifting first by elevating our mind, like bringing yourself to Jesus. Yes, exactly, with an elevated spirit of mind as that. We reveal this with a purpose. Someone will soon succeed thereby showing us all this truth.
Book 1 Chapter 34. Darius.
End of 1997 my work in Texas was finished. I went visiting friends in Boston, my college classmates. I brought the Goods sharing everything I knew about my book thinking it’s completely done, but it was only starting. As I might guess Tom scoffed, pronouncing it monomania. He said Nobody will believe the story if events don’t back it up. Yes, Thomas, I know.
I assured him it’s all coming, everything I wrote. To emphasize I offered eleven cases of world-class beer against a single bottle that it would all happen. Problem is, I lose. They both insisted on pegging me as to when, something I’m not given. I showed him a curiosity bought in the auction, a book one of only a thousand from 1900, Decisive Battles of the World. Tom turned to Battle of Marathon, Chapter 1. I hadn’t even bothered to open the book.
Marathon, that’s where Darius and his Persians went against the Greeks. You ought to know that, your guys were soundly beaten! …he said. Maybe so but I didn’t know… then. I thumbed through finding my true name and thought Fine, I’ll read it sometime. When I got home in Florida, it was stuffed into a bookshelf still leaving me unenlightened.
The next week 1998, the vignette replayed clearly into mind. It was exactly the same, when it happened fifty years earlier. It was long forgotten but now was completely remembered. It was 1948 and just after special lunch of the Sea Cabin. I turned twelve as a sixth grader at Hollywood Central School. That day, the same vignette happened at the time revealing more going on with me. It’s real and personal, not leaving me vaguely dangled as before.
That day our teacher introduced us to Ancient History, her words, telling about King Darius and the Battle of Marathon. As she said my name a male voice heard in my head said That’s you, you are Darius! Know that you are Darius, the very one she said. And a warm feeling of recognition came, while also seeing Darius as he was then.
I could see him… like being there, a close-up view of the whole scene as it played live with people in motion. Darius was in battle dress and soldiers in helmets and light-blue capes were running up to him in turn. I heard them speaking. Now I’m there as an observer, witnessing it. Meanwhile in class I was excited but stayed quiet, keeping it to myself. Four years earlier I’d met a boy who said I’m Darius, also giving me his name. But I’d forgotten.
Since 1997 and reading The Bible as a history, I read Book of Daniel, saying Darius was sixty-two when he became King of Babylon. Daniel was speaking of the Endtime, the reason I’m here now. So was that Darius me? I’m unsure from being shown I’m Darius-I, the one warring at Marathon, a Persian king reigning thirty-six years.
The Darius at Marathon is younger and of robust health by today’s standards, but age 62? Cyrus conquered Babylon and he preceded Darius, so apparently Babylon precedes Marathon. But it doesn’t compute because Daniel says Darius at 62 was king of Babylon, too. It’s apparently hard keeping the line straight after 2500 years.
I see Darius at Marathon appears in his forties, dark brown, close-cropped curly hair, a full but cropped and groomed curly dark brown beard, no white hair. Darius also has dark brown eyes, white but tanned skin. He’s a tower of a man in balanced proportions and as king, is quite a commanding figure to see.
From information given me of Darius-I and Book of Daniel, apparently I’m both of my name. Between Bible and historical references, there are three kings Darius, not the same man. I know only what they gave me, meaning I was two of them, Darius I of Marathon and the one conquered by Alexander, Darius III. Another vignette confirmed me as Darius III.
But first, let’s finish sixth grade. While changing rooms, I began seeing dynamic images again and saw Darius standing on a platform. As a child I was thinking I’m not at all like him. How am I ever to be like him, such a strong authoritative person? I was so different and insignificant, a nobody, a waif in poverty. No way to ever live up to that as a person and it left me doubting this experience has any meaning. It seemed true enough but meaningless, a total contradiction to my ugly life of those years. I soon forgot it.
Darius wore a bright wine-red cape delicately edged in fine gold embroidery offset inward an inch. His upper chest had a wide semi-circular arc of gold in a fancy pattern, shoulder-to-shoulder in front. An inch wide the edges were embroidered in fine gold. On each shoulder is a round ornate gold disk 2½-inches in diameter connected by heavy gold chain, leaving the cape open about 8-inches.
Darius in battle dress was wearing dark breast armor of ornate metal. From waist to knee he wore a skirt of leather in short straps with metal studs and tips, ornate white-metal shin guards from the knee and leather-strap sandals. His head wears a snuggly fitting ornate golden helmet with wide face guards each side. At center-top on his helmet is an inch-wide band with a bright-red brush-like flourish. It stands 6-inches high like a rooster’s comb.
