Saturday, 3 June 2017

The Rickmansworth Nightmare


The Rickmansworth Nightmare

Escaping the Matrix

You must first read my article “The Awakening” to fully understand what is happening here. I appear to be slipping back and fore between dreams, but they are too real to be dreams. I am also beginning to have doubts about slipping though distortions in space and time or passing through Gateways and crossing dimensions, I suggest what this man has to say might be true.

He talks a lot about Perception, Conception and Holograms. I am being asked to believe his theory that we are living in a Matrix and the Matrix is shaped by frequencies sent out from Saturn’s rings and amplified by the Moon. He is suggesting what we experience as reality is not true reality but our perceptions are being influenced by intelligence from outside. But who controls the Matrix?

We are not who we think we are. He says Quote. ‘It is the “Queen Bee” (Saturn-Moon) that broadcasts the waveform information “hack”, and humans decode this into a world they think they see, and perceptions and behaviours they think is “them”. We can be completely controlled by the Matrix and be no more than human robots responding to data input. End of quote.

I really want to believe, but it is a big ask.

He must have his finger on the pulse. He travels the world giving lectures on his theory that we are living in a hologram. He can fill the Battersea town hall to the brim explaining with video presentations to people wanting to know more about this; his 10 hour lectures are the norm.

Maybe I did not slip through a distortion in space and time, or drawn into a Worm Hole maybe there was no Gateway, maybe this is the second time I have escaped the Matrix. It was only my perception that I am a middle aged male when in fact I am a female of the opposite species. So on re-awakening it was the real me and not who I thought I was? Does that make any sense?

I would like to regard this as my second and hopefully my final awakening; I prefer reality beyond the Matrix.

All this happened a while ago but to bring you up to speed Mother seemed to know of my arrival. As I was coming down the stairs she said “Oh so you’re back?” She had just come in from the garden and was holding a pot plant. It was though I had never left.

I inquired “what’s that?”

She replied “it’s a plant”

I said “I can see it’s a plant, but what’s it called?”

Briefly hesitating and ruefully looking at the plant she shook her head and admitted apologetically “I never gave it a name “

Exasperated I said “No, no what’s the plant called?”

“You mean like Nathan or Phyllis?

“No like Rose or Lily”

“Rose and Lily are both girls’ names, it’s just a plant in a pot; it’s called a Pot Plant”

It was early Saturday morning I knew I was not going to get a lot of sense out of her so I decided to quit while I was still behind.

From here on in and for the sake of anonymity and to protect mother’s identity I will refer to her as Mrs. Flugelhorn.

When Graham and I were a unit mother took him aside and said confidentially “Look Graham I would appreciate it if you did not associate with my daughter”

He answered “Mrs. Flugelhorn I love and respect your daughter and would never do anything to hurt her”

Mrs Flugelhorn’s brow furrowed “no, no you have missed the point completely, she is weird”

I first met Graham at a Country and Western show in Rickmansworth; he was dressed in a cowboy outfit. We talked for ages and ages about everything, friends, foibles (foibles?) family and hopes and fears for the future. I was amazed we had absolutely nothing in common, a firm foundation for a long and happy marriage.

They say love is blind likewise mother’s tattooed friend Thelma, you can find her up at the Red Lion blind most Saturday evenings. On second thoughts blind is the wrong word; smashed is the word that escapes me.

It is death that stalks us all and it was a problem Uncle Crisis recently had to face. You see he has his father’s ashes but lacked a burial plot for them. He said he may be forced to lay the ashes on top of his mother, my Auntie Jekyll in the same grave. I asked him about an epitaph, he said it will read ‘In Death as In Life’ I suggested before they put chisel to marble perhaps he should re-think the epitaph.

Death? It reminds me of the sad story of poor Mr Humphries the widower up the road. His wife committed suicide you know. She did leave a note. It read your dinner is in the oven…….so am I.

Talking about Polar Bears reminds me of an incident concerning my friend Tamzin; actually Tamzin is my second best friend Patience is my very best friend. Miss Frenzi the teacher was explaining to the class that a Farrier re-shoes horse’s hooves as a shoe repairer repairs people’s shoes.

Tamzin stood up and shouted out “that’s Cobblers miss”. Miss Frenzi scozhotographer was going to do a 10 second time exposure thus enabling her to run round the back of the students and appear for a second time in the photo, on the extreme right …again complete with blacked out teeth.

A few days later showing her the offending photograph Miss Frenzi said crossly “Your parents will think we have no discipline here, now we will have re-assemble the whole school and get the photographer back, it’s all time and money”. I can only surmise it is small transgressions like this that has caused this ‘bad blood’.

Father is a bit Mutton Jeff; I was telling mother and Tamzin about Colonel Carter-Brown who lives at Ruthin Castle near Plaxtol Mill. I told them he organizes tours for Japanese tourists, fly fishing, arranges lovely afternoon tea parties on the lawn, hosts old time dancing and has exquisite balls; father cried out from the kitchen “wash yer mouth out Brigitte”. Exasperated I looked at my mother and whispered forcefully “MOTHER, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!” She closed her eyes, patted the back of my hand reassuringly saying “never mind pet, don’t fret it’s just your father”.

I shall refuse to talk anymore when father is around after the last episode when I was telling Tamsin of a movie about a gigantic Octopus. I just happened to be describing its huge tentacles when father cried out “Brigitte I will not tell you again”. I tearfully pleaded “Mother for heavens sake make him wear a hearing aid”

Tamzin’s mother told my mother that Tamzin moans and cries out for Gandalf in her sleep. God ONLY knows what she gets up to in her dreams; that’s Tamzin not her Mother. I don’t like to pry as dreams are very personal and private things aren’t they? Trouble with Tamzin she is too trusting.

Her mother had to tell her not to do cart-wheels in front of the boys; she said all they want to do is look at your knickers. Tamzin said “I know that mother; I know thaaaaaat with emphasis on THAT,” that’s why I keep them in my bag”.

To sum up, if this is the real me and if this is to be my permanent home I am going to have to establish some guidelines here, a new set of ground rules for Graham for a start.

http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/biggestsecret/esp_icke94.htm Moon Matrix Theory Explained