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Bleak, horrifying, but highly persuasive panoramic survey of our situation, from Whitney Webb: The world (over)run by gics

Rob, a few years back, I began an intensive study of the testimonies of NDE survivors, as well as of the writings of serious investigators of the phenomenon, such as Dr. Pim van Lommel, the Dutch cardiologist who has made special studies of the matter for many years:

The individual testimonies of survivors vary greatly IN THE DETAILS, and are often coloured by their prior religious beliefs: Christians meet with god or angelic presences, for example. But there are always the same main common themes running through the stories. And one of the most striking is the way - again and again - people will say: “It’s completely transformed my attitude to death. I just don’t worry about it any more, because clearly it’s no big deal, and certainly not ‘the end of all things’” (I also have a neighbour whose grown son told her of having exactly the same transformation of attitude after taking DMT smoke for the first time…)

The huge modern proliferation of these NDE phenomena is due entirely, I reckon, to the vast increase of skilled, specialist techniques and treatments for life-saving emergency medical revival work for people who, in previous times, would simply have died.

This has meant that there’s been this big increase in people who have testimonies to give of the truly extraordinary experiences they had whilst - nominally - ‘unconscious’ and biologically dead (all life-signs flat-lining).

As times and attitudes have evolved, there’s been a steady coming-out of people who’ve been through the classic NDE, but who, initially, kept silent about it, for fear of being written off as mad weirdos.

It seems to me that what the survivors describe is either closely similar to, or exactly the same as, classic out-of-body-experiences; or, as veteran shamans would say, of shamanic journeying.

What pisses me off somewhat is that my own innate rather mediocre level of psi-talent for the - perfectly normal - ability of OOBE-at-will, aka journeying, happens to be only average. The upshot has been that, whilst doing my daily shamanic practice sessions, I’ve never yet managed the sort of extraordinary full reality-tone of awareness of better-endowed OOBE travellers: often described as being even more vivid than ordinary full conscious awareness: “as if the whole world had just been freshly painted and was still glowing with ultra-vividness”.

Mircea Eliade, in his famous classic scholarly study: ‘Shamanism’ called shamans “technicians of the sacred” and what they do as “archaic techniques of ecstasy”. ‘Ecstasy’ of course originally meaning ‘standing outside of oneself’:

Two very striking modern examples of practitioners of the OOBE-at-will skill, and - crucially - of its teachability are Tom Campbell and his post-grad buddy Dennis Mennerich, who were both taught how to do OOBEs-at-will by Bob Monroe, the founder of the Monroe Institute For The Study Of Consciousness. Bob, in his middle years, found himself having spontaneous OOBEs, even though, as a standard-issue modern USAmerican, he had no previous inkling of such things, and thought at first that he was going mad.

As you can see, Rob, I can run off at the mouth about all this, at the drop of a hat. But maybe the above is enough to chew on for now. Meanwhile, I’m back on the ball again after my Thursday surgery. Still deeply struck by the extraordinary things that strong-souled, highly competent people like my surgeon can do, with the help of modern technology. As you perhaps know, Rob, I’m not a great devotee of startrekkytechietechie, which I believe isn’t really the future of humankind, we being destined rather for the Long Descent into something similar to previous pre-hitech eras. But whilst we still have it, this level of technical capability produces some fascinating experiences…! :slight_smile: I’m actually quite looking forward to further adventures in this field of slightly tricky key-hole surgery! And if they can fix my heart valve, and make it possible for me once again to do the fourteen-mile round trip into town by bike, as the surgeon said, I shall be truly impressed. Think of that! Not that it’s unprecedented. I know of ninety-somethings who are still cycling… :open_mouth: :laughing:

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A constituent of some or other MP, I forget who, tweeted @ him that “I don’t think I saw you in the Commons for the Vaccine Damage Private Members Bill. Why is that?”

His reply was “Because I wasn’t there”.

(Hopefully this time I don’t inadvertently delete this comment…)

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The insolent spurning of democracy, or even the paper-thin niceties of pretend-democratic good form, gets more blatant. I know it’s both schadenfreudische and un-ahimsic, but often I can’t help but relish the prospect of these scumbags getting their comeuppance before near-future revolutionary tribunals.

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Rhis, I’ll tell you this in the hope that it might get through your procedure.

Back in the 1980s my mate Mark and I were getting drunk in the Bull Inn in Dartford. For those unfamiliar Dartford is in Kent, on the periphery of London. The Bull was an old coaching inn dating back hundreds of years (lots of stuff with Watt Tyler there). This was in the days when pubs used to close at 11pm, unless you could find a handy hotel and give them a load of bullsit about your room number.

So, we staggered out of the Bull Hotel at around 2am (we had to get out through a toilet window, because all the doors were locked). We went up to Dartford station, which even at that time of the morning was all unlocked and with lights blazing, although no trains running.

As you do when you’re blind drunk in the early hours of the morning, we decided to walk along the tracks, leaving the Slade Green depot to continue on to Barnehurst and Bexletyheath. Those familiar with the landscape will know that the line up to Barnehurst was on a very high embankment.

Cut a long story short, my mate Mark and I were singing, and shortly before we got to Barnehurst station I tripped over on the tracks. As I tried to get up I put my hand on the 3rd rail. The 3rd rail was live and 800 volts went through me. The burn mark on my hand and lower arm was there for months afterwards.

I stood up from that and walked away, with no medical stuff whatsoever (aside from a hangover the next morning).

See, I’m one of those people who should’t really be here.

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