Wednesday, October 9, 2019

YouTube Soft-Censoring My Posts Yet Again...

...meaning, I could read my posts when I'm signed in to YouTube. When I sign out, poof, post is unreadable. So it seems that, basically, I'm the only one who could read my own posts, lol. I wonder if the original posters could read my responses to their comments.


That's actually the original reason I started this blog in the first place, just as a repository where I could park my (censored) posts. Later, I added other material, as it occurred to me to do so. Then I started getting really censored out of other social media (FaceBook, etc.). Gee, I must be somethin' special, what with all this censoring. Anyway, for what it's worth, I am posting screen shots here of recent posts...that you probably can't see.

These are responses I posted in the comments section of Kerry Cassidy's latest Mark Richards interview video:























I placed four or five "tester" posts in this chatroom, as we awaited the start of this show. They showed as I posted them. Then, after I refreshed the page, this is how it looked, as though I didn't make a single post:


Friday, May 31, 2019

Send in the Clones

This was written some years ago on the blog authored by The Ruiner, also known as Shane Bales. Like many of the posts on that blog, it has taken on new meaning to me, due to events which perhaps one day I might write about, or not. Make of it what you will.





______________________________________________

Posted by The Ruiner
4/27/2015 04:49:00 AM
34 comments

Send in the Clones

If the truth were ever disclosed about all of the things your real government (there is truly only one) has learned and developed, they will give credit for the advancements that will follow to one technology above the rest.

Clones.

This has been like a skeleton key to those developing new technology and perfecting new methods of control.

Why use someone with a family, a job, friends, children, when we can use a clone?

Why use monkeys, pigs, rats, when we can use clones?

A common use for clones is in simulations.  Create a situation and have clones exist within it.

Another is live testing.   Need to test a new technology with a functioning human specimen?  Use a clone.

Even darker perhaps, they are most used by what are called Elites in society - for entertainment.

A clone can be run by artificial software.  Which means an artificial soul like creation typically called an Artificial Soul. (This knowledge came from another race, there are mixed views as to which race.  Your writer is unsure which. ) This is not a true soul but it can function as one for this purpose.

Humans are definitely not ready for this form of technology.

These artificial souls can be implanted into a clone and then captured once dislodged from the clone body.  They can erase and reuse these as they desire.

As a functional use: such an artificial soul in a clone body could be sent to a location on a one way mission.  After the clone is killed the artificial soul can be captured and implanted into another clone.  With memory regression techniques they can recover the knowledge through experience this clone collected before death.

Clones can also be operated by living souls.

~There are various technologies related and your writer is not claiming to understand the way they all work.~

Transferring the soul in and out of a body can be accomplished by an individual using will, or assisted (even forced at times) by technology.  Moving the living soul from their natural body into a clone and back again, as desired or required.

In this way these Elites or volunteers and members of various programs can use a clone body for various adventures.  Some are just fun, many are very dark.

To explain their mind on this :  Your writer has heard them claim that artificial souls in clones have no free will and therefor invite no karmic response.  For this reason clones have almost completely replaced what was referred to as a Mind Controlled Slave. (a term your writer feels has become invalid these days, but that's another topic)  Several other positions within programs have been replaced with clones, and some whole groups have become obsolete due to the growth of this technology. They believe - right or wrong - if they can replace their use of living souls with their ariticial souls, they will clear karma.
There are a few different programs involved which do this with unwilling living souls.  They will target souls and pull them from their body, forcing them into a clone body.  The best time for them to target someone for this purpose is when they are sleeping - a deep sleep or the REM level.   Often those used in this way simply believe they have very vivid dreams.

Your writer will avoid describing the various uses.

This is one they want to keep occulted.  They do well by causing all sorts of confusion about cloning - their abilities and the laws surrounding them, in the public.  Most who speak out in the public also receive a great deal of targeting for doing so.  The reason being this is one of their greatest toys.  They constantly find new ways to advance these cloning programs.  The difference between ten years ago and now,  is astounding.

The artificial soul is just a name.  A series of words which give a false impression for it is not a soul at all - in the opinion of your writer.  More like a hard drive or iCloud that carries, installs and operates a software meant to behave like a soul at the most primitive level.  No spirit.  Artificial light.
Moral implications are likely to make your stomach turn. There is however no way to avoid that and explain this. This is a game changer for them, and the implications for us run deep.

To all the souls caught up in this web -- May this end and allow you to be free.
[emphasis, mine]







A Chat with the Male and the Female


I wrote this a few years ago, posted it on my Facebook page, which I no longer use. Found a copy of it today, figured I'd repost it here. The male and female look Nordic in my mind's eye. I asked many times for names, species, any identifier. I never get any additional info, beyond what we talk about. So, I just call them The Male and The Female. They seem to prefer it that way. Make of it what you will...

_______________________________________________________

I sit frustrated in the library, my head on the desk, my hands cupping my forehead. I think to myself..

I’m not sure how to handle this issue.


 

This is a random pic I pulled off the internet. It
approximates what the male looked like in my mind's
eye. He and the female wore long coats, with long
sleeves, that seemed like a uniform. He had a more
protective, warrior vibe about him. It grieved him
to see humanity manipulated so.
Suddenly, a male being appears in my mind’s eye, someone I’ve seen before during moments of distress in the past. I don’t request his presence, yet he often appears. Now, he pops up again, and suggests…  

Use your “tools,” as is said in your mental health wellness programs there, hehe.
Still troubled, I say: 

I am finding this difficult, it's too distracting, the issues.  Any suggestions?  Which tools, for example?



He assumes a more serious demeanor, and says:   
You CAN answer this question. Imagine that each tool of healing you know of is represented by, say, a symbol of your choosing.

Place all these symbols on a table, then get back with us afterward.

OK, I say, glad to at least be working toward some sort of solution.

What seemed like seconds in our world, were at lease a couple hours in the place where I met the male in my mind.  During those hours, I meditated, then created objects from my own thoughts, and placed them on a table, also created from my thoughts. Proudly, I announce…

I've assembled the symbols. 

The male reappears, thoughtfully regards each of my symbols on the table, then, turns and looks at me curiously for a moment, asking…  

And what would YOU…like to do…with these? 

Suddenly, I feel confident, a great deal of energy welling up inside me, I’m not sure from where. I no longer feel lost, with a need to ask more questions. Now, many answers start tumbling down from my own consciousness as I quickly say…

Well, I would like to see a single sigil, which unifies all the symbols, to serve as a kind of spiritual software program, that of my own making, that of my own healing.  I'd like to adhere the sigil to my heart chakra or solar plexus chakra, thereabouts somewhere, perhaps drawing it energetically so it stays in my biofield as a kind of compass, a perpetual spell, if you will...both steering me to that which I need, and simultaneously guiding things to me that I need as well, that they automatically come my way. 
I pause, somewhat stunned at what I just said, thinking, “Where’d that come from?  Did I just say that?"

The male calmly regards my answer for a few moments, then seats himself, and gestures with an open palm..

Go on.

I look down and struggle to think of ways to combine the symbols. I create different combinations, then dissemble them, then create others and dissemble them, etc. Suddenly, a visual floods my mind: art supplies like paintbrushes, pencils, etc. I sense the male helped me, but wanted to clarify, so I ask…

You mean, an artwork? 
The male then says, quite seriously…

All roads lead back to the road of your purpose here, _____________________, your gift, your destiny…that is, if you want them to...it is always a choice.  You are free to veer from that road, or travel that road.



________________________________________________________________






This actress from TV show dressed as Nordic alien approximates
the being I spoke to telepathically in my mind's eye. Her energy
contrasted from the male's in that she seemed to see "within"
humans, past all the layers, and could see the evocation of our
beauty, that it was important that we saw that within one another. 
The female then approaches serenely and asks us telepathically… 

And may I add an additional thought on this matter?


By all means, please do, I say telepathically.

Well, as we've demonstrated here with you, this process of self-healing, the same could be done, by the good people of Terra, collectively, in a self-initiated way. 

Each nation, each people, could bring their BEST IDEAS forward, at a table of mutual respect and open discussion. For they have lived many years here, have developed many ways of coping and getting along, ways to induce fairness and a good quality of life for themselves.  

No one
[that is, no “savior” alien race] needs to do this for you all.  You all have, over time, crafted and time-tested your own solutions. 

Referring to a draft blog post I had written earlier that day, she adds…] You wrote today about the concept of "definitions," how the Terran idea of "self" differs so greatly from that of the Draconian idea of Terran worth…and thus we see The [proverbial “New World Order”] Agenda on this planet, as it looks now, based on this idea which is not Terran in origin.

I think of milabs and other abuses of humans, and then feel deeply troubled at the thought of it, as though I am about to cry. Sensing this, the female smiles consolingly, as if to say, “don’t cry,” and emphasizes…

…but they are, after all, only IDEAS.  And ideas can be changed, can they not?

This is the challenge you have before you Terrans.  To what extent will you hold onto ideas and behaviors that destroy you?  To what extent will you cultivate your own ideas about you and your world, ideas in your best interest?  How will you define yourselves for yourselves, as one people, so that you could sit at the proverbial grown ups table, as a single, solitary people?…

She thinks of our collective beauty and strengths.  She touches my cheek as she says…

...a people, might I remind you, of great variety and creativity, and other such lovely things…

…and a bright energy fills me as colorful montage quickly flashes through my mind; I see a kaleidoscope of ancient and contemporary cultures, a blur of faces, clothing, buildings. There are snippets of music, smells of foods, historic orators speaking before large crowds.

I feel my dread and sadness beginning to subside, and I begin to feel inspired and proud to be human. But just as I begin to feel this, the montage slowly fades away.






I am startled by the male, who now is filled with righteous anger, and hits the table with his palm, saying... 

The greatest violence done to you all here seems to be the telling of the lie of you all being so much less than you are!  That is the greatest crime done against you here!  All others pale in comparison to this one! 

He then composes himself, and in a quiet, somewhat broken-hearted tone of concern, he says…

Will you see and embrace the truth about yourselves…in time?  Or will you continue to pattern your thoughts, behaviors, your entire world, after an imposed definition of who you aren’t, and let that interpretation rule you?

This is such an important question at this time.  So important. 

There is a silence. Then, as I look at them, they slowly withdraw their presence, and fade into transparency. I could hear the echo of their thoughts, as it repeats several times…

And what will you do, people of Terra?  What will be your choice?

Sunday, December 2, 2018

Dear Humanity,


Love,
JSNTLC




P.S.:
Please never forget how beautiful you are, 
no matter how ugly things around you (will) get.  
This is a great time to be Terran, to be human.  You'll see.



Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Light: The Inner Food Divine



The yogi and prolific writer, Paramhansa Yogananda (1893-1952), loved to interview interesting people.  He recorded these conversations in his autobiography published in 1946.  Here is an excerpt of his visit with a woman said to have lived solely on light (aka breatharianism).  Science has proven that we are literally made of light (see this article). Is it any wonder, then, that for many millennia people have managed to use light itself ...as a food source? 


Yogananda and Richard Wright.
“Sir, whither are we bound this morning?” Mr. Wright was driving the Ford; he took his eyes off the road long enough to gaze at me with a questioning twinkle. From day to day he seldom knew what part of Bengal he would be discovering next.

“God willing,” I replied devoutly, “we are on our way to see an eighth wonder of the worlda woman saint whose diet is thin air!”

“Repetition of wonders after Therese Neumann.” But Mr. Wright laughed eagerly just the same; he even accelerated the speed of the car. More extraordinary grist for his travel diary! Not one of an average tourist, that!

The Ranchi school had just been left behind us; we had risen before the sun. Besides my secretary and myself, three Bengali friends were in the party. We drank in the exhilarating air, the natural wine of the morning. Our driver guided the car warily among the early peasants and the two-wheeled carts, slowly drawn by yoked, hump-shouldered bullocks, inclined to dispute the road with a honking interloper.

“Sir, we would like to know more of the fasting saint.”

“Her name is Giri Bala,” I informed my companions. “I first heard about her years ago from a scholarly gentleman, Sthiti Lal Nundy. He often came to the Gurpar Road home to tutor my brother Vishnu.”

“‘I know Giri Bala well,’ Sthiti Babu told me. ‘She employs a certain yoga technique which enables her to live without eating. I was her close neighbor in Nawabganj near Ichapur.1 I made it a point to watch her closely; never did I find evidence that she was taking either food or drink. My interest finally mounted so high that I approached the Maharaja of Burdwan2 and asked him to conduct an investigation. Astounded at the story, he invited her to his palace. She agreed to a test and lived for two months locked up in a small section of his home. Later she returned for a palace visit of twenty days; and then for a third test of fifteen days. The Maharaja himself told me that these three rigorous scrutinies had convinced him beyond doubt of her non-eating state.’

“This story of Sthiti Babu’s has remained in my mind for over twenty-five years,” I concluded. “Sometimes in America I wondered if the river of time would not swallow the yogini3 before I could meet her. She must be quite aged now. I do not even know where, or if, she lives. But in a few hours we shall reach Purulia; her brother has a home there.”

By ten-thirty our little group was conversing with the brother, Lambadar Dey, a lawyer of Purulia.

“Yes, my sister is living. She sometimes stays with me here, but at present she is at our family home in Biur.” Lambadar Babu glanced doubtfully at the Ford. “I hardly think, Swamiji, that any automobile has ever penetrated into the interior as far as Biur. It might be best if you all resign yourselves to the ancient jolt of the bullock cart!”

As one voice our party pledged loyalty to the Pride of Detroit.

“The Ford comes from America,” I told the lawyer. “It would be a shame to deprive it of an opportunity to get acquainted with the heart of Bengal!”

“May Ganesh4 go with you!” Lambadar Babu said, laughing. He added courteously, “If you ever get there, I am sure Giri Bala will be glad to see you. She is approaching her seventies, but continues in excellent health.”

“Please tell me, sir, if it is absolutely true that she eats nothing?” I looked directly into his eyes, those telltale windows of the mind.

“It is true.” His gaze was open and honorable. “In more than five decades I have never seen her eat a morsel. If the world suddenly came to an end, I could not be more astonished than by the sight of my sister’s taking food!”

We chuckled together over the improbability of these two cosmic events.

“Giri Bala has never sought an inaccessible solitude for her yoga practices,” Lambadar Babu went on. “She has lived her entire life surrounded by her family and friends. They are all well accustomed now to her strange state. Not one of them who would not be stupefied if Giri Bala suddenly decided to eat anything! Sister is naturally retiring, as befits a Hindu widow, but our little circle in Purulia and in Biur all know that she is literally an ‘exceptional’ woman.”

The brother’s sincerity was manifest. Our little party thanked him warmly and set out toward Biur. We stopped at a street shop for curry and luchis, attracting a swarm of urchins who gathered round to watch Mr. Wright eating with his fingers in the simple Hindu manner.5 Hearty appetites caused us to fortify ourselves against an afternoon which, unknown at the moment, was to prove fairly laborious.

Our way now led east through sun-baked rice fields into the Burdwan section of Bengal. On through roads lined with dense vegetation; the songs of the maynas and the stripe-throated bulbuls streamed out from trees with huge, umbrellalike branches. A bullock cart now and then, the rini, rini, manju, manju squeak of its axle and iron-shod wooden wheels contrasting sharply in mind with the swish, swish of auto tires over the aristocratic asphalt of the cities.

The road became more and more sickly: wrinkles of ruts, boils of hardened clay, the sad infirmities of old age! Our group dismounted occasionally to allow Mr. Wright to more easily maneuver the Ford, which the four of us pushed from behind.
“Lambadar Babu spoke truly,” Sailesh acknowledged. “The car is not carrying us; we are carrying the car!”
Our climb-in, climb-out auto tedium was beguiled ever and anon by the appearance of a village, each one a scene of quaint simplicity.

“Asking for a guide among a group of worshipers on their way home from a temple prayer (out in the lonely field), we were besieged by a dozen scantily clad lads who clambered on the sides of the car, eager to conduct us to Giri Bala.

“Halting by a narrow lane we found ourselves within a hundred feet of Giri Bala’s ancestral home. We felt the thrill of fulfillment after the long road struggle crowned by a rough finish. We approached a large, two-storied building of brick and plaster, dominating the surrounding adobe huts; the house was under the process of repair, for around it was the characteristically tropical framework of bamboos.

“With feverish anticipation and suppressed rejoicing we stood before the open doors of the one blessed by the Lord’s ‘hungerless’ touch. Constantly agape were the villagers, young and old, bare and dressed, women aloof somewhat but inquisitive too, men and boys unabashedly at our heels as they gazed on this unprecedented spectacle.

This great woman yogi has not taken food or drink since 1880. I am pictured with her,
in 1936, at her home in the isolated Bengal village of Biur. Her non-eating state has been 
rigorously investigated by the Maharaja of Burdwan. She employs a certain yoga technique 
to recharge her body with cosmic energy from the ether, sun, and air.
“Soon a short figure came into view in the doorway --Giri Bala! She was swathed in a cloth of dull, goldish silk; in typically Indian fashion, she drew forward modestly and hesitatingly, peering slightly from beneath the upper fold of her swadeshi cloth. Her eyes glistened like smouldering embers in the shadow of her head piece; we were enamored by a most benevolent and kindly face, a face of realization and understanding, free from the taint of earthly attachment.

“Meekly she approached and silently assented to our snapping a number of pictures with our ‘still’ and ‘movie’ cameras.6 Patiently and shyly she endured our photo techniques of posture adjustment and light arrangement. Finally we had recorded for posterity many photographs of the only woman in the world who is known to have lived without food or drink for over fifty years. (Therese Neumann, of course, has fasted since 1923.) Most motherly was Giri Bala’s expression as she stood before us, completely covered in the loose-flowing cloth, nothing of her body visible but her face with its downcast eyes, her hands, and her tiny feet. A face of rare peace and innocent poise --a wide, childlike, quivering lip, a feminine nose, narrow, sparkling eyes, and a wistful smile”  (Mr. Wright also took moving pictures of Sri Yukteswar during his last Winter Solstice Festival in Serampore).

Mr. Wright’s impression of Giri Bala was shared by myself; spirituality enfolded her like her gently shining veil. She pronamed before me in the customary gesture of greeting from a householder to a monk. Her simple charm and quiet smile gave us a welcome beyond that of honeyed oratory; forgotten was our difficult, dusty trip.

The little saint seated herself cross-legged on the verandah. Though bearing the scars of age, she was not emaciated; her olive-colored skin had remained clear and healthy in tone.

“Mother,” I said in Bengali, “for over twenty-five years I have thought eagerly of this very pilgrimage! I heard about your sacred life from Sthiti Lal Nundy Babu.”

She nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes, my good neighbor in Nawabganj.”

“During those years I have crossed the oceans, but I never forgot my early plan to someday see you. The sublime drama that you are here playing so inconspicuously should be blazoned before a world that has long forgotten the inner food divine.

The saint lifted her eyes for a minute, smiling with serene interest.

“Baba (honored father) knows best,” she answered meekly.

I was happy that she had taken no offense; one never knows how great yogis or yoginis will react to the thought of publicity. They shun it, as a rule, wishing to pursue in silence the profound soul research. An inner sanction comes to them when the proper time arrives to display their lives openly for the benefit of seeking minds.

“Mother,” I went on, “please forgive me, then, for burdening you with many questions. Kindly answer only those that please you; I shall understand your silence, also.”

She spread her hands in a gracious gesture. “I am glad to reply, insofar as an insignificant person like myself can give satisfactory answers.”

“Oh, no, not insignificant!” I protested sincerely. “You are a great soul.”

“I am the humble servant of all.” She added quaintly, “I love to cook and feed people.”

A strange pastime, I thought, for a non-eating saint!

“Tell me, Mother, from your own lipsdo you live without food?”

“That is true.” She was silent for a few moments; her next remark showed that she had been struggling with mental arithmetic. “From the age of twelve years four months down to my present age of sixty-eighta period of over fifty-six yearsI have not eaten food or taken liquids.”

“Are you never tempted to eat?”

“If I felt a craving for food, I would have to eat.” Simply yet regally she stated this axiomatic truth, one known too well by a world revolving around three meals a day!

“But you do eat something!” My tone held a note of remonstrance.

“Of course!” She smiled in swift understanding.

"Your nourishment derives from the finer energies of the air and sunlight,7 and from the cosmic power which recharges your body through the medulla oblongata.  

“Baba knows.” Again she acquiesced, her manner soothing and unemphatic.

“Mother, please tell me about your early life. It holds a deep interest for all of India, and even for our brothers and sisters beyond the seas.”

Giri Bala put aside her habitual reserve, relaxing into a conversational mood.

“So be it.” Her voice was low and firm. “I was born in these forest regions. My childhood was unremarkable save that I was possessed by an insatiable appetite. I had been betrothed in early years.

“‘Child,’ my mother often warned me, ‘try to control your greed. When the time comes for you to live among strangers in your husband’s family, what will they think of you if your days are spent in nothing but eating?’

“The calamity she had foreseen came to pass. I was only twelve when I joined my husband’s people in Nawabganj. My mother-in-law shamed me morning, noon, and night about my gluttonous habits. Her scoldings were a blessing in disguise, however; they roused my dormant spiritual tendencies. One morning her ridicule was merciless.

“‘I shall soon prove to you,’ I said, stung to the quick, ‘that I shall never touch food again as long as I live.’

“My mother-in-law laughed in derision. ‘So!’ she said, ‘how can you live without eating, when you cannot live without overeating?’

“This remark was unanswerable! Yet an iron resolution scaffolded my spirit. In a secluded spot I sought my Heavenly Father.

“‘Lord,’ I prayed incessantly, ‘please send me a guru, one who can teach me to live by Thy light and not by food.’
“A divine ecstasy fell over me. Led by a beatific spell, I set out for the Nawabganj ghat on the Ganges. On the way I encountered the priest of my husband’s family.

“‘Venerable sir,’ I said trustingly, ‘kindly tell me how to live without eating.’

“He stared at me without reply. Finally he spoke in a consoling manner. ‘Child,’ he said, ‘come to the temple this evening; I will conduct a special Vedic ceremony for you.’

“This vague answer was not the one I was seeking; I continued toward the ghat. The morning sun pierced the waters; I purified myself in the Ganges, as though for a sacred initiation. As I left the river bank, my wet cloth around me, in the broad glare of day my master materialized himself before me!

“‘Dear little one,’ he said in a voice of loving compassion, ‘I am the guru sent here by God to fulfill your urgent prayer. He was deeply touched by its very unusual nature! From today you shall live by the astral light, your bodily atoms fed from the infinite current.'”

Giri Bala fell into silence. I took Mr. Wright’s pencil and pad and translated into English a few items for his information.
The saint resumed the tale, her gentle voice barely audible. “The ghat was deserted, but my guru cast round us an aura of guarding light, that no stray bathers later disturb us. He initiated me into a kria technique which frees the body from dependence on the gross food of mortals. The technique includes the use of a certain mantra 8 and a breathing exercise more difficult than the average person could perform. No medicine or magic is involved; nothing beyond the krias.

In the manner of the American newspaper reporter, who had unknowingly taught me his procedure, I questioned Giri Bala on many matters which I thought would be of interest to the world. She gave me, bit by bit, the following information:
“I have never had any children; many years ago I became a widow. I sleep very little, as sleep and waking are the same to me. I meditate at night, attending to my domestic duties in the daytime. I slightly feel the change in climate from season to season. I have never been sick or experienced any disease. I feel only slight pain when accidentally injured. I have no bodily excretions. I can control my heart and breathing. I often see my guru as well as other great souls, in vision.”
“Mother,” I asked, “why don’t you teach others the method of living without food?”

My ambitious hopes for the world’s starving millions were nipped in the bud.

“No.” She shook her head. “I was strictly commanded by my guru not to divulge the secret. It is not his wish to tamper with God’s drama of creation. The farmers would not thank me if I taught many people to live without eating! The luscious fruits would lie uselessly on the ground. It appears that misery, starvation, and disease are whips of our karma which ultimately drive us to seek the true meaning of life.”

“Mother,” I said slowly, “what is the use of your having been singled out to live without eating?”

“To prove that man is Spirit.” Her face lit with wisdom. “To demonstrate that by divine advancement he can gradually learn to live by the Eternal Light and not by food.”

The saint sank into a deep meditative state. Her gaze was directed inward; the gentle depths of her eyes became expressionless. She gave a certain sigh, the prelude to the ecstatic breathless trance. For a time she had fled to the questionless realm, the heaven of inner joy.

The tropical darkness had fallen. The light of a small kerosene lamp flickered fitfully over the faces of a score of villagers squatting silently in the shadows. The darting glowworms and distant oil lanterns of the huts wove bright eerie patterns into the velvet night. It was the painful hour of parting; a slow, tedious journey lay before our little party.

“Giri Bala,” I said as the saint opened her eyes, “please give me a keepsakea strip of one of your saris.

She soon returned with a piece of Benares silk, extending it in her hand as she suddenly prostrated herself on the ground.

“Mother,” I said reverently, “rather let me touch your own blessed feet!”





________________________________________________



Footnotes:

1 In northern Bengal.

2 H. H. Sir Bijay Chand Mahtab, now dead. His family doubtless possesses some record of the Maharaja’s three investigations of Giri Bala.

3 Woman yogi.

4 “Remover of Obstacles,” the god of good fortune.

5 Sri Yukteswar used to say: “The Lord has given us the fruits of the good earth. We like to see our food, to smell it, to taste it-the Hindu likes also to touch it!” One does not mind hearing it, either, if no one else is present at the meal!

6 Mr. Wright also took moving pictures of Sri Yukteswar during his last Winter Solstice Festival in Serampore.

7 “What we eat is radiation; our food is so much quanta of energy,” Dr. George W. Crile of Cleveland told a gathering of medical men on May 17, 1933 in Memphis. “This all-important radiation, which releases electrical currents for the body’s electrical circuit, the nervous system, is given to food by the sun’s rays. Atoms, Dr. Crile says, are solar systems. Atoms are the vehicles that are filled with solar radiance as so many coiled springs. These countless atomfuls of energy are taken in as food. Once in the human body, these tense vehicles, the atoms, are discharged in the body’s protoplasm, the radiance furnishing new chemical energy, new electrical currents. ‘Your body is made up of such atoms,’ Dr. Crile said.  ‘They are your muscles, brains, and sensory organs, such as the eyes and ears.'”

Someday scientists will discover how man can live directly on solar energy. “Chlorophyll is the only substance known in nature that somehow possesses the power to act as a ‘sunlight trap,'” William L. Laurence writes in the New York Times. “It ‘catches’ the energy of sunlight and stores it in the plant. Without this no life could exist. We obtain the energy we need for living from the solar energy stored in the plant-food we eat or in the flesh of the animals that eat the plants. The energy we obtain from coal or oil is solar energy trapped by the chlorophyll in plant life millions of years ago. We live by the sun through the agency of chlorophyll.”

8 Potent vibratory chant. The literal translation of Sanskrit mantra is “instrument of thought,” signifying the ideal, inaudible sounds which represent one aspect of creation; when vocalized as syllables, a mantra constitutes a universal terminology. The infinite powers of sound derive from AUM, the “Word” or creative hum of the Cosmic Motor.


Adapted from Chapter 46, "The Woman Yogi Who Never Eats"



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Saturday, July 7, 2018

We ALREADY Are Light Beings



So many now kicking and scratching for "ascension," or for getting to the coveted shores
 of the "forth dimension"or the "fifth dimension," or "heaven," or anywhere else that's not 
here, not sensing nor experiencing the multidimensionality of their own being, not 
knowing they're already "there," and always have been.


A  biophoton or Ultra-weak Photon Emission, (UPE) is a kind of light particle that is emitted by all living things.  Though it exists in the visible and ultraviolet spectrum, in order for us to see it, our eyes would have to be about 1,000 times more sensitive.

While we can’t see them with our eyes alone, technology has given us a glimpse and what it’s shown us may have a profound impact on us all.

Biophotons were first thought to be merely the byproduct of metabolic chemical reactions. That idea is being challenged with an exciting theory that claims biophotons have a much larger role to play when it comes to our physiology and quite possibly our consciousness as well.

Experiments are showing that biophotons (UPEs) can be captured and stored inside of cells and  can even travel through our nervous system; suggesting that biophotons might provide a way for cells to transfer energy and communicate information. It’s has also been suggested that UPEs might even have properties which help us to visualize images.

This makes sense considering how we’re creating computers. All computers are is silicon crystal chips which we pass light through to relay 0′s and 1′s. (Light on, Light Off). The first computer was literally built with a lightbulb and these punch-cards which had holes in them, which is how we would program computers.

Today, our computers are far more advanced, and yet at the core, the electrical information we are passing through computers today is still a form of light. Now our sciences are revealing humans work the same way, and Light carries information through our brain, nervous system, and even our DNA.

Yep! Scientists are finding that our DNA is a strong source of UPEs, it communicates with and is created from light itself! It’s been observed that DNA produces extremely high biophoton emissions and has excimer laser-like properties. Excimer lasers (or exciplex lasers)  are special lasers consisting pseudo-molecules that only exist in a highly excited state and emit light in the ultraviolet range.

If that wasn’t cool enough already, scientists have also discovered that not only do we emit light, we have the ability to affect it with our thoughts alone. In a recent study, participants were placed in a darkened room and asked to visualize a bright light. When they did this, they were able to increase their levels of biophoton emissions significantly, showing that our intentions have an influence on light itself!

In conclusion, Light appears to be a fundamental part of our being. It’s hard-coded into our very bodies to function directly with, and through – light. On top of that, the fact that we can affect light with our intentions alone… outstanding! It would appear those new age hippies are right when they say we are all beings of light.

Further references: GMINCBI GovTSS

Source:
Article written by Becky Barnica