Speak Through Me About Disclosure

I woke from a dream at quarter to six. I was in a grand Art Deco style government office - a cross between Acton's Town Hall and the Bromyard Avenue offices further down the Uxbridge Road. (Same location and style as the Town Hall building, but bigger.) A cavernous interior; dark, lit only with small uplighters along the walls, a zigzag patterned carpet on the floor. At the top of the carpeted staircase, a landing; on the landing a desk, Civil Service-style. Polished wood. A tall silver-haired man sits behind it. Facing him on the other side a family - mum, dad and three small kids. They are freaking out. The civil servant has heard it all before. It's his job to explain. In simple terms. To act as a mentor. The smallest child is crying. The father is getting angry. The civil servant is patiently telling the family something from an approved script. There are more people on the staircase, queuing in a state of unease. It's evening; the office will soon shut. People want to know.

This is a few days after Disclosure. The world has learnt that flying saucers are real. Aliens are real. They are here. They have spoken. We have proof. Everything has changed. Governments are trying to cope. Media messaging is not enough; people need to hear the new truth live, from a person in authority - not a media personality; and face to face, not via a screen or speaker. So these consultation points have been set up; if you want to talk to someone from government and ask them to explain it to you, come along. Come one, come all.

Below left: originally the Ministry of Pensions building, Bromyard Avenue, Acton, London W3. Below right: originally Acton Town Hall, Acton. Both buildings completed in the 1920s; both buildings now converted into flats.

It's quarter to six, too early to rise, so I drift back to sleep, but have my notebook and pen by my bedside. I am tuning in; I am ready to channel.

"To let your readers know that you are channelling, use the { curly brackets } to denote that this is a spontaneously channelled message, and not a construct of your own thinking."

"Will do."

And so...

{ Science has failed to make meaningful progress with our technology in the eight decades since Homo sapiens came across it. The planet is now in danger of overheating because of your greenhouse gas emissions. This is not good for us, not good for you, not good for the planet. You have not made use of the technology that could have transitioned your society and your economy away from fossil fuel. The greed of a few, the unwillingness to change paradigms, yes. Torpid resistance. But the biggest error you made was to stovepipe the knowledge. Keep it in silos, away from your greatest minds. Non-terrestrial physics requires a higher level of understanding. Need-to-know secrecy has compartmentalised the science. You won't make the required breakthrough in time. You need a prompt nudge. Now! }

I write this down, and drift off. Suddenly:

{ James Clerk Maxwell. Rivendell. }

WHAT?!? James Clerk Maxwell (below) - OK, unifying the electromagnetic forces back in the 1860s... but Tolkien's Rivendell? Heroic quest's starting point? Place of sanctuary? No further clues... I drift off again and then...

{ You must break out of the chrysalis that is the human ego; the caterpillar inches along the ground - but the butterfly can flutter high above! It is the human ego that holds H. sapiens back. Assign a hypothesis a day until your science has cracked it. Donald Hoffman is close... spacetime is not fundamental, consciousness is. Science will not progress until it accepts the primacy of consciousness over matter. }

I am reminded of the time two years ago when I asked for the secret of nuclear fusion and was told, immediately, { Have a look at anomalous data from experiments conducted in March 1970 }. This came back to me this morning, along with an old one-liner from American stand-up comedian Stephen Wright (when told he was wearing odd socks): "I don't judge socks by their colour, but by their thickness."

And here it starts getting weird: { Make it a misery to measure, like with Fentanyl. When he saw UFOs from the flowing position. The link between nuclear fusion and consciousness. Number six is non-recitive. } The channelling ceased; I fell asleep, and woke up at quarter past nine!

This time last year:
Drinking on the move

This time five years ago:
Grodzisk Mazowiecki revisited

This time six years ago:
S7 extension - last summer of quiet (not true, as it happened!)

This time seven years ago:
Getting out of Mordor

This time 13 years ago:
Ćwilin, conquered

This time 14 years ago:
Sunset across the tracks, Nowa Iwiczna

This time 15 years ago:
The storm the forecasters missed

This time 16 years ago:
Peacocks in the Park