Darius spoke to several captains. They were tall, important soldiers though none as tall as he. Tall young men would run up quickly confirming his unit’s status. Each waited his turn and came showing respect, speaking only briefly, typical even then of a military manner. Their young faces were full of anticipation. Every man around Darius the King wore a long light blue-gray cape, all of them officers.
Soon a man strolled into view and stayed near. He’s my General, and he came at will talking freely and confidentially with him. It’s apparent they’re close friends, the way their confidential manner is between them. The General wears an ornamental metal helmet with a similar flourish that was 4-inches high but of darker color.
I heard them… listening to them talking, without knowing the words in Ancient Persian. But I’m hearing the ‘shh’ sound is prominent and ends many words. I completely understood the thoughts being expressed, because the thoughts are louder in my understanding than their words. Briefly I focused on word sounds, thinking how am I going to know the meaning. Then immediately I realized the thought is the meaning. Words were heard softly in the background as if those people including me, were distant.
The General is giving me his take of what he sees making a jeering and contemptuous assessment of our adversaries. Easy to see my commanders were confident of defeating our adversaries. The Greeks were close by the look on my general’s face, who’s casting glances their way making harsh epithets.
My vignette is a view from nearby, but behind the general, like a silent third man was there in our conversation. Ooops, what do you see? It means heaven keeps views and records of all our actions here… makes me groan! What I’m writing is proof ‘heaven’s camera’ was there.
Looking to the Greeks away from Darius, I saw my general casting a look of total contempt. I so clearly see his face, one of great character, hard and strong, a face lined from years of campaigns and rigors of battle. History records him as Datis, a man of late forties, fair complexion, green eyes, and a long nose that made an acute angle at the lip. His fancy helmet is strapped under his chin, there’s a lot of leather and metal on his body. I’m watching his contempt, listening to his remarks that are made emphatically with the sneer of a turned-down lip. He’s completely confident.
Datis spoke of advantages, a superiority favorable to us if the enemy engages. He saw and told of their weaknesses, so few in number. It showed him recklessness even inexperience in combat. Persia had reasons for their confidence by winning a long series of military campaigns, convincingly won against all but the Scythians. The Athenians had confidence too, and audacity to use it. Now they were coming at us at a run attacking from a near distance.
The general’s face and attitude was of utter contempt for Greek stamina to rush us. He’s showing me enthusiasm and total confidence of a win at hand for us. It’s the precise moment when Darius gave him the order, essentially saying, Let’s do it!
Datis immediately made a short bow and a gesture while backing a step before turning to his left to his place with the troops. Darius turned the other way, walking past rows of his people, looking ahead, mostly not looking directly at them. My soldiers in battle dress all stood shoulder to shoulder forming a long rank facing me. They watched, most were looking at me. When I was within 15-feet of the troops I briefly scanned the ranks.
Officers were in front. They’re tall young men splendidly outfitted for battle, most wearing capes, some blue some not. Lead men like NCO’s, are crowded into ranks two and three. They were reasonably armed, many wearing leather and skins. Oddly I don’t recall seeing archers or horses, if any.
Farther in the ranks men were physically shorter and less equipped. And many others were poorly armed, the deeper the less, where some men of small stature are bare, waist up. They’re a ragtag mob. I abruptly stopped to look at a pathetically equipped man. He’s bare-chest, a loose black sheepskin at his waist to the knee. In his right hand he clutches a 16-inch round shield of layered leather, a short spear is in his left. He’s a straggler, 20-feet back of the last rank. The man is unsure what to do but puts on a braver face, moving up showing me he’s ready.
I’m now thinking, after his first thrust he’s done… meaning the more troops the better. He’s a conscript from a recently grabbed territory. But his battle readiness is an embarrassment to me, here and now. The troops are so miserably armed and no body protection. Such lives are hard, short, and extremely basic with no development, no investment, and no future. For millennia it’s the human story.
King Darius walked 20-yards to a square white platform, all enclosed by stone slabs. Imagine it, no horse… talk about choosing your ground! My people built a reviewing stand in advance on the battlefield. It’s craziness in anyone else’s army. But there I paused, putting on my gold helmet as officers stood by. I turned and climbed five tall steps to the top, up about seven feet. Even for a big man, I notice it’s an effort making the steps. There I stood confidently looking toward the enemy. My General had waited. It’s absolutely still in this final moment of so many Persians, about 5000 within view.
Next, Datis shouted a sharp two-syllable command. Then noises! Everything started up in a din of voices with rattling equipment, some wheels, and stuff was moving. There’s pulling and pushing, equipment moving, and so much activity all at once. The Persians responded to attack and it began on a cool overcast day of indistinct shadows, soft contrasts on a new dark green field thick with 4-inch grass, no trees.
King Darius watched his army moving into tactical positions looking this way and that, critically observing troop advances. But in a brief moment of concern, he cast a long look, left up the ranks to the tail of the line. Someone’s slow to take position. Satisfied, he looked outward to his enemy as the armies closed for action. His face was serious but showed full confidence in his people. The view ended. Nothing more was seen.
A perspective: Persia was the most successful empire of its time. God and its leaders of ability brought them success. The grand tactic of intimidation by hordes of soldiers was a successful strategy. But what if the enemy intelligence discovered the rank and file troops are so dismally prepared? The Greeks did.
The only payoff for our lesser troops was in spoils of war, as in, slay the enemy and take his wares. There was an order of things and no investment was made in anyone but the officers. They, the sons of aristocrats… or otherwise proven, were all splendidly armed, protected, taught, and developed.
The line of Persians I saw seems 350-yards long and men are 10-to-15 deep in most places. There were few if any horses in the formation. The 1st rank was a crisp line of very many young men and it gently curved with the brow of a shallow hill. Beyond the officers, troops straggled to the back in bunches roughly as ranks. Most officers led 20-to-30 men, with no logistics or support groups seen. All present are warriors.
I recall the moment as a schoolboy when this view first came to mind. The play of images in class stopped a short while for the bell and we changed classes. I was walking an upper hall overlooking the inner courtyard when it started again. I stopped to watch, seeing the face of Darius as he ascended the platform.
Now my next room teacher was coming catching me lagging, such outrageous conduct. I’m escorted and she’s scolding, chewing on me the whole way. No one does what I did. Not enough, she firmly kept me a half-hour after school for breach of discipline. She smiled as I was released and I looked but said nothing. With the lost time I rethought the things I’d seen. It’s special and it’s for me. What she does about it doesn’t matter. That day she was our ‘substitute’ teacher. It took me until ’07 to see she’s another no-see-em.
My last view of King Darius was from 8-feet in front but a little below his face. As he moved my view changed with his surroundings. I watched him put on his yellow-metal headgear and mount the platform. I noticed some officers around him each wearing ornamentally decorated gray-metal helmets. Runners with capes wore smooth and plain gray metal helmets, no designs.
So I’m given to see the Persians, not any Greeks, at the beginning of the Battle of Marathon as it happened. I’ve actually seen faces of those men as they were 2500 years ago. And of course, they look as we do, as some people do of today.
The Marathon result is just amazing. Just as David beat Goliath in his day, a much smaller force of Athenians won an amazing victory over the Persian army. History records Persian losses at 30-to-1 received from an adversary out-numbered maybe 10-to-1. To me it’s an effective Greek superiority in battle to us of 300-to-1 so fierce were they that day.
Our untrained poorly equipped Persian conscripts were cut down. The Greeks knew. It was a total rout as Darius and his guys ran for cover of their ships. And the Athenians pursued us, even burning some ships before we got safely to sea. Thus Persia’s westward quest was abruptly ended in my time but with Xerxes trying again in his turn.
Before changing classes, teacher spoke of Xerxes saying He’s son of Darius and a great warrior, a Persian King of achievement. An image of Xerxes came in the same moment, an athletic-looking young man, light-colored eyes and thick blond wavy hair. They revealed who he was, too. I was happy to be seeing him but it made me sad about my own ugly life at the time.
But blond and blue eyes, he doesn’t look like Darius. I’m thinking it confirms Darius took a Scythian woman as his wife and queen, the mother of Xerxes. Sons follow mothers and daughters follow fathers in appearance in my experience.
Well, nothing so grand played true in my hard life of 1948, but a boost of self-esteem is nice if there’s a secret about me. After school it seemed odd to know but okay. It’s not the first unusual thing ever happening with me. But with no place for it in my life, I soon lost the knowledge. But having it sent again much later confirms they’re showing in this way that it’s my legacy. I’m Darius of the Book of Daniel, the Book of Ezra and others. Fifty years later it’s the work of Darius to now bring all of you details of the Endtime.
Daniel knew the Ending and was eager to say, but it was too soon. Doing that 2500 years ago would bias your life outcomes and change the plan. Lord Gabriel intervened to seal it until exactly now. Read on.
Book 1 Chapter 35. Beauregard.
Ever been somewhere for the first time and get a strong feeling that you’ve been there before? This happened to me in the summer of 1993, a very exciting discovery.
I was working in Atlanta developing computer server technology and took a Sunday cruise 60-miles into the hills of north Georgia. Gold is in the hills, so it’s fun seeing the area. Another time my son and I sifted gravel for gold finding some flecks. It’s work but fun wading in the creek for hours, a payoff of the hot day. It comes with gold fever that the next pan will yield a nugget. At lunch Rick stepped over all that labor by simply buying a souvenir vile of Dahlonega gold. What a guy! I’m still laughing about it.
On my first trip I rolled into Dahlonega alone at high noon. A warm feeling came. I knew the place. I’d never been there before, this life, and it’s an unusual experience to say the least. I immediately parked my p-car and walked courthouse commons and the nearby streets taking it in, just feeling the place. I looked to the courthouse again, from the echo of knowing it.
There were crowds happily meandering through nearby shops, folks out having a casual time off. I joined in and bought posters and photos of prominent 19th century Indians. It’s uplifting. They’ve been on the wall of my shack at Big Lake ever since.
I found lunch in a charming old restaurant off the square, then drove west out of town about six miles, like I know where I’m going from echoes of knowing the roads and where they go. It’s comfortable being there. The main road makes a jog left but I drove straight onto a gravel road bending to the right. About 50-yards onward, left side, a creek was flowing silently against a huge ‘Indian’ rock. I’m surprised. I park and get out to walk. It’s another place I knew. Vague stuff but a vignette flashed, showing it’s where I dismounted my beige horse to let him drink and rest.
I stayed awhile feeling the place, walking 100-yards up the road. A broad field opens to the left to a treeline. I’m thinking The road used to pass there along the trees. No remnant was seen but I knew that road. Pursuing the feeling I drove toward a farmhouse farther along but recognized nothing. Everything else was recent and different. I mean, it’s really odd coming to somewhere that you know, never having been there before.
I’ve been to Dahlonega before… vague memories linger. Somewhere near, a railroad trestle crossed a nearby river and for a time in 1863, we had a hot contest for it before CSA blew the bridge. It doesn’t seem so long ago. I didn’t discover the Etowah River that day, but it runs nearby this place. I crossed it coming east on another trip.
From its draw to me at the time, I approached a friend to buy a few acres fronting the Etowah, knowing he owns a 160-acre parcel on the river just to the south in Limpkin County. No coincidence but he’s featured later in this Book. He agreed BUT only if I’d live on it. I didn’t possess that kind of fore-vision and was unable to agree. It’s better there than in Okee. But I don’t steer in life, I row.
Years later I realized the creek is that river, I was standing at it. A name comes to mind, a CSA captain I think. An old church is near, but I didn’t search the stones, really afraid I’d find it at the time. Maybe it’s nothing, but I wouldn’t follow up… maybe someday I’ll make a visit.
But of all my lead-in experiences this series was the most vague and incomplete. Stingy! But if I’m intended to have more, I’d have more. There’s also the vague recall of arriving at Charleston and of refusing a fancy carriage of four horses that was sent, and taking a common cab instead. And there’s one more errant highlight. It’s of me falling off a log in full uniform into the deep scummy waters of a ditch … Mexico as I’ve since read.
Yes, it felt very strange having such feelings in Dahlonega. I was a kid raised in south Florida and we knew about the Civil War. No one taught Confederate history, it wasn’t condoned. But Rebs were alive and active fifty years ago. Example; in 1958, already a USAF veteran and a college sophomore, I was chased out of a gas station.
It was in Virginia on US 1, merely for driving a car with Massachusetts tags. He had the wrong guy and I thought to stand and meet his threat. But inside me I was subtly waived off. The South wouldn’t be just, particularly in fascist Virginia, where another time I was tagged for excessive speed at 3:00 a.m. on I-64, a speed I wasn’t doing. They need to audit their Troopers, I suggested. But with such losers around, it’s no surprise that heads were busted, struggling to break the heavy stifling pall of USA racism. Self-sacrifices were made!
My 5th grade teacher with a charming Carolina drawl, God bless her, often had us stand and cheerfully sing Dixie, anthem of The Confederacy. A southern lady born in 19th century, she was left-handedly introducing us to Southern history. We all knew her people were in it.
Southern folks were still very sensitive about their Confederate legacy, meaning a handshake and stacking of arms doesn’t make all right. Our feelings and attitudes live on when whole families sacrifice themselves and sacrificed all their property to the cause. War is a high stakes gamble. As a child I didn’t want to know about Confederate anything. Kids gave me Confederate money and I gave it back or threw it away.
But after Sabrina the feeling came. I’m connected with that war, but at a railroad bridge? So after Dahlonega I raided vintage bookstores around Atlanta scooping every authentic 19thc. reference that I found. Cheap enough, nobody reads them anyway. I gathered a hundred old books, whole series of them full of details. Half are antique like the Official Records of both sides, assembled and printed by the US Government.
Things I read in Official Records were so familiar but without finding a loud special flag. Nothing singular was telling me, in part because everything was telling me. Particularly, I knew Colonels Forrest and Morgan, whose brigades so effectively marauded the Yankee border states. But there’s no clear answer to Dahlonega’s riddle.
Then enter Sabrina, who led me to buy Military Operations of Gen. Beauregard published in 1883. Yes, fine additions to my Confederate Library, thank you. But wait, Sabrina and Confederate? Whoa, after Dahlonega that’s totally curious… and it’s a trigger. But living in flatland, I’m still making no connection. Here’s a major hint, but I resisted writing the obvious in this Book. Instead I waited, carefully sifting for a better understanding, and it was five years in coming. Then, I’m sure.
From the first view, Beauregard’s face was so familiar. Others were, too, particularly Robert E. Lee, Jubal Early, Braxton Bragg, and others. I read Beauregard’s books thinking Yeah, well so what? …with no spark of knowing coming for awhile.
Beauregard was obliged to produce the books as an essential voice in history. His friend and aide, Colonel Alfred Roman, wrote them telling their side of it. Confederate President Jeff Davis was less than forthright with Beauregard. Davis often ignored our legitimate appeals for support, even directly thwarting us. Their relationship was like an ongoing cat-fight.
It’s Davis’ job to manipulate our circumstances. He played personalities like leading music, shifting men in and out, shifting blame for inaction and failures, some of his own. He played us like faking at cards, not to the enemy but to his army senior staff. Today, I know Davis is another Elder. Not only is he back, now, but we know each other.
He’s had a position of advantage in business over me during years of writing this Book. Similarly as before, the opportunity to profit from me was given to him again. There are more circles within circles: I graduated UMass in Amherst Massachusetts. That city is his legacy, a namesake, because he was also Lord Jeffrey Amherst. Yes, the one known as Jeffrey.
Beauregard within a sense of right was compelled to record his part after the Davis version appeared in 1881. Davis dangled Beauregard’s requests, but why? Feelings were raw between them, frustrated to the point of a duel. But war and honor prevailed. Davis often obstructed commanders in the field by inaction, not indecision. Delays, lost momentum, and lost opportunities were his, not Beauregard’s. How would he overrule his generals in the field, politics, ego, or strategy? CSA was working against itself from the front office. Had only the USA known… or did they?
So there’s a growing vendetta out of pettiness. A case in point, Davis denied promotions of men on the general’s staff. But no big deal, right? …lot’s of guys get denied. But Davis denied them all for the entire war. Now that surely reveals a tiny man at the head of CSA government, an ego fed of petty vindictiveness.
It’s regrettable but simply another hardship added to our struggle to stay alive… like a horsefly bite… or a shot hitting the denied soldier who thus gave Davis everything. Be they general or cadet, passed-over or devalued no one quit the flag. We did everything the rascal gave us, keeping our faith and our honor intact to the end.
Coincidentally, I lived on Lake Murray near the Saluda River where in 1865 General Beauregard camped on the western line of defense of Columbia SC. US General Sherman’s band of thugs was fast approaching. Before I left for home that summer they drained the lake, working on the dam, catching the 23-foot sailboat high and dry of Pontius. He gave it away. But I walked the bottom, finding a dozen beautifully preserved pine roots lying exposed. They’re unusually sculpted and gnarly. I collected a car full as souvenirs. The best, an extraordinary 13-footer I gave to Samantha in Houston. A smaller one hangs in my shack. Years later I saw these are remnants of some trees from Beauregard’s camp.
Locals in Columbia to this day like to say The war will end here where it started... someday. The legacy of that war lives, particularly in South Carolina. They’re proudly flying the Confederate battle flag atop the Statehouse while I was there. Coincidentally, Beauregard was the source of that flag.
There’s more. I’m confirming that many of you with an affinity for the Confederate banner were there in it, too. But ‘someday’ is it? Anytime now is about right. I’m saying Don’t cling to things in the past, move on. There’s a bigger issue, the biggest: your Judgment. It’s late and time to let go of the past, the better to deal with our present.
Within a year Beauregard’s books began to show light. I recognized some of his accounts. It’s the way he presented them. Something clicked. It was familiar, the issues, the arguments, and the style of presentation were Beauregard’s, even though authored by Alfred his chief aide. Allowing for the paradigm of the times, it’s how I would presentand argue facts in my defense. I particularly saw it in Beauregard’s dispatches to Davis. From my suspicions and supported by everything else I know, this points only one way.
In year 2000 I made the leap. It’s this. They’ve given me to know who our players really were (are). Jonah was Lee. Obadiah was Early. Ezekiel was Bragg. Isaiah was Stonewall Jackson. Daniel was JEB Stuart. And yes, Darius was Beauregard.
So who’s Jefferson Davis handing Beauregard so much adversity? He’s one of Lady Dorah’s people, the one known as Jeffrey. Thomas was Forrest. Paul was Sherman. Gregory was General Thomas. Abraham Lincoln was David, himself. Grant was Lot, himself. Ezra was Farragut. Rupert was Admiral Semmes. All the others were in it somewhere. Who’s Rupert? He and Gregory are comers.
Others serving the USA side with Lot were his Galicia crew. Similarly, some other Confederate leaders were the Whiting crew, both of a later chapter. Some of Lady Dorah’s people also served one side or the other like Jeffrey. As an example of another, Lady Dorah sent George as George Washington, who also was Booker T. Washington of USA history as well as George, a King of England in their history. It means that all leaders of significance were (are) sent by God over the millennia… including now.
An update in year 2000 is just amazing. A man on my List from Alabama came to live seasonally at Big Lake. He’s a decorated Air Cavalry warrior of Vietnam. He loyally flies a Confederate Battle Flag and his message is “History not Hate”. I noticed, but usually don’t go out of my way to meet those flying the Confederate jack. But that combination brought me around to meet him.
Soon after I realized he is none other than Alfred Roman, Colonel of the 18th Louisiana Volunteers, my former Chief of Staff and author of the Beauregard books. After browsing the books, it came as a totally unexpected understanding. I brought them insisting he look through the books. In a left-handed way, the South has risen again… we’re all back!
Another coincidence: The following year after reading this part he said his middle name is Alfred. I never knew! Now I see we’ve been warriors together many lifetimes in many places. He appears later in another chapter. Yes, he’s one of Lady Dorah’s, the one known as Alfred, as in Alfred the Great of England… same man. Sabrina gave me a book about him which I gave to him. I did a similar thing for the one known as Adrian, aka Emperor Hadrian of Rome, when I met him, another of Lady Dorah’s guys.
Similarly, it’s true of all people here. You have lived and written all your own histories, other times and in other places in a long series of lives here on Earth. For some it’s hundreds of times revealed in the chapter on Soul Works. You are much more than you realize, having developed the length of twelve great cycles all the way to now.
Book 1 Chapter 36. Antony.
Now, in this book you’ll see there are acutely odd things going on with me. But on that morning, one of the all-time strangest things yet happened. It took three years to understand it clearly.
In 1993 I worked in Boca Raton. It’s Saturday, March, and I’m poking along in the Margate flea market as I often liked to do. I look for curiosities, old things, books, and interesting stuff from other times. I’m alone. Patrisha stayed home. Maybe it’s a thing I do, buying stuff I don’t need. But it’s a lot of fun for the money and I buy fresh fruit and vegetables before leaving.
It’s a beautiful cool sunny morning. I started up the main walk when in 4th vendor pad, I saw someone I instantly knew, someone I felt is exceptional. I’m immediately drawn to him, surprised to see a man who seemed so familiar. I walked directly to him and without hesitation warmly greeted him, shaking his hand as if he’s a long lost brother. He responded similarly, smiling, equally warm and glad to see me, too.
We don’t look alike but in a way, he’s like a mirror to me. We do not introduce ourselves. But soon after how I wished I had. Six years on, I know he’s Antony, an important connection to me. He’s cheerful and relaxed, a man with serenity about him, quiet, friendly, a nice-looking man glowing with presence and personality.
He’s blond but thinning hair, dark blue eyes, slim build, 5’10” like me at the time. He’s fortyish without any aging otherwise. He looks like a man recently arriving from the desert, golden tanned looking like the healthiest guy I ever saw.
I was quite taken by how he looks. What’s he doing messing around in a flea market? Where are you from? California, he said. I’ve not been there in thirty years so I wouldn’t know him from there. Yet I know him! There’s something about him, though I hadn’t seen him before. He’s so familiar but could I discover why?
From his handshake and other feelings I’m getting, the really odd thought struck me: He shook my hand exactly like I shook his. It’s the same, which I felt and understood. Too extraordinary, but a handshake? I definitely got a sense of something I didn’t expect. It’s a reflection of myself to myself. If anyone could shake his own hand, this would definitely be it.
But what’s in a handshake after all? More than people know! So for me it’s altogether too weird an experience with him. A very odd feeling came over me. I had the strongest sense I’m seeing myself, somehow, some way. Ridiculous! But I felt it and it came into mind. Is this a clue of myself, somehow, of who I was or I’ll be? What a concept, to be meeting your self this way! Could it even be so?
So I’m fascinated. I looked him over carefully. His clothes are different, Indian-western leather clothes, really different clothes. He wore a Sundance style leather western hat… and looked great in it. Blond but if he had any hair left, I couldn’t see. But wearing a heavy western hat in east coast Florida? Now that’s a statement, because on the coast we didn’t wear them. His shirt is different, too, Indian-looking, a curious link to me, now. Even his trousers were leather and different.
His shirt was beautiful bluegrass green, like hand-woven silk but it’s coarse, not like a close silk weave. Coarse, like his silkworms had to be a foot long. Where it buttons together, there’s a narrow white strip. I see a fine line of dark purple embroidery, winding and curving like a vine with leaves and tiny blue flowers. It’s so narrowly threaded like a vine that’s growing on a narrow white background.
It’s just too special, too fine. It’s a flag to me. What a touch! I’ve never seen such beautiful work, not even in the 1960’s, when you might see anything. This is innovative, consistent with my notion of California. They wear beautiful clothes there, I’m thinking. Then there’s his buckskin leather over-shirt, like a jacket open in front. I’m thinking Wow, what have we here?
If his face were Indian, he’d be a proper good Indian by his clothes. Then I thought I’m making too much of it. It’s a more or less free country and we may dress as we wish. But why come to the flea dressed this way? Nobody wears clothes like this in street Florida. And within an hour, he’ll be sweating his brains out. Leather is too warm for mid-day. So it continued being interesting, even enchanting.
But flags raised in mind because here’s a genuine mystery to me. He’s a mystery, his clothes are a mystery, even his wares are a mystery. Okay, maybe he’s Indian, because blond people with blue eyes are among them these days as seen at the powwows. Their gene pool includes Euros for the last 400-years now, about like the rest of us.
He’s apparently selling stuff but not much, hardly worth the cost of a stall. Items look curious, too. He had a dozen odd items carved of wood and dabbed with grass-green. Shelf stuff and dust collectors, but I’m not sure of what. Small, I could close my hand on them. This wasn’t my first dance, so okay this guy’s here to show me something, I’m suspecting.
I looked but what are they? I saw no purpose. We all understand an ashtray, but his stuff is a mystery. I looked closely at the largest piece, a 2x3-inch oval box. How I wish I’d bought something, anything. Since I knew he’s different, why didn’t I buy a token? The answer seems to be, I didn’t need it… wouldn’t know what to do with it. It seemed all his collectibles were my kind of stuff, things I might buy… any of them. I love curiosities.
I’m a roach, but usually on a vendor's table of a hundred small items I might find just one, though most often none. All his things are interesting but too unusual. And I’m no stranger to oddness so I can tell you, it’s the little things that give the game away. It points to who they really are. He brought the stuff, so it’s clear where it’s from.
And another thing, I’m thinking How’s he come to be selling goods like this in Florida, obviously coming so recently from a California desert? Something’s not right. I was thinking he’s not trying to sell stuff, anyhow. And California, really? Like, what century? I mean, nobody dresses like this, not even there. It doesn’t tally with any reality.
Another mystery; here’s a great opportunity to quiz him because special people don’t lie. I was feeling something very strange about him… concerning me. I was being guarded now, not wanting to show how great my curiosity really is. Next, I said You seem so familiar to me, where do I know you from?
His reaction was equally unexpected. He looked away and down, and was really pondering, searching for the right answer. Like it’s a tough question, he paused for a long moment sifting for the answer. Anyone of us would simply say I don’t know and went with it.
But he actually looked confused by this obviously unexpected and penetrating question. After five more seconds he apologetically announced, I don't know you. What, how come I know him? I feel he should be in charge with this, because if I feel I know him so strongly, why doesn’t he sense something too?
Wow! I thought What's going on? In the moment I suspected he does know me but wouldn’t say. I’m suspicious, because after five seconds of perceptible hesitation, this is the answer. I deliberately asked to get a response because I’m sure I’m onto the game. Long after, how I wished I’d asked him an even better question. But by then I was feeling too uneasy to stay around longer. After a few more words I made my break, moving on.
Fifteen minutes later I’m a few rows over and glanced up catching him looking at me. Well then, maybe he really didn’t know me after all. He looked confused, nothing like other special people who have come, all of them so confident, in-charge kind of people. My thoughts were no help, I’m confused too. I could feel him looking at me. It made me look up. He didn’t look away, I finally did.
Clearly, I’m not getting it yet, nor was he. Another ten minutes and I looked, but he’s gone. What’s more I knew he’d be. So I looked more closely, surprised someone else had so quickly set up with tables of stuff in his pad. After that day I often thought of him without yet knowing what this really meant.
From my experiences, insights, and other fine-tuning, I’d begun to guess correctly. Four years later and knowing the whole story, I see God has shown me my earlier self. He’s none other than me, before I became Darius. He’s how I look doing a mission in my past, going into the future to Darius’ present. He’s on a mission to me in his form as a special person in this place, not as I am struggling under the weight of this earthly physical body. And in doing so he (I) was confused and clueless.
I really have to laugh! Here’s a genuine candidate to become Darius, walking half-blind between the realities. He (I) didn’t know Darius (me), a new identity of him (me). It’s a bit of a test getting your mind around this situation. But that’s okay, it took me awhile to get this right, too.
What heaven does with time and place is wonderful. The reason I know this is my past is, he recently came from California. From special knowledge I have, I won’t be in California in that form in my future, here, because it’ll soon no longer exist.
The most exciting discovery to me is, it confirms time travel for us is possible. From heaven’s hypertime line, local timeline like here and now is completely accessible. Throughout this book I’ve used the word timeline, simple in concept although it’s an artificial notion. In 1998 I met the one known as Obadiah, who helped me understand the nature of time isn’t as we thought.
So Antony traveled to my present here from his present there. His is my past and I’m his future. It tends to make sense if you see we’re separate identities. It shows we are separate entities of different identities here and now. Remember this, it’s important.
He might have suspected who I am, too, as I did him after thinking about it, seeing and feeling me (him), here and now, by our direct contact. A search of his special knowledge didn’t bridge to Darius, himself, of his future. I was thinking if I felt who he was, he had to feel something of who I am. We are the same soul, though not the same identity now. His answer shows he didn’t know me, yet I knew him. Years later I’m given his identity: Antony. He knew something was going on between us, though confused as I was by our extraordinary meeting.
If he (I) didn’t know then, I see, today, that I’m destined to walk with half an idea of what’s going on, like he did in his travels. Because certain limitations go with the job. Darius, me, now, didn’t know much in my earlier years until, much later, the knowledge came. It’s necessary for my development, because it’s difficult straddling the realities without coming as an even higher being, which I’m not, yet.
All of us like me, who are sent here from a realm of heaven to Earth mission, make our walks here without the things known to the others in their realm of origin, in their normal connection with God. Exceptions are the wonderful people in higher states of being, the no-see-ems. It’s why some are around to help us. They’ve helped me. There’s much more ahead about this. Otherwise in Darius’ life-walks, he walks off the appointed path into the weeds from willfulness and his limitations on Earth. But others do, too, so take heart. And the corrections can be embarrassing.
No one needs to tell us this world can be difficult. It’s tough for you, too. God knows this is true. It’s no cakewalk, just do your best trying to be good. Listen, hear, and yield to your voice of conscience. It’s God’s voice within you. If you will do this, everything that matters shall begin falling into the right places for you, step by careful step.
So how can I be so sure of this odd experience? An echo came that he saw me as his future self. It’s an important example of what identity means in heaven, not the same as your unique soul. The implications are staggering to contemplate, because it suggests your soul is unique only to God. Otherwise, you’re who God says you are, which means to everyone else including yourself as you wear and execute a different God-given identity.
If you think this chapter is strange, maybe even incredible, I surely see how it could be so. But there is more, something even more bizarre to share. And more than a hint. There are deep currents at work in me bringing this new and related piece of information. The power of God is working in our lives, dynamically moving us in time, place, and spirit.
Think about this: Two others of my lives, here, overlapped in time by five years. That surely seems like a contradiction to natural order. But it’s not to God nor to us. Here’s another example of heaven’s means, while avoiding any ego as to ID, disclosing who, for the moment. I leave it vague for now, as to which of my recent lives it involves. Even so they’re not completely masked, and you may see which ones ahead.
Darius came into a life and mission to a natural physical body that I’m apparently not born to. The essential switch of spirit is made instantly seamlessly, both in flowing memory and close enough in personality. And oddly, I remembered having lived that short life.
I was stunned to find that, particularly these two major life roles were overlapped. So it’s awhile before I understood how. This, even though I’m earlier given confirming information and memory of living as both people. After some soul-searching, the light of knowledge prevailed as to its truth allowing me to write it.
Yes, someone else was house-sitting the body-temple for me, not for five years but seven. And as to whom, again he’s Antony. As you may now see, the earlier me was sent forward in time serving the present me… more than once. From such examples you may see the nature of spirit, time, and the lives of us who come here in God’s service, you and me in our turns.
Yes, read! These are God’s messages, beginning the period of the Great Trial in the last days. It’s God’s appointed time